Log in

No account? Create an account


FIC, AU HKVerse 4, Mark Lutz/Miranda Otto; "Spicy Salad" (NC-17)

« previous entry | next entry »
Oct. 24th, 2004 | 11:34 am

Title: "Hong Kong 4: Spicy Salad"
Fandom: Actorslash, Alternate Universe (Hong Kong-verse)
Pairing: Miranda Otto / Mark Lutz
Authors: zillah975 & msilverstar
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dinner, denial, discipline.
Disclaimer: Not true: we made it up
Warnings: Mild D/s, paddling

Series: (Really AU) Miranda's a travel writer, Mark's a photographer, they meet in Hong Kong, and get along from the start.
Feedback: Please! And constructive criticism of all kinds. Anyone who knows Hong Kong and wants to correct us, we'd love that.
Archive: Generally OK, but notification required - send email to archive at msilverstar dot com.
Notes: We wanted to collaborate on writing kinky sex. So we decided to start with two characters from an RPG and send them off into an AU. We're enjoying it so far.

Spicy Salad

(for more, see hkverse)

Vin's just out of the shower when the phone rings, and he answers distractedly, hitching his towel around his hips as he heads towards the little kitchette to make coffee.

Low voice on the other end of the line, a soft purr. "What are you wearing?"

Vin laughs. "A hotel towel and a smile," he answers. "What about you?"

Grinning, Mark leans back in the chair, picturing his lover easily. "Jeans and your blue polo shirt. The one with the little hole in the shoulder seam."

"I thought I got rid of that one," Vin says as he reaches for the filters.

"You tried," Mark answers. "I rescued it. I like this one."

Vin chuckles, shaking his head. "So how are things in Hong Kong?" he asks.

"Good," Mark answers. "Great, 'cept for missing you. Hey, I met a girl."

"Yeah?" Vin starts measuring out the coffee. "Tell me."

Smiling, Mark glances towards the still un-made bed. "She's a travel writer," he says. "Smart, pretty as a late summer sky, and I don't know if she was more shocked that she let me spank her at all or that she liked it."

"Yeah?" Vin's cock stirs at the image of some pretty girl over his lover's lap. "She, uh -- reluctant?"

Mark shrugs. "Yeah, she was at first, I think. Was sort of surprised -- I mean, it's one of those times when she said 'stop' so fast I wondered if there was something going on in her head about it, something more than just 'I don't dig spankings.' But then she was into it." He finds the little hole in the seam and slips his finger into it, tugging gently. "Then afterwards it was like she was a little -- I dunno, not freaked out exactly. But that was just this morning, and she's already called, going to come over and make dinner. I really thought she was going to get cold feet, make me track her down in a day or two and try to talk her into letting me see her again."

"Nah, it's your natural charm, lover," Vin says with a grin. "Who could resist that forty-thousand watt smile?"

"You did," Mark laughs.

Vin can't help laughing with him. "Only 'cause I knew you were going to turn up eventually. You barely beat the deadline, though -- if you hadn't called in another day or two I was gonna find your ass and haul you back home with me whether you liked it or not."

Mark chuckles through the shiver he feels at his lover's words. "Shoulda waited. That sounds like fun."

"I can still arrange it," Vin says with a smirk.

"Get your butt home first," Mark answers affectionately. "Miss you, asshole."

Vin smiles. "Miss you too."

"See you Saturday."

"Meeting the plane?"

"Oh, hell yes."

"Bringing your girl?"

"Want me to?"

Vin chuckles. "Want you to bring a limo big enough for you to be on your knees for me before we get out of the parking lot. Other than that, whatever makes you happy."

"All right then," Mark says, grinning.

Mark's gotten the bed made, the kitchen cleaned, and the rest of the house tidy by the time Miranda's due to arrive. He hadn't known what she'd be making, so there's a Spanish Pinot Grigio chilling and a Chilean Cabernet open on the counter, and he's showered and changed into clean jeans and a white cotton shirt of his own. He's leaning against the counter beside the cabernet, and except for not moving it looks for all the world like he's pacing. He glances at the clock just as the doorbell rings, and with a grin he goes to answer it.

Miranda feels every metre of the journey from the lobby to the penthouse floor. She lets go of the outside world and feels her sensual self taking over. She wants Mark's hands so much, his mouth, his cock -- his attention, really. With a deep breath and a last swipe of lipstick, she gets out of the elevator, and knocks at the door of the flat.

Mark's just glancing at the time when he hears the knock, and he goes to answer it, wiping his palms on his jeans before opening the door wide. Miranda's there, all honey hair and sugar skin, and he smiles, drawing her inside and ghosting a kiss over her lips. "Hey, gorgeous," he says. "You look edible. How was the meeting?"

She supposes "So eat me?" is not the right answer, but it's tempting. "The meeting was boring. I was," and she squirms a little in her jeans, feeling the marks he's left on her arse, "distracted." Her arms are full of shopping, so she just gets closer and puts her mouth up for more kissing.

"Distracted, huh?" Mark murmurs, smiling against her lips as he kisses her and taking the bags from her arms. "What were you thinking about?"

