BDP50
"I don't know if I can do this." Ian said softly, his eyes downcast.
"No pressure accushla. If you can't, you can't. It will give me something to look forward to. After all, up against the wall in the shower was definitely worth the wait." Moira purred, hoping the reminder would bolster his confidence.
"That doesn't count, YOU made ME wait, not the other way around. I was all for it that night, if you'd care to remember." Ian leaned back against the pillows, arms crossed, with a self-righteous expression on his face.
"So you were. But it was still worth every second, even if you did give me the mother of all hickeys." Moira shook her hair back, exposing her neck. The bruise was still muted by the makeup she had applied earlier, but visible, even in the flickering candlelight.
Ian stared at the dark stain that spread under her skin. His arms uncrossed and he reached for her throat. He wondered if it pained her. Nottingham stroked the delicate flesh with the pad of his thumb, careful to keep his touch light.
It looked like what it was, a mark of possession. Ian remembered the drive to leave an indelible sign on Moira, wanting it clear that she was his. He had no doubt that she knew it too, "You must think I'm an untenable bastard."
"When you did it? No. It felt wonderful. Afterwards, when I got a good look at it, yes. I wanted to throttle you. The bruise was damn difficult to conceal. I would have caught some serious Hell if anyone had seen it. There would have been a blistering write-up in my file, at the very least." Burke glared at Nottingham, the day's tension spilling into her voice.
Moira had been certain every time someone approached her today that they had seen it, that the jig was up. There was also the fact that it was there at all. Ian's aggression had weighed on her mind; distracting her so much that she'd had to repeat several of her assigned tasks.
Perhaps the hardest part to deal with had been the fact that she'd enjoyed their out-of-control lovemaking. That had disturbed her very much. Moira prided herself on being a modern woman, but last night she had set women's lib back to the Stone Age. It had taken some soul searching to come to terms with the fact that enjoying it did not mean she was going to regress to 'barefoot and in the kitchen'.
The fact that she had feared it would showed Moira that she had been overcompensating for her own gender for too long. There was nothing wrong with being a woman. She didn't always have to be in control, or be better than the men around her. It was ok to be feminine, or to let someone else take command.
It was part of what tonight was going to be about. Moira would give Ian control, because she could, and because he was worthy of her trust. She had not counted on his conditioning keeping him from consciously accepting control, not after last night.
"I apologize. I would like to say that I don't know what came over me, but I do. I wanted to mark you. I wanted everyone to know that you were mine. Hardly the response of an experienced lover," Ian gave a self- depreciating little laugh.
"Not necessarily, Ian. After all, our first time together you didn't do that. I think it has something to do with the way we've been rewinding and fast-forwarding evolution with you and the rest of your unit. There are bound to be primal behaviorisms that resurface, given how much the drugs have increased activity from the Limbic System. We will probably see more of the same marks on the women who stayed the night, if not worse. For them there is no emotional bond to temper their instinctual behaviors." Moira sat on the edge of the bed. She raised a hand to touch Ian's chest, only to have it grabbed.
There was no makeup on Moira's wrist, nothing to soften the bracelet of bruising that traveled around her wrist. Ian realized that she had said 'more of the same marks', meaning more than the one on her throat. "When did I do this? More importantly, what else did I do?"
."I'm not sure, but I think that first time up against the shower wall. Fortunately it looks worse than it is, this white skin shows every little mark. It doesn't even hurt." Moira prevaricated slightly. The other bruises were insignificant, she'd gotten them with other partners before Ian, but it didn't seem politic to bring them up just now.
"Why don't I believe you?" Ian asked, his gaze moving over her bared flesh.
"There's some slight bruising on my hips and thighs, but it's nothing like my wrist and throat. I had them the first time we were together too so don't go feeling guilty. I told you, my skin shows every little thing." Moira sighed. She knew he wasn't going to be content until he saw for himself.
"Let me be the judge of that. If it's really nothing, why don't you show me?" Ian challenged.
