|posted on 26-Nov-2002 2:37:14 AM|
|Title: Velvet Thorns|
Author: Jane Doe
Disclaimer: I own nada. In my dreams I own Roswell, and Zan wouldn't have gone down like that. In real life, however, they belong to JK, Melinda Metz, the UPN, and probably a bunch more people/corporations.
Category: L/Mi AU
Rating: R, maybe NC-17 if it gets graphic
Summary: Michael goes undercover and finds himself in a D/s club. Liz wants to dominate him. He doesn't remember who she is. Sorry if that's insufficient but that basically the whole plot.
Author's Note: I'm not even a Polarist. I'm a PPP (purely platonic polarist) so I have no frickin clue why I had to write this. I really hope all you Polarists out there like it. Please let me know what I can do to improve upon it. Feedback is most definitely appreciated. This is only one part.
*Part 1B is continued in this post*
She walked into the room and a hush spread out like ripples in a puddle. They all stared at her. She was the epitome of composure. Always in control. Cool as ice. A refreshing breeze during balmy twilight.
She wore a black leather outfit perfectly molded to her petite body; it was conservative by the standards everyone else was used to. And all the more exciting for what it only hinted at and didn't showcase. The one piece dress was tantalizing. The skirt ended just below her ass, her creamy pale cheeks shadowed against her thighs. Emphasizing legs that looked like they extended forever. An image enhanced by the 4 inch black velvet stiletto books she wore, encasing her legs up to right above her knees. The top of her dress was sealed tight against her body. A zipper that started at the base of her skirt was pulled up to right beneath her breasts, pushing them together and holding them high. Two more zippers started at the bottom of the dress and ended right above her hips. Long sleeves covered her arms, gently belling out before her wrists. Her long, glossy, dark brown hair was pulled back into a loose pony tail at the nape of her neck, the tip resting against her waist. Wisps of hair outlined her face. The back of her dress, from her shoulders to the dip at the base of her spine, was cut out, leaving a window of soft skin exposed.
She wore no jewelry. No studded dog collars, or chain belts. Except for one diamond ring on the ring finger of her right hand. Her dark enigmatic eyes were outlined in smoky gray. Clear eyes, that stripped you farther down your clothes. And bow lips, shiny and beckoning.
She sized the man, arms held above his head and wrists handcuffed to a metal bar hanging from chains on the ceiling, clothed in only a pair of jeans, up and down. And at the end of her perusal, such a grin graced her lips, that men and women alike, shuddered in deliciously fearful anticipation. Breaths came out a little more raggedly and hands tingled.
He was tall. He had light brown hair that skimmed his square shoulders, and his hazel eyes told her he had no idea who she was. Unconsciously she licked her bottom lip. She walked a circle around him. Admiring his tight ass, the thigh muscles that strained from being forced, but most of all she admired the tattoos he had. Four all together. One shoulder cap, one half sleeve, one on his back by his ribs. And one that peeked out over the edge of his jeans. Those were just the ones she could see. She felt something low within her clench hard and fast. She smiled, a haunting baring of her teeth. And one person gasped. She gently dragged her nails across his middle as she completed her circuit and came to stand in front of him. His skin tingled beneath her fingertips, and she saw his nipples harden.
She leaned up a little and just stared at his lips while she asked, "Do you want to be here?"
He didn't answer her. Just kept his gaze fixed on the wall behind her.
"What's your name?" She already knew his name. Knew who he was.
"Michael," he finally ground out.
"Michael …. Michael," she drew his name out so it rested on tip of her tongue. Her fingers trailed down to the waistband of his black jeans, "What's the first letter of your last name?" she asked. She held out her left hand, and a leather studded belt was placed in it.
Still not looking at her, he replied, "G." She wondered what it took for him to answer. This was nothing.
"Gee. Gee." She sounded out the letter. She pulled back from him a little, she wanted to see his eyes for this. "I think, we'll call you … Mikey G," she smiled a predator's smile inside as she saw his eyes widen. He quickly looked down at her. She kept her face neutral. His breathing picked up. She called you that didn't she? She praised you. She worshipped you. "Mikey G, do you want to be here?" she demanded to know.
