Tracy's heart races as they approach the Gatehouse, leading the way, Monica in tow, they enter. Tracy lets Monica pass, and she turns towards the door to close and lock it. Monica comes up behind her, not allowing Tracy to turn and face her. Pressed hard and fast, she pulls Tracy's hair aside, and closes a hungry mouth on the nape of her neck.
"Monica, I thought…" Tracy stammers and tries to turn around. Monica presses tighter her hands reach around front and start to pull Tracy's robe open, then off her shoulders.
"Shhhhh" she whispers against warm skin, "Don't think Tracy, not now" as her lips find every inch of flesh across shoulders, over her spine, as the robe slips down. Tracy plants her hands against the door, which hangs the robe up in the crooks of her elbows, stopping it.
"What the hell Monica, why didn't we just stay where..." Tracy starts, and is stopped mid sentence. The frustration in Monica is evident, as she pushes her body against her with more force; a grunt comes from Tracy, as the door meets the front of her body, causing a rather shocking sensation of cold metal against bare breasts.
Tracy has no say in anything that is happening in this disadvantaged position. It, on one hand makes her want to fight, and fight viciously. She feels trapped, like a caged animal. She wants to force Monica back, and turn around, and remind her in a harsh, lesson of dominance whom is really the "boss" here. On the other, she is frighteningly curious how far Monica will go.
She gets a rather clear answer as Monica takes her arms and forces them down, pulling the robe past her hands and letting it fall to the floor. She clasps Tracy's wrists, and raises them up over Tracy's head and forces them to the door. Monica is high with lust at this point. She is on the mission of her life it seems, to take every second of want from 30 years past, and unleash it all on Tracy's body. She continues to lay kisses, over Tracy's back and she is surprised at how much allowance she has given her in this current position.
"Don't you move Tracy" she states very matter of fact. Tracy resists at first, and Monica is thrilled by this. She wants her so deeply, but she doesn't want it to be easy, as that would not be true to Tracy's nature.
"Ooo you have got to be fucking kidding me," She laughs, low, in an attempt to sound confident, as she pushes back, and gets nowhere. Her hair in her face, she can't even see, her robe in a pile, naked other then the small piece of silk between her quaking legs.
"God damn you Monica" she curses, the statement comes out irritated and unsure. A tear forms, and she prays to every God she has ever heard of that Monica doesn't see it.
She has never felt so vulnerable, and it pisses her off to no end because no matter how she wants to struggle, to regain control, her body likes this, it needs this, it is simply starving to death to be broken.
"You are going to get yours, you just better believe that" She cracks through clenched teeth.
Monica crosses Tracy's hands, and holds them both in one of hers. This frees one arm to shake the sleeve of her top off. She switches, and the other arm is free. She leans her weight into Tracy, and can't help but feeling almost faint when skin meets skin.
Monica slides her PJ bottoms off, and kicks them aside.
She has to take pause in Tracy's black thong, and her white. Good girl, bad girl down to the littlest detail.
She finds herself grinding slow against Tracy. It's dizzy and instinctive. Her nipples have never been this sensitive, and just the brushing against Tracy's back is almost too much to take.
She releases Tracy's wrists, and to her satisfaction, Tracy's keeps them where they are.
As she leans back into Monica, her hands flat on the door, Monica encircles her waist. A cascade of touch plays up and down Tracy's stomach. Her body is drawn tight as her hands remain up.
Tracy fills her lungs and drops her head forward. She is just awash in new sensations, new truths, and new wonders. She thrills in seeing Monica trace her flesh. Across ribs, over her belly which causes her to shiver.
Female hands, the strong, yet soft, precise hands of a surgeon cover her breasts. She is used to the touch of men. Rough, calloused, over eager, and driven by the end of the journey, not the ride itself. She realizes for the first time, that she never really enjoyed being touched like that, hurried and detached. This is how a woman should be taken.
She is mesmerized with Monica's heated breath on her shoulders. She absently sets her stance a little wider, and this is noted as Monica leaves one breast in a pursuit further south.
Tracy watches in anxious fascination. This beautiful hand, grazes manicured nails first around her navel, causing a hum to leave her body through her nose. Her breathing increases its pace to a near pant as that hand continues its descent.
Monica can feel Tracy's heart beating furiously through her back, matching her own. She sees the hair clinging in damp tendrils to Tracy's neck. Having her like this is very heavy medicine. It is strangely humbling at the same time. She knows no one has ever seen or touched her this way, and knows this is a gift beyond reason that Tracy is succumbing like this.
In a meticulously synchronized set of movements, a mouth closes hard on a firm shoulder, a breast is cupped tightly, and she slips her hand into the front of Tracy's panties, and in one deft move parts soaked lips, and finds her clit.