"As you command, Master." Moira stood and salomed. Maybe she could redirect this back toward the fantasy, and help Ian move beyond his subservient conditioning. It would be more productive than letting him continue to beat himself up over something he had not purposely done.
Moira reached for the knot at her hip. Slowly, teasingly, she worked the silk back through the loops until only her grasp kept the silk in place. Watching him through the veil of her lashes, Moira let the fabric dip. Gradually the red silk reeled through her slack fingers, sliding down her legs to pool around her feet. When the fabric stilled, Moira moved her hands from her hip, holding them out slightly from her body as if in offering.
Seeing her bare before him brought the primal feelings crowding back to the surface. Such beauty, and it was all for him. He stared, unable to pull his gaze away from the delicious contrast of white skin and night- black hair.
There were faint shadows on her hips and thighs, just as Moira had said. Ian touched them gently, realizing they were from their bodies driving against one another. He remembered striving to merge their flesh into one, her soft pleas for more echoed again in his ears.
Ian's doubts were eroded by a sudden wave of hunger. His feelings of guilt evaporated under the intense heat of it. Desire strained at the bonds of time and training, struggling to override his conditioning. 'She is bare before you, at your command. What else might she do if you but asked?' a portion of his brain whispered, holding out temptation like Eve with her apple.
All those nights that Ian had dreamed of that which he was denied came back to him with a vengeance. Moira was clearly willing to bring those unvoiced fantasies to life. She'd suggested it, not him, so Ian knew that it was something she did not find objectionable.
He was still unsure about his role-playing abilities, but he was ready to give it a try. Ian sat back against the headboard and sifted through a lifetime of dreams. Some Moira had already made come true, but there were others. "Dance for me, slave."
Moira dropped her head, partly because it was in character, partly to hide her amazement. She had not expected Ian to accept her offer at this stage. That he was willing to consciously choose to be the dominant one in their exchange gave her hope that Nottingham was not so trapped in the past, as she had feared.
Ian watched as Moira swayed to the music, her hair falling around her in a veil that both concealed and exposed. Her arms floated languidly around her, framing her undulating torso. Ian thought it looked very similar to the way she had moved over him during their first bout of lovemaking. It was growing easier by the minute to fall into the fantasy, his libido taking the reins. "Touch yourself as you dance."
The command was brusque, but husky with desire. Moira obeyed, letting her hands slide down her torso and thighs as she moved. On their trip back up she skirted them around the sides of her breasts, over her throat, and back into her hair. She brought her hands together on the top of her head, hair woven through her fingers, and writhed as sinuously as she could.
Peeking at him through her lashes, Moira could see that her movements were getting to him. His hands were unconsciously clenching and releasing the sheets, his breathing was becoming more agitated, and his eyes were blazing with hunger.
Just watching him watching her was enough to make Moira burn, and she knew that she was more turned on than she could ever remember being without being very far into foreplay. Yet Ian had not even touched her. She moved one hand out of her hair and let it trail down the center of her body, swerving left over her hip to rest teasingly on her outer thigh.
Ian gave a low growl. "Slave, I ordered you to touch yourself. Obey me or I shall have you beaten."
"Yes Master. How should I touch myself? I want only to please you," Moira kept her tone suitably humble, but inside she grinned. Don't know how to be dominant huh? Ian seemed to be learning pretty fast, but then, he'd already proved to be a quick study. Why should this be any different?
"Stimulate yourself. I want to watch as you pleasure your own flesh," Ian purred, all but licking his lips at the idea.
Moira was a little shocked at his request; it was not something she had ever done. A blush crept up her cheeks as she hesitantly moved her hands to her breasts. She cupped them and kneaded them gently, working up the courage to touch her nipples. "Master, I would much prefer your hands to mine."
"Not yet, little houri, show me what you would have me do. Where do you crave my touch?" Ian wasn't giving her an easy out. He really wanted to see this.
