Tell Me More

"Tell me more about how it feels when I pin you down and cum inside," Jessica demanded.

Sanneke switched the phone to her other ear, the edge of one canine catching her lip. Her wife had a particular heat in her tone that was oh so familiar.

"It's best when we fight," she answered in a soft voice. Her bare footsteps made no noise at all as she wandered the living room of their New York penthouse flat, fingers trailing over the back of the couch in absent recollection. "I have a love-hate relationship with our fights. When you're glaring at me and seething, when I've pushed you and tempted you and egged you on to *just* shy of that line between lust and actual anger... I love the anticipation of knowing I'm going to get what I deserve, but I never really *want* to 'lose'. I don't want to let you win - I want to be conquered.

You pull my hair and snarl at me that I'm a bitch and you're going to teach me a lesson; you throw me against the couch, or the door of the limousine, and you wrap your fingers around my throat." Her fingers raised and brushed under her chin in echo of the memory. "Part of me knows you won't really hurt me, but part of me knows how thin that line is, and that this time... you might.

You shock me for the fun of it, to see me jerk and hear me gasp. You could make it hurt so much if you wanted to, and there's nothing I can do to stop you. You'll do whatever you want with me, because you're Jessica Vanderbilt, and all I am is your toy."

She could hear Jessica's breathing, tight and hot, on the other end of the line. Her young wife - her Dominant - had a tempestuous passion that matched her moods: quick, violent, and incredibly hot. Jess was a power-hungry sadist in all the best and worst ways: the chance to bring a lover low and make them *hurt* was the truest aphrodisiac. Sanneke wasn't as much a masochist as some, but she had been something better: a challenge. A lover who was always the center of attention, and who never backed down. Sanneke's sensuality and arrogance had practically begged Jessica to do her worst, and they'd drank each other's damage like rich wine.

"I'm so focused on struggling to breath, or *not* earning another shock, that I barely think to resist when you force my legs apart. You're never gentle. You don't 'make love' - you fuck," San whispered. Her tongue wet the center of her lip. "And you're going to make sure that I understand who the bitch is in this relationship.

I'm already wet, because you've trained me to be a good little fucktoy, but it still hurts when you drive it home like that. It still makes me tense up and grit my teeth so I don't scream. I bet that makes it feel even better, when my body is squeezing around you, trying to keep you out. I bet you love it, don't you?"

Jessica hissed her affirmation on the other side of the phone. Static interference crackled over the line: Jess was an elementalist, born of lightning and electricity. Her touch could burn, and her fury could render furniture into ash. When sparks flew, it was literal.

"But it doesn't matter," the older woman continued. "What I feel doesn't matter, as long as you can see my cheeks turn red and hear how my breath rasps under your grip. You can see how helpless I am while you use me to get yourself off...

... and then when you cum, Jess, it's like swallowing sparks, like tiny burning lashes deep inside me. I can feel it snap and singe and mark me. No one else can do that; not like you. No one else makes it hurt so perfectly. No one else can brand me inside and out. Every part of me you touch is scarred by the heat and I love it, because I know it means I belong to *you*.

Sometimes it hurts to walk for days after. Sometimes I wince every time I swallow. I've seen you smirk when you notice, and you always look so bloody satisfied with yourself. We both know you'd do it again. If the urge struck you, you'd have me down on my knees deep-throating you, with my lips touching leather. You'd have me against the wall and whisper what a slut I am. You'd prove every word of it true while I begged you to stop, and begged you *not* to."

She paused, her canine once again marring the vivid red of her lipstick. The corner of her mouth curled into a slow, hidden smile as she listened to Jessica's hushed and half-growled lust.

"...was that enough detail, love?"