wingsofgoodbye | whips and chains excite me

whips and chains excite me

On the whole, Sheryl really does like dating Slaine. Oh sure, the media can be a big pain in the ass sometimes, with one of the world's most popular singers dating an up-and-coming young actor. (She's already sick of the word "Sherlaine.") But he's sweet. He treats her well. And frankly, the sex is great. She loves that part.

She's always been more adventurous and freewheeling, though. So it had taken a little coaxing to get him to agree to this, but Sheryl's confident they'll both have fun getting out of their usual boxes.

She's prepared well. Her staff has been dismissed for the night, which means it's just the two of them in her large home in the hills up above Los Angeles. With high hedges and walls, there's no paparazzi in sight. She's cleaned out a room in the basement, too, leaving it bare save for a comfortable mattress tucked into the corner and a stool in the middle. (With a comfortable cushion on it. She's not some sort of savage.)

She's currently sitting on that stool in a sheer lacy white robe, tied right below and between her breasts, that really doesn't do much to cover them. The only other things she's wearing are an equally lacy pair of white stockings held up by a garter belt, and a very skimpy white thong. It's a far cry from the full dress uniform she'd procured for her boyfriend. (God, he looks good in uniform, she thinks.)

Unfortunately, he's also trying to tie her up, and he could be doing a little better at that. "Slaine," she says, rolling her eyes. "It needs to be tighter! I can still move my arms, you know."

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Too easy to slide a gloved finger into the crux of lace-clad thighs, gently pushing into the wetness and pumping it in and out, in and out. Too easy. Feeling emboldened by the sounds of Sheryl's breathing, Slaine shoves his mouth against his girlfriend— no, prisoner's neck for a hard, hasty suckle, his tongue dragging across the reddish mark he left behind. He may be getting a little too distracted by the sudden tightness of his pants, or how he's exposing one of her thighs by pushing the hem of her stocking towards her knee.

Neither insults nor indignant proclamations have an effect on him when his hands are too busy manipulating her body, his mouth attached to her neck as he smears his lips across her jaw, sucking on her right there. It's the most brazen he's ever been, all thanks to Sheryl.

Too hot, too hot. Her skin is hot to his taste, soft to his touch, that he can't manage to control himself. His own heartbeat rings in his ears as the sounds of her moaning and his muffled grunts slowly fill the room. Ravish her body, she says.

The creative side of Slaine is coming out. With nothing but instincts to guide him, he moves his naked hand off her thigh and lifts it towards her face. It's through bravery alone that spurs him into sliding a finger in between those soft pink lips. There's a risk that Sheryl will bite it, but his judgement is rather filthy with thoughts of her screaming his name.

Edited 2016-11-18 23:11 (UTC)

His gloved finger faces absolutely no resistance as it slides into her heat, easily slipping in and out of her folds and coming out absolutely glistening with her arousal. Sheryl is so turned on it's painful, her nipples achingly hard and her pussy practically begging for release. She grits her teeth to stop from moaning like she really wants to, because she's still in character.

She almost breaks character when she feels his lips close on her neck, because he's long known that giving her hickeys is one thing he cannot do, but hadn't she cleared her schedule this week for that exact reason? Still, Sheryl does briefly tense in a way that's not in character until she talks herself down.

She gets a little too into character, however. "You pig," she mutters, as he sticks his finger into her mouth.

Instinctively, she bites.

Either Slaine conveniently forgot about the promise of not giving Sheryl any hickeys, or he purposely ignored it in favor of marking his territory so to speak — in character. A cruel, ruthless commander from the secret police would never heed his prisoner's wants, of course. He can feel her tensing up beneath his mouth and fingers, blood rushing to his face more and more until the heat is suffocating. But something snaps his eyes open, a risk that he'd known it happen but it's enough for him to yelp.

Sheryl just bit his finger. This turns out to be a bad idea, after all.

Instantly, he yanks both hands away from her body, his lone glove now soiled with wet droplets, and quickly rushes over to a table. With the cup of icy cold water in his trail of vision, Slaine shoves his finger into it and sighs in relief, the throbbing pain slowly subsiding. His girlfriend really is committed to her role, isn't she?

