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jamjarPart 9, the final part. And I still don't have a title for this. Suggestions, please.
[edited for my complete inability to put cut tags in]
"As interesting as that sounds," Mark said, his eyes fixed on Aerael's hand, "you must know that's not going to happen."
Aerael shook his hand and let Mark listen to the sound of little bits of metal crashing against each other. "Oh, I think you underestimate yourself, Beautiful."
Oh. That was nice
"There's not enough space," Mark said, reaching for a practical reason since it didn't look like his will power was up to a personal one.
Aerael shrugged and walked over to Mark. He undid one cuff and snapped it around Mark's other wrist, like a double bracelet, then held Mark's hand palm up and dropped a something into it. "Put these on," he said, bending down to get a good hold on the bed. The four-poster deal looked good, and it was convenient having something to tie Mark up against, but it made the bed bulky and awkward to move. The weight wasn't a problem, just the difficulty in getting the balance right. He picked up the bed and walked with it to the side of the room, setting it down out of the way and incidentally blocking the door.
"You'll need to move the chest of drawers too," Mark said.
* * *
Mark licked his lips as Aerael strained , lifting the bed up. There was something deeply satisfying about watching Aerael do simple physical labour, muscles flexing, brow furrowed with concentration. He had a sudden urge to jump Aerael, club him over the head, drag him back to his home and chain him to a wall. It was so strong he wondered if Aerael was letting his glamour slip again, but Aerael lifted a chest of drawers over his shoulder and Mark lost his train of thought at the sight of Aerael's biceps at work.
"The nipple clamps, Markkas," Aerael said, the laughter in his voice enough to break Mark out of his trance. "What's the matter, you forgotten how they work?"
Mark looked down at his hand, seeing the thin metal chain linking the two pretty beetle-shaped clamps. "My apologies, Aerael. I was distracted." He scowled at himself. "This body has different wiring to my own," Mark said. "Different instincts, different appetites, and it's not particularly subtle about it."
"Sure you're not just putting off the inevitable?" Aerael said. "You're making this much fuss about the clamps, and we haven't even got to the pom-poms yet."
"Pom-poms," Mark said blanching. "Sweet chaos, Aerael, you cannot honestly expect me…"
"Oh, I can," Aerael said. "But maybe you need a little incentive." He walked over to the small pile of Mark's clothing and picked up the dress, smoothing the creases with one loving palm. He held it up against himself, and in a puff of smoke he was she. "I kind of like the idea of wearing it now," she said almost dreamily. "My dress that you wore tonight, at the bar when you were picking up men to piss me off-"
"That's not why I-"
"And you were still wearing it when I fucked you," she said, going on like she didn't even hear him. Her fingers danced over the neckline. "You were pressed inside it while I was," she broke off with a giggle that made her sound disturbingly like her younger sister "while I was pressed inside you. I could wear the boots and the bracelets, that whole outfit you put together to control others when you played your little games, while I'm letting my whip kiss you to make you jump higher."
"It may be a little stretched," Mark said with a wicked smirk and a gesture at his breasts and hips, that ended with him resting his hands on his hips, back arched slightly.
Aerael opened her eyes and focussed on him. "Yeah, I guess you are a little more big boned as a girl than I am. Don't try and out bitch me, Markkas, I've got a lot more practise at it than you." She looked at the dress again. "Though maybe I should save it for a special occasion. I could wear it to the next board meeting. Wouldn't that be fun?" She waved a hand at him, almost shooing him into the bathroom. "Never mind. You can start thinking about your routine while I slip into something a little less comfortable."
***
"Breath, Mark," Aerael said, more than a little smug at the reaction her outfit had caused.
Mark took a deep breath and tried to regain his dignity, with about as much success as someone in a too tight cheerleading costume confronted with a vision in red leather normally has.
Sometimes things were traditional for a reason. Tight, dark red leather- the colour blood wasn't, but should be- red lipstick, thigh matching leather boots that started where the dress stopped, and long red leather gloves that took over from the sleeves, tiny leather buttons along the back of them that made them look like something a Victorian pornographer with a leather fetish might have thought up. Skin showed in rings on her thighs and upper arms when she moved and when she turned around, Mark could the dress covered as much of her back as was possible without impeding the freedom of her wings, so her lower back and from above her shoulder blades were covered as well, with the same Victorian style leather button marching across her spine. He had no idea how she managed to do up those buttons, and suffered a moments regret that she hadn't let him help her.
