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a primal sort of tension

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The light hung as low and heavy as a darkened storm cloud above Yor’s head. Her office is quiet at this time of night, most of the other guards long since departed. She shuffles as she leans over to grab another stack of papers, and that’s when the presence leant against one of her thighs moves slightly at the sudden change.


She rocks back with the papers and glances down. Loid looks so gorgeous like this, nestled between her spread legs. His head rests against one bare thigh, his pale eyes glazed and distant; a thousand miles away.


She soothes him with a low little “shhh,” and reaches down to run a hand through his loose blond hair. He whines at the touch and leans into it. Through his scalp she can feel a rush of heat which is equally shown through the flushed sweatiness of his cheeks and the incessant erectic tent in his pants that he presses against her leg.


This really isn’t office appropriate. Loid is supposed to be little more than a colleague, but christ, is it fun to watch him get all riled up, to twist and turn and squirm under her until she can get him right where she wants him — in that perfect, trance-like obedience.


“Needy, aren’t you?” She chuckles, continuing to card a hand through his sweaty hair.


He looks up through a blind of long eyelashes, his eyes heavy with heat and lust alike.


Her hand then creeps down to cup his chin between two tight fingers, and she gives him a look, then returns to her paperwork. He’s broken her out of work-mode, now. It’s hard to focus, holding him still with one hand and sorting through her papers with the other.


His tongue drags along the delicate, soft skin of her thigh and Yor gasps, tightening her hold on his chin and leaning back again.


She raises her eyebrows, reaching her thumb up to caress his face and wipe away the drool that gathered in the corner of his mouth and glistening across his lips.


“Darling,” she chides. “I told you to me quiet. Is that too difficult for you? Do you need a reminder?”


Yor hums, pleased, as he darts his head down again in a show of submission. They’ve been at this for hours, wearing him down until he was little more than putty for her to mould in her hand. Blank and blissful. Just the thought has that same heat stirring in her gut, a tingling in her groin.


“I thought you were my good boy, Loid?” She tuts.


His hazy eyes flick. “I am,” he mumbles, face growing even more flushed under her sharp gaze. He attempts to hide his face in her leg, and Yor decides that act was so damn cute she was willing to let it slide.


She grabs the papers and falls into another uneasy sort of work, until she feels Loid move against her again. This time, he was grinding his bulge against her leg, letting out a low groan as he did so. Yor pauses and he carries in, regardless, rocking his hips into her leg, crashing at her trouser leg with a tight, desperate sort of grip.


She’s got him on his last legs.


The thought is exhilarating.


She reaches down to grip his alabaster hair tightly.


“Loid,” she repeats again, harsher this time. “I didn’t tell you that you could move,” she commands, “I didn’t tell you to pleasure yourself.”


Her hand stills in his hair and Loid makes another noise between a moan and a whine at the sudden halt, but quickly dies off in the back of his throat as he watches her fingers creep down to the zipper on her trousers and undo the button.


“I thought you were being good for me, huh?” She breathes, that desire, that molten pressure increasing tenfold. She’s been pushing that raw feeling away, and now that it’s back, hold and needy and fizzling in her gut, she can fall back into it with relish.


She pauses for a second to palm at her groin and relieve some of the pressure there as she groans lowly and fights the urge to thrust into the motion like a dog in heat. It soothes only a section of her growing desire. “I thought you were so patient, waiting for me like this.”


Her hand creeps down to the zipper and she pushes it teasingly downwards at an agonising rate. Her underwear is already wet with anticipation, pussy throbbing in tandem to the sweaty restless beat of her heart in your ears.


Loid gives a shallow nod, his expression listless and cloudy as she begins to push her trousers down bare legs, he rushes to aid, helping her tug the pants down to her ankles then kick them surreptitiously away.


His eyes are back on the laced line of her underwear as she looks upon him teasingly, eyes dark with lust.


“You want to be better, right? Be better for me?” Yor purrs.


His head jerks in a nod. His eyes are still on her underwear, at the damp stain of slick.


“Be obedient, Loid, and I’ll make you feel good.”


Those words are like a trigger for him— the last of the tension and awkwardness and shame melts out of his face as he sinks deeply into the feeling, that desire to submit and give himself over fully to her. She coos as his head looks forward a little. It’s like he’s been hypnotised, spiralling down into that wonderful, blissful place where he’ll do everything she asks and his pleasure increases tenfold. It always takes a while to get there — a mixture of exhaustion and patience and an insane amount of lust and desire.