"You," Miranda wraps her arms around his waist and snugs in close. "The things you do." She lets him put the packages on the counter. "The things you make me want." And she can't stop herself, she goes on tiptoes and kisses him full-on, trying to show how much she wants.

Mark teases his hands under Miranda's camisole just enough to touch skin, deepening the kiss for a long moment before he nibbles her lower lip and asks, "Anything in those bags need to go in the fridge?"

Oh god, her knees go weak and she can't breathe for a moment. "Um, the chicken had better stay cold." Last thing she wants is one of those weird bird diseases. She reaches over to find that package, and the papaya and veggies, and turns to find his refrigerator.

Mark watches Mir get the items tucked away, smiling at the way she moves, graceful bordering on gangly as she finds the right bag, looks for room in the fridge to put it. "So what are we having?" he asks, intrigued by the papaya. "I mean if we get as far as dinner, that is," and he feels a little twist of anticipation, imagining her naked, kneeling, eating from his hand. Oh, getting ahead of yourself much? he thinks, and swallows the laugh.

"It's so hot today, I was thinking of a tom sum salad with the chicken. " His second clause sinks in, and something about the way he says that makes her slightly shaky. She looks at him, suddenly shy, "we could eat after?"

His smile broadens and he meets her eyes, cocks his head a little to the side. "Hungry for something else, pet?" he murmurs. "A little appetizer, maybe?"

Miranda doesn't know what he plans and she doesn't really care. Her voice trembles when she answers, "Whatever you want," but she means it.

"Whatever I want?" Mark says, pulling Mir close and meeting her eyes. "I want an awful lot, gorgeous. You sure you wanna say that?" He dips his head to ghost a kiss across her lips, and the way she feels in his arms is a goad, makes him want too much, too fast, and he knows it. He forces himself to give her another path to take, if she wants it, says with a little smile, "You sure you wouldn't rather tell me what you want?"

The way he says that makes Miranda shiver. "I don't know," she says honestly, "don't know what I want, but I like what you do to me." The last part comes out a bit strained. "Just... go slow with me?"

Mark takes a little mental breath. It's hard to know what's "slow" to someone when they don't themselves know what they want, and he knows he's taking a risk if he pretends he can figure out what she wants before she does, no matter how great the fantasy is.

He kisses her again, gently. "We're going to have to learn it together, Miranda," he says. "I've been at this for almost twenty years, yeah, but I've not even known you two days yet, and what's slow hot and perfect to one person is way too fast to another." He strokes her hair back from her face, smiling a little. "And I think, gorgeous, that you've said 'no', or something close to it, to things it turned out you just meant, 'I'm scared.' Am I right?"

Miranda's nodding agreement with his first point about slowness. But not the second, "I don't think so, I don't think I ever said 'no' without really meaning 'stop this very second!'" She thinks about it, all that groping and snogging before she knew what was what. And even since, she's been so careful and self protective and chosen men who didn't push too hard, and maybe she's a bit tired of that. "I know I've been lucky, maybe sometimes I should have said 'no', but I didn't, and nothing bad happened beyond boredom."

"Even this morning?" Mark presses gently. "You told me to stop -- would you rather I had just stopped, right there, hadn't pushed you a little on that?"

"Oh!" This is good, they're clarifying terms. "See, I think you did stop, we talked about it. If you'd kept on doing it," and her voice gets low and trembly, "erm, spanking me," and strong again, "if you'd not stopped, it would have been awful. But you did and it was incredible."

Mark isn't a bit sure that they're not talking about exactly the same thing, but he's not going to get into a debate over semantics. "Okay," he says, nodding. "If you're serious about wanting this, the first thing I'm going to do is give you two words, one that means 'slow down, let's talk,' and one that means 'stop now,' all right? Stoplights. Yellow for slow, and red for stop. And just for the sake of completeness," he adds with a grin, "green for keep going. Okay?"

He seems to know what's what, so Miranda nods. "All right," and she leans into him, dragging her fingers up his arms, feeling her nipples harden. "Right now, the light is bright bright green." Just saying that makes her hot. She wonders what he'll do to her, and that makes her blush, because she's not sheltered and she's suddenly realizing that the people with the black leather cuffs and riding crops may have been on to something that she's been missing.

Mark likes the sound of that, and slides his hands up to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples through the light cotton and smiling to find they're already hard. "Take this off for me," he murmurs, squeezing gently and then stroking his hands down her sides to tease up under her shirt. "Then get me an ice cube from the freezer."

She leans into his hands, breathing a bit harder and then starts at his order. It's sexy to be commanded like that. She looks at him through her lashes as she unbuttons the camisole, teasing a little with her fingers down her front and then drawing it over her arms slowly. Exposing herself is more of a turn-on than she ever expected, and she's totally (if conveniently) forgotten the second part of the order.

"Good girl," Mark purrs, "god, so beautiful," skimming his thumbs over the tips of her nipples, fingernails on the swell of her breasts. "Now, the ice, gorgeous," he says, brushing her hair back.

"Oh!" Miranda responds faintly. She doesn't really want to leave him, or to play with ice, but she finds herself so eager for his approval that it seems a small thing. She turns reluctantly, and opens the freezer, shivering as the cold blast touches her bare skin. There are ice cubes in a tub, so she reaches for one and brings it out, juggling it from hand to hand as she takes it back to Mark. "Here," she offers it to him, wondering what will happen next.

