Chapter Text
The days go by in somewhat of a hazy, dreamlike state. Your outfits change almost daily, creamy ivory, baby pink, pastel lavender, soft blue. Always with a matching collar, always with ears.
After your moment in the conference room there’s a level of physical connection between you and Bane that becomes difficult to classify. The way he tucks your hair behind your ear, traces his pointer finger over your lips, rubs your feet, caresses your nose. Sometimes you wonder if, had you declined, he would have just asked someone else. But then you’ll catch his eyes watching you in the reflection of the mirror at night, notice how he’s so precise with your bedtime tea tray like a nervous Victorian maid and you’re sure that the answer would be no. He doesn’t just like having you around, he’s a little bit obsessed with you.
You’re starting to feel the same way about him in return.
Your entire life you have felt invisible, been invisible, all but forgotten after your parents had died, your sister disappeared. But Bane makes you feel, not just seen, but like you’re the only person alive, the only person that matters to him at all.
Even now, as you walk down these endless hallways in search of him, you feel a quiet fizz inside your body at the idea of seeing him again. Even though you see him every day, sleep next to him, sit on his lap, feel his fingers lull you to sleep, sift through your hair, pull you to breathless org*sms again and again, there’s just something about him you can’t quite get enough of. There’s a reassurance in his steadiness, the knowledge that he’s always exactly where you expect him to be. He’s not surprising or unexpected or spontaneous in any way and that calms you so thoroughly it’s hard to put into words.
The sound of your boots echoes against the concrete walls, the strip lighting so dim overhead you have to mentally calculate how far you’ve gone and how far you have left to go so you don’t get turned around. You let your mind drift off, flooding with memories of last night. His body warm and heavy next to you in bed, his large hands gently dangling a fuzzy toy mouse on a string in front of your nose as you giggled with delight. The way he turned you over onto your stomach and trailed his fingers down your spine, kneaded his hands into your thighs, pressed his fingers into you from behind, slick and rough and absolutely perfect until you were grabbing at the pillow beneath your face, legs trembling like feathers in the breeze.
It’s because of these memories, the phantom sounds of his praise still ringing in your ears that you don’t hear the menacing footsteps behind you until it’s far too late.
The unfamiliar hand on your ass is so jarring, the grip so hard and abrupt that you don’t really process it until it’s already over. You stumble away, turning your ankle just awkwardly enough that your palm scrapes against the wall in an effort to gain your balance.
“Damn. I’d have a pet like you too if I could,” the man says, his eyes leering at you like he can see underneath your clothes, like he’s tempted to rip them off right here in the middle of the hallway, “no wonder he keeps you all to himself.” He steps toward you almost without thought crowding you in towards the wall, your voice trapped somewhere beneath your rib cage.
He has a bright silver tooth where one of his front teeth should be, the bottom row overcrowded like a poorly patched rooftop mismatched with shingles. He’s taller than you but wiry, his long limbs without any grace or intention like a dying tree. He smiles at you hungrily and in a way that makes your stomach turn. It’s the first time, in all the time you’ve spent here that you genuinely feel scared. Like maybe he really would be stupid enough to hurt you.
But then, on the heels of your fear, there’s a bubbling, uncontrollable anger. It happens so suddenly you can feel your cheeks warm with rage, hot tears pushing behind your eyes as your hands ball into fists. You want to spit on him, kick him, scratch that smug smile clean off of his face.
But your adrenaline doesn’t let you think clearly enough to do any of that before he’s turning to leave, chuckling to himself after he winks at you and slinks down the corridor.
The interaction lasted barely a minute but it takes you a while to compose yourself. Being accosted is just part of living in Gotham, it’s part of the reason why you’re so good at blending in. And you knew that this arrangement with Bane would shine a spotlight on you, would make you vulnerable to other people’s opinions and judgements, their ideas of the kind of person they think you must be to agree to something like this. You just didn’t realize that some people would feel the right to step into the light beside you, to try to steal some of it away. It was naive of you to forget that some people believe that your open invitation for one is an open invitation for all.
Your legs are a little shaky when you start to walk again, your mind racing as you try to figure out why you feel so shaken, what the f*ck just happened and if you should say anything at all.
