fourstrings | come on over, help me forget

come on over, help me forget

[ She should be ashamed of herself.

There is much to do. There always is, but she cannot quite recall a time when things have been so hectic; the Alliance petitioning Ishgard to rejoin, the threat of the Horde increasing, a primal, here, in their own lands -

- and still her mind wanders, settling and sticking in the one place it always does when the want knots up in her body like an ache. She pushes through. Ishgard needs her, now more than ever, and she will not disgrace her position by pining like a maiden from old stories. And then an opportunity presents itself: the Azure Dragoon himself, sighted in Ishgard. A rarer occurrence these days, given his determination to draw Nidhogg's attention elsewhere, but that only makes her more determined. She sends for him. This is entirely innocuous; why would she not wish to speak to the Azure Dragoon when the Dravanian threat seems so pressing?

Less innocuous is the way she arranges for final adjustments to be taking place on a dress when she expects him to arrive, or the order to have him sent directly to her quarters. She needs the gown for upcoming events in any case, and Estinien has been distant of late; if he arrives and sees her in this, with her shoulders bared and the flowing skirt of it accentuating how it nips in at her waist and accentuates the rise of her breasts -

well, then she must write the whole affair off as done with, and try her best to recover. Perhaps a broken heart will prompt her to focus fully on her work, as a distraction.

She'll find out soon enough. There is a knock, and she dismisses her attendant with a smile. ]

Estinien! Thank you for making time for me.

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Oh!

[ He means to break her, to ruin her mind just as surely as her body. It's the only excuse for such treatment, the exquisite agony of having him hold her right on the precipice of what she wants so badly, but denying her. He draws out until she can feel her body clenching as if in a panic at the thought of losing him, drives back into her and fondles her breast in a way that makes sparks of light scatter through her vision, and it's all she can do to gasp for air. Already her hair is in a mess around her, and she forces herself to look up at him, her tongue soothing over where he nipped at her lip as if it hurt rather than simply making her crave him even more. ]

Is this to be my punishment for trying to seduce you? Like a glutton trapped in the underworld with a banquet just out of reach, you mean to drive me to madness on - ah- on the thick swell of your cock? Or do you only wish to make me beg, like the slut my need for you makes of me?

Yes.

[ truth be told, it takes him a moment to even wrap his mind properly around what he's agreeing to. there is very little he wouldn't give her right now if she asked it of him in that pleasure-rough voice; he always fully intends to ruin her, and yet she is the one always skillfully able to take him to pieces.

but.

it is a shame to let go of her breast, but he reaches down between her legs to press the pad of his thumb over the bud of her clit and rub there in slow circles. he fully intends to drag this first orgasm from her before he gives her more, greedy for the feel of her pussy spasming and clenching around him, the sight of her lost to her pleasure. ]

Beg for me. Show me you are no proper woman, Aymeric. Straight-laced and pious for the rest of Ishgard, but for me? [ he leans down to nip at her ear, growling the rest there. ] Just the thought of me using your cunt the way you need was enough to have you dripping. You were aching to have me throw you to the mattress and swive you like my whore.

[ What is it about this that drives her so wild? This language that she would accept from no other, which makes her frantic from Estinien's lips? It would be one thing if it were only that he is away so often and that what she truly wants from him is not within his power to give even if he wished to, if she accepted this because it was the best she could hope for, but no. It is not settling that sets a fire in the very core of her, that makes her pussy throb for him and her breasts ache for his touch. It is a mystery - but not one she is likely to unravel with his thumb drawing over her that way, until she arches her back and cries out, feeling herself slip dangerously close already. ]

I was. I crave you. I have wanted nothing in my life the way I want your cock inside me - not power, not peace. Let me come, Estinien, please. Fuck me the way only you may.

[ it will probably seem like nothing less than cruelty when he rewards her honesty by withdrawing -- but it is only so that he can flip her over, dragging her hips high enough for him to slam home inside her again. (and she can hardly complain, when she put the thought in his head.)

like this, it is easier to have two hands free to touch her -- one for her tit and one for her pussy, rubbing and teasing and tweaking in the way he knows drives her mad. and now he fucks her properly, hard and fast and ruthless, bent over her back so that he can apply his mouth to her ear. ]

Then come. [ punctuating it with a sharp slap to one of her buttocks, his rhythm not faltering for a moment. ] My greedy, craven thing. Come for me, Aymeric.

[ And, oh, she does. His clever fingers play her like a bard's lute, his cock drives into her the way she begged for, and she comes with a wail, light dancing in her vision. She tries, boldly, to match him - works her hips back against him, that slap still ringing through her, but her body betrays her. It is too much - the force of her climax throbs through her, not just in the rhythmic clench of her body around him but in great, heaving waves that crash through her, flooding her with pleasure. She seizes for a moment, the intensity of it locking her body up tight and still, until it seems only her mouth is still capable of movement, stammering over his name -

and then it all gives way, sweeping and sudden. Her limbs collapse under her, her face mashing against the bed, and if any part of her remains upright at all it is only by the grace of his grip on it. ]

Beautiful.