Mark takes the ice, draws Miranda's fingers to his lips and licks the trace of moisture from them, watching her eyes. "Hold your hair up for me," he murmurs, and touches the ice to her neck, trails it slowly towards the hollow of her throat.

The temperature is just right, even with the air conditioning. It's nice on her bare torso, which is suddenly warm and a bit damp. Miranda slowly raises her arms and lifts the weight of her hair, holding her head high for Mark.

Slipping his arm around Miranda's waist, Mark pulls her close, slicking the ice along the curve of her collarbone. He dips his head to kiss her, heat of her mouth as he cups the cube in his palm and circles it under the swell of her breast, parts her lips with his tongue and teases the ice up over the stiff little nub of her nipple.

Miranda hisses at the cold, so intense it burns a little. She moans into Mark's hot kiss and waits for the next thing to happen.

"Good girl, just like that," Mark murmurs, breaking the kiss to turn Miranda, sliding around her body to press his lips to the back of her neck, scrape of teeth on skin as he slides the ice down over her stomach, little circles around the sweet indentation of her navel as he pops open the top button of her jeans, eases the zipper down. Her heat is melting the ice, little rivulets beginning to form, and cupping it against her skin he eases his hand lower, fingers threading through soft curls to skim over her clit, nestle into the folds of her pussy.

"Oh god," Miranda feels so exposed, so concentrated on square inches of her body that she can't think. The echo of cold lingers on her nipple for ages, and when Mark draws the ice down over her stomach, she whimpers, then, worried that he'll stop, whispers, "It's good, ohhhh." Her arms reach around Mark's shoulders behind her, wanting to touch him somehow, which turns into clutching when he keeps going, faster than she ever expected. But she doesn't want it to stop: she opens for him, for his fingers and the ice they carry.

Mark smiles against Miranda's cheek, loving the way the flesh of her pussy, her clit, is swelling with her arousal, wet and hot, and he glides lower, the ice slipping over her mound as he pushes his fingers inside her. "Such a good girl," he whispers, teeth on her ear, his other hand cupping her breast and capturing her nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently. He pushes against her, his hard length pressed to the denim-covered cleft of her ass. "Such a hot girl."

Miranda is surprised at how much she loves it when Mark praises her. She wants, desperately, to make him happy. The way he takes possession of her body is incredibly sexy, and she wonders again how far she'll go for him. "Feels so good," she tries to keep her voice steady as she moves with his hands, his mouth, his cock pushing against her, but it comes out more needy than passionate. "Oh, yes, oh please," she doesn't know what she's asking for except more of this.

"You make me want you so much," Mark growls softly, pressing against her and into her, letting the ice slip lower. "The way you move for me, the way you give me control," breath ghosting over her skin. "Love it when you're a good girl for me," and he nips her ear softly, driving his fingers deeper while he takes the ice in his other hand, trails it back up her body. "Loved spanking you like a bad girl, too," he murmurs with a teasing grin, "your whimpers, watching your skin turn pink and hot, the way you squirmed for me. God, so fucking hot."

Oh fuck this is too much, "Mark, oh bloody hell!" Miranda's bloody writhing under his hands. His words light her up like a roman candle, 'good girl' and 'bad girl' and she never knew. Her body's responding too, she's going to explode in a second, if she's lucky, pushing against her pussy against his hand and grinding against him.

"Greedy," Mark purrs, heel of his hand against her clit and he circles her nipple with the ice, lips and teeth tracing the curve of her ear. "Me too. I want to fuck you, so bad. Christ Miranda, want fucking everything," pulling her hard against him. "But you know what I want most right now, sweet girl?

"What?" It's a demand and a plea at the same time. "What do you want?" Mark grins. "I want to watch you in my kitchen," he murmurs, squeezing her nipple gently, "flushed and half-naked, while you cook for us," fingers teasing deeper into her pussy. "Want to keep you so hot you're squirming for me all through dinner. If you're a good girl, maybe I'll let you come for me while I'm feeding you, and then fuck you over the dining table. That's what I want most right now."

Miranda twists around to look at him, how the fuck can that be so hot? but it is. Mark's still holding her, still very much there, though disappointingly not touching her quite as intensely. Something about his attention, about the way he looks at her as though she's the most important sight in the world, makes her overwhelmingly eager to please him. "You like giving me orders," she says, she wants to hear him say it.

"Yes, I do," Mark says, matter-of-fact. "I like being in control, and I like it when you give me control."

"And you'll take care of me," Miranda looks at him, "make me feel good, if I do what you say." She thinks about it a moment, "make me make you feel good," and she can feel the flush in her her face -- it's all making her feel terribly randy.

"I'll make you feel good even if you don't do what I say," Mark says with a smile, leaning in to nip at her mouth. "Make you feel all kinds of things," he murmurs, "make you do all kinds of things that'll make both of us hot as the goddamned hinges of hell, whether you do what I say or not," and his smile broadened to a teasing grin. "It'll hurt less if you do what I say, though."

Miranda gasps a little. It had never occurred to her to disobey him, but now it's a wildly intriguing possibility. "Oh god." Her arse hurt enough to believe him, and she'll try to avoid more spankings for a while. But the whole thing is amazingly erotic and she is willing to go along for the way he makes her feel.