"On those lonely nights when you do not summon me, I imagine your touch here, Master." Moira bit her bottom lip as she caught her left nipple between forefinger and thumb. She pinched it lightly and rolled the turgid flesh.
"Do you know how much I burn for your touch? How much I crave it when you are gone from my bed?" While one hand continued to knead her breast, the other drifted lower over her belly. Moira stopped with her fingertips just grazing the nest of black curls at the juncture of her thighs.
"I remember how it feels to have your hard thighs pushing mine apart, your hand demanding against my flesh, and the feel of your hard cock deep inside me, pounding into me until I come." As Moira spoke, she widened her stance and cupped her pubic mound.
Her words, coupled with the sight of her hands caressing her own flesh, nearly ended the game. Ian wanted to be the one to touch her, wanted to pleasure Moira until she screamed. Ian kicked the sheet off, too hot to tolerate even the most minimal covers.
His erection stood straight and proud, drawing Moira's eyes. Here was the true instrument of pleasure; this was what she needed. "Master, you are in need. Let me touch you. I beg to serve you."
"Come here, but you may not touch me with your hands. If you do, you will be punished." Ian warned as Moira crawled onto the bed.
"Clasp your hands behind your neck." He positioned her over him, the head of his penis barely brushing her clitoris. His hands on her hips kept her from moving except as he wished. The placement of her hands pushed her breasts, nipples as hard as he'd ever seen them, out in a wanton display. He moved his head as if he were going to take them in his mouth, but he did not, just letting his breath flow over them. She groaned in frustration but made no other protest, nor did she move her hands. Good.
He lowered her slightly until just the head of his cock was inside her. He worked her up and down in slow shallow thrusts, careful to keep contact with Moira's clit. Soon she was squirming and whimpering, making small wordless pleas for more than she was getting.
"Beg me for it. Tell me exactly what you want, what you need," Ian watched as the realization moved across her face that he was serious.
"Master please, please," Moira looked down at his hands, tight on her hips, then at his face.
"Please what slave?" Ian was clearly waiting for her to spell it out. Saying please wasn't going to get her any relief.
"Please fuck me. I want all of your cock inside me." Moira hadn't thought she could get any more excited, but saying the words sent a jolt through her. "Please, I beg you to fuck me."
Ian gritted his teeth to keep from coming right then. To hear her pleading for his 'cock' was heady stuff indeed. Without any other warning than the flexing of his arms, he pulled Moira all the way down. She had asked so nicely after all.
Moira cried out in surprise and pleasure as she was impaled on his erection. He was inside her to the hilt, and it felt wonderful to be filled after waiting so long, She tried to raise up, to start a rhythm that would please them both, but could not move. His hands still held her hips right where he wanted them.
"I've decided I like the sound of your voice. Beg me some more, but use my name." Ian gave her a smile worthy of Satan. He knew she was on the edge, and would probably acquiesce. Besides, she might not ever want to play this game again, so he was going to milk it for all it was worth.
"Ian, please. I can't stand it. I need you Ian. I'm burning up. I want you to fuck me Ian, please," Moira trembled over him, waiting.
She didn't have to wait long. Ian closed his eyes for a moment, committing the words to memory for those nights when he was unable to come to her bed. When he opened them, his hands lightened their grip, "Move for me."
Freed, Moira began a swift rhythm. She was already so close to coming that it took only a few minutes of deep strokes before her orgasm overtook her. Moira spasmed over him, feeling him take control of her hips as she lost the motion. He forced her shaking body to ride him, the sensations drawing out her orgasm. She was ready to drop when he finally came, a deep growl of satisfaction coming from his throat.
Only then did Ian let Moira lay down across his chest, his hands making sure they stayed joined. He enjoyed the way her body would periodically clench around his from the aftershocks.
When Ian had his breath back, he asked, "So how did I do?"
Moira, head down on his chest, rolled her eyes. "You did just fine Ian."