When they get there? It’s so lovely.


“Fucking hell,” she murmurs, raspy, even more turned on by the sight of the man in front of her, vulnerable in every aspect, ready and waiting and eager to please. “You know what to do. Make me feel good.”


It’s as though a flip is switched. His nimble fingers dart up to help tug down the underwear. She gasps at the sudden cold air that rushes to meet her wetness, but Loid doesn’t need any more instructions as he begins to pepper her thighs with tiny hot kisses.


She can’t help the moan that escapes her as her back arcs, rising into the feeling with every ounce of her being. She grips his hair again as his lips and his tongue expertly trail their way up towards her open lips, wet and needy and pulsating after so long on the back burner, after so long teasing.


His tongue meets her clit and she thrust into that feeling on impulse, like a spasm of gritty lust, gripping his hair tighter. His intrusion is colder than her throbbing pussy, but that’s not unwelcome as he begins to twist and lap and tease that the slits and folds of her entrance.


His grip on the back of her leg quivers.


“Oh, my god, Loid,” She grinds out between moans of pleasure. She doesn’t try and keep any of those noises down — Loid is the most enthused when he knows he’s pleasuring her. “You’re incredible.”


She begins to thrust in time to his rhythm, that hot pooling in her gut and down into her folds growing in excess now, threatening to spill over. He bobs his head and licks and pushes and Christ, this is what she loves. Him on his knees, at that perfect place in time where he’s willing to do anything she asks for any price. He’s pleasuring Yor so nicely, looking so fucking gorgeous as he does so.


She grips the desk so hard as she arches her back, pushing into Loid’s mouth for more, more, more. He’s quicker now, more skilled than he used to be as he comes down on her clit again and again with that burning delight. He understands what she wants without her saying anything and fucking god if he isn’t absolutely brilliant at it.


“Good boy,” she pants. “Right there, right there—“ Her grinding increases and so does the rate of his tongue. Her orgasm is building in the base of her skull, spilling all the way down her spine in hot, brilliant tingles, that cluster of nerves singing against her prostate.


She grips his hair and holds him steady against her pussy as that pit in her stomach rises up and spills over into a blinding orgasm. Her vision goes white as she thrusts with abandon into the feeling, into Loid, into that molten tingling rush of pressure in her pussy that builds and builds and builds until it breaks. The orgasm blows through her, pressing against her lungs and momentarily leaving her paralysed in pleasure. She spends a good minute riding out the orgasm, rutting and sucking all the pleasure she can from that euphoric high as she wraps her legs around his torso, before she sinks down again into her chair and lets go, practically boneless.


Loid is quick to help her clean up, lapping at the slick and cum around the edges of her entrance and smeared down her legs. He works in tandem to that throbbing pulsation deep within the folds of her pussy, mixing the warmth of his saliva and her cum across her pale skin.


“You did so well, angel, so well,” she soothes through shuddering breaths. “Breathe now, relax for me, that was perfect.”


Loid sighs, content at her words. She sees a flicker of his opal eyes, glancing down at his own hard-on, before fluttering shut again. The smell of cum and sweat and a primal sort of desire is thick in the air. She finds she doesn’t mind, not when Loid caused it. He brings out this urge in her, this need, this instinct. This fervent passion that she’s never felt with a lover before.


It’s amazing.


She decides there and then that he has been good. “Do you think you deserve a reward, love?” She murmurs.


A noise rises from the back of his throat, something high and breathy and full of want. She pretends to consider it for a moment, contentment still humming in her ears. She sits as far back in the chair as she can go, carefully, as her back end is still sensitive and sings with slight nerves when she moves too fast. She spreads her legs wide and revels in the feeling of stretch and wildness it brings.


Without her leg, he leans against the table, and she can see the grim vein bulging in his jaw as he struggles to not move down to the boner tenting his pants.


“Loid, angel,” she coos. “Come sit on my lap. I think you’ve earned a reward.” It’s obvious he doesn’t need to be told twice.


His knees must be sore from sitting beneath the desk for so long, but he shows hardly any signs of resistance as he eagerly scrambles out and lunges forward to straddle her. His legs sit comfortably atop hers. At the start, Loid was apprehensive about sitting on her lap— a lesser woman might have been worried. Then, she had reassured him she could bench press with seven-times his weight and showed him. He was much more willing after that.