"Is that a yes?" Mark asks, skimming his hands down her torso.

She looks at him through her lashes, and smiles slowly, "Whatever you say, Mark." A hot tingle runs through her, her heart is beating like an Army drum and she can't quite get enough air when she breathes.

"Good girl," Mark says with a grin, and kisses her again, hands curving over her ass and squeezing affectionately. Then he reaches behind her and takes a pair of inlaid chopsticks from the case that rests on the counter. "I hope you don't mind," he says as he gathers her hair up in his hands, "but I want to get your beautiful hair out of the way of your absolutely gorgeous body," and with a few quick twists, he carefully secures her hair in a loose knot, trails his fingernails down her spine and up again, skimming over the back of her neck. "Now, what'd you say you're making?"

Mark's so good at this, so sure with his movements, it's a pleasure to give over to him. Miranda lets her hair be pinned, and leans into his touch, shivering at his fingernails on bare skin. She grins at his change of direction and says, mock-solemnly, "Thai-style papaya salad with grilled chicken, unless you're vegetarian of course. And I brought my favorite cucumber vinegar, and some of that Vietnamese hot pepper sauce, because I think you might like things spicy," that last said with a slightly snarky grin.

"Who, me?" Mark says with his most innocent smile. "Hmm, I wonder what that'd taste like licked off someone's luscious little body," he adds, smirking and reaching up to tweak her nipple. Not that he'd really do it -- not without testing on himself first, at least, to be sure it didn't burn in the bad way.

A little moan comes out of Miranda's mouth as she imagines it, could be incredibly good. She leans into Mark and twines around him a bit, needing to kiss him right now this instant.

Mark parts her lips, teasing his fingers inside the waist of her jeans as he teases his tongue into her mouth, kissing her softly at first, then harder, biting gently at her lips as the kiss turns claiming. Finally he pulls back, grinning, and swats her ass lightly. "You'll make me wanna strip you off entirely, make you cook naked for me, you keep that up."

Miranda jumps a bit, as her arse is still a little sore, and she frowns: this whole "make you" business is quite odd when they're not actually in the middle of sex. But it's early days and she likes most of what Mark does so much that she'll go along for now. She grins at him, says, "I think I should get started, then," and looking around the gleaming kitchen, "where are your knives?"

"Over here," Mark says, pointing her towards the wood block on the other side of the stove. "Cutting board here," he goes on, getting it down from where it hangs on the wall, "pans in the cabinet below the toaster."

Together they get everything assembled that Miranda will need, and Mark's having a hard time keeping his hands off her -- strokes the back of her neck as he passes behind her to reach for something, skims his hands over her waist while she gets the spices out, pauses to tuck a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. She's absolutely lovely, and the fact that she's doing this for him when he knows it's not anything she's done for anyone else, nothing she'd have seen herself doing before last night, is enough to make his chest ache with wanting her.

This salad is one of Miranda's favorite dishes, so after she starts the rice in his cooker, it's easy to pop the chicken in the oven to heat, and chop the papaya, carrots and lettuce with half her mind. She's not trying to make them perfect julienne. Good thing, too, because every light touch of Mark's hand wrenches her attention -- it's as though his hands are coated in hot sauce. She finds he does have some water chestnut, and chops that as well, along with a couple of the mildly spicy peppers. A quick request and Mark brings out a nice ceramic serving bowl where she can arrange the fresh stuff. She mixes the vinegar starter with some fresh cucumber, fetches the chicken, and pours it all together, hoping he likes it.

"Looks gorgeous," Mark says appreciatively. "Smells even better." He'd taken a moment to set the table while she'd been finishing up the salad, and he gets the wine from the chiller, then picks up the big bowl and gives her a little nudge with his shoulder, heading towards the dining table. "You're here," he says, prodding one chair lightly with his foot as he sets the bowl down. His own chair faces hers across the corner of the table, close enough to touch, turned so he can see her. "I'll pour if you'll serve," he says, grabbing the wine tool and flicking open the little knife, beginning to cut away the foil from the rim.

Miranda brings the rice, and spoons it out, then the salad and chicken. She shakes a bit of the hot pepper sauce on hers and puts the bottle where Mark can have it if he wants. She's content to wait for him to pour the wine, a bit surprised to notice that she has no shirt on, wondering what he thinks of her.

Mark sets Miranda's wine in front of her and settles himself in his chair, turning to her with a smile. "Here's to you, gorgeous," he says, raising his glass. "For indulging my perverted whims, and making this excellent dinner."

"And to you," Miranda smiles, answers clinking his glass with hers, "for having such very interesting perverted whims." Even saying that makes her shiver a little, and she realizes that she is enjoying catering to his whims more than she ever thought possible.

Laughing, Mark tips his glass towards Miranda's and drinks. "I'm glad you like them," he says as he sets the wine down. The first bite of salad is heavenly, but following Miranda's cue he adds a little of the hot sauce, which makes it that much better. "You've never done anything like that before?" he asks, glancing up and adding, "and the salad is fantastic, pet."

Taking a long drink of wine, Miranda smiles at his praise. "I've never, no. This kind of thing's always sounded odd and off-putting, but I think I've not met the right man."