"I don't know if I can do this." Ian said softly, his eyes downcast.
"No pressure accushla. If you can't, you can't. It will give me something to look forward to. After all, up against the wall in the shower was definitely worth the wait." Moira purred, hoping the reminder would bolster his confidence.
"That doesn't count, YOU made ME wait, not the other way around. I was all for it that night, if you'd care to remember." Ian leaned back against the pillows, arms crossed, with a self-righteous expression on his face.
"So you were. But it was still worth every second, even if you did give me the mother of all hickeys." Moira shook her hair back, exposing her neck. The bruise was still muted by the makeup she had applied earlier, but visible, even in the flickering candlelight.
Ian stared at the dark stain that spread under her skin. His arms uncrossed and he reached for her throat. He wondered if it pained her. Nottingham stroked the delicate flesh with the pad of his thumb, careful to keep his touch light.
It looked like what it was, a mark of possession. Ian remembered the drive to leave an indelible sign on Moira, wanting it clear that she was his. He had no doubt that she knew it too, "You must think I'm an untenable bastard."
"When you did it? No. It felt wonderful. Afterwards, when I got a good look at it, yes. I wanted to throttle you. The bruise was damn difficult to conceal. I would have caught some serious Hell if anyone had seen it. There would have been a blistering write-up in my file, at the very least." Burke glared at Nottingham, the day's tension spilling into her voice.
Moira had been certain every time someone approached her today that they had seen it, that the jig was up. There was also the fact that it was there at all. Ian's aggression had weighed on her mind; distracting her so much that she'd had to repeat several of her assigned tasks.
Perhaps the hardest part to deal with had been the fact that she'd enjoyed their out-of-control lovemaking. That had disturbed her very much. Moira prided herself on being a modern woman, but last night she had set women's lib back to the Stone Age. It had taken some soul searching to come to terms with the fact that enjoying it did not mean she was going to regress to 'barefoot and in the kitchen'.
The fact that she had feared it would showed Moira that she had been overcompensating for her own gender for too long. There was nothing wrong with being a woman. She didn't always have to be in control, or be better than the men around her. It was ok to be feminine, or to let someone else take command.
It was part of what tonight was going to be about. Moira would give Ian control, because she could, and because he was worthy of her trust. She had not counted on his conditioning keeping him from consciously accepting control, not after last night.
"I apologize. I would like to say that I don't know what came over me, but I do. I wanted to mark you. I wanted everyone to know that you were mine. Hardly the response of an experienced lover," Ian gave a self- depreciating little laugh.
"Not necessarily, Ian. After all, our first time together you didn't do that. I think it has something to do with the way we've been rewinding and fast-forwarding evolution with you and the rest of your unit. There are bound to be primal behaviorisms that resurface, given how much the drugs have increased activity from the Limbic System. We will probably see more of the same marks on the women who stayed the night, if not worse. For them there is no emotional bond to temper their instinctual behaviors." Moira sat on the edge of the bed. She raised a hand to touch Ian's chest, only to have it grabbed.
There was no makeup on Moira's wrist, nothing to soften the bracelet of bruising that traveled around her wrist. Ian realized that she had said 'more of the same marks', meaning more than the one on her throat. "When did I do this? More importantly, what else did I do?"
."I'm not sure, but I think that first time up against the shower wall. Fortunately it looks worse than it is, this white skin shows every little mark. It doesn't even hurt." Moira prevaricated slightly. The other bruises were insignificant, she'd gotten them with other partners before Ian, but it didn't seem politic to bring them up just now.
"Why don't I believe you?" Ian asked, his gaze moving over her bared flesh.
"There's some slight bruising on my hips and thighs, but it's nothing like my wrist and throat. I had them the first time we were together too so don't go feeling guilty. I told you, my skin shows every little thing." Moira sighed. She knew he wasn't going to be content until he saw for himself.
"Let me be the judge of that. If it's really nothing, why don't you show me?" Ian challenged.