Tracy feels like she will collapse as a broken moan leaves her body in a sound she didn't know lived inside her. She drops her head back onto Monica's shoulder, her hands fight to grip the flat door, and her knees practically give way.
"My god Monica, what are you doing to me" she says at near hyperventilation.
The relentless pace continues. Monica slides in firm circles over Tracy's sensitive nub, then dips closer to her opening, and back. She has her mouth by Tracy's ear; cheek to cheek almost, as her other hand pinches and toys with aching nipple.
"What do you want Tracy" Monica whispers, almost just as breathless, their bodies' slick, moving slow and finding their pace.
Tracy leaves one hand above her, and brings her other arm down, elbow bent, to place a hand on the back of Monica's head.
Tracy's thoughts are out of her control, droplets of sweat trickle down her temples, her thighs burn and ache as she moves with Monica's hand. What is she to say? The words are there and she is more afraid to hear them depart her, then to actually mean them.
She turns her head, and wants Monica's lips again. She wants that circle of touch complete, and she knows if embroiled in a sinking deep kiss, Monica cannot ask the impossible of her again. But she is denied. Not because Monica has no desire to feel her tongue swirl with Tracy's again, but she feels this is a crucial place and time.
There are ways she wants Tracy, she wanted deeply to taste her, to drink her in, to kiss the rainfall of lust from between her legs, but she just could not stop this right now how it was playing out. She had the rest of her life to experience that, but for now, this is how it should be, and Tracy has to give in 100. She has to speak it for it to be done.
Monica slows the glide of her fingers, the copious tears of Tracy's soul coating them. This is agony to her. She grinds her teeth, and every breath is an audible struggle.
She finds Monica's stare, and to Monica, her eyes had never been so blue, other worldly, intoxicated, ocean blue. Her hair clung to her face, her throat, in damp wisps. Her mouth with parted lips was in the most beautiful silent plea.
"Tracy, tell me, c'mon, you can tell me" and she began to move on Tracy even slower.
It is truth be told that the sounds of crying and laughter, pleasure and pain are almost indiscernible if they occur without visual prompts. Tracy's level of pleasure had reduced her words to the sound of weeping, though there was no sadness here. This was waking up from a lifelong slumber.
This was her epiphany, this was the first time the gilded cage was about to disintegrate around her, and freedom would be defined.
Tracy closed her eyes, and then opened them once more, not a breath left her without being marked by the sound of want. Her hand was tangled in Monica's long hair, she looked at her, and her body was hopelessly trying to move against Monica's fingers to make up for the motion being slowed down. It was now or never.
Monica fought a gasp as she saw the truth well up in Tracy's eyes. There was the briefest moment of silence between whimpered breaths. Tears spilled over, and down her cheeks, Tracy spoke 3 words.
"Set me free"
Monica's mouth crushes Tracy's, and her fury of play resumes on Tracy's aching sex. Their movements begin to merge, Monica is tune to every sound, every muscle, and she finds herself mentally counting down. The word "please" is picked up between throws of sheer abandon. She feels Tracy begin to solid up, hears her breath seize and catch.
Monica passes one harder swirl over Tracy's clit, and then, without warning, slides two fingers hard and deep inside. Tracy sucks in all the air that her lungs can hold in a shocking sweet song.
That is the push over the precipice. The heavens open, and Tracy is falling. From her heels to her head, the feeling washes over her in a flourish of heat. She cries out again and again in a sound she has never made before. Monica matches each plea with a thrust into her. The orgasm crashes and crashes like an impossible wave beating the shore.
Monica is supporting Tracy's weight, as she is leaning hard into her, and she marvels at her body taking this without falling apart. She is locked tight around relentless fingers, moving down; impaling herself mercilessly to Monica's every movement up and in. Tracy Quartermaine has finally gotten what she deserves.
As the sensation ebbs, Tracy's strength is simply gone. This was the marathon of her life. She begins to slump, as if about to pass out. Monica eases her to the floor. Kneeling behind her still, Tracy rests her head against the cold steel door. Monica carefully withdrawals her fingers from Tracy's body which causes a shock and groan to escape her exhausted form. Her body trembles involuntarily.
She turns abruptly towards Monica, and as if a lost woman found, she slips into Monica's arms, burying her face in her neck, and completes the vulnerable full circle moment as the tears mix with sweat, and trail down Monica's shoulder.
Monica holds her like a piece of delicate crystal. This woman of power, and prestige, of strength and honor, has never been more beautifully human. Tracy is beside herself and whole at the same time. This is an absolute first.
Monica is in awe, as she feels Tracy's body regrouping, and a mouth begins to kiss her neck.