"Yeah, I can see that," Mark says. "It's hard enough sometimes meeting someone you want to have as much as two conversations with, and when you factor in all the stuff that goes along with sex, let alone perverted sex," that last said with a grin, "hell, it's a miracle any of us ever do more then wank off to fantasies of that right person. Here," he says, taking a particularly succulent bit of chicken and holding it out to her. "Have a bite."

Miranda nods, agreeing with Mark's analysis and eating a bit herself. "Traveling, I often find fascinating people, but not many lovers. I don't know why. My traveling self, I expect." She leans over and snags the chicken off his fork, then lifts her glass to him again, and drinks some more. This day is too intense to be contemplated entirely soberly. She needs a bit of blurring around the edges.

The evening light is falling across the table, filtered through the blinds that half cover the windows, and it catches on the wine glasses, on the locks of Miranda's hair that have come loose from the knot, turns her skin to pale honey. Mark reaches over to tuck a strand behind her ear. "A person doesn't need many, I don't think," he says. "Just the right ones."

That's a fairly profound thing to say. Miranda pours herself another glass of wine, and drinks some. She eats some of the salad, more for fuel than anything else. "I hope we're right for each other, for a while at least."

"Me too," Mark says. "I think the trick is to not hope so hard that you wind up trying to make something right that isn't. You don't seem to me like someone who'd do that," he goes on thoughtfully, returning to his salad. "I've done it before, but not in a long time. It only takes a few train wrecks to get out of that habit," he says with a wry grin, spearing another little bite of chicken and offering it to her.

Miranda's not really ready to think about the philosophy of relationships. She smiles absently, snags the chicken and shakes some more hot pepper sauce on her own salad, needing a strong sensation right now.

"Put the fork down and come over here," Mark says quietly, scooting back from the table.

"Mmmm, hmmm," Miranda finishes her mouthful and, dreamlike, places her fork on the table and glides over to Mark.

"In my lap," Mark says, voice still low.

Without a second thought, Miranda slides onto his legs and drapes her arms around his neck, leaning on his shoulder.

"Good girl," Mark murmurs. He's a little surprised by how wordlessly compliant she is, but pleased by it as well, and he keeps his arm around her waist as he finds a bit of chicken in his salad and offers it to her between his fingers.

Miranda bites it daintily from his fingers, eats it, then licks his fingers clean. She's suddenly aware that she's bare on top, and finds it incredibly sexy to be on his lap like this. "I like this whim," she declares, a little cheeky.

"That's good," Mark says with a little smile. "I like having you eat from my hand." He takes another bit of chicken, wrapping it in some lettuce with papaya, and offers her that.

Oh, is that what this is? It seems right in an odd sexy way that makes her breasts tingle and her pussy clench. She feels like a pampered cat, and makes a little purring moan as she takes the next bit.

A few more bites like this, Mark's arm around Miranda's slim waist, and his fingers are getting slick with sauce. "Such a good girl," he murmurs, kissing her hair, and offers them to her. "Clean me up, pet," he says softly.

His fingers feel so good, she could take an hour just licking them. She's always liked hands -- her own are stroking his hair and shoulders -- but his are particularly nice. There's a hint of salt under the sweet-sour sauce, and a slight roughness to the pads of his fingers that's a wonderful sensation. She doesn't stop when his hand is clean, she just keeps licking, sucking, tonguing his palms and generally enjoying herself.

"Greedy girl," Mark says softly, ghosting his fingers over her cheek as she licks his palm. This one could make a lovely pet. Pretty red collar and all that blond hair. Little silver tag. He smiles at the image. "Still hungry, pet?" he asks, "or are you ready for something else?"

Miranda's had enough of the food, "I'm as ready as I'll be," she answers. She is, she's quiveringly eager for his next idea, already squirming a bit on his lap, wondering what he will do to her.

Stroking her hair back from her face, Mark leans close, kisses her cheek, her ear, her throat. "Such a sweet pet," he murmurs, beginning to unbutton his shirt, and he shifts them a bit, slides her off his lap and between his knees.

She stands between his legs, topless and exposed, but good. Miranda reaches for his shirt buttons, warmed by the heat of his body as she gets closer and closer. She shivers, but not with cold, at the whisper of his breath on her bare nipples, aching for something more. "Oh, Mark, please..."

"Please what, pet?" Mark asks, cupping one breast in his palm and grazing her nipple with his thumb, letting her get his shirt unbuttoned while he strokes his other hand over her stomach. He toys with the button of her jeans, murmurs, "What's my girl want?"

"Touch me?" She opens his shirt wide and slides her arms around him, loving the feeling of his skin. But she doesn't know what's meant to happen next and it's a bit confusing in this situation. "Let me make you feel good? I don't know, you tell me."

"Tell you what you want?" Mark says with a little smile, and he nods. "All right, pretty pet," he murmurs, and opens the button, slowly lowers the zipper of her jeans. "The first thing you want to do is take these off for me."

It wasn't quite what she meant, but oh god it's erotic. Miranda moans a little as she slides the jeans down her legs and off over her feet, then arching a little to show off the curve of her legs below her red silk underpants.

