mastery

nc-17 | light bondage



She blanched as soon as he hinted at it, filling him with dread and regret.

Maybe she thought he was complaining, or unsatisfied. She rarely initiated anything but was always an eager participant; how could anyone be unhappy with a partner who loved him as completely as she did? She was a bit shy, yes, and was still dealing with psychological trauma, but ... surely she didn't think -

"Forget I said anything," he said, putting his hands on her arms in a reassuring gesture.

He would have never suggested that she be tied up or otherwise restrained. The idea of being able to tease her, of having her at his mercy, of using that 'personal massager' that she had tucked away under the bathroom sink, had shown up in a fantasy or two. Maybe in the future - and they would have a future, fanatic be damned - but now, six months in, he suspected being held down could be traumatic. He had thought that tying him down and having complete control over him would be ... appealing to her.

But if it wasn't, those ideas could stay in his fantasies until the end of time.

She said something, finally, too soft for him to hear. He caressed her face, asked her to repeat it.

"Not a chair," she whispered. "Just ... not a chair."

Oh, shit.

He felt dizzy as his mind was overrun with memories of what the restraints felt like against his wrists, his legs, his neck. They cascaded, flooding in from any history where he was forced to sit in that damn chair.

The one where Diana had started panicking, clawing at the metal clamps as if she could pry them up with her bare hands, and he had to yell at her to get her to focus.

The one where she pounded the button that had brought up the chair in the first place, making him panic, thinking the chair might sink back down. Although at least, in that case, the gun wouldn't have been pointed at his head.

The one where she grabbed the goggles, thinking maybe they would give her a clue, and he asked her if she had lost her damn mind as she stared at him from behind the odd lenses.

The one where she contemplated shooting out the glass behind the shutter, or shooting the restraints on the chair, causing both Phi and Sigma to shout for her to stop.

She had gone through so many emotions in that shelter. He had seen her frazzled, frustrated, depressed, confused, and scared, but it was only in the trash disposal room that he had seen her that terrified, desperate.

How the fuck could he have forgotten that?

He pulled her close, squeezing her so tightly that she let out a small yelp.

"Fucking hell, I'm so sorry, Diana. I wasn't thinking. Shit."

She was silent for a while, and then, "I remember feeling like ... he was threatening my family, people who were very precious to me, and not understanding why."

"Forget it. We'll talk about something else."

Diana tilted back her head to look at him, opened her mouth as if to argue, but when she spoke, it was to discuss dinner.

He figured that was that.

-

Two weeks later, he entered their bedroom to find her going through the top drawer of the dresser, where he kept his things. Sigma smirked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Stealing my underwear?"

She blushed as she glanced down at the contents of the drawer. "No. I ... you never wear these."

She held up several ties, all in near pristine condition. He had actually forgotten he had them; they had been a present from an old girlfriend and Diana was correct - they had never been worn. When they moved in together, he meant to ditch anything he never intended to use. But whereas he was content to unpack as things were needed, Diana disliked disarray even more than she had on the Moon. He had fallen asleep on the couch one night and found woke up to discover she had neatly put away all of his clothing.

"They, uh, were a gift. They're not really my style."

She made a face. "I think you mean to say they're hideous."

"True." He laughed. "Are you looking for cleaning rags or something?"

She shook her head. Dressed for bed, the sash for her robe tied tightly around her waist, she didn't look like she was planning on doing housework.

"Then -"

"We don't have any handcuffs and rope would be too rough on your skin, I think. These ties should work and if you hate them, it won't matter if we mess them up."

He didn't catch on right away. She bit her lip, an expression of uncertainty on her face.

"If y-you've changed your mind..."

"No, it's not - I just thought ... I thought you weren't up for this. Which is fine! I -"

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it," she confessed. "It brought up some unpleasant memories at first. I ... I think as long as we're in our bed ... I want to try this. If ... if that's okay."

Her gaze lingered on his crotch, which was signaling that it was definitely, absolutely, very, very okay. He stepped closer and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"How do you want me?"

She nodded to folded-up clothes on the top of the dresser. "Change into this and then lay down on the bed?"

It seemed weird - they weren't his pajamas, as near as he could tell - but he acquiesced. Once he stepped into their bathroom, he understood. She had picked out a rather tight pair of jeans that had earned him more than a few compliments and a dark blue button-up shirt. If she wanted part of this to be her getting to undress him, he wasn't going to argue. She hadn't given him any underwear, so he wasn't sure if she wanted him to go commando or just leave on the boxers he was already wearing. Since he didn't really want the feel of denim against his cock, he decided to keep them.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed when he emerged and obediently lay down on the mattress. After taking a deep breath, she straddled his stomach and gestured for him to bring his hands up to the headboard. He had to urge her to make the knots a little tighter; he understood she was trying to keep him comfortable, but they were so loose he could have easily pulled his arms down.

"Would you ... how do you feel about blindfolds?"

She held up the third tie and he frowned. "Maybe if you didn't leave it on the whole time?"

"We don't have to do it at all."

"No, wait," he said as she tossed it onto the nightstand. "Is this something you want? Would it make you more comfortable? I-I just like seeing you."

"It's not a comfort thing."

"Then the idea of me being blind and helpless arouses you," he teased. Even in the low light of the lamps next to their bed, he could see her pupils dilate, watched her swallow hard.

Aaaaand there we go.

"Go ahead. Just ... if I ask you to take it off -"

"Of course," she said as she covered his eyes. He instantly missed the sight of her, but he heard her let out a shuddering breath that he was intimately familiar with. That was followed by the soft rustling of silk. She must have been removing her robe.

