Ch 14: she's Into roleplay
The heavy oak door of the apartment clicked shut, the sound final and absolute in the sudden silence. The city's mournful symphony was muted, leaving only the sound of our breathing and the frantic thrum of my own heart. Martha stood in the center of the living room, the moonlight from the window painting her in silver and shadow. The air between us was thick with unspoken words, with the adrenaline of the gunshot, with the raw, possessive energy of her kiss.
She turned to face me, her expression a complex tapestry of relief, lingering fear, and a dark, burgeoning hunger. "You really are a bastard, Jotaro," she whispered, but there was no heat in it, only a tremor of anticipation.
I walked towards her, my steps slow and deliberate, a predator circling its willing prey. I didn't touch her, not yet. I just let my presence wash over her, let the silence stretch until it was taut with tension. "You were scared," I stated, my voice a low rumble. "But you also loved it. Admit it."
A faint blush crept up her neck, but she held my gaze. "Maybe I did," she challenged, her chin tilting up. "Maybe I need someone who isn't afraid to push me. Maybe I've been a very bad girl, and I need to be punished."
That was all the invitation I needed. My hand shot out, not to caress, but to grip her chin, my fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp. I tilted her head back, forcing her to meet the cold fire in my eyes. "Punished?" I mused, my thumb brushing over her lower lip, still faintly swollen from our kiss. "Oh, Martha. You have no idea."
I released her and stepped back, shrugging off my coat with deliberate slowness, letting it fall to the floor. "Strip," I commanded. It wasn't a request.
Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, her haste a clear sign of her eagerness. I watched, my arms crossed, my expression unreadable. She undressed for me, her movements clumsy with desire, until she stood before me, bathed in moonlight, her body a landscape of curves and shadows I was about to conquer.
"On your knees," I ordered.
She sank to the floor without hesitation, her eyes wide and trusting, looking up at me from her position of supplication. It was a look of complete surrender, and it sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated power through me.
I circled her, my boots making soft sounds on the rug. I stopped behind her, leaning down to speak directly into her ear. "You will not move unless I tell you to. You will not make a sound unless I give you permission. Do you understand?"
She nodded, a shiver running through her entire body.
"Good."
I knelt behind her, my chest pressing against her back. My hands roamed her body, but not to give pleasure. They were mapping her, claiming her. I traced the line of her spine, the curve of her hips, the soft skin of her inner thighs. My touch was light, a ghost of a caress, designed to inflame, not to satisfy. Her breath hitched, her body tensing under my teasing exploration.
My fingers finally found the heat between her legs, and I chuckled darkly at the evidence of her arousal. "Already so wet for me?" I taunted, my fingers ghosting over her slick folds, never quite giving her the pressure she craved. "And I haven't even done anything yet."
She whimpered, a desperate, pleading sound that was music to my ears.
"What was that?" I asked, my voice sharp. "Did I say you could make a sound?"
"Sorry," she breathed out, her voice strained.
My punishment was swift. I delivered a sharp, stinging slap to her ass, the sound echoing in the quiet room. She cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure. "I said. No. Sound," I repeated, my tone leaving no room for disobedience.
I resumed my torment. My fingers danced around her clit, circling, brushing, but never making direct contact. I could feel her muscles clenching, her body arching, silently begging for release. I brought her to the edge, her breath coming in ragged pants, her entire body trembling with the effort of holding back. And then, just as she was about to crest that wave, I pulled my hand away.
A guttural sob of frustration escaped her lips. I smiled. Perfect.
"Please, Jotaro," she finally broke, her voice a desperate, broken whisper. "Please... I need it."
"Need what?" I asked, my voice cruelly calm as I stood over her. "Tell me what you need."
"I need... you. I need you inside me. I need to come. Please, punish me, but let me come. I've been so good."
I knelt in front of her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her head back to look at me. Her face was a mask of desperate longing, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. "You call this being good?" I growled, before crashing my lips down on hers. The kiss was brutal, a punishing invasion that stole the air from her lungs. I bit her lip again, harder this time, tasting the coppery tang of blood.
I finally freed myself from my trousers, my own arousal painfully evident. I gripped her hips, positioning myself at her slick entrance. I teased her with the tip, sliding it up and down her folds, coating myself in her wetness.
"Is this what you want?" I snarled.
"Yes! God, yes!" she cried out.
With one brutal, deep thrust, I buried myself inside her to the hilt. She screamed, a raw, primal sound of ecstasy and agony. I gave her a moment to adjust, to feel the full, overwhelming sensation of being filled, before I began to move. My pace was relentless, a punishing rhythm that drove her into the floor. Each thrust was a statement of ownership, a reminder of who was in control.
Her body was a live wire, arching and bucking against me, her nails scrabbling at the hardwood floor. The sounds she made were incoherent, a litany of pleas and profanities. I could feel her tightening around me, her body once again teetering on the precipice.
"Not yet," I grunted, slowing my pace to an agonizing crawl, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in with torturous slowness. I was edging her from the inside, drawing out her torment, making her body sing with a pleasure so intense it was its own form of pain.
"Jotaro... please... I can't... I can't take anymore," she sobbed, her body shaking uncontrollably.
I leaned down, my lips brushing against her ear. "You can," I commanded. "And you will. Come for me, Martha. Now."
That was all it took. The permission, the command. Her entire body seized, her back arching in a perfect, agonized bow as a silent scream tore from her throat. Her inner walls clamped down on me like a vise, a series of powerful, rhythmic convulsions milking me for all I was worth. The sheer force of her orgasm pulled me over the edge with her, and I buried myself deep one last time, spilling myself into her with a guttural roar.
We collapsed onto the floor, a tangled, sweaty mess of limbs. The room was filled with the sound of our ragged breathing, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction. I rolled off her, pulling her into my arms, her body limp and pliable against mine. I kissed her forehead, a surprisingly gentle gesture after the brutality of our coupling.
She snuggled closer, her head resting on my chest. "You really are a bastard," she murmured, her voice thick with contentment.
I smirked, stroking her hair. "And you, Martha," I said, my voice low and possessive, "are a perfect, filthy little masochist. And you're all mine."