He stared right into her eyes. "Might as well," he drawled out.
"Shadows," she commanded, and everyone withdrew into the shadows along the walls. They disappeared. No one wanted to upset Liz and miss the show.
To bad this wasn't just about sex, she thought as she folded the belt and snapped it. It made a loud report in the quiet atmosphere and she felt her blood quicken.
She let him see her smile as he barely jerked. She wouldn't have been able to notice it if she wasn't used to reading the human body. She felt a flash of that old hunger that had turned to disappointment and that had, finally, collapsed into anger and resentment.
"Mikey G." She said it again just to taunt him. She let the belt unfurl and swing from her hand, slowly trailing along the floor.
"Blindfold." A heavy red silk scarf was placed in her hand, and she gave the belt to the girl to hold. She noticed his body tense and his jaw clench. He didn't like being blind did he? Not knowing what was happening. Not being able to stop it. Not being in control. She stepped behind him and carefully tied it, making sure not to get any of his soft hair stuck in the knot.
She placed her hands on his shoulders and said into his neck, "Relax." Her breath warmed his skin, moistened it. Maybe she would incorporate a little sex into this. Maybe that would be the real punishment. Fear and excitement bleeding into each other. Building each other into a frenzy height. And no release. That just might be it. Pain he could handle. But pleasure. Pleasure was his pain.
She licked her way up his neck and when she reached his ear she bit it saying, "I'm going to fuck you so hard." She relished his quick in drawn breath. The gasp of shock and pleasure. The way his neck flushed. She chuckled low in her throat, a husky sound. Full of dark promises.
"Are your arms tired yet? Do they feel heavy with gravity?" She ran her hands up his arms, her fingers slid into the space left by the handcuffs, and she stroked his skin. "You'll be tired and red and panting by the time I'm done with you," she said. "You may only talk when I say you can. You may not make any noise. Don't moan or groan or beg, or I'll discipline you." She said sliding down his body.
She reached up and clawed his back with her nails. He hissed.
"On second thought, be bad. Be a rebel Mikey G," his thighs tensed at hearing this name. "I really really want to hurt you. I want you to be bad. Isn't that who you are? The rebel without a cause? Give me a reason punish you Mikey G," she said baiting him, as she, unnoticed by him unbuttoned his fly.
"Shut up," he growled.
She yanked down his pants. "Just like that Mikey G," she crooned. He wasn't wearing any underwear. She bit the top of his ass, right where it began to slope down, hard enough to leave imprints behind. He was already half hard. "You're going to hate me so much you love me."
She wanted to humble him. Hungered to see his body and heart supplicating before her. “What do you like?” she crooned. “Do you want me to be rough? Grip you hard? Spank you good? Or do you want me to go a little slow? Be a little gentle? Do you want me to breathe hot against you? Pant and moan? My nails digging into you little bit by little bit, as I get hotter and wetter? All thinking about you, Mikey G?” Her throat tightened as she spoke, decadent thoughts making her breathless. She ran her hands down the front of his thighs, down his calves as she massaged her way back up. The prickle of his skin made the journey back up bumpy. She relished the touch of his sensitive skin under her fingertips.
"Whatever you want doll," he said flippantly. As if hearing her speak such intimate acts, didn't make his cock twitch.
He didn't quite know what he wanted. He was completely at the mercy of some slip of a girl, who knew things about him he thought he'd left long ago, trapped in the past. Struggling like he normally would have, would only serve to amuse her. His striving against the physical bonds and limits set by her, just want she wanted. He could sense that almost immediately. But it wasn't in him to not be sardonic or antagonistic. However when she carefully squeezed his sack, it reinforced the quick conclusion he'd drawn upon, keeping his mouth shut was in his own best interest.