It’s no big deal right? It was nothing. Barely a tap honestly.
Bane isn’t your boyfriend, he’s not your husband or your protector, he’s not even really your boss anymore. He doesn’t owe you anything. And maybe you’re making this into a way bigger deal than it needs to be. It’s just…you know him well enough to know that he will not take kindly to someone taking a piece of something he did not intend to share.
_________
“There she is,” his voice rumbles when you enter his office, and just those three words, the sound of him, makes you want to weep a little bit. He immediately sets down his papers, dismissing the two female guards seated in front of his desk with a disinterested flick of his hand.
He holds one of his arms out to you, spreading his thighs in invitation for you to sit down, and you try to hide the relief in your face, the unevenness in your stride as you attempt not to sprint toward him.
He wears the same thing more or less every day, a variation of utilitarian pants, no shirt or some kind of black or gray thermal, a vest or jacket, black boots and his mask, his eyes always shining like jewels against his muted wardrobe.
“Hello angel” he whispers against your hair after you sit down, the sound barely audible behind his many filters. When he speaks loudly it’s easier to hear him of course, the sound pushed through with more force. But when it’s just the two of you, sometimes you have to strain to hear him, his normal speaking voice surprisingly soft, like he’s sharing a secret for only you to hear.
You push your face up into his neck and smell him, nuzzling your nose against his skin. Winter fruits and cold nights, a smell you have not only gotten used to but come to crave.
“I hope you enjoyed your wandering,” he muses as he brushes his fingers down the side of your neck, his eyes mapping your face as if you’ve been gone for decades, “I’m too selfish to let you out of my sight for that long again.”
No worries there, you think to yourself.
“Tell me about your day,” you respond instead, sighing as you lose yourself in the rhythm of his voice. His discussion of plans, blueprints and codes, detonation sequences and coordinates soothing you like a bedtime story.
It should be scary, should terrify you that he intends to turn this city inside out. Gotham is your home, despite everything it’s still the place you grew up, made you who you are. But if you’re honest it’s long overdue for a makeover, a new mindset, some fresh blood. The Wayne’s ran this city into the ground a long time ago, their son nowhere to be found, their wealth polluting everything it touches. Their orphanage that went to sh*t, the reformation project that came to nothing, helped no one. The asylum, with all its secrets and corruption. The violence, the crime, the disarray.
Enough is enough.
It’s time for someone to bring some order to this city once and for all, and you think, you know, that Bane is that someone.
“You’re very intelligent,” you observe after he’s finished, looking down at his rugged face as he blinks away, embarrassed, “I’m honestly fascinated by your mind.”
He clears his throat, and you can tell he’s mentally debating whether to change the subject or not before he just shrugs and says “living in a pit gives you an incredible amount of time to think, to learn.”
“What was the hardest part?” You ask, turning to sit on just one of his legs, your whole body angled toward his.
He leans back, wraps his arms around your middle and closes his eyes. This is his favorite way to be, eyes closed, silence and darkness together, you perched right beside him.
A princess and her loyal knight.
“Not giving in to hopelessness. Not worrying that there really would be no way out.” His fingers lace together against your hip bone, the smell of black tea leaves and sugar cubes permeating the still surrounding air.
“You watch so many people try and fail, so many people suffer and die. It’s hard to believe that you’ll be any different.”
You think on this for a moment, contemplate all the things he must have seen, what he had to endure to survive down there.
“You should be so proud of yourself,” you say as you turn and spread your hands out like a pirate showing off all of his treasure, indicating all his blueprints and paperwork scattered on the desk, “my goodness the things you’ve accomplished, have yet to accomplish still.”
But Bane is suddenly rigid beneath you, and you worry for a moment that you’ve overstepped. You know he doesn’t like to be complimented, shies away from attention the way the moon hides from the sun. But someone has to tell him, someone has to make him feel appreciated, valued the way he so easily values you. You turn to look at his face again and that’s when you realize what’s actually going on.
His eyes are looking at your open palm, at the bright red scratches scored down almost to your wrist.
“What’s happened here?” He asks casually as he reaches for you, like he’s asking about what day of the week it is or about a sale at the grocery store.