While he still has his back turned to her, he carefully pulls the glove off and tosses it to the floor, his hat following suit. The sounds of buttons coming undone and extra ruffling of clothes fill the silence until his jacket and tie flutter down to join his gloves and hat. Slaine continues staring at the cup of water, his reflection morphed into the surface, until he brings the cup with him. Another idea forms in his head as he tips his head back to take a quick sip, a small trail of water sliding down from his lips, and undoes the first three buttons of his shirt, exposing his collarbone.

It's Sheryl that breaks character first, because of that bite. "I'm sorry!" she says quickly as soon as Slaine turns away from her. "I didn't break the skin, did I?"

Her voice is high-pitched and genuinely alarmed, because biting and nipping during sex is one thing, but chomping down on her boyfriend's finger because they got too into character? That's something else entirely!

(Though, maybe he liked it?)

"I was getting a little too into my role," she explains, before trailing off at what he's doing. "Slaine, what on earth are you doing?"

Her face is still flushed, her wet folds still glistening, her nipples still erect. Her concern doesn't mask her arousal.

Oh no, Slaine did not like getting his finger bitten, and it shows in the way he lets out an exasperated puff of breath from his lips, a displeased frown briefly forming on his face.

"Really Sheryl, you ought to be careful," he scolds gently, taking a moment to break character as well to cast an idle glance at his finger. It's swollen at the tip, reddish bite marks forming around the part where it got bit. He shakes his head and continues, "Well, I'm grateful that there was no bleeding or tears in any case. That would be problematic."

He's quick to smooth out the grimace from his face in favor of watching Sheryl, the idea from a few seconds earlier still lingering in his head. She wasn't the only one far too immersed into her own role; he'd be lying if he said he didn't get caught up in himself. Flushed cheeks, the obvious signs of arousal mixed with genuine concern for his well-being... it's an appealing sight, he must admit.

"But rest easy, I forgive you," Slaine says, the corners of his lips tugging into what appears to be a cordial smile. Perhaps a little too innocent. Before he can stop himself, he hovers the cup above his girlfriend's face, tipping it down so the cold water flows into her skin, cascading down her chest. "This should cool you down."

Oh, good. At least she didn't break the skin, Sheryl thinks, and at least Slaine isn't too upset with her. She's about to suggest that they pick up the scene from where they left off, when she sees that he's holding that cup of water and frowns. "Slaine, what on earth is that fo--!"

Her question turns into a yelping shriek as he pours the cold water onto her collar, the frigid liquid running down her chest, into her cleavage and over her breasts, soaking the (rather expensive) sheer robe and leaving her shivering.

"Slaine!" she says, the fire he knows all too well returning to her voice. "You ass, what was that for?!"

Other than, you know. Biting you.

It's a fiery attitude that not only Slaine knows too well, but has long since become accustomed to from months of dating Sheryl. Not even his girlfriend's shrieking can affect him when there's actually a smug look across his face — a rare occurrence coming from a man who's usually shy. It's a side of him that only Sheryl gets to see. Perhaps that made-up role has more of an effect on him than he realized.

"For this," he responds with his smile intact, lifting up a finger that she bit earlier. For what it's worth, he's actively trying to stifle a chuckle so she doesn't get too upset at him. "Consequences will never be the same, Sheryl Nome."

His expression fades into the usual bashful appearance upon glancing— no, trying not to stare at her exposed chest, now glistening wet from soaking her. The cup slips from his hand and falls to the floor as he swallows yet another lump in his throat, a huff of breath drawn out of him. Even when she's angry, she's still beautiful. So without any time to waste, Slaine wraps one arm around Sheryl's shoulders and the other under her knees, hoisting her up in a princess carry. He turns to face the bed, walking towards it to plop his girlfriend on it.

That is far more of an explicit grudge-holding than Sheryl has ever seen from her boyfriend before. To be honest, it actually makes her heart beat harder in her chest. She's never seen him be this domineering before. She kind of likes it.

