(For the kobolds, I do this justice. Typed directly into the chatbox with no editing and no actual sexing.)
It's late, but they're at home. No cameras, no audience, but tonight... no peace either. It was a rough session, and Matt knows it's not his story - really it's not even the players, they're doing the best they can with little information and significant pressure - but the dice...
Even Taliesin's rolls couldn't save them tonight. For every critical hit Matt rolled, the players had two failures. Four player characters nearly didn't walk out of the battle.
"I can't believe you almost killed me." Marisha's voice is hard, cold in the dark of their bedroom. Everyone jokes about how Matt'll sleep on sofa tonight, it's stupid and the furthest thing from the truth. There's an arrangement, something that she needs to get the aggression out - that he needs to feel like he's done his penance.
He sinks down to his knees, jeans folding taut against his belly as he leans to kiss her bare toes. Her fingers grasp at his hair, yanking him back until he lets out a strangled cry of delight and pain. It's not the first time, it won't be the last time, and it feels far too good not to let it all play out.
The first time she strikes him is a mirror of the first time she ever did; a hesitant whack of her fingers on his cheek that doesn't even raise a hot spot. Then the real smack comes, her palm flat and hard against his cheek with a delicious flare of heat that draws a pleasant growl from Matt's chest. "Yes..." He snarls, "I nearly did."
She tugs again - forward this time, leading him crawling on his hands and knees to their bedside where she sits down and forces his face between her knees. He can smell her, the familiar tang of a day's sweat and musk but also the low and lingering arousal she gets from the power she's always had over him. "Shut your fucking mouth." She throws back, pinning her knees on his cheeks so that he couldn't retort even if he wanted to. "I was saving this for Christmas... but I think you need it now."
Leather wraps around his throat, but not the thick band she usually cinches down until it squeezes at his adam's apple. No, this is something almost dainty. Smooth and cold, a metal circle pressing into his throat as something hanging off it sways just enough for him to notice. "You've been bad, haven't you?" She hisses between clenched teeth when she hauls him back again, the heavy polyhedron hitting the hollow of his neck with a dull thud.
Matt laughs, that dark rattling roar that's not quite a dragon but may as well be. She smacks him again, rings catching his cheek hard enough to leave a small mark that few will catch the next morning - and perhaps only one may speculate on. It's enough to cow him, to draw him back on his heels as he looks up at her. "Sorry."
She laughs this time, a genuine full-bodied laugh that makes him blush every time. She's mocking his display, reminding him of his place... on his knees, at her feet. "No you're not." She shakes her head, narrowing her eyes as she glances down at him. Her phone is on the nightstand and when she picks it up to take his picture, Matt flinches away only to be hauled back by the roots of his hair again. "Don't you fucking dare." She threatens, staring him down. "My bitch, my rules."
Matt shudders then, flushing even hotter. It's not fair, it's too easy for her to not only push his buttons but dance on them. He shifts his center lower, spreading open his knees until denim digs painfully at his erection - she's won, as though he ever stood a chance.
"Smile for the camera, baby." She murmurs, letting go of his hair before stroking her palm tenderly over his cheek. "And when I'm done, you're going to show me just how sorry you really are."
He swallows hard, feeling the bob of his throat jostle the heavy pendant. Natural 1. Critical failure. But, her failure at least... "Okay."
She waits a beat for him to correct himself and when he doesn't, her nails curve down against his beard scruff. "Try that again."
When he looks up to her, daring to lift his eyes off her shins, the flash goes off - a perfect picture of him gazing up at her and showing off his new neckwear. "Yes, ma'm."
"Almost." She digs her nails against his jawline, pressing the little points into his skin until he whines low and loud.
"Yes Marisha."
"Good boy." She murmurs, flattening her palm once more as she tucks the photo away. "Now, about that apology..."
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timeasmymeasure
Marisha/Matt "Bad Boy"
Date: 2016-11-09 02:25 am (UTC)It's late, but they're at home. No cameras, no audience, but tonight... no peace either. It was a rough session, and Matt knows it's not his story - really it's not even the players, they're doing the best they can with little information and significant pressure - but the dice...
Even Taliesin's rolls couldn't save them tonight. For every critical hit Matt rolled, the players had two failures. Four player characters nearly didn't walk out of the battle.
"I can't believe you almost killed me." Marisha's voice is hard, cold in the dark of their bedroom. Everyone jokes about how Matt'll sleep on sofa tonight, it's stupid and the furthest thing from the truth. There's an arrangement, something that she needs to get the aggression out - that he needs to feel like he's done his penance.
He sinks down to his knees, jeans folding taut against his belly as he leans to kiss her bare toes. Her fingers grasp at his hair, yanking him back until he lets out a strangled cry of delight and pain. It's not the first time, it won't be the last time, and it feels far too good not to let it all play out.
The first time she strikes him is a mirror of the first time she ever did; a hesitant whack of her fingers on his cheek that doesn't even raise a hot spot. Then the real smack comes, her palm flat and hard against his cheek with a delicious flare of heat that draws a pleasant growl from Matt's chest. "Yes..." He snarls, "I nearly did."
She tugs again - forward this time, leading him crawling on his hands and knees to their bedside where she sits down and forces his face between her knees. He can smell her, the familiar tang of a day's sweat and musk but also the low and lingering arousal she gets from the power she's always had over him. "Shut your fucking mouth." She throws back, pinning her knees on his cheeks so that he couldn't retort even if he wanted to. "I was saving this for Christmas... but I think you need it now."
Leather wraps around his throat, but not the thick band she usually cinches down until it squeezes at his adam's apple. No, this is something almost dainty. Smooth and cold, a metal circle pressing into his throat as something hanging off it sways just enough for him to notice. "You've been bad, haven't you?" She hisses between clenched teeth when she hauls him back again, the heavy polyhedron hitting the hollow of his neck with a dull thud.
Matt laughs, that dark rattling roar that's not quite a dragon but may as well be. She smacks him again, rings catching his cheek hard enough to leave a small mark that few will catch the next morning - and perhaps only one may speculate on. It's enough to cow him, to draw him back on his heels as he looks up at her. "Sorry."
She laughs this time, a genuine full-bodied laugh that makes him blush every time. She's mocking his display, reminding him of his place... on his knees, at her feet. "No you're not." She shakes her head, narrowing her eyes as she glances down at him. Her phone is on the nightstand and when she picks it up to take his picture, Matt flinches away only to be hauled back by the roots of his hair again. "Don't you fucking dare." She threatens, staring him down. "My bitch, my rules."
Matt shudders then, flushing even hotter. It's not fair, it's too easy for her to not only push his buttons but dance on them. He shifts his center lower, spreading open his knees until denim digs painfully at his erection - she's won, as though he ever stood a chance.
"Smile for the camera, baby." She murmurs, letting go of his hair before stroking her palm tenderly over his cheek. "And when I'm done, you're going to show me just how sorry you really are."
He swallows hard, feeling the bob of his throat jostle the heavy pendant. Natural 1. Critical failure. But, her failure at least... "Okay."
She waits a beat for him to correct himself and when he doesn't, her nails curve down against his beard scruff. "Try that again."
When he looks up to her, daring to lift his eyes off her shins, the flash goes off - a perfect picture of him gazing up at her and showing off his new neckwear. "Yes, ma'm."
"Almost." She digs her nails against his jawline, pressing the little points into his skin until he whines low and loud.
"Yes Marisha."
"Good boy." She murmurs, flattening her palm once more as she tucks the photo away. "Now, about that apology..."