[ it is a helpless groan, dragged out of him as her pussy spasms and throbs around him. she was already soaking, and it seems impossible that she should become wetter, but he can feel it as she does.

but if she hoped he would let her rest, she is to be sorely disappointed. he's forced to loop an arm around her hips to keep them upright, but it doesn't stop her from continuing to fuck her without mercy. estinien draws back so that he can watch the way his cock drives home into her cunt, the sight of her own wetness slicking her thighs. she's lovely, and he fully intends to drink in the sight and carry it with him when he's forced to leave again. ]

[ This is it. This is what she lives for. As Lord Commander she may have to hold herself high and weigh choices that could utterly upset the precarious balance that holds their nation above ruin, but here Estinien strips every last shred of control from her and makes her love it. Her mouth is open, small noises of a pleasure pushed so far it skirts around pain panting out of her with each of his thrusts. She can feel the bedding beneath her face is wet from her parted lips and watering eyes. The sound of it should, perhaps, be shaming - every slap of his hips meeting the curve of her ass punctuated with something lewdly wet - but even that fills her. ]

M-mm-

[ It's a struggle. A struggle just to think when the constant motion of his cock slides so sweetly over every oversensitive part of her, let alone to make words. She drags in a breath, tearing air into her lungs in an effort to pull enough into herself to get one of her arms out from under her own body -

and reaches down between her legs to touch him, to feel with her own fingertips how slick with her pleasure he is as he drives into her again, and again, and again. ]

More.

[ aymeric demands more from him, and he would rather die than refuse her. he plants one hand on the bed so that he may brace himself, and it lets him drive into her harder, growling a low noise at the way it stokes the pleasure mounting in his core.

there are few things he enjoys more than the sight of her like this; fucked to the point that her brilliant mind and clever tongue are useless, reduced to nothing more than the heat that makes her beg for his cock inside her. she is lovely, hazy-eyed and flushed, hair sticking to her skin with sweat, mouth parted around little senseless sounds of pleasure.

and still, he knows how to tease more from her. he swipes a thumb through her slick to wet it, then rubs the pad of it over the tidy furl of her other entrance. not enough to press in, just enough to tease her with the thought that he might. ]

[ Yes. He touches her there and she whimpers with it. It is not what she had in mind when she begged for more, but she could not honestly say what was - she can barely claim to have enough of a mind left to have held anything at all. But she wants all of him, as much of him as she can get. The thrust of his cock, the touch of his thumb, the rough edge of his voice and the inevitable drowning heat of him spilling inside her - were there only a way to have him buried in her mouth and her cunt at once, she would want that too. She can hear in the way he growls that his own pleasure is mounting, feel it in the deep, hard stroke of his hips, and there is just enough left in her to let her squeeze around him, tight and greedy. ]

Please. Estinien, please -

[ the sound of her whimper is enough to drive him half-mad with desire, and that's before she squeezes around him. he had intended to drag this out for as long as he was able, to make sure to satisfy that need in her as well as he can --

but she clenches around him as if her cunt means to milk his seed from him, says his name wreathed in please, and any effort to hold himself at bay is rendered hopeless.

he roars her name as he hits his own peak -- thrusting once, twice, and then burying himself deep as he spills himself. both of his hands are gripping her hips so tightly that he knows she'll wear the bruises for days, and there's a wicked sort of satisfaction about marking her in ways no other will see. ]

[ Oh. He buries himself in her, crying her name in a way that almost makes her ears ring, his hands gripping her tight as she feels the heat of him flood her, and it's enough. Enough to give her that tiny bit more, and though this orgasm is a less ferocious thing than the first he wrenched out of her, she is overstimulated enough that the sound she makes is little more than a sob. But still, still her hips work back against him, as if not ready to have it done. And she isn't; she may have egged him on, may have begged him to fuck her, but a part of her wishes she had delayed that pleasure just a little, just to have him here with her for longer. There are nights that he has stayed and she had woken up to the warmth of his body next to hers, and nights when he had left almost before she realized he was no longer inside her, and she never quite knows which will be which. But there's this; the bone-deep satisfaction of being well-fucked, and the knowledge that under her clothes, whether it be armor or gown, the print of his hands will be stark on her skin. That can be enough. She will make it so. ]

Thank you.

[ Mumbled, barely more than a whisper, but she means it. She needed this more than she had known. ]

[ estinien might not have heard that little thank you if not for the way exhaustion made him slump over her, only barely managing to brace himself on one trembling arm. but he does, and the sound of it is a dagger that slips between his ribs and finds his heart. aymeric deserves so much more than he can give her -- a man who will wed her and give her children, someone to support her through the day and warm her bed at night.

instead? he gives her a selfish pittance, and she thanks him for it.

the shame settles in the pit of his stomach, but there is nothing for it. he cannot promise her that he will stay, and he has failed and failed again at the effort to spurn her so thoroughly that it drives her to someone else. worst of all is the way he aches to give her what she needs --

but all he can give her is tonight. it is why he resolves to stay, looping an arm loosely around her waist and pulling her with him as he slumps to the side. it means that he can spoon himself up against her back but still remain inside her, leaning forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of her neck.

he wants to tell her that he loves her. because he does, but it would make saying it no less cruel. ]

[ She should take off the dress, at the very least. She doesn't. Estinien curls his arm around her, guides her down and softly kisses the back of her neck, and she can't bring herself to do anything that might disrupt the cozy warmth of it. What a picture they must be: her in a soiled gown, him in only his tunic, the both of them sweaty and wrung-out by their exertions. Ridiculous. Still, she wouldn't trade it. So she settles in, grateful for the press of him still inside her, and picks up the arm he has draped over her to kiss the back of his hand and thread her fingers through his. A fraction of what she would say to him, but as much as she dares. ]

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come on over, help me forget

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