"As you command, Master." Moira stood and salomed. Maybe she could redirect this back toward the fantasy, and help Ian move beyond his subservient conditioning. It would be more productive than letting him continue to beat himself up over something he had not purposely done.
Moira reached for the knot at her hip. Slowly, teasingly, she worked the silk back through the loops until only her grasp kept the silk in place. Watching him through the veil of her lashes, Moira let the fabric dip. Gradually the red silk reeled through her slack fingers, sliding down her legs to pool around her feet. When the fabric stilled, Moira moved her hands from her hip, holding them out slightly from her body as if in offering.
Seeing her bare before him brought the primal feelings crowding back to the surface. Such beauty, and it was all for him. He stared, unable to pull his gaze away from the delicious contrast of white skin and night- black hair.
There were faint shadows on her hips and thighs, just as Moira had said. Ian touched them gently, realizing they were from their bodies driving against one another. He remembered striving to merge their flesh into one, her soft pleas for more echoed again in his ears.
Ian's doubts were eroded by a sudden wave of hunger. His feelings of guilt evaporated under the intense heat of it. Desire strained at the bonds of time and training, struggling to override his conditioning. 'She is bare before you, at your command. What else might she do if you but asked?' a portion of his brain whispered, holding out temptation like Eve with her apple.
All those nights that Ian had dreamed of that which he was denied came back to him with a vengeance. Moira was clearly willing to bring those unvoiced fantasies to life. She'd suggested it, not him, so Ian knew that it was something she did not find objectionable.
He was still unsure about his role-playing abilities, but he was ready to give it a try. Ian sat back against the headboard and sifted through a lifetime of dreams. Some Moira had already made come true, but there were others. "Dance for me, slave."
Moira dropped her head, partly because it was in character, partly to hide her amazement. She had not expected Ian to accept her offer at this stage. That he was willing to consciously choose to be the dominant one in their exchange gave her hope that Nottingham was not so trapped in the past, as she had feared.
Ian watched as Moira swayed to the music, her hair falling around her in a veil that both concealed and exposed. Her arms floated languidly around her, framing her undulating torso. Ian thought it looked very similar to the way she had moved over him during their first bout of lovemaking. It was growing easier by the minute to fall into the fantasy, his libido taking the reins. "Touch yourself as you dance."
The command was brusque, but husky with desire. Moira obeyed, letting her hands slide down her torso and thighs as she moved. On their trip back up she skirted them around the sides of her breasts, over her throat, and back into her hair. She brought her hands together on the top of her head, hair woven through her fingers, and writhed as sinuously as she could.
Peeking at him through her lashes, Moira could see that her movements were getting to him. His hands were unconsciously clenching and releasing the sheets, his breathing was becoming more agitated, and his eyes were blazing with hunger.
Just watching him watching her was enough to make Moira burn, and she knew that she was more turned on than she could ever remember being without being very far into foreplay. Yet Ian had not even touched her. She moved one hand out of her hair and let it trail down the center of her body, swerving left over her hip to rest teasingly on her outer thigh.
Ian gave a low growl. "Slave, I ordered you to touch yourself. Obey me or I shall have you beaten."
"Yes Master. How should I touch myself? I want only to please you," Moira kept her tone suitably humble, but inside she grinned. Don't know how to be dominant huh? Ian seemed to be learning pretty fast, but then, he'd already proved to be a quick study. Why should this be any different?
"Stimulate yourself. I want to watch as you pleasure your own flesh," Ian purred, all but licking his lips at the idea.
Moira was a little shocked at his request; it was not something she had ever done. A blush crept up her cheeks as she hesitantly moved her hands to her breasts. She cupped them and kneaded them gently, working up the courage to touch her nipples. "Master, I would much prefer your hands to mine."
"Not yet, little houri, show me what you would have me do. Where do you crave my touch?" Ian wasn't giving her an easy out. He really wanted to see this.