He arched his back as she began to undo the buttons on his shirt, but she pushed him back down, gently.

"Please don't move?"

Her touch was fleeting, until all the buttons were freed and his chest was exposed. It was near impossible to stay still as she ran her hands down from his collarbones to the edge of his jeans. Not being able to see her seemed to be amplifying the sensations. He somehow managed. When she circled his nipples with slightly-cold fingers, he groaned.

"Fuck."

"Is this okay?" She paused.

"Yes. Don't - please don't stop."

She hesitated, but resumed her caress.

"I've heard people talk about having a 'favorite part' of their partner, but I really don't think I could pick just one. You're beautiful, Sigma."

He knew he was attractive - false modesty was no virtue - but he loved hearing her praise his appearance anyway. Knowing that she found him attractive sent jolts of arousal straight to his core.

"I love your chest," she continued. "And your arms. All this strength and power."

He cried out when she covered a nipple with her mouth, sucking hard, and grunted when she suddenly stopped.

"Is that okay?"

"Oh, fuck, Diana, please. If I want you to stop, I'll say 'stop' or 'untie me', okay? Anything else, you can be sure I'm okay and I - ah!"

Her mouth was back on him, alternating from side to side, until his arms were trembling. This time when she stopped, he felt her hands on his fly, slowly unbuttoning and unzipping him.

"Oh."

She sounded disappointed. Must have wanted him to leave the boxers off, then. It didn't seem to matter much. She peeled the pants and his underwear off before straddling him again, this time letting her groin come in contact with his stomach.

"Shit."

Apparently she hadn't been wearing anything under the robe. She was wet, warm, and pressing into him. She kissed him briefly and then was moving away. He would have protested if he hadn't quickly realized her goal. Her hair brushed against his erection and his hips bucked up involuntarily.

"Can you do that again?" he gasped.

"Um, do what? I'm not doing anything."

"Your hair." He belatedly realized this probably sounded like an odd request. The sensation was barely enough to register, but the teasing, the promise of what was to come, had him panting.

"What, this?"

Her hair made contact with his sensitive skin again and he pressed his hips into the mattress as hard as he could. He couldn't tell how close she was and was pretty sure if he jabbed her in the eye with his dick, she'd want to stop this.

Then the hair was gone and her lips were sliding down over the tip of his cock, her hand tight at the base.

"Fuck. I know I've said this before, but your fucking mouth is incredible."

He could feel her smiling around him. Blowjobs were hardly rocket science, but he had still experienced a few terrible ones in his lifetime. He felt a pang of irrational, hypocritical jealousy towards her previous lovers, the ones she had honed her skill on, but he belonged to her now, with no more others for either of them.

She took in as much as she could, sucked on him, and as good as it felt, he didn't want this to be over.

"I'm gonna come, Diana."

She mumbled something around his dick, presumably 'it's okay' because she didn't stop.

"Fuck, please, I need you to -"

Then her warm mouth was gone and in spite of his plea, he groaned at the loss.

"Like this, then?"

He felt her moving up to position herself over him. "Yes, please, but I need to see you."

She had to scoot up further to reach the blindfold, which she removed as quickly as she could. A flush had worked its way down her face to her breasts, where her nipples looked hard enough to cut glass. He nodded at her to indicate he was okay, then shook his head when she briefly glanced over at his arms.

"I just want to watch you while you're fucking me."

Without breaking eye contact, she slid back, used her hand to guide him into her. She wasn't as tight as he expected; she must have been fingering herself while she was sucking on him.

"Can I - do you want me to stay still?" he got out, through gritted teeth.

"Bend your knees," she said in response. He gripped the rails of the headboard as he complied. When he was entirely inside her, buried to the hilt, she leaned back against his legs.

"You can move," she said, rising up slightly.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, he thrust up into her. He kept his hold on the rails for leverage. She wriggled a bit as he found his rhythm, trying to get him in just the right -

"Yes," she gasped. "There."

"So you like this, then?"

She didn't answer, but she didn't have to. He could feel how slick she was, see the flush deepening on her chest. She brought a hand to her breasts to try to keep them from bouncing - she had made jokes in the past about having to wear sports bras when they had sex, to keep them from aching afterwards - and reached behind her to grab his leg to keep her balance. Unfortunately, it left her clit neglected.

He spread his knees open a bit more, trying to give her stability enough for her to free up a hand, while simultaneously slowing his pace. He could have probably gotten one of his own hands loose, but he didn't want to spoil this for her. Having control had obviously excited her.

"Harder," she said, still holding onto his leg, but abandoning her breasts. Apparently she decided a bit of an ache was worth it. Seeing her fingers work tight circles over her clit made him lose it; fortunately, she made it over the finish line before he did.

Her hands were shaking as she lifted off him and reached for the ties. Her breast was in striking distance of his mouth and he couldn't resist, lifting his head to plant a warm, sloppy kiss on her nipple. Once he was free, he wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the throbbing sensation in his shoulders as she settled in beside him. Maybe next time he should prop himself up on pillows or -

"Was that okay?" It was a genuine question, in spite of the fact that she had been there when he came, when he shouted her name sandwiched in between a dozen curse words.

"I guess it was passable," he said. She slapped his chest.

"Your arms are sore, aren't they? You should get in the shower. I'll bring you some ibuprofen."

"They're not that bad." Even as he said it, though, the idea appealed to him.

"You go in the shower. I'll get the pills." She snuggled in closer to him and kissed his cheek. "Then I'll join you, and when we're both nice and clean, we'll come back here and I'll massage those aching muscles."

He didn't have to be told a third time.

(fin.)