A chill runs through you and for a second you can’t swallow or blink or move.
And you don’t know why your first instinct is to lie, it’s not like you want to protect that man. There’s just something so menacing about the way he turns your hand this way and that, like he already knows the answer is not something he wants to hear.
“It’s nothing,” you reply after far too long. You’ve never been a very good liar, and even you aren’t convinced omission will work but it’s worth a shot.
He sits up straight, cradling your open palm in his hands like a baby bird that fell from its nest.
His silence speaks volumes.
“Bane,” you whisper with the tone of a police officer encouraging someone to slowly step away from a ledge.
“What,” he asks again, his tone lethal this time, “happened?”
“It really was nothing. I don’t- I was just on my way to see you and some guy grabbed my ass, made some rude comment. I don’t even know his name, honestly I’d already forgotten about it.”
You’re trying to be flippant, unbothered. Judging by the way his eyes cloud over, like a hurricane coming in on the horizon, it’s not something you’re particularly good at.
“And you scraped your hand how?” His thumb rubs soothing circles against your wrist, long lashes fanned up toward his eyebrows as he stares into you, past your thinly veiled deception.
“He startled me, I lost my balance.” You say it matter of factly like it happened to someone else.
“You’re sure? So help me if he-”
“I swear,” you interject, resting your free hand on his forearm, lowering your face so that your eyes are level with his own, “he came up behind me, grabbed me, said ‘no wonder he keeps you all to himself’ or something like that and then he was gone.”
You shrug, like ‘no big deal’ before biting your lip and looking down, ashamed for a reason you can’t quite define.
“Are you alright?” He asks, lovingly enveloping your hand between his two enormous ones.
“Yes. Of course it just-,” to your horror your voice wavers just a little bit, like you might be about to cry. The way he looks at you, has cared for you, pulls your long buried vulnerability to the surface in a way you couldn’t have predicted.
You clear your throat, try again.
“Just scared me a little bit is all. Really I’m ok.”
He looks at you for an interminable amount of time, his eyes oddly steady, his pulse beating at the base of his neck at an even pace.
He pulls you into him, tucks your head beneath his chin, lulls you toward relaxation like he always does, the sound of his breathing, the smell of his clothes, the whoosh of the pipes, until whatever had started to feel unsettled inside you begins to ease.
“My sweet kitten and her poor little paw,” he coos, kicking his feet up on his desk and leaning back with you curled tight in his arms.
It’s the first time you’ve smiled all day.
“This man,” he says after a beat, sighing like he might be on the verge of sleep himself, like he’s really not as angry as he seemed to be just minutes ago, “what did he look like?”
_______
The compound has always had a surprisingly familial feel to it. Despite the surroundings, the dining hall has always been overrun with a sense of community and belonging. Bane prefers for everyone to eat together, that your bonds and loyalty will be harder to break if you’ve shared a meal with someone, know their family history, have listened to their hopes and dreams, know their deepest desires.
Long tables are evenly spaced on the dark gray concrete floor, sconces embedded in the wall giving off just enough light to see the food on your plate and the face seated across from you. Some people stand and talk, a cold drink in hand, while others laugh and converse in seated groups. Maybe what happened this morning was so upsetting because despite what some might think, this is a mostly welcoming place to be. People keep to themselves sure, but they also respect you. There are no traditional gender roles, no hierarchy beyond Bane and his undeniable authority. There are only these 4 walls, this mismatched group of people and the end goal you’re all trying to achieve.
You haven’t been down here in what seems like years, too caught up in your new little bubble but it’s certainly nice to be back, greeted politely for the most part by familiar faces and the smell of crisp, clean water. It’s not that people don’t stare anymore, it’s just that you’ve gotten used to it. And as you trail behind Bane in a fuzzy black catsuit, bells singing from around your neck, wrists and ankles, you have to say you don’t mind one bit.
He seemed relatively fine after your conversation in his office. Angry and concerned of course, but shockingly (suspiciously?) calm. You watch the hypnotizing sway of his heavy shoulders, stare at where your fingernails indented the skin at the nape of his neck when he’d made you come again on his desk less than an hour ago and you hope that people see your ownership of him too. That the glimmer in his eyes, the scratches down his arms, the love bites at the base of his throat are from you and no one else.