"Very impressive, Aerael. You couldn't have found something like that for me to wear," he said.
"I think putting you in an outfit like this would have given you the wrong idea about your role tonight," Aerael said. The heels have her a good few inches on Mark and her wings made her seem even taller. A familiar red whip was tucked into a loop at her waist and the end of it dragged on the ground as she strolled towards him.
"Normally, I'd like you in handcuffs or chained up at this point," she said. "But I think it'd be hard for you to cheer if you're tied spread-eagle on the bed, so I've come up with something else." She held up a long, delicate chain. "Something to give you the feeling of being tied up, but that won't you stop you making the splits."
They were thin chains, small enough that they could have been mistaken for a necklace. Aerael knelt down and started to wrap them around Markkas's leg, crossing them under his foot so every time he stepped down he felt them, not damaging but painful. Across the calf, just tight enough to dig in, up the thigh and she tied the ends there. Aerael grinned up at Mark and let her fingers drift to between her thighs, just a light stroke that was enough to make Mark clamp his thighs together, trying to hold her hand there.
But Aerael was stronger than him and pulled her hand away. "Naughty, naughty," she said, wagging a finger. She put her hand to her mouth and licked the leather-clad tips of two fingers. The sight sent jolt right through Mark and his hand went out to touch Aerael. She pulled back at the last moment, getting to her feet in a smooth, perfect movement, wings outstretched for balance.
"You're not getting out of it that easily," Aerael said. "Though you do make it tempting." She took another chain and started wrapping it around his arm, making sure it was tight enough to bite into the muscle. "Now let me finish getting you ready."
The chains were cold and it dug into his skin. Where they crossed his chest, the outline was visible through the thin fabric, even more so when he breathed. Against it, his flesh looked softer and when he moved it, the imprint was left in his skin like a brand or an etching, as if a little bit of himself had been carved out wherever Aerael had wrapped that thin chain around him. And wasn't that a nice thought, something to bring a smile to his face, even if Aerael was being over cautious.
"The finishing touch," Aerael said, holding out her hand. Mark had forgotten he was still holding the nipple clamps until Aerael took them from him. She pushed down Mark's neckline and Clipped on the first one, the outstretched legs of the beetle pinching Mark's nipple, before repeating the action on his other breast. Ever the perfectionist, he fiddled about, adjusting the tightness, until Mark was breathing heavily and in danger of coming, leaning against Aerael. Aerael looked at him, almost surprised. "A little hair-trigger today, aren't we Markkas?"
The burn was instant, a line of fire across his back. It made him jump and arch his back, and that made the chains dig in and the ones across his chest… oh, that was good. The pain from the whip spread across his body like it was being routed through the chains.
"Go team, go!" He said, his attempt at sarcasm someone lessened by his heavy breathing."
"You can do better than that," Aerael said. Another flick of the whip, across the tops of his thighs and this time he kicked one up while he ransacked his brain for suitable cheerleader chants.
"Two, four six and a quarter, how many will we slaughter!"
Across his arms now, and he raised the pom-poms. "Oh Micky, what a pity, you don't understand, I'll tear out your heart and hold it in my hand."
"That's better," Aerael said. "Try a few kicks. Or do you think you can manage the splits?"
If he spread his legs wider, the chain would tighten across them. Every time he jumped, he- bounced, his breasts just feeling heavier and heavier and the top was stretchy and gave some support, but not enough. The exertion was making him breath harder, so the chains bit in more and Aerael was just looking at him, eyes hungry and pleased and calculating, and really, it was a surprise when he lost his grip on a pom-pom and it went flying across the room.
"Really, what was that?" Aerael said, tapping the whip against the palm of her hand. "No control and there was a distinct lack of pep in that last cheer. And take the top off," she added, almost as an afterthought.
Mark did, and then wondered what to do with his arms. Part of him wanted to flaunt his assets, breathe in deeply, stomach in, chest out, because they were something to be proud of, something he wanted noticed. At the same time, part of him wanted to cross him arms over them and hunch his back, so they were a less obvious target. He wanted to know what Aerael's whip would feel like against them, but body-deep instincts were telling him not to make himself more vulnerable, not to invite damage. He settled for laying his fingers in his lap, almost demurely.
His back must have made a wonderful target by itself.
It hurt, a different kind of pain to the spanking, and it could have been impersonal- he'd felt the whip often enough to know the distance it could give, compared to the skin-to-skin contact of a slap- but Aerael made every touch feel like a kiss, like he was holding a lump of red-hot iron in his hands and was dragging it across Mark's back.