"Good girl," Mark says softly, tracing his finger the length of her thigh, slipping barely beneath the silk. "Now the rest."

It's easy, so easy, to obey his every word. She pushes the pants down, then lifts her legs so she can take them off entirely. She's not cold at all, though she's naked in front of him. Her palms are damp, her pussy is dripping, and her body's burning, yearning for more touch, more of his hands and mouth and cock and all. "Please, Mark..." she finds herself begging, "Please..." She sways close to him but doesn't quite dare lean on him, rub up against him, no matter how much she wants to. She's no idea how she came to be feeling like this, but it's so hot she won't fight it.

"Oh, such a good girl," Mark says with a smile. He can feel how much she wants him, how much she wants to touch him, and the way she's holding herself back sends a jolt of desire through him.

He wants to see her desperate and still doing what she's told.

He traces a line down her belly, threads his fingers through the soft curls of her pussy and begins to tease inside. "You're doing beautifully, pet," he murmurs, watching her face. She's flushed, a fine sheen of sweat making her skin glow in the warm light. "Keep still for me, now."

Miranda tries, she really tries. Her hands feel awkward, like clubs at the ends of her arms. And she's never done this before, never just stood and taken it, and it seems so wrong to not be touching back. When his finger touches her pussy, she can't any more. She leans her head against his shoulder and wraps her arms around him, desperate to get closer.

"Is that keeping still, pet?" Mark asks gently. He's not really disappointed in her -- she's new at this, after all, and he'd known it'd be hard for her to obey. He slips his arm around her and stands up, continuing to tease her clit, nuzzling close to kiss her throat. "It's hard, I know," he says, turning her to face the table, sliding around her body to hold her from behind. "But I want you to keep still and take what I'm giving you." He kisses the back of her neck, biting gently. "Bend over the table, pet -- it'll give you something to hold onto."

It is like a dream, the way he pushes and pulls her and it feels so good. Miranda lets him turn her and then, oh god, she leans over the table, pushing dishes out of her way with a clatter. His hand steadies her, grounds her: she needs the weight of it, and of his body behind her or she'll run away. Bending over, she finds herself arching her back, presenting herself for him, hoping he'll touch her all over.

Sliding his hand up her spine, Mark pulls the sleek inlaid chopsticks out of the loose knot of her hair and lets it fall around her face. He drags the tip of one chopstick down her back as he tangles his other hand in the silky strands, resting his fist on the back of her neck. He can feel her heat through his jeans, pressed close and pinning her there, and he taps the polished wood against her skin, almost thoughtfully.

He knows what Vin would do if it had been Mark who'd disobeyed, but Mark's had years to learn to control himself, and Miranda barely an evening. He wonders how they'll like each other, can almost see Vin shaking his head, laughing at how gentle Mark's being. Vin would have had Mark over the back of the couch taking twenty from his belt, and his prick jerks at the image, and he wants to be inside Miranda, wants to be fucking her while his lover takes the leather to him.

"Keep still for me now, pet," he says after a moment, setting the chopstick on the small of her back. He teases his finger down her cleft, just grazing the pink, puckered entrance of her arse and sliding down into her pussy. "So hot for me," he murmurs, dipping inside. "So wet. You look so good like this, the way you're arching up for me." He begins thrusting into her, two fingers, then three.

If it wasn't for his hand in his hair... if it wasn't for the the fact that she's so hot she can barely breathe... the tiny weight of the chopstick on her back is magnified and intense. He's wrong, though: there's nothing to hold onto on the table, just the polished surface. She has to hold onto the sensations and try not to move though she wants to grind backwards onto him so much that it hurts, to have pull his hands onto her breasts and her clit. "Oh, Mark, please, oh god please let me move."

"No. I want you just like this." His voice is gentle, but he means it, keeps fucking her, four fingers now, knuckle-deep inside her and his chest is tight with how much he wants her. His cock's so hard it hurts, begging for her, but he wants more, doesn't want to rush through this, she sounds so gorgeous begging.

"I'm going to let go of you now," he says. "I'm going to use my mouth on you, and if you're a good girl and keep as still as you can for me, then when I fuck you I'll let you move as much as you want."

He said it before. He said he'd make her feel good even if she didn't obey him, and it would hurt, and right now she wants that needs that because she can't stay still no matter what. "No, I can't." She's wiggling and grinding on his hand and his leg in jeans and reaching back for him. "I can't, you have to make me." And oh fuck she wants to come now before he does whatever he's going to do to her, she's so fucking close there, humping on his leg like a dog.

"No?" Mark says, his tone incredulous, though he's really more amused than surprised. "Did you tell me no?" He shakes his head, murmurs, "Oh, wrong answer," and a moment later he's pulled her off the table, gathered her up in his arms and is carrying her back towards the bedroom. "Such a bad little girl after all," he says with a wink and a grin.

Because she can, because she's bad and naughty and apparently she's going to get punished anyway, Miranda lets herself go slightly wild. She struggles when he picks her up, and makes him hold her tight which is really what she wanted. She wiggles and twists until the bone in his wrist is touching her clit, and then she pushes up against it and she knows she's racing time but fuck she needs it. Just as he realizes and start to move his arm, to deprive her of it, she pushes just right and fucking comes right there, in his arms clutching at him and screaming into his neck.