Still his knees went weak at her words. Already he was more than half hard. More than half hard, in an unknown place, from different methods then he was used to. He was aware that there were people standing in the shadows. People he didn't know and who didn't know him; whom he couldn't see, but they cold see everything. And it made him breath harder. Since when would this have ever been a turn on for him: having people watch as his erection grew. As she disciplined him. He swallowed hard.
She kept her body held a slight distance from his. He could feel the heat of her body bathing his, mixing with the heat emanating from his body. His thighs itched to have her rub her pert breasts against him. For her to entwine her body around his own. With his eyes blind, her scent was stronger. She smelled of raspberries and cream and woman. He wanted to rub that intoxicating scent all over his body.
"Bring out the rack." She said still kneeling at his side. Still running her hands up and down his body, her nails gently skimming his flesh, seeming to increase his sensitivity. Always coming near his cock, such feathery light caresses, he was sure he imagined them.
He heard the noise of the "rack" being wheeled into the room. His felt his closed eyes widened. Delighted terror made its simmering debut in his veins. His body broke out in a hot sweat. Traitorous body. He growled low in his throat, she let a husky chuckle.
She pulled his pants off his hips, baring his tanned ass, as his arms were released from hanging above his head, and the blood circulating made his arms tingle with pricks. Before he could think to struggle, to not be any where near the "rack" , he was bodily pushed on a small dais, forced to his knees, and strapped into it.
Thick, incredibly soft velvet lined manacles were wrapped around his wrists, waist, and upper thighs. Jangling chains held the restraints taut, and him spread eagle. The waist-belt hugged him from waist to just above his buttocks, the thigh manacles were slightly less wide, and the wrists were held in cuffs the size of a man's hand.. It was as much an intimate embrace, as it was tight binding. He lightly moaned when she slapped his ass. He amazed at the small hint of pleasure, his butt was squeezed between the cuffs, and tingled because of the pressure.
"No noise," she said quietly. Chills raced down his spine.
The first slap was unexpected and harsh. But then…
She had him strapped in, leather straps pulled tight. Everytime the leather belt struck his skin he jerked. It was painful. Having it come down hard against his back, his shoulders, thighs, butt, even the soles of his feet. His skin was smarting, set aflame. And for that—for the tingle of his skin, the simplicity of it as a carnal pleasure, how good the cool air felt after each strike, something he would never have thought to be so erotic— alone, this was almost bearable. But the true excitement came from expectation and fear, feeding and fueling one another. From knowing he would wince or involuntary tug at his bonds, from expecting the biting, stinging caress at every moment. Muscles constantly wary, tensed, and being able to relax once it passed. He submitted his body to this twisted pleasure. Moaning when he was lashed in a particularly sensitive place. Moaning because it excited him, moaning for more.
She paused for a substantial amount of time and he couldn't help clenching his ass, pulling it higher, pleading without words for more. "Want more?" he heard her throaty voice graze his ear. He whimpered hardly able to believe he would do so. His cock strained up, was almost near vertical and probably redder than his tender back. She moved to stand in front of him. She pinched his small pink nipples just hard enough and he groaned. His balls jumped. She lowered herself and licked first one bud , then the other. Long, languorous strokes of her tongue that pushed the hard nubs of his nipples up with each rub. He choked back a murmured yes. She sucked him suddenly into her moist mouth, a quick nip with her teeth, and then built the suction up again. He grunted, and while trying to get close enough to her warm body to rub himself against her and perhaps gain some relief, knew that tomorrow he would have purple marks and sensitive nipples.
The low moans, gasps, and heavy breathing of those watching was lost on them. Clothes rustled as accommodations and adjustments were made.
His breathing was harsh and ragged. His chest heaving, his body gleaming with sweat. She stood directly in front of him and even dazed by euphoria as he was, he could tell she too had been affected. Lifting his eyes he could beneath the skirt of her dress. She was wearing nothing. Her dark curls glistened, and he could see her clit peaking out. She noticed his staring. "Want to touch?" she asked deceptively polite. She slid her own palms up her thighs. A tear of precum weeped from the small mouth on the head of his cock.
[ edited 5 time(s), last at 13-Dec-2002 3:36:23 AM ]