It broke the skin, maybe accidentally, maybe on purpose, but the smell of blood- his own blood, but not- brought warring instincts out. Part of him said he should fight back, or at least run, do something to stop that danger. He'd seen humans whipped to death before and knew how little it could take, and blood loss or infection or just the pain could send them into death's waiting arms. At the same time he wanted to offer it to Aerael as a gift, wanted to swallow it down himself. It smelt like every kind of hunger, promised every kind of satiation.
Whether the first time was accidental or not, the second was deliberate. An expect hand brought the whip down the middle of his back, just below where his wings normally started from. He arched his back and gave a cry that another might have mistaken for pain. Again and again and there was the very human sense of vulnerability, the way the blood smelt bad/good at the same time, body instincts warring with the part of him that wanted to roll in it. He couldn't read Aerael's mind, but he could feel the heavy press of her glamour like a physical thing, telling him how much Aerael wanted him, how beautiful she found him like this, on his knees and with bleeding back. His hand started to move, entirely of their own volition. He spread his legs to get better access, only to be stopped by the sudden feel of constriction.
Aerael, in a move Indian Jones would have been proud of, had wrapped the whip around his neck. His hands immediately went up to pull it away, panicking at not being able to breathe. "Not until I say so," Aerael hissed. "Understand."
He nodded, getting the whip loose. "Yes, Aerael, just please, please..."
And then Aerael was in front of him, kneeling down so their eyes were level and she kissed him, her mouth soft and sweet while he hands held his shoulders steady, pressing down against the open wounds. Her wings folded around them both, so he was surrounded by the scent of her.
She pushed herself away to smile at Mark. "So, do you want to go out and find some substitute now?" Aerael purred. "Maybe I should leave you and you could see if the boys at the bar are still there."
"What? Aerael, no, please." Mark said, trying to pull her back down.
"No? Are you sure?" Aerael said, the innocence in her voice absolutely belied by the smug satisfaction in her eyes. "What will you do to make up for the inconvenience of me having to go out and find you at the bar, offering someone else what I get the first go on."
"Anything, yours," he said, making mindless promises, and meaning them with utter sincerity in that second. She was beautiful and wonderful and cruel in the best possible way, and everything he'd ever needed or wanted, right there in that moment.
She pushed him back on the floor, almost gently, and hovered over him for a second. His hands swept over her, trying to find places to touch skin, reaching up under her skirt, stroking the place where her wings joined her back, trying to get to skin. His fingers felt clumsy and his nails too soft to tear through the leather, and he couldn't stop kissing Aerael long enough to tell her to strip. Aerael broke the kiss and started to move purposefully down his body and oh fuck, yes, that was good. Clever girl, clever Aerael with a wonderful mouth and the thought him that Aerael didn't need whips to make him scream, not when she could do it with that clever mouth and the threat of moving away. She slung his legs over shoulders and knelt up, the angle off and uncomfortable, pushing his upper back and shoulders hard against the floor so the cuts and bruises there were rubbing against the wood and the chain cutting felt like it was being pressed into the bone. And Aerael was stronger than him, strong enough to hold him in place while she worked to find a good angle. She held one leg, used that to manoeuvre him about like a doll, and then she found it, found a the perfect angle and oh fuck, yes, there...
In the afterglow, he was barely aware when Aerael half-pushed, half-threw him onto the bed.
***
Bonnie sat cross-legged and upside down in her bedroom, drumming her fingers against her thigh as she scowled at the mirror showing Aerael and Mark. She tilted her head to the side, trying to follow the action. Did she accidentally give Mark and extra pair hands or something, because they seemed to be all over Aerael.
Bonnie pouted. "I try and I try, but that boy seems immune to punishments." She waved a hand and was briefly amused by Aerael and Mark's reaction to the sudden change in body. That couldn't have been comfortable, but wow, they sure adjusted quickly.
All she'd wanted was to give Mark a little taste of vulnerability. A little taste of what it was like to be helpless and vulnerable, and yeah, maybe whips and chains had entered her mind but the SOB was not supposed to enjoy it. She crossed her arms as Aerael turned Mark over and brought him up to his knees.
"Okay, that's it. Next time I do this, the boy is ovulating."
end.
[edited for my complete inability to put cut tags in]
"As interesting as that sounds," Mark said, his eyes fixed on Aerael's hand, "you must know that's not going to happen."