Then, of course, his expression completely changes, and he picks her up from the stool. Sheryl's immediate instinct is to reach up to cling to him, but her hands are still firmly tied behind her back. (Oh, and even moving makes the rope rub against her crotch... it's silk, so it's not painful. Far from it.)

"Slaine, what are you- are we even still roleplaying anymore?" she says, half-fiery and half-confused, looking up from him on the bed.

The rope, as it turns out, is doing a magnificent job holding her breasts in place, even when she's on her back. Enjoy that, Slaine.

(OOC: Sorry for taking so long to tag this! Computer issues + getting swamped with game tags...)

Slaine straightens up once he releases his girlfriend from the hold, a slight tensing of his brows at the sight of her breasts alone, and he quickly senses the familiar strain in his pants. It's unbearable, and he suspects it'll grow worse if he keeps watching her, but it can't be helped. He finishes unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and shrugs it out of him, dropping the fabric to the floor.

"Who says anything about roleplaying?" He retorts, quirking an eyebrow at Sheryl as his fingers, impatient and urgent as the way he groped her breasts earlier, now linger on his pants. Hear that, Sheryl? That is the sound of a zipper being tugged down, in tandem with the soft puffs slipping out of his mouth. Gravity does the rest of the work pulling his pants down to reveal his navy blue boxer briefs.

"Now, where were we...?"

Instinct is what guides him to the bed, to crawl on top of Sheryl and ignore the obvious tinge of red dusting his cheeks. He doubts he'll ever stop blushing despite how unusually bold he's acting, but no matter, he ought to stop overthinking.

Closing his eyes and ignoring the nerves overtaking him, Slaine lowers his mouth to one of his girlfriend's breasts, capturing a nipple in between his plush lips.

(ooc: No problem!)

Sheryl is now thoroughly perplexed by whether or not they're in character or out of character, and whether or not she should be treating this man like he's her boyfriend and lover or captor and would-be ravisher. She's also not entirely sure she minds. Sure, lying back with her arms underneath her body weight is kind of uncomfortable, but the mattress is soft, and being helpless as Slaine unzips his pants and strips them off is incredibly erotic.

(Sort of helpless. She still has full control over her legs. Next time, she'll have to make him tie her there, too.)

"Ah..." she says, trying to get back into character as he looms over her. (Lord, she's wet) "Y-you monster, I won't... submit to you. Do whatever you like to my body, but my heart and mind will never give in!"

It's undermined a little by the way she bites her lip when he sucks on her full nipple.

Sheryl will soon know the answer to her unspoken question once Slaine abruptly withdraws his lips from her nipple, a thin trail of saliva forming between the swollen nub and his tongue. He could suck on it for a bit longer, savoring the salty taste of his girlfriend beneath him and the sounds that she elicits, but...

Instead he pulls back to give Sheryl an unimpressed look, lips still parted, hands braced on either side of her as he arches an eyebrow.

"Your role leaves a lot to be desired," he replies, words coming out as a gentle, polite scolding. "Please stop."

She already said that line about doing whatever he wants with her body just a while ago, didn't she? It just occurs to Slaine that he'll have to clear things with Sheryl first, but if she keeps running her mouth off while tied up, well... his eyes dart towards the floor, his tie within his line of vision. He hums thoughtfully, knitting his brows.

Well that just makes her a little irritated. "Slaine!" she says, her forehead furrowing in a frown. "You're the actor, not me, did you forget?"

Why the hell is he criticizing her performance for sexy roleplaying?

"Do you want me to be in character or not?" she snaps, her voice a combination of irritated, flustered, and aroused. She is still in the tiniest of thongs, after all, and her boyfriend is still looming over her, helpless and tied with her legs spread on either side of him.

And she still doesn't know if they're roleplaying or not.

"Of course I didn't, which is why I'm reminding you," Slaine replies with an undertone of exasperation, crinkling his nose at her. Now how to say these next words without being outright rude? "For someone who is allegedly savvy, you're quite..."

He pauses, lifting up a finger to gently poke at Sheryl a few times on the forehead, before brushing her bangs and moving away.