"Oh, that's going to cost you," Mark growls. He puts her down, one arm still tight around her waist as he drags the sheets off the bed, and then Miranda onto it, pushing her face-down on the mattress as he shoves the pillows aside. He swats her arse sharply. "Spread-eagle, pet."

Miranda doesn't care, she was going to explode if she tried stay still and she won't do it now either. She likes being naughty. And she already got to come once. "Make me," she looks over her shoulder and challenges him with a bit of a smirk, drawing her thighs firmly closed, pushing up on her hands so she can arch her back and wiggle a bit.

Mark gives her an arch look. "Pet wants to be punished, does she?"

A moment later he's on the bed beside her, one knee on her shoulders as he drags her wrists together and up, buckles them into the restraints that he and Vin leave attached to the wrought iron bed frame.

"You were going to, punish me, anyway," Miranda can't believe she's being such a smartarse while he's bloody tying her up. "Might as well make it worthwhile," she points out.

He swats her arse again as he rolls off the bed, moving to get her ankles fastened as well, stretched wide. He's talking to her as he works. "Usually," he says, barely avoiding a quick kick, though he's not sure if she meant to kick him or not, "it's me getting fastened into these things, so don't think you're going to be able to pull them loose. If I can't, I know you can't."

When Mark tells her about him being tied up, Miranda goes a bit limp, trying to imagine him stretched out like this. It is almost too much to think about. "Your -- Vin was it? -- must be quite a bloke."

"Oh yeah," Mark says with a grin, keeping an eye on her as he goes to the closet and pulls out a black leather bag. "He's meaner than I am, too," he goes on, rummaging in it for the items he wants. "Likes hurting people, likes watching their eyes when they can't tell whether they should be afraid or not but still can't help how hot they are, how much they want it."

He comes back to Miranda and drops a leather paddle beside her, then kneels between her legs and positions a soft silicone butterfly carefully over her pussy, starts working the straps around her thighs to buckle it in place. "It's sound activated," he says, "once I turn it on."

It's all too bloody much. Miranda gives over, just groans and puts her head down and closes her eyes. Mark can do whatever he pleases to her, and she'll probably love it and beg for more; she's never been more aroused and confused in her life.

Mark picks up the paddle and strokes his hand down Miranda's back. "You wanted to come," he says. "You wanted it so much that you told me no, you wouldn't keep still for me, and then you made yourself come in my arms rather than wait." He turns the paddle in his hands. "I had wanted to see you squirming for me," he goes on, "squiming and begging because you were desperate to come, desperate to be fucked. Now I'm going to have to punish you, but I think I can do that, and still get what I wanted in the first place."

He flicks the switch that controls the little butterfly unit, and then brings the paddle down sharply on Miranda's arse. At the crack of leather on flesh, the butterfly buzzes briefly against her clit.

"Oh god!" this is so much more intense than the spanking, and the bloody vibrator is going to be the death of her.

The paddle cracks down again, and that little buzz makes her jerk, a soft groan spilling from her lips. "I can go on like this for a long time," Mark says, and he rubs the paddle over her skin, then brings it down again, harder, and the vibrater buzzes. Three more swats in quick succession, Miranda's flesh rippling and the vibrator pulses with the sharp sounds, Miranda's hips squirming against the bed.

Miranda knows she's being conditioned, like one of Pavlov's dogs. Even if the paddling wasn't sexy -- and it is, now that she's had the spanking -- the combination of paddle and vibrator is driving her mad. And she likes it. She knows Mark wants to see her squirming and begging, and she's holding out as long as she can, but she can feel it about to burst out of her.

Soon enough, Mark's only pausing long enough between the strokes of the paddle to be sure Miranda never gets quite so close to coming that she can manage it. Her arse has gone from pink to hot red, quivering under the blows, and the way she's moving, hands clenching and unclenching, her breathing beginning to stutter, he knows it won't be long.

What he doesn't know is how long he'll want to hear her begging before -- or if -- he gives in. The longer she holds out, the more he thinks he wants tears, and he knows he can get them from her. Her arse has got to be hurting, still sore from the morning, and he lands a hard blow at the crease of her thighs, rocking the vibrator against her.

That last whack pushes Miranda too far, she can't control herself any more. "Please, Mark, please stop, oh god, or fuck me or let me come, please..." She can't move much but she can't stop from moving, arse dancing to his paddle. Squirming and desperate, he does always get what he wants, from her at least.

"Why?" Mark asks, continuing the stacatto rhythm on her arse and admiring the play of muscles in her body as she pulls against the restraints, the little vibrator buzzing on, stopping, buzzing on again with each crack of the leather on her skin. "You've already come once, why should I let you come again?"

She can't think of a reason, she can't think at all right now. "Please, it hurts and I need you to fuck me." She's starting to sob and gasp and it shouldn't be so sexy when it hurts so much. "Mark," she'll beg if she has to, "please."

A little smile, and Mark takes pity on her. She's too adorable like this, squirming and begging, tears in her voice. "All right," he says, setting the paddle aside, and it's only a few tugs to the buckles before he's got the little vibrator off of her and has tossed it to the side as well.

