In Which Ian Penetrates Deeply
My head was swimming as I let Ian pull me through the door to Harlowe and into the stairwell… floating up and down like a bobber caught in a boat’s wake, like a buoy on the waves. Where that image popped into my head from, I couldn’t say… I’d never been to the ocean, but I could see it clear as day.
For that matter, while I’d been fishing a handful of times as a very small child, I couldn’t really say when exactly a fishing float bobbing in the water had become part of my brain’s visual repertoire.
I felt Ian tense up and I stopped and caught myself just before my foot would have missed a stair. I was letting myself get distracted by ephemeral matters… I was just a little light-headed, that was all.
My first time climbing those stairs popped into my head… I’d felt so lost and so awkward the first day at school.
I knew the way to my own room now, of course, but it still felt good to have someone else leading the way, someone else taking charge. It was almost liberating, in a paradoxical way. I was free of obligations, or free of all obligations but one… there were no other unknown obligations lurking around the corner or out of sight.
There was a nagging feeling in the back of my head… a feeling that probably would have sounded a lot like Shiel’s voice, if feelings had voices to sound with… that this was horribly backwards, that I was somehow abetting my own oppression by choosing to submit to a man.
But I had some idea what oppression felt like, and it wasn’t this.
It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to be able to make up my own mind about anything. I just wanted to be able to choose to submit. Was there anything wrong with that? It seemed like as valid a choice as any to me… and if submission was what I wanted, then it wasn’t like refusing to submit would have been some great big triumph of personal freedom.
Ian stopped, a couple steps up from me, and looked back at me. The weight of his wanting, the force of his desire… it slammed into me like a battering ram. This was not the time to retreat into another whirlpool of oblivious self-examination.
This was my time to be there for Ian, be here with him. I wanted it as much as he did, probably… that is, I knew I wanted it but I couldn’t say how much he did by comparison. It wasn’t like I was in his head or anything.
It almost felt that way… my need and his need were all tied up together in my head, bound together with sticky-hot chains of clinging lust that seemed to be driving themselves deeper within me, wrapping themselves tighter and tighter around me…
It was weird how being alone with Ian didn’t decrease my sense of interconnectedness, it just refocused from the crowd to him.
“You okay?” Ian asked, and I realized that my resolution to not retreat inside myself had resulted in exactly that. Lingering on the irony would probably just make things worse…
I realized I hadn’t answered, and started to nod and say that I was fine, but Ian was already turning back up the stairs and pressing on.
There were no words when we got into the room. I had a hard time thinking of it as my room at the moment… I was having a hard time holding on to the concept of mine, or even of me. I looked at Ian and he looked at me… his eyes raked across my skin. There wasn’t much exposed, but my small breasts heaved inside my shirt. I burned all over, hot and flushed with his attention.
Ian’s face was all command, no invitation. He had the kind of face that was more common on the east coast, the “Imperial” look, with an aquiline nose and piercing eyes… I’d thought he was cute and even good-looking before, but it was strange that I’d never noticed how downright compelling he looked.
I wanted to tell him so, but silence felt natural and comfortable to me… though I wasn’t completely comfortable. My clothing felt tight, constrictive… my jeans were tight, but I felt like they were suffocating me, like my ass was going to rip out of them at any moment. It had been getting bigger lately, but it looked good and I had to know it. I liked to be spanked, didn’t I? And fucked… I took it up the ass. Ian had been right about that from the beginning. He hadn’t been wrong, he’d just been early. It was a horrible thing to think but it wasn’t like I complained the way he treated me, I wanted it, I liked it…
My thoughts were coming hard and fast and ragged, and so was my breath. I tried to undo the snap on my jeans quickly and ended up ripping them, rending the denim with my bare hands. I blushed… I’d never managed to be so careless with my strength as that… but my hands wouldn’t stop. I tore my jeans off, literally… and then my shirt, and then I was wearing my underwear and Ian’s jacket. I looked at him and saw nothing but approval on his face. I had the strength to rip and tear, but I looked so small, so vulnerable… I found myself shrinking down, lowering my shoulders and my face, bending my back and knees until I was kneeling on the floor in front of him.
Something in me relaxed then. This felt comfortable in the same way the silence did, only more… immediate?
It felt more like my comfort, though I didn’t know how that worked, exactly. Who else’s comfort would I be feeling?