"... slow at reading the mood, I must admit."

Yes, he just called her dense in the nicest way possible. Possibly dumb. With a puff of breath, he climbs off of her and out of bed, turning his back to her to bend down and pick up the tie off the floor. Saying the following remark comes a lot easier when he doesn't have to look at his girlfriend, much less stammer in her presence. He'd be too distracted otherwise.

"I've since stopped playing my role, yet you fail to recognize it. Am I distracting you this much? I wonder..." He shakes his head with a chuckle under his breath, turning to the bed once more with a tie on hand. "Really, for our sake, you should just remain as yourself."

Well that's a way to spoil the mood for sure. Sheryl immediately feels her cheeks turning warm with blood, her expression darkening at the way Slaine casually dismisses her. "Slaine, you ass!" she snaps. "You're the professional! I didn't know if you were going for subtle, how is that my fault?!"

Really, she's embarrassed because she didn't pick up on it earlier. Also, a little bit, because of how he'd called her out on it. "I was still trying to play out the scene!"

You may want to act quickly to try and preserve the mood, Slaine.

"I'm certain that we discussed this earlier," Slaine responds with a flat tone, seemingly not caring about his girlfriend's outburst. The truth is, he's actually wary of causing any grief from her end even if he's getting better at not showing it, which is why he's trying to sound as polite as he can manage. The question is, did they really talk through this, or did Slaine just misunderstood?

Sheryl has no chill, honestly. But at least he gets to use her embarrassment as leverage in his favor. This is your boyfriend being somewhat pragmatic, Sheryl.

Another sigh slips from his lips as he climbs onto the bed, flips Sheryl over so that she's lying on her stomach, then sits on top of her with his tie on hand. He's going to try to do some damage control at this point.

"I appreciate your dedication to your role, for what it's worth," he says in an attempt to placate her, gliding his hand through her soft pink hair and maybe twirling a few strands around a finger or two. "But it's time to stop. The only woman I want is not a meek prisoner... but you."

Did they? Sheryl can't remember. She tries to think back to their planning sessions, but it's hard to think when you're nearly naked, tightly tied up, and slightly chilly and damp. Oh, and incredibly turned on, too. "We discussed staying in character!" she grumbles.

That grumble turns into a surprised squeak when he flips her over onto her stomach. With her arms still tightly tied behind her, she can't flip herself back over. (Also, it makes the rope at her crotch shift, the knot sliding against her panties and pressing in at sensitive parts.)

She tries to twist to look behind her, but he's sitting on her back, making it difficult. "I was really getting into it, you know," she huffs. "The whole controlling-soldier act was a huge turn-on. I didn't tell you to stop!"

"So do you just want to do it normally from here or what?"

She kind of doesn't want to be untied.

Slaine has to admit, even if he refuses to say it out loud in favor of burying those thoughts to himself, that sitting on his girlfriend is rather convenient when she's tied up. Truly it's a side of him that he'd rather keep away from the prying eyes of his fangirls, especially his co-workers and guardian. Only Sheryl gets to experience this, no matter how embarrassing this is for him.

He fights back the urge to hitch a breath, restraining a surprised sound in his throat. Did she just admit that his role was a turn-on?

"I-Is that so..." He stammers despite himself, releasing her hair to pinch the bridge of his nose as he exhales. Sure there are women who find him attractive (why they think so is beyond his comprehension), but the heat across his face is difficult to ignore.

Of course, he can't ignore the strain in his boxer briefs when he's practically holding Sheryl hostage between his legs. His gaze drifts towards the tie... and with a groan, he carefully wraps the fabric over her mouth.

"Please forgive me for what I'm about to do," he says as he ties it behind her head all nice and snug.

What the hell is her boyfriend even up to? Sheryl is genuinely puzzled at what game he's decided to play. They're not roleplaying anymore, but he doesn't seem like he's interested in just having sex like they normally do. This is really pretty weird, but she has half a mind to just go with it.

Then his tie slips over her mouth and gets tied tightly behind her head, and Sheryl's eyes go wide.