You try not to think about your little sister too often, her fresh little face, her favorite stuffed frog tucked right next to her in bed, afraid the thoughts of her kidnapping will pull you under to a place so deep you won’t be able to resurface. But it’s nice to have someone to keep again, someone to take care of in your own particular way. It’s not that he reminds you of your sister, it’s that his need for you fills something that had previously been unbearably empty. Violet will always be a gaping hole in your heart, but Bane has somehow managed to patch it up, just a little bit.
Your giant pillow is perched right on top of the table, a plush aubergine island amidst a sea of muted black, slate walls and stainless steel. The low hum of chatter doesn’t necessarily die down when he picks you up and settles you into place but there is a collective sort of hesitation as people try to pretend that they aren’t staring. Bane whispers something to a guard on his right, the man nodding his head once before he walks off and disappears behind a discreet metal door. It’s interesting being seated this high above him, above everyone, like this. You look down at his stern face, the permanent crease between his eyebrows. There’s something so beautiful about his intensity, the cool calculation behind his eyes.
“Enjoying the view?” He asks, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, his biceps and traps and forearms bunching in the most delectable way. You let your eyes move over his body in a way that makes your answer rather obvious.
“I could ask you the same,” you reply with a grin instead, leaning back on your hands with your legs crossed in front of you, biting your lower lip in the way you know he likes, your canines just barely peeking out, the long line of your throat tipped back just enough your collar glints in the low light.
He smiles back in the only way he can. It’s impossible to see it the way you wish you could but it’s evident in the way his body relaxes, his eyes crinkling just the slightest bit at the corners.
“You already know what a pretty girl you are.”
He stands, walking to the side of the table until he’s right beside you. He runs the back of his hand down your cheeks, rubs your hair between his thumb and pointer finger like he’s handling the petal of a flower.
“You’re my sweet girl, aren’t you?”
You nod eagerly, rubbing your nose against his palm.
“And you’ve been a good girl all day haven’t you? So patient for me while I was working?”
You nod again, loving this. His attention envelops you, narrows everything down in the room until it’s only you and him here and no one else. It’s all you hear, all you see, all you feel.
It’s everything.
He leans closer to you, eyes fixed just above your head at something behind you.
“Then I think my kitten deserves a gift, don’t you?”
Your eyes snap up to his, only now realizing how quiet the dining hall has gotten. Bane straightens, one hand curled around the top of his vest as the man who assaulted you this morning stumbles into view, dragged by the shoulders by two other guards.
Bane clears his throat, beckoning the man forward as he gathers the attention of everyone else.
“I won’t keep you from your meals and socialization for too long,” he begins, his voice strong as he projects it across the dining hall, “but I wanted to remind you all of the power of the community we have here, the trust we have built within these walls, within each other.”
He scans the room, seeming to meet every gaze individually before landing for a moment back on you.
“What we’re doing here, what we want to accomplish is more than just about power, it’s more than just about who’s right and who’s wrong. It’s about peace, about bringing calm to this unending disarray.”
He motions with his hands to have the guards make the man stand and when you finally notice it, your heart stalls for so long you think you might pass out. Because where his hands used to be there is now…nothing. A wrist bone on each side bound by white gauze soaked through with blood.
He doesn’t meet your eyes, doesn’t dare to look in your direction but you can’t seem to stop staring at that dark crimson color, can’t quite comprehend if you’re seeing what you think you are.
“And we cannot,” Bane continues, palms out and open, pleading for understanding, “bring peace to this city if we are still at war within ourselves. If we don’t respect one another, if we don’t value our places in this carefully crafted system.”
He grabs the man by the throat, forcing him out of the guards hands and thrusting him toward you, pushing him down to kneel at your feet.
“I should have had you killed and I’m still considering it if I’m honest,” he whispers quietly, just loud enough for the three of you to hear, “but you owe her an apology first.”
The man starts sobbing, blubbering uncontrollably, tears and snot dripping onto the back of the hand around his neck.
Bane sighs impatiently.
No one else makes a sound.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, his voice barely audible above his cries. Bane squeezes his hand tighter, the veins in his forearms pulsing angrily, his entire being alive with fury.