It hardly seemed to matter… not the question, and not my comfort. Not when Ian was undoing his own jeans, sliding them down his increasingly muscular legs and revealing his hard, thick cock that had fought its way free of his boxers of its own accord.
I felt very small and very fragile, looking at it. My body lost all sense of invulnerability. He could smash me with that thing, pound me into the floor, rend me with it, impale me right through the middle… it was a weapon, and there I was, equal parts victim and sheath.
So much violence wrapped up in that taut skin, but I was ready for it.
I was waiting for it.
I was made for it.
But Ian wouldn’t be looking to run me through. No… I felt certain of that. Well, obviously it was so because he was just standing there. He wanted me to come to him, of course… to show how much I wanted it, how much I wanted him, how ready and willing I was for him…
Our physical relationship had begun with a blowjob. In theory, he was entitled to one anytime he wanted… well, it wasn’t just theory, he really was. I’d give him one… any time, anywhere, but he’d felt weird about taking advantage of that. He didn’t need to… my mouth was his to use. It might as well belong to him. I was as much his as I was Amaranth’s… well, I wasn’t sure that was true, but it felt that way… and besides, she had given him permission.
No, that wasn’t it. She didn’t have power over him, she had power over me, like he did. She had given me orders to go down on him, and he could do the same.
Any time he wanted.
It was so exciting to think about that, I could hardly believe he’d held back so much, exercised his privilege so little… what he needed was for me to show him that I would do it not because Amaranth said so, not even because he said so, but because I wanted to… because I needed to, because I craved it, I couldn’t help myself…
And really, I couldn’t. There was his dick, practically staring me in the eye. Swollen and angry looking. I could smell it, earthy and sweaty and meaty. It pulled at me. My lips parted just a bit… and then just a bit more… and then I was moving… crawling… on the floor towards him, full of equal parts eagerness and gratitude for what was going to happen next.
Ian pulled his boxers the rest of the way off. He reached down and gave his dick a squeeze. He looked down at me, and I looked up at him, my eyes big and bright and shining and full of adoration. I met his gaze as long as I could, and then lowered my face, blushing. I leaned forward, nuzzling my cheek against his crotch.
Ian wasn’t just my boyfriend. He was a warrior in training. He’d fought in the arena and won. He’d fought with me to get me to take better care of myself, learn to defend myself. He’d fought for me, he’d looked out for me. With nothing more than human strength, he’d been stronger than I could ever be. I was in awe of him.
I turned my face towards him and gently brushed my lips against the bottom of his ball sack. Why not? The lowest point on his body might as well have been a mile above me. I had never been very good at showing gratitude… I’d do my best now. I flicked my tongue out and licked, gently and slowly, first between and then around the bottom of each of his balls.
Ian murmured a complex expression of appreciation, amazement, and approval… and I knew that he wanted more, but he wouldn’t want me to move on yet.
I hadn’t earned it.
I liked his balls. I kissed them, with more abandon and less dignity than I’d ever kissed anyone anywhere. I fucking worshipped them. Ian had gone through so much shit for me… I’d given him so much shit when he’d done so much for me. He loved me. Of course he did… probably… but this, this was exactly what he needed, exactly what he deserved. What was the point of dating a submissive woman who didn’t submit?
When I thought that, I knew that he was ready to take my mouth. I started to pull back and tip my face up, but his hand was already under my chin positioning it as he wanted.
As I opened up my mouth around his engorged tip, I felt a kind of joyous thrill at the dirtiness of it all… Amaranth would have frowned at that thought, at the idea that what we were doing was dirty… but at the moment it sent a jolt of excitement through me that seemed to carry back to Ian, who grabbed the hair on the sides of my head and began to yank.
Yes, it was dirty. I was dirty. Dirty, and low… humbled, almost humiliated. On my knees on the floor in front of a man, my mouth open, my lips wrapped around… kissing, tasting… every inch of his hard cock. My mouth was where he peed. Okay, that was gross… I didn’t want to think about it, but there the thought was. My mouth was where he fucked, wrapped around the thing he fucked with, what he’d fucked me with.
Okay, that was a better flavor of gross… kind of obvious, but… oh, was it ever hot to think about.
I imagined my whole body… the entirety of my being… wrapped around that hard shaft, pressing in tightly against the hot, sweaty thickness of it. Of him all. Ian wasn’t an it, he was a he… forceful, strong, deserving of respect. Me? I was a frail, blushing little thing on the floor in front of him… a slut, a bitch. A cunt.