"On those lonely nights when you do not summon me, I imagine your touch here, Master." Moira bit her bottom lip as she caught her left nipple between forefinger and thumb. She pinched it lightly and rolled the turgid flesh.
"Do you know how much I burn for your touch? How much I crave it when you are gone from my bed?" While one hand continued to knead her breast, the other drifted lower over her belly. Moira stopped with her fingertips just grazing the nest of black curls at the juncture of her thighs.
"I remember how it feels to have your hard thighs pushing mine apart, your hand demanding against my flesh, and the feel of your hard cock deep inside me, pounding into me until I come." As Moira spoke, she widened her stance and cupped her pubic mound.
Her words, coupled with the sight of her hands caressing her own flesh, nearly ended the game. Ian wanted to be the one to touch her, wanted to pleasure Moira until she screamed. Ian kicked the sheet off, too hot to tolerate even the most minimal covers.
His erection stood straight and proud, drawing Moira's eyes. Here was the true instrument of pleasure; this was what she needed. "Master, you are in need. Let me touch you. I beg to serve you."
"Come here, but you may not touch me with your hands. If you do, you will be punished." Ian warned as Moira crawled onto the bed.
"Clasp your hands behind your neck." He positioned her over him, the head of his penis barely brushing her clitoris. His hands on her hips kept her from moving except as he wished. The placement of her hands pushed her breasts, nipples as hard as he'd ever seen them, out in a wanton display. He moved his head as if he were going to take them in his mouth, but he did not, just letting his breath flow over them. She groaned in frustration but made no other protest, nor did she move her hands. Good.
He lowered her slightly until just the head of his cock was inside her. He worked her up and down in slow shallow thrusts, careful to keep contact with Moira's clit. Soon she was squirming and whimpering, making small wordless pleas for more than she was getting.
"Beg me for it. Tell me exactly what you want, what you need," Ian watched as the realization moved across her face that he was serious.
"Master please, please," Moira looked down at his hands, tight on her hips, then at his face.
"Please what slave?" Ian was clearly waiting for her to spell it out. Saying please wasn't going to get her any relief.
"Please fuck me. I want all of your cock inside me." Moira hadn't thought she could get any more excited, but saying the words sent a jolt through her. "Please, I beg you to fuck me."
Ian gritted his teeth to keep from coming right then. To hear her pleading for his 'cock' was heady stuff indeed. Without any other warning than the flexing of his arms, he pulled Moira all the way down. She had asked so nicely after all.
Moira cried out in surprise and pleasure as she was impaled on his erection. He was inside her to the hilt, and it felt wonderful to be filled after waiting so long, She tried to raise up, to start a rhythm that would please them both, but could not move. His hands still held her hips right where he wanted them.
"I've decided I like the sound of your voice. Beg me some more, but use my name." Ian gave her a smile worthy of Satan. He knew she was on the edge, and would probably acquiesce. Besides, she might not ever want to play this game again, so he was going to milk it for all it was worth.
"Ian, please. I can't stand it. I need you Ian. I'm burning up. I want you to fuck me Ian, please," Moira trembled over him, waiting.
She didn't have to wait long. Ian closed his eyes for a moment, committing the words to memory for those nights when he was unable to come to her bed. When he opened them, his hands lightened their grip, "Move for me."
Freed, Moira began a swift rhythm. She was already so close to coming that it took only a few minutes of deep strokes before her orgasm overtook her. Moira spasmed over him, feeling him take control of her hips as she lost the motion. He forced her shaking body to ride him, the sensations drawing out her orgasm. She was ready to drop when he finally came, a deep growl of satisfaction coming from his throat.
Only then did Ian let Moira lay down across his chest, his hands making sure they stayed joined. He enjoyed the way her body would periodically clench around his from the aftershocks.
When Ian had his breath back, he asked, "So how did I do?"
Moira, head down on his chest, rolled her eyes. "You did just fine Ian."