“Louder!” He shouts, making even you jump a little.
“I’m sorry!” the man cries, hysterical at this point, “oh God I’m so sorry, p-please don’t kill me please!”
“Don’t tell God, tell her!” Bane shouts, his words reverberating off the walls around you, rough and livid, a dark abyss of a voice.
“You think you can put your hands on my precious girl and get away with it?” Bane asks as he leans down and gets in the mans face, his short nails digging into the flesh at his throat, small pin pricks of blood rising to the surface, “have you lost your f*cking mind?”
“I’m sorry,” the man wheezes, his eyes flicking up to yours for the briefest moment, his skin turning splotchy as he gasps for air, “I shouldn’t- I don’t know what I was thinking! It was wrong and I’m very sorry. P-please.”
He begins to weep again as he looks at you and awaits your forgiveness. Bane kicks him in the side without warning, his shoulder hitting hard against the concrete, unable to catch himself of course without any hands to break his fall.
“Do you accept?” Bane asks and it takes a moment for you to realize that he’s talking to you. That everyone in the room it seems is waiting with bated breath for your answer.
So much has happened in the last 5 minutes it seems like days have gone by. But even through your adrenaline spiked haze it isn’t lost on you that Bane did this all for you. That your forgiveness is the only thing determining the outcome of that man's fate. Never in your life has someone given you so much power to wield and given it so easily too.
The realization of that is intoxicating.
You look into Bane’s lovely eyes, and feel a spreading warmth all over your body. He looks down at you, pleased and expectant, like a dog who’s just brought an offering to its owner in hopes that you’ll love it.
Because even though you’re his pet, Bane really does belong to you too.
You smile at him and nod, not even bothering to look at that man anymore, not caring about anything other than the formidable man standing right in front of you.
Bane nods once as well in response, turning his attention back to the crowd.
“Let us not forget who we are, what we stand for! Gotham will be ours, this city has no idea what we have in store for it, but we cannot get there if we lose our senses.”
He turns to the man cowering on the ground, his voice loud enough for the entire room to hear but his attention locked only on his shaking form.
“I won’t be gracious enough to remind you again.”
_________
The best part about being a pet is that you can be a bit of a nuisance whenever your heart so desires and he doesn’t seem to mind one bit.
You’re sitting on his lap, his large shirtless body sprawled underneath you on the bed, watching with barely disguised amusem*nt as you trace your fingers over the lines of his mask, across the fabric stretched over his cheek.
Even with half of his face covered he’s still so handsome. His stoic features softened by the curl of his lashes, the sweet blue green of his eyes. Usually his eyebrows are always pinched together, whether out of anger or concentration you sometimes can’t tell. But in your company, especially now, with you in just your ears, collar and low cut silk nightgown, his face relaxes so thoroughly you feel honored just to be able to witness it.
Nevermind the fact that you’re the cause of it.
“Can I tell you something?” You ask into the near darkness, the low yellow light just barely illuminating his smooth skin, his large hands resting on your thighs.
“Of course, little one,” He replies with a low contented grumble, closing his eyes as your nails scratch over his shaved head, the pads of your fingertips lightly brushing over his lower lashes.
“I hope you know, or I mean - I want you to know that you’ve made me feel so…wanted. It doesn’t even make sense to me, why you do it, but I’m so grateful for it.”
Your hands are suddenly clammy with nerves, hips wiggling back and forth on his lap as you try to form the rest of this thought into a coherent sentence.
He peeks an eye open at you, hands curving around your hips, intrigued and waiting.
“I only mean to say that I want you to feel the same way,” you hold his eyes, placing both of your palms flat against his muscular abdomen, “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel. And if there’s something you’re concerned about or don’t want me to see I respect that, truly I do. But there’s no need to hide from me. It won’t change anything.”
He eyes you for a long while, the only sound in the room the evenly space click click of the filters that keep him alive.
He sits up, back against the headboard, dragging you toward him so that one of his arms wrap around your back, the other around your bottom, his palm covering your ass and holding you tight to him.
“You don’t know that,” he finally says in response, “I’m a monster in more ways than one.”
You pull back, affronted. Offended by his statement and how casually he said it.
