You Mustn't Move

The stories that are posted are ones that have been written between two partners that enjoy roleplay. This particular story was sparked while the elf was away, and her Prince wished to surprise her with a piece. We welcome any feedback, after all, it's how we grow as writers. We hope you enjoy this first submission.

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Your Prince looks around the apartment, humming softly as boots go by the door, before He settles onto the couch and pats His lap. "C'mere and sit, Snackling," He commands, smiling at you. "I've something I've been cooking up."

You get an impish gleam in your eye. You slowly sashay towards your Master, clothes falling to the floor as you move, then slide onto His lap with your arms slipping up behind His neck as you cuddle in close. Your Prince smiles, resting His chin atop your head and bending His neck slightly to inhale the scent of your hair. "The things you tempt me to," He whispers into your ear, stroking the skin just above your collar with the tip of a finger. "So, guess what I've been cooking up? It has to do with our space, here."

You let your gaze flick about the room, taking in the details before turning back to him, curiosity marking your expression. Your Master continues to stroke the skin at your neck, gooseflesh rising across your skin at the gentle touch. "Apparently, a few of the larger suites have become available, so I've asked to tour them when next I happen to spot Gyana." A broad smile, now. "I'm hoping to find something that will let us perhaps have a room dedicated solely to the bed, for instance." He moves the hand not stroking your skin to cup one of the cheeks of your ass, and gives it a light, possessive squeeze.

"That would be wonderful, my Prince. Let me know if there is anything I can do to assist in the decoration," you answer Him, excited at the prospect of a larger suite more fitting for the two of you. Master's finger continues to trace your neck, before He tugs gently at the collar to pull your face away from His own, and looks down at you with a smile.

"I do appreciate that, Snackling. I think it is likely to come pre-furnished, but I'm sure we could pay to have a few different things done to it. Of course," He grins at you, wickedly, "I imagine that a few of the modifications the two of us would like would be a bit...risque to put in place, no?" He turns you on His lap to face away, before settling you back on it with His growing hardness pressing up urgently against your ass. His hands move once more, one settling across your throat to tease at the skin above the collar, the other resting on your thigh, fingers drumming against your skin dangerously close to the top of the smooth lips between.

You moan softly, involuntarily at His touch. A tingling races across your skin for a moment, and a low, crooning note sounds within you as you feel the blood of your Master link in tune with your own. The soft strokes and tapping against your skin suddenly turn explosive, sparks of pleasure running the length of your body to concentrate in a buzzing mass between your legs. You feel Him lean slightly behind you, and His cool lips press against your head behind your ear, a soft kiss. Then another, slightly lower. Another and another, until He rounds your ear and starts to kiss His way down your cheekbone. Each touch of His lips sends a thrill through your body, softer than what His fingers are doing to you. "I should likely have that castle built sooner, shouldn't I?" He asks you rhetorically, not expecting an answer as the hand on your leg moves to your stomach, fingers reaching down to lightly stroke up the outside of your lips. A second, and then a third time, before He presses slightly harder to part them, giving His own appreciative growling groan in your ear as the smell of you starts to perfume the air.

"Yes you should, Master," you answer Kirill with a husky, sultry voice, the last syllable turning to another groan as your body involuntarily tightens your core, a dull, insistent throbbing between your legs starting in time with your heartbeat. "All the special rooms, and special beds..." His hand moves to cover the entirety of your throat and yours moves to clasp at it. Not struggling, not really, but a token show of trying to resist your Master.

"Don't move," He whispers the order, and you grow still. "Don't move a muscle, until I tell you you may, Snackling." You feel His will press down on you slightly, the weight of His desire feeding the command. He runs a finger from the bottom to the top of your slit, coating it with your nectar, before toying with the piercing through your clit. Where the pleasure was powerful before, this simple touch crashes through you, a strangle "Oh!" escaping your lips before you squeeze them shut, teeth clenched and a hissing breath escaping you. Your thighs flex, caught between wanting to obey and wanting to squirm against him. But you mustn't move. Your Master said so. He continues to trail His now slick finger up your body, leaving a moist trail across your skin before stroking the underside of your chin with it and placing it at His lips to lick. "Exquisite," He compliments you, moving His head to kiss and suck at the skin of your neck without piercing it yet. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.

He pulls His hand firmly against your throat, pressing you firmly against His still shirt clad chest, the beat of your heart thumping against His palm. It's rapid, strong under His grip on you, and you know he's smiling at the speed it works at. His other hand moves to circle your lips gently before He slides it across your skin once more. Chin to neck, skipping over His hand to trace your collarbone, tilting His fingers slightly so that the nails start to pull at your skin, not quite breaking flesh, but leaving swelling little streaks of skin in their wake. His hand continues its lazy movement, coming to the scars that trace His initials on your flesh. Another grin flashes in your mind's eye, as He starts to trace the "K". Where before His touch sent little thrills through your body, a trail of tiny sparks of pleasure in its wake, the touch of His nail across the scarred flesh is like a live wire, bolts of pleasure surging through your body that cause you to scream silently, the cords of your neck standing out, chest heaving with each gasp for more air. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.