Aerael shook his hand and let Mark listen to the sound of little bits of metal crashing against each other. "Oh, I think you underestimate yourself, Beautiful."
Oh. That was nice
"There's not enough space," Mark said, reaching for a practical reason since it didn't look like his will power was up to a personal one.
Aerael shrugged and walked over to Mark. He undid one cuff and snapped it around Mark's other wrist, like a double bracelet, then held Mark's hand palm up and dropped a something into it. "Put these on," he said, bending down to get a good hold on the bed. The four-poster deal looked good, and it was convenient having something to tie Mark up against, but it made the bed bulky and awkward to move. The weight wasn't a problem, just the difficulty in getting the balance right. He picked up the bed and walked with it to the side of the room, setting it down out of the way and incidentally blocking the door.
"You'll need to move the chest of drawers too," Mark said.
* * *
Mark licked his lips as Aerael strained , lifting the bed up. There was something deeply satisfying about watching Aerael do simple physical labour, muscles flexing, brow furrowed with concentration. He had a sudden urge to jump Aerael, club him over the head, drag him back to his home and chain him to a wall. It was so strong he wondered if Aerael was letting his glamour slip again, but Aerael lifted a chest of drawers over his shoulder and Mark lost his train of thought at the sight of Aerael's biceps at work.
"The nipple clamps, Markkas," Aerael said, the laughter in his voice enough to break Mark out of his trance. "What's the matter, you forgotten how they work?"
Mark looked down at his hand, seeing the thin metal chain linking the two pretty beetle-shaped clamps. "My apologies, Aerael. I was distracted." He scowled at himself. "This body has different wiring to my own," Mark said. "Different instincts, different appetites, and it's not particularly subtle about it."
"Sure you're not just putting off the inevitable?" Aerael said. "You're making this much fuss about the clamps, and we haven't even got to the pom-poms yet."
"Pom-poms," Mark said blanching. "Sweet chaos, Aerael, you cannot honestly expect me…"
"Oh, I can," Aerael said. "But maybe you need a little incentive." He walked over to the small pile of Mark's clothing and picked up the dress, smoothing the creases with one loving palm. He held it up against himself, and in a puff of smoke he was she. "I kind of like the idea of wearing it now," she said almost dreamily. "My dress that you wore tonight, at the bar when you were picking up men to piss me off-"
"That's not why I-"
"And you were still wearing it when I fucked you," she said, going on like she didn't even hear him. Her fingers danced over the neckline. "You were pressed inside it while I was," she broke off with a giggle that made her sound disturbingly like her younger sister "while I was pressed inside you. I could wear the boots and the bracelets, that whole outfit you put together to control others when you played your little games, while I'm letting my whip kiss you to make you jump higher."
"It may be a little stretched," Mark said with a wicked smirk and a gesture at his breasts and hips, that ended with him resting his hands on his hips, back arched slightly.
Aerael opened her eyes and focussed on him. "Yeah, I guess you are a little more big boned as a girl than I am. Don't try and out bitch me, Markkas, I've got a lot more practise at it than you." She looked at the dress again. "Though maybe I should save it for a special occasion. I could wear it to the next board meeting. Wouldn't that be fun?" She waved a hand at him, almost shooing him into the bathroom. "Never mind. You can start thinking about your routine while I slip into something a little less comfortable."
***
"Breath, Mark," Aerael said, more than a little smug at the reaction her outfit had caused.
Mark took a deep breath and tried to regain his dignity, with about as much success as someone in a too tight cheerleading costume confronted with a vision in red leather normally has.
Sometimes things were traditional for a reason. Tight, dark red leather- the colour blood wasn't, but should be- red lipstick, thigh matching leather boots that started where the dress stopped, and long red leather gloves that took over from the sleeves, tiny leather buttons along the back of them that made them look like something a Victorian pornographer with a leather fetish might have thought up. Skin showed in rings on her thighs and upper arms when she moved and when she turned around, Mark could the dress covered as much of her back as was possible without impeding the freedom of her wings, so her lower back and from above her shoulder blades were covered as well, with the same Victorian style leather button marching across her spine. He had no idea how she managed to do up those buttons, and suffered a moments regret that she hadn't let him help her.
"Very impressive, Aerael. You couldn't have found something like that for me to wear," he said.
"I think putting you in an outfit like this would have given you the wrong idea about your role tonight," Aerael said. The heels have her a good few inches on Mark and her wings made her seem even taller. A familiar red whip was tucked into a loop at her waist and the end of it dragged on the ground as she strolled towards him.