Instantly, she tries to twist and turn to look at Slaine, but their position means she doesn't get more than halfway. She looks shocked and surprised, but not exactly scared. "Mmffphh!"

It's some sort of wordless protest. Maybe. Maybe it's a question. Sorry, Slaine, no way to tell.

Though part of Sheryl just got a little more turned on. She's at his mercy now. God, that's hot.

There. With the tie securely doing the gagging, now Slaine won't have to hear Sheryl potentially nag at him, even if he's still concerned. The way she attempts to twist her body and make noise causes his eyebrows to knit together, but his expression soon fades into something else as he tries his best to contain his nerves.

Now what? She's practically at his mercy, bound and gagged, and here he is, sitting on her with a look that's best described as the classic "deer in headlights". The sounds of his own heart beating against his chest drum in his ears, far difficult for him to ignore. Slaine takes a moment to close his eyes and sigh, a little louder than intended but he has to concentrate — focus on the woman beneath him.

Shifting a little downward, he lets his fingers grab on to the flimsy ties holding her thong in place. A shame about the ropes, really; they're in the way, or else he'd tug on the lacy undergarment and slide it down those legs (long, lean, and beautiful). So instead, Sheryl will hear a quiet rip break the silence, cool air touching her hips as the fabric is tugged off her body. Slaine makes a mental note to buy a new thong, but hey, at least he won't hear her complain.

Edited 2016-12-20 01:19 (UTC)

Sheryl can only stay twisted around to face Slaine for so long before she gets tired and has to relax, falling back to the bed face first. Maybe it's not so bad like this, actually. (She knows it's not so bad like this.)

She turns her head to the side so she can breathe, still able to look at Slaine out of the corner of her eye, mostly. Like this, she can feel his hands roaming along her backside, around her ass, and tugging at her thong. Then, she realizes that not only is he not going to just take it off, he can't, just in time for flimsy fabric to snap.

And there she is, naked and bare, freshly shaven and glistening wet from arousal. He can see her. Sheryl makes another irritated-sounding noise, but doesn't struggle or squirm too much, so it seems she's not all that genuinely angry.

She is, however, genuinely horny. God, Slaine, just fuck her already... is what she wants to say.

Just because Slaine is preventing Sheryl from speaking doesn't mean he can't listen to the muffled sounds behind secure cloth, or see her squirm a bit once he shifts his position on the bed some more. She's not the only one aroused, if the erection denting the fabric of his underwear is any more obvious, not to mention a little too tight.

As he carefully tilts his girlfriend's body over so that he's pushing her on her back, the ropes strategically placed across her skin is impossible to ignore. How improper, he thinks, teal eyes lingering on a strap near her crotch; it doesn't look comfortable to him. Sheryl sure comes up with the most outrageous ideas to loosen him up.

Swallowing yet another lump, Slaine allows his hand to slowly rest on that area, pushing it away from the slit and— oh. His fingers are shivering and his back turns rigid, a shaky breath drawn out from his lips. It's only been a few moments ago that he fondled her right there. Hard to forget how Sheryl felt and sounded from beneath his fingertips, only he was pretending to be someone else.

This time, however, he'll touch her again — as himself. Far unlike his previous movements, it's as gentle as he can make it while pressing his palm against the crux of her thighs, slow and steady, almost experimentally to see how she looks.

Edited 2016-12-20 21:06 (UTC)

She turns easily onto her back, partially because she's bound and partially because she'd much rather not be looking down at the mattress for the next few minutes. Sheryl's face is flushed, her breathing already heavy with arousal; she still gives Slaine a momentary glare as if to register her disapproval with his earlier behavior. It's really just Sheryl being Sheryl, though.

Her hands are bound behind her back (now underneath her), her legs bent and tied. She can, however, spread her legs for him, which she does eagerly, because please take the hint, Slaine. She's practically glistening, and when his fingers touch her heat, she audibly moans through the fabric of the gag, arching her back and trying to push into the touch.

The next time she looks up at him, it's pleading, desperate. This is not the time to be gentle and exploratory, Slaine.

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whips and chains excite me

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