She feels a tingle of delight as his hard-on presses against her stomach, but she’s not quite in the mood for penetrative tonight.


She delicately begins to creep her hand around his cock through the fabric around his groin that swaths him and keeps him modest, and gives it a tentative squeeze.


He moans, long and hard and she can’t help but laugh as he leans forward and presses his head into the crook of her neck, arms wrapped firmly around her.


“Do you like that, love?” She teases, and can’t help that familiar heat that pits in her stomach at the thought, “My hand pleasuring you, with you, absolutely gorgeous?”


He whines, and nods into her collarbone. If possible, his cock presses even firmer into her lap.


“Well then,” she croons, “Best give you the reward, shouldn’t I, darling?”


He relaxes a little, giving her the space to lean forward and fiddle with the button, teasingly running her thumb over the rivets in the hem. He moans again, “Please.”


“Something wrong?” Yor asks innocently, but can’t help the devilish smirk as his face twists, hazy, and he tentatively begins to grind his hips into her lap, as though to get the message across.


“Alright, alright,” she soothes, darting her hands up under his loose shirt. Her fingers dance across the soft skin there, giving cheeky punches and squeezes here and there as she works her way up his chest, circling his nipples until they’re rock-hard and dancing her hands, feather-light, across his abs. Fleeting, leaving him yearning for more.


“Yor.” He grits out plainly, eyes screwed shut. All pent up and harsh and needy. Her touch leaves him in a puddle, mindless and as desperate as an animal in heat, whining and pleading like a craving little thing.


She smiles. “If you insist.“ Her hand creeps down to unbutton and then zip down his trousers. Her hand dances along the line of his boxes before she pulls that down too. His rock-hard cock springs out without much fuss, already brimming at the tip with pre-cum. She gives it a single pump and that seems to be the right thing to do as Loid sinks into a blissful heat, raspy moan after groan escaping from his lips.


“Do you like that?” She asks, keeping her voice mild and face stony.


His face is dazed, as though he can hardly form proper words in his trance of heat and poignant pleasure. He only nods.


“Do you want me to do it again?“


He hums, breathy, between the heaving of his chest. Sweat gleams across his brow and she takes him his raw smell— of musk and sweat and lust and rain.


Yor watches on with affection, pleased and turned on herself at his open displays of pleasure. He shifts in her lap until he can place his head back on her shoulder and still gives her room to manoeuvre around his cock. She gives it another experimental stroke, lubricating his cock with pre-cum. His blank eyes tear up at the feeling as he bucks into it; he lets a series of fleeting moans rush past his lips.


He’s utterly dependant on her for his pleasure, willing to give himself up so easily.


His head is thrown back against her shoulder, as though he’s seeing stars amongst all this bliss. Yor settles down into a rhythm as she milks his cock, and all Loid can do is fall further and further into her, simultaneously as loose and as tense as possible. His moans send vibrations into her shoulder and down her skin like electricity across a live wire. Her own desire is steadily growing again, and Loid’s pleads and whines and moans only aid in growing that feeling even further.


She focuses on being gentle, first, slow and steady in order to please him — it is his reward, after all — but the seams come quickly loose as he grinds into her with ferverance, bucking his hips with every pump of his cock. After so long being denied, it doesn’t take long for his orgasm to build.


Head still tucked into the crook beneath her jaw, he grinds forward at an admirable pace; he’s lost all sense of shame and dignity, simply chasing the pleasure mindlessly.


It’s so fucking hot.


“Don’t be scared of making a mess,” she reminds him over the sounds of panting and skin against fabric against skin. “This is your reward, darling. Enjoy it.”


He moans out an agreement as his hips jitter slightly in his pace. Yor increase the speed of her stroking even more, twisting her hand against the underside of his cock and up to the base of it right to the very top in one seemless stroke.


She pumps against his bucking groin until he comes and comes and comes, soddening her pelvis and his own shirt and chest with a strangled moan of pure desire. His eyes roll back and his pace remains brutally past as she continues to stroke him til past completion and ever ounce of strength has disappeared. His breath shudders and he goes limp, leaning against her. The pair sit there for a long while until paces have slowed and desire has slowly fizzled away.


“How was that?” Yor rasps eventually, bringing her hand up to cup the back of his head.


“Yor, oh my god.” He replies. “We need to do that again.”