Not moving is hard though. You want to buck and twist against him, grab His torturing hand and hang on to it. Fish His cock from His pants and fill yourself with it, wherever He would like. Something, other than this seemingly unending torture of nerves alight with pleasure and not being able to react to it other than with heaving chest, convulsing cunt, and loud moans and cries that surely echo outside of the little room that your Love shares with you. He finishes tracing the "N" on your other breast, and the lightning bolts of pleasure subside to mere tingles at His touch. The shock of pain is like a bucket of cold water thrown across your body as He pinches your nipple between His fingers, rolling it a moment before they move to the hoop piercing it and gives it a sharp tug and twist. Your teeth clench as you let out a high pitched whine that slowly becomes another scream before He releases the hoop, the tortured nub of flesh throbbing painfully in time with your heartbeat. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.

His hand continues to lazily slide down your body, all five of His fingers raking your flesh now to leave what feels like icy, burning lines in their wake. At last, His hand returns to your throbbing, leaking centre. He cups your mound, palm just at the start of your slit, two fingers to the side of either outer labia, His middle finger resting atop where they part. "You want me to take you, don't you Snackling?" He whispers inside of your mind as His finger starts to lazily toy with the piercing through your clit. He rolls it back and forth, each touch a jolt of pleasure that borders on the painful. "You want me to stop toying, and to stretch you around my cock, don't you?" You catch yourself almost nodding, delirious at this point. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.

"Gooooood," He trills inside of you, finger moving down to finally part your lips fully. The thick digit slides smoothly inside of you, the constant leaking of your juices providing Him with a slick entry inside of you. He gives you the entire length of His finger to the knuckle, a slow, languid penetration that stops when He can go no further. His finger curls upward, as if beckoning you, and He starts to stroke it against the rough flesh of the roof of your tunnel. Each firm stroke is a brilliant nova of pleasure with how he's manipulated your senses. Your vision tunnels, black creeping in around your peripheral vision as all you can do is make one long sound that transitions from moan to whimper to scream to gasp in the span of seconds and then repeats. You want, oh so badly, to buck your thighs against His finger, drive Him deeper, faster, harder. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.

His hand at your throat suddenly comes to life as He continues to slide His finger deep within you. He pulls back against your throat, the tight grip increasing until suddenly, you can't breathe. No sound manages to escape from you as He keeps up with finger fucking your sodden cunt. Unable to give voice to the torture of pleasure that he's visiting upon your body, you start to grow desperate. The urge to move on Him is powerful, it consumes you. Just one finger, moved to rub your clit and take you over the edge. A desperate grab at His wrist, either doesn't matter, to grant yourself a momentary reprieve. Flexing on His lap and arching your back to gasp your thanks to him. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.

"Good girl...good, my love. I'm so proud of you, my little Snackling," comes the whisper from inside of you, your Master's words penetrating the haze of pleasure he's planted within you. His hands both stop, relax slightly, His finger slipping from inside of you to instead tap gently at your cleft. "Just a little longer," comes the second whisper as He removes His hands from you, sliding His thumbs under His waistband to lower His pants, cock springing free to glisten with His precum in the low light of the room. His hand guides the thick, leaking head to your entrance then rests it there, waiting. Both arms move now, hooking His forearms under your calves, pulling your legs back until your knees touch your shoulders and His hands both rest at your throat. He takes it in His hands, tenderly, lovingly, thumbs stroking the line of your jaw before they interlace with the rest of His fingers around your neck. His hips move as He pushes you down and He easily thrusts into you, your body forced down until your nether lips are split around the base of His shaft, parted as if kissing His groin and leaking all over. He pauses, and you can just sense Him waiting for any sign of movement, flexing of muscle or the like. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.

He throbs inside of you, thickening further, growing even longer, the thought that the control of one's blood being rather useful winding through your mind before flitting away as He pulls you off of him, just leaving His crown inside. A harder thrust this time, the globes of your ass shaking with the impact against His thighs. His hands tighten around your neck, a handle that He uses to drive you up and down His shaft again and again, the wet slap of your flesh against His providing a percussive beat in the room. You moan, whine in the back of your throat, scream as your orgasm takes you, that dam inside finally bursting to send you plunging into the very depths of your being in pleasure. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.

Riding that wave of pleasure sends you to greater and greater heights, His hands gripping tighter and tighter around your throat until once again you're forced to be silent, nothing able to escape as He drives you down on Him again and again. A second, and then a third climax rip through you, forced from you when His strokes in and out find just the right spot inside. His hands relax a moment, allowing you to draw a deep, gasping breath before they lock again and He thrusts into you with a single minded frenzy. With a growling moan, He explodes inside of you, throbbing shaft and crown flooding you with His cool seed. You start to leak around His shaft, your fluids mixed with His trickling down His sac and puddling on the couch. A long sigh escapes Him as He settles you down on His lap again, still inside of you, pressing deep. He releases your throat, unhooks your legs, and gently guides them down to sprawl outside of his. But still, you don't move. You mustn't move.

And, right now, in this moment, you can't move. You don't want to move. You mustn't move.