He's finally stopped, her arse hurts; it's such a relief to get bloody vibrator off her and yet she misses it.

She's dripping wet, so hot he can feel it radiating off of her, and he unbuckles her ankles from the restraints and says, "Up on your knees, pet," as he gets a condom out of his pocket, popping open the buttons of his jeans to free his aching erection.

Miranda had thought he'd undo the wrist straps as well, but no, he's like that Vin of his, likes to hurt her or at least push her. If only she didn't like being pushed so bloody much.

He slicks the condom on and kneels up behind her, pressing the head of his cock to her slick opening but not pushing inside. "Go ahead, pet," he says, and swats her sharply. "You wanted to move."

Oh that's an easy order to follow, it's like being released from a spell. She stretches her back and pushes back onto his cock, rocking her hips to feel his breadth of it inside her. "So good, oh god Mark, ace, yes."

"Oh, god yes, that's it -- love how much you want it, how hot you are for it," Mark growls, kneading the flesh of her arse as she drives herself onto him, and he's rocking his hips forward just enough to meet the force of her thrusts. "Love the way the leather looks around your wrists," he says, reaching beneath to tease her clit, "the way you're fucking me so hard, tied to my bed."

And she is, she is, Miranda wants this so much that she can't think of anything else. She's writhing and pushing and fucking herself on his cock, "Oh, fuck yes, Mark!" The minute his finger touches her clit, she bucks like a wild horse and it's so bloody good. A few more strokes of his cock and finger make her come so hard, screaming louder than she's ever done before.

She jerks and spasms around him, and he bites back his own climax with a harsh growl, gripping her hips hard to keep driving into her even as she shudders through her orgasm, holding off his own release for the pleasure of claiming her body.

It goes on and on, Mark's still hard in her, it feels wonderful. Miranda yells a little just because she wants to, wordless and happy.

It's gorgeous the way she responds to him, the way she looks, stretched out in front of him with her wrists bound to the headboard, her body open for him. With a few more hard thrusts he's coming with a growling shout, slamming into her hard and stilling there, leaning close as his cock jerks inside her, and licking the sweat from the back of her neck.

The lovely weight of him keeps her grounded -- Miranda thinks she might explode if it wasn't for that. She can't quite breathe yet, feeling a bit dizzy. What the bloody fuck am I doing like this? Her arse hurts like hell, she's still tied up, and she just came so hard it's echoing through her body. I'd do it again in a bloody second. She closes her eyes and tries to accept.

It takes Mark a moment to catch his breath, and another before he can gather the energy to pull carefully out of her and dispose of the condom. Then he rolls over to stretch out alongside her, one leg curled around hers, and begins gently unbuckling the cuffs.

Miranda turns to snuggle further into Mark's body, glad he's still touching. "Oh god, Mark." She's still trembling and needs his warmth.

Wrapping his arms around her, Mark gathers her close, reaching back to grab his bathrobe from the chair by the bed and settling it over them both. Stroking her back, he cradles her against his chest, kissing her hair. "That was beautiful, sweetheart," he murmurs.

When Mir doesn't say anything, Mark starts to feel a tendril of worry. "How's my girl?" he murmurs, carding his fingers through her hair. "You with me, sweetheart?"

"I'm just," she tries to laugh, "catching my breath." It's taking a while for Miranda to get back to herself. This was so intense, she can't quite believe what they just did. She's already wondering what he'll do to her next. What she will beg for. It makes her shudder.

He kisses hair again. "Rest a little," he murmurs. "Here in a while I'll get us some water, and we can talk. But right now, just rest a little."

"Thanks," Miranda's glad he's not angry with her. "I liked it, it's just... wow. Not what I expected." Mark's looking at her with such a kind, even tender, expression. She has hard time connecting that with the bloke who just whaled on her arse without mercy.

"Well, sometimes those are the best things, yeah?" Mark says, smiling a little. "I didn't expect to meet someone like you when I walked into that club, but I'm glad I did." He strokes her hair back from her face. "You're very lovely like that, you know," he says. "I mean you're lovely, regardless," he adds with a grin, "but when you let yourself be... vulnerable that way, it's really something precious."

Oh bloody hell, that makes her squirm again. She can't believe how much she enjoys letting him take control, even when he hurts her. And Mark submits like this to his lover -- she clings to that idea, finally managing to picture him stretched on this bed, being paddled by a dark male figure. Liking it. Asking for more. It's a disturbing image: and this whole day has been like that, opening doors she didn't know existed. Mark's holding her tight and she's glad she doesn't have to pass through those doors alone.

Link | Leave a comment |

Comments {2}


(no subject)

from: missmolly9
date: Oct. 24th, 2004 07:39 pm (UTC)

This continues to be good! I think you are doing a great job of showing us the progression of how each experience they have together makes it possible for her to go forward safely. And her personal discovery and responses are so authentic. I also like how we see his nervousness and thoughts as a dom. It is interesting how he reads and analyzes her responses and decides what to do next. Amazed to read hot het!

Reply | Thread

(no subject)

from: zillah975
date: Oct. 25th, 2004 05:32 pm (UTC)

*snoggles you up* So glad you're enjoying this! And thank you so much for taking the time to say so -- it really means a lot. :)

Reply | Parent | Thread