panacea

nc-17 | sexual content | role play with non-con elements

This wasn't at all what she was expecting. Almost gentle, his hands barely touching her skin, the only violence coming from his hips, like a piston, his rhythm never faltering from start to finish.

She tried to provoke him, tried to bite down on a bicep when it came within range, but she couldn't. quite. break the skin. Something held her back, a vague tingling on her scalp, as if someone was pulling her ha -

(stop)

She thought he would give up after a couple minutes, maybe five, but she watched the hand on the clock go 'round; nine minutes to make her come. It's different. Like having a seizure. She flails, reaches out for something, grabs onto the edge of a nightstand. The corner jabs the center of her palm, but she doesn't think it's enough to draw blood.

Suffocation.

No. It's just like running on the treadmill at the gym, chasing after nothing, fleeing from nothing, transfixed, stagnant, struggling for breath because the machine is set just a bit too high. There's even the same heavy sheen of sweat, which puzzles her, as she just lay there the entire time.

He squeezes her breast one last time before he collapses next to her.

"Not to brag or nothing, but I think that was fantastic."

And it was, probably; who can complain about two orgasms?

He's asleep before she can generate an appropriate response. (Or even determine if she wanted to give an appropriate response.) He doesn't move when she crawls out from under his arm, when she opens the door and lets a shaft of light fall across the bed.

The lights in his bathroom are too bright, set at odd angles so her eyes look sunken and her cheeks look almost bruised. Her nipples are darker from where he sucked on them, but those are the only marks he left. (And even those will fade soon enough.)

Her clit is so sensitive that it stings a bit when she rubs it.

(The first time he let her go to the bathroom alone, she tried to smash the mirror. All she got out of that was bruised knuckles and - )

Harder, ignoring the sting, enjoying it, gripping the counter, mildly disgusted by the bit of dried shaving cream on the edge of the sink. Grunts and groans and she can't. quite. get there.

She doesn't stop when the door opens. Maybe it'll be easier with him watching, but no. He grins - smirks, really - as he approaches her.

"You're insatiable. I like that."

She slams her back against the wall. Raises her arms, crosses her wrists. Spreads her legs as much as she can. His smile falters for a moment, then disappears completely.

"Is this what you wanted?"

"Yes." Hoping that he knows what 'this' is.

"This isn't going to trigger something in you?"

"It probably will. I'll probably try to hit you. Escape." Her gaze travels from his head to his feet and back up again, as if seeing him for the first time. "I think you could take me."

"I'm not into that."

Good. He's angry.

"Your dick says otherwise."

She almost laughs when he shifts his weight, pulls down a towel to cover himself with.

"It's an involuntary reaction to your state of undress. Not like I can control it."

"Control me instead."

"You're sick."

But he steps forward, drops the towel. He kisses her, harder than before, but makes no move to restrain her. It takes her a moment to realize he's trying to change her mind, probably trying to drag her back to bed.

She claws at his side. It's a defensive mechanism when he grabs her hands, pulls them up.

But he doesn't let go.

One hand is all he needs for that, so then he's cupping her breast again, and that stings, too. Her hips buck, just a bit, and then his hand is there, pressing her against the wall.

(There's only a second to consider that this might be a mistake.)

He doesn't prepare her this time. He doesn't even check to see if she's wet, possibly because he figures she couldn't have dried up that much since last time. There's a twinge of pain and it gets worse as he fucks her, because the angle's all wrong. She tries to gasp, to tell him, to get him to stop, maybe, but her throat closes up.

Pressure in her chest as she struggles to breathe. Her eyes go wide, desperate to communicate to him that something is wrong, but he's not looking at her. He's staring down at where they're joined, almost as if he can't believe that he's -

No. He's trying to figure out the best way to hoist her on to his counter. He hooks his free arm around her leg and swings her up and around. Skin scrapes along the edge and now she knows there's blood. The pain finally frees her voice and she cries out.

And he stops. Instantly, her hands are free.

"N-n-no."

Her elbow slams into the mirror. This time, the glass flies.

(fin.)