The Woman

Pain bursts through Jane’s body, the threatening edge of Irene’s grip as swift and sudden as the sensation that now diffuses through her core, to match the bite now wickedly pressed into her neck. She gasps, arches; and moans. It is as if she is possessed by the pure feeling of being overwhelmed. Truly, Jane had not expected Irene to react like this. Most danced around the edge, hesitated - but not now.

It is not the fantasy of being taken that drives her, but rather the fantasy of being able to take, anything and everything that Irene could think to give to her, and still be strong enough to resurface. Blue eyes dart down, wide with pleasure, to find The Woman.

“Yes,” Bond confesses, voice quiet, “the danger arouses me, that you can do what you will, what you want…” she trails off, closing her eyes, vulnerable. “That I’ve been under your thrall since I saw you, I want to be what you can make of me.”

Lazily, she smiles, lashes still shut, focusing on the pleasure building inside of her, deep, and warm. “You’re beautiful.” It is a whisper, and a genuine truth behind it. Jane rolls her hips, making sure to keep her own fingers steady within Irene, before she opens her gaze again.

“I trust you, Miss Adler.” With her words, she lets her head fall back, throat bared in invitation. “I trust you.”

CURIOUS. Drugged, marked, led astray; yet still, trusting. Much like a dog, unsurprisingly - those infuriatingly moronic balls of fur whose wet, pleading eyes and low whines of apology often make an appearance whenever their owner accidentally hurts them. Now there is an amusing resemblance.

@thedxminatrix cont’d from {x}

THERE is a frantic moan that manages to spill from Missy’s mouth, her eyes fighting to remain open, lashes heavy, pupils dilated, and she knows she must look so helpless, so pretty, the Queen of Evil brought to heel.

“Irene- Irene,” she sobs, knowing she can no longer reclaim dominance, embracing her vulnerability with the small flicker of shame and the loud roar of passion, grinding down into the touch The Woman deigns to give her. “Mark me, again, again, Irene, again!”