"Normally, I'd like you in handcuffs or chained up at this point," she said. "But I think it'd be hard for you to cheer if you're tied spread-eagle on the bed, so I've come up with something else." She held up a long, delicate chain. "Something to give you the feeling of being tied up, but that won't you stop you making the splits."
They were thin chains, small enough that they could have been mistaken for a necklace. Aerael knelt down and started to wrap them around Markkas's leg, crossing them under his foot so every time he stepped down he felt them, not damaging but painful. Across the calf, just tight enough to dig in, up the thigh and she tied the ends there. Aerael grinned up at Mark and let her fingers drift to between her thighs, just a light stroke that was enough to make Mark clamp his thighs together, trying to hold her hand there.
But Aerael was stronger than him and pulled her hand away. "Naughty, naughty," she said, wagging a finger. She put her hand to her mouth and licked the leather-clad tips of two fingers. The sight sent jolt right through Mark and his hand went out to touch Aerael. She pulled back at the last moment, getting to her feet in a smooth, perfect movement, wings outstretched for balance.
"You're not getting out of it that easily," Aerael said. "Though you do make it tempting." She took another chain and started wrapping it around his arm, making sure it was tight enough to bite into the muscle. "Now let me finish getting you ready."
The chains were cold and it dug into his skin. Where they crossed his chest, the outline was visible through the thin fabric, even more so when he breathed. Against it, his flesh looked softer and when he moved it, the imprint was left in his skin like a brand or an etching, as if a little bit of himself had been carved out wherever Aerael had wrapped that thin chain around him. And wasn't that a nice thought, something to bring a smile to his face, even if Aerael was being over cautious.
"The finishing touch," Aerael said, holding out her hand. Mark had forgotten he was still holding the nipple clamps until Aerael took them from him. She pushed down Mark's neckline and Clipped on the first one, the outstretched legs of the beetle pinching Mark's nipple, before repeating the action on his other breast. Ever the perfectionist, he fiddled about, adjusting the tightness, until Mark was breathing heavily and in danger of coming, leaning against Aerael. Aerael looked at him, almost surprised. "A little hair-trigger today, aren't we Markkas?"
The burn was instant, a line of fire across his back. It made him jump and arch his back, and that made the chains dig in and the ones across his chest… oh, that was good. The pain from the whip spread across his body like it was being routed through the chains.
"Go team, go!" He said, his attempt at sarcasm someone lessened by his heavy breathing."
"You can do better than that," Aerael said. Another flick of the whip, across the tops of his thighs and this time he kicked one up while he ransacked his brain for suitable cheerleader chants.
"Two, four six and a quarter, how many will we slaughter!"
Across his arms now, and he raised the pom-poms. "Oh Micky, what a pity, you don't understand, I'll tear out your heart and hold it in my hand."
"That's better," Aerael said. "Try a few kicks. Or do you think you can manage the splits?"
If he spread his legs wider, the chain would tighten across them. Every time he jumped, he- bounced, his breasts just feeling heavier and heavier and the top was stretchy and gave some support, but not enough. The exertion was making him breath harder, so the chains bit in more and Aerael was just looking at him, eyes hungry and pleased and calculating, and really, it was a surprise when he lost his grip on a pom-pom and it went flying across the room.
"Really, what was that?" Aerael said, tapping the whip against the palm of her hand. "No control and there was a distinct lack of pep in that last cheer. And take the top off," she added, almost as an afterthought.
Mark did, and then wondered what to do with his arms. Part of him wanted to flaunt his assets, breathe in deeply, stomach in, chest out, because they were something to be proud of, something he wanted noticed. At the same time, part of him wanted to cross him arms over them and hunch his back, so they were a less obvious target. He wanted to know what Aerael's whip would feel like against them, but body-deep instincts were telling him not to make himself more vulnerable, not to invite damage. He settled for laying his fingers in his lap, almost demurely.
His back must have made a wonderful target by itself.
It hurt, a different kind of pain to the spanking, and it could have been impersonal- he'd felt the whip often enough to know the distance it could give, compared to the skin-to-skin contact of a slap- but Aerael made every touch feel like a kiss, like he was holding a lump of red-hot iron in his hands and was dragging it across Mark's back.