“Don’t say that,” you reply angrily, crossing your arms indignantly.
He laughs a little at this, amused by your pouting and despite yourself you feel a smile tugging at the corner of your frown.
“I mean it,” you insist, poking him in the chest, “you are many things, many respectable, complex things and a monster is not one of them. What you did for me today,” you lean in and kiss his neck, the soft skin right below his jaw, “I’ll never forget that.”
You can feel his palms rubbing up and down your back, the silk catching on his calloused hands, the heat from his skin melting into your own.
Flame against soft wax.
“Even the strongest of men are no match to steel and rock. Unfortunately I will always have permanent reminders of that fact.” He whispers this after a long while and it takes your brain a few beats to put together what it is he’s trying to tell you without actually saying the words.
That whatever place had held him captive for so long, the scars you can only assume he has on his legs are a terrible reminder of all he’s put behind him. You honestly didn’t know you could admire someone this much. He never brags about his accomplishments, never talks about all the things he’s overcome. But you see it there, the weight of it all in the set of his shoulders, the rod straight column of his spine.
If he is a monster you think as you look down into his tortured expresion, you’re not sure what that makes you, entranced with him as you are.
“I wonder if you’re no match for little kittens then too?” You purr, swivelling your hips a little as you curve your arms around his shoulders.
It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it, not tonight, and you’re more than happy to provide a distraction.
You nip at his neck, rocking your panty-less core against the fabric of his pants, rubbing your nipples against his chest.
“I’m ashamed to admit this but if I could meow for you and it not sound totally ridiculous I definitely would.”
You think this might make him laugh a little but by the way his pupils bleed out into his irises, an ink blot into the ocean, you can tell he likes the idea of that very much.
You grind down against where he’s growing hard beneath you, listening eagerly to the sound of his breaths growing more labored, his eyes watching you rapt and greedy.
“I love being your pet, did you know that?” You reach a hand down, hiking your nightgown up higher so he can see the skin of your thighs more, watch the place where the two of you are pressed together, wonderfully bare against frustratingly covered. He tilts his head down and stares, brows pinched together, heavy eyes flicking between your puss* and your face.
“You take such good care of me,” you whimper, surprised at how good this feels, at the sudden awareness that you could come if you keep this up, “the way you cuddle me, and feed me, when you brush my hair, the way you look at me.”
Your voice melts off into a breathy sigh as you grip his shoulders, using them as leverage to rock harder against him. His hips rise up every time you press down, chasing the pressure your body provides, both of you finding pleasure in such a simple act.
“Am I your favorite girl?” You moan, your cl*t starting to throb from the friction, your back arching as he grips your hips and starts to move you faster, harder.
“You’re the only girl,” he grits out, barely able to breathe.
“Do you want to feel your kitten's little c*nt? It’s so wet for you.”
You expect him to reach his fingers down and feel you that way, his eagerness to finger you always hiding just around the corner. But when he lifts you up with a forearm beneath your bottom, making you topple forward a little so he can unzip his pants, you let out a surprised laugh, not ignorant to the fact that your tit* are right where his mouth should be. It makes your nipples tighten so painfully you have to press them against his mask just to ease the ache a little bit.
You pull back and look down at his face, watching him watch you, his eyes drinking in your fuzzy ears, your jingling collar, your nightgown slipping over your shoulders, hanging on for dear life. When he settles you back on his hard length, not inside but just on top, the color of his eyes disappears almost completely as they roll back.
“Heaven and earth,” he snarls, nudging your hips just a little to feel the slick, slow slide of your skin against his, nothing in between. You don’t look, don’t care how far he’s pushed down his pants, because you’re consumed by the feeling, the intimacy of being connected with someone without them even being inside of you. He lets you move languidly at first, moving back and forth on top of him, feeling his thick shaft glide against your puss*, the plump head of his co*ck covered in pre-cum nudging at your cl*t. He braces his feet on the bed, his knees at your back, making it easier for you to lean your spine against him and pull down the top of your nightgown completely.
“Pet me,” you pant, tipping your head back, while you play with your tit*, “I want you to pet me while I come for you.”