Why was this running through my head? Why was it so hot? I couldn’t focus to answer those questions. It wasn’t so much that they didn’t matter… it was more that it didn’t matter that they mattered. Ian’s driving need to use me, to possess me, to pound his way into me mattered more.
His whole body was a white hot mass of burning frustration, bound in granite-hard self-control. He’d been swallowing his anger at his dad for so long doing it felt like sustenance. He did the same with the anger he inevitably directed at himself, as a result of his father’s judgments, implied and actual.
I knew he wasn’t bad at manipulating elements, but it didn’t come as easily as he felt it should given his father’s stature as a pyromancer. He felt like he didn’t have what it would take to make it as a musician. Fighting in the arena was as much of a struggle as magic and art… more, probably… but it wasn’t something he was supposed to be good at, and it felt right to be a struggle. He knew he was green and lacked the physical advantages of some of the non-human fighters, so his victories there could feel like triumphs.
It was a little weird to think about these things while I sucked on Ian’s dick, but in a way I felt like they were driving into me the same way he was driving into me. Ian fucking my face was in his own way as brutal and urgent as Steff was when she held me down and ground against me… except that he slackened his pace quite a bit at odd moments, apparently. I felt his cock spasm and I thought maybe he was finishing already, but then I realized it was losing some of its hardness.
I thought about asking if everything was okay, but my voice felt trapped in my throat, and not just because my mouth was full. I sucked with vigor, trying to slide my head up and down to give him back some of the motion that he’d lost.
He didn’t seem to be into it, and neither did I… it was like he was slipping away. I felt myself coming back to myself. It was weird how a few moments before, I’d been a cunt… a thing to be fucked, with no other purpose or use but his pleasure, and then…
Before I could finish that thought, it was blasted out of my head by a renewed burst of vigor from Ian. The world contracted until it was just my mouth and his cock… or his cock grew until it blocked out everything else. It was relentless, huge, powerful… I felt well and truly fucked, and then I felt nothing except for his urgent need, building up, growing ever more desperate as it came closer and closer to culmination, the need for relief growing faster than it could possibly come.
He slammed into me, and not just physically. The scent and feel of him seemed to be hitting me with unusual force. It was almost like the weight of his personality was crashing into my head. He was thrusting the head of his dick against the back of my mouth like he usually did, like he thought he could force it down my throat… then something clicked and, amazingly, he did. I shifted my body back and moved my head a bit and it was like my throat just opened up.
That made it sound smoother than it actually was. It was a tight fit, so tight. I almost gagged, but somehow managed to clamp down on that reflex with iron force. I had been moving with Ian as best as I could but at that point I just froze, became utterly passive. Part of that was that I had to concentrate on just taking him in, but also I felt like I was caught in a tight, constricting grip.
Ian didn’t seem to mind one bit, and so I didn’t mind, either. He reveled in his achievement, in his conquest of me. He was a conqueror. He was fucking a demon in the mouth, and if that wasn’t badass beyond badass he didn’t know… that is, I didn’t know… what was.
He slid in further and not quite out, again and again, and I felt the impending release and welcomed it, knowing that Ian was going to spray his seed deeper inside me than ever before, than anyone else had. Not that anyone else had, except for… the end of that thought was practically slapped out of my head as Ian shoved himself as deep into my throat as he could, straining his crotch against my mouth. He spasmed, and my throat spasmed around him.
A wave of almost orgasmic pleasure hit my brain, blasted through it, blanked out my vision with a white-hot haze.
I felt like I was being hollowed out, torn away, smashed to pieces by the fist of some god of love and rage and need and joy.
I had a sense that this was exactly like what sex should be like and a dim wonder of why it was like this, and then I had no sense of anything at all, except for one of deep fatigue and deeper satisfaction, and of my own small body on the floor and Ian being before and above me.
Soon: Owl-Turtle Thing vs. Fish-Beast? Sort of. Though not really.
A word from the author: Due to the unusual circumstances surrounding this chapter (the details/causes of which should become more apparent in the next one, if they’re not obvious already), it may be a little bit different than some readers wanted or expected, though I’m sure it’ll also be more in line with some tastes. As a fun diversion, feel free to comment or tweet @alexandraerin with the Tales of MU couple (or group) you’d most like to see a sex scene involving… I’ll pick one (or ones) that strike me as interesting and popular. It doesn’t have to be a “canon pairing”, though if I can’t see it happening I can’t write it.
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