It broke the skin, maybe accidentally, maybe on purpose, but the smell of blood- his own blood, but not- brought warring instincts out. Part of him said he should fight back, or at least run, do something to stop that danger. He'd seen humans whipped to death before and knew how little it could take, and blood loss or infection or just the pain could send them into death's waiting arms. At the same time he wanted to offer it to Aerael as a gift, wanted to swallow it down himself. It smelt like every kind of hunger, promised every kind of satiation.
Whether the first time was accidental or not, the second was deliberate. An expect hand brought the whip down the middle of his back, just below where his wings normally started from. He arched his back and gave a cry that another might have mistaken for pain. Again and again and there was the very human sense of vulnerability, the way the blood smelt bad/good at the same time, body instincts warring with the part of him that wanted to roll in it. He couldn't read Aerael's mind, but he could feel the heavy press of her glamour like a physical thing, telling him how much Aerael wanted him, how beautiful she found him like this, on his knees and with bleeding back. His hand started to move, entirely of their own volition. He spread his legs to get better access, only to be stopped by the sudden feel of constriction.
Aerael, in a move Indian Jones would have been proud of, had wrapped the whip around his neck. His hands immediately went up to pull it away, panicking at not being able to breathe. "Not until I say so," Aerael hissed. "Understand."
He nodded, getting the whip loose. "Yes, Aerael, just please, please..."
And then Aerael was in front of him, kneeling down so their eyes were level and she kissed him, her mouth soft and sweet while he hands held his shoulders steady, pressing down against the open wounds. Her wings folded around them both, so he was surrounded by the scent of her.
She pushed herself away to smile at Mark. "So, do you want to go out and find some substitute now?" Aerael purred. "Maybe I should leave you and you could see if the boys at the bar are still there."
"What? Aerael, no, please." Mark said, trying to pull her back down.
"No? Are you sure?" Aerael said, the innocence in her voice absolutely belied by the smug satisfaction in her eyes. "What will you do to make up for the inconvenience of me having to go out and find you at the bar, offering someone else what I get the first go on."
"Anything, yours," he said, making mindless promises, and meaning them with utter sincerity in that second. She was beautiful and wonderful and cruel in the best possible way, and everything he'd ever needed or wanted, right there in that moment.
She pushed him back on the floor, almost gently, and hovered over him for a second. His hands swept over her, trying to find places to touch skin, reaching up under her skirt, stroking the place where her wings joined her back, trying to get to skin. His fingers felt clumsy and his nails too soft to tear through the leather, and he couldn't stop kissing Aerael long enough to tell her to strip. Aerael broke the kiss and started to move purposefully down his body and oh fuck, yes, that was good. Clever girl, clever Aerael with a wonderful mouth and the thought him that Aerael didn't need whips to make him scream, not when she could do it with that clever mouth and the threat of moving away. She slung his legs over shoulders and knelt up, the angle off and uncomfortable, pushing his upper back and shoulders hard against the floor so the cuts and bruises there were rubbing against the wood and the chain cutting felt like it was being pressed into the bone. And Aerael was stronger than him, strong enough to hold him in place while she worked to find a good angle. She held one leg, used that to manoeuvre him about like a doll, and then she found it, found a the perfect angle and oh fuck, yes, there...
In the afterglow, he was barely aware when Aerael half-pushed, half-threw him onto the bed.
***
Bonnie sat cross-legged and upside down in her bedroom, drumming her fingers against her thigh as she scowled at the mirror showing Aerael and Mark. She tilted her head to the side, trying to follow the action. Did she accidentally give Mark and extra pair hands or something, because they seemed to be all over Aerael.
Bonnie pouted. "I try and I try, but that boy seems immune to punishments." She waved a hand and was briefly amused by Aerael and Mark's reaction to the sudden change in body. That couldn't have been comfortable, but wow, they sure adjusted quickly.
All she'd wanted was to give Mark a little taste of vulnerability. A little taste of what it was like to be helpless and vulnerable, and yeah, maybe whips and chains had entered her mind but the SOB was not supposed to enjoy it. She crossed her arms as Aerael turned Mark over and brought him up to his knees.
"Okay, that's it. Next time I do this, the boy is ovulating."
end.
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no subject
Date: 2003-05-18 11:33 am (UTC)that was beyond lovely. and really hot. and mark has the luck of the devil.
and i love your forays into their minds and motivations and the games they play, which is, of course, the heart of what makes mark and aerael work, and what i love so much about those two.
kudos to you. that was excellent, excellent work. i couldn't have done it any better. *now wants to go back and read it all over, from the beginning.*
no subject
Date: 2003-05-18 12:28 pm (UTC)