You can tell you’re driving him crazy, his cheeks strawberry red as he watches you use his dick to get yourself off, his whole body restless with his own need to come. He’s breathing so hard it sounds like his mask might burst clean off of his face, his chest dotted with sweat as he scratches underneath your chin, behind your ears, at the nape of your neck.
“Look at you, princess,” he moans, one of his hands gripping your thigh so tight you hope it bruises, “f*ck you make me so hard for you.”
You want to tell him that you can tell, can feel the veins in his shaft rubbing against your cl*t. You want him to know that you didn’t know it could be like this, make you feel this good. But you start to feel that beneath the skin buzz, your blood rushing frantically through your body, c*nt throbbing, breath stuttering, heart slamming against your ribcage as you start to come. Come so suddenly that you couldn’t get the words out if you wanted to, you barely have time to take a breath. Your voice catches, your back arches, your head falling back between his legs as your knees tighten against his sides and you press down hard, coming all over him wet and hot as he watches, half paralyzed and starstruck.
It’s the best org*sm you’ve ever had.
And you’ll be damned if you don’t give him one too.
You fall forward, hands planted on either side of his head, leaning up just a little to work just the tip of him inside you.
“Is this ok?” You ask, breathless, the silk of your pajamas sweat slicked to your skin, “will you come inside me?”
You scratch your nails down his neck, lick your tongue right over his mask, bite his cheek all over until your teeth leave marks beneath his left eye.
He smacks a large hand against your lower back, punching his co*ck up into you at the same time, unable to hold himself back any longer. The cry you let out leaves you gasping for air, the stretch he gives you so delicious and bone deep it sends tingles racing down your spine, across your hairline, beneath your fingernails. He grabs your ass and works you up and down over his length, his eyes unfocused as he looks desperately at your mouth.
Like he would sell his soul just to be able to kiss you.
“My pet needs her puss* f*cked doesn’t she?” He asks, fingers reaching around and down so he can feel where he enters you over and over again.
You nod furiously, the aftershocks of your climax making you dizzy with pleasure.
“Needs her bath and her cream and her princess pillow when we’re done, isn't that right?”
“Yes sir,” you cry, “please sir.”
He forces you down, spreading your ass with both hands as he f*cks you from the bottom. It’s relentless and messy, slippery and rough and hard and perfect. He f*cks you like he may never get the chance again, like your puss* was made for him and him alone. He takes what he wants from you, but he takes it like he needs it to live, like he can’t survive without it. He pounds into you until his whole body shakes beneath you, the design of his mask imprinted into your neck as he chokes out your name and starts to come.
“Sweetheart you’re so f*cking tight,” you hear him say as he clutches you to him, your frenzy in the darkness lighting up everything around you.
His cum pulses out of him suddenly at first, two quick bursts making his whole body tighten beneath you before he firmly presses his hips up and releases everything inside himself with deep slow gushes. He groans as he fills you up, your c*nt so snug around his throbbing co*ck. It goes on for so long you wonder if he never indulges himself this way at all, his hand trembling against your spine as he crushes you to him, petting your head and whispering what a good girl you are, the best girl there’s ever been. How well you took him, how pretty you looked riding him like that, taking your pleasure and sharing it with him even though he doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve you at all.
You stay joined like that for who knows how long, his fingers trailing up and down your back, over your arms, along your shoulders until, had he not picked you up and carried you to the tub you would have gone right to sleep. He does exactly what he said he would, bathing you and coddling you, setting out a fresh saucer with sweet cream which you happily drink from on all fours.
He stands with his back against the counter, arms folded across his naked chest as he watches you drink, your tongue dipping in and out of the cool liquid, milk trailing down your chin and dripping onto the floor.
To give into something, to give into desire or submission or roleplay is to give into freedom, this you now know for sure. It’s not that you physically want to be a cat, it’s that you can lean into something that makes you feel imperative to someone else’s life, a feeling you have never had before. That you make someone else brighten just by being around. You don’t know what the end goal is here exactly, how long the both of you intend to keep this up. But when you kneel at his feet and rub your cheek against his thigh, the cotton of his pants soft from wear, his fingers scratching circles at the base of your skull, you know that you have never wanted to stay somewhere as much as you long to stay with him.
