placeheld | 100 Words of ... submissive penetration

"Be still, Artemis." Claudia's voice was cold in the stifling heat of the club. Despite the drugs bleeding freely through his system, urging him to touch and taste and fuck, Artemis did as she said. She twisted around and caught his long fingers as they fell from her shoulders. The sight of her on her knees would have been so glorious that the loss of it makes him sigh. It wasn't Artemis' fault. Her mouth - shiny and redder than he had ever seen it thanks to the static turning the saturation up on the world - had caught his attention.

So few things ever held it for long, but the thought of pressing his cock past Claudia's lips, past her tongue, into her slender throat -

"Still, for fuck's sake," she repeated, and squeezed his wrists hard enough that blue turned purple. The world pixelated at the edges of his focus. It brought him gasping back into the present, to the way she was sitting heavy on his lap just as she had on his speeder earlier. Did she still have the gun tucked away somewhere in that impossibly tight and tiny dress? No, he realized, as he felt it ride up her thighs when she shifted to hold his arms against the wall of the booth. She wasn't even wearing panties. He could fucking smell how wet she was, somehow, over the alcohol still dripping across the table.

He couldn't help it. He leaned forward and mouthed at her chest. Her tits were so small he could fit most of one in his mouth, and he did, sucking until the thin fabric was soaked. She twisted his hands around and pressed them down, hard, until he grabbed onto the runner at the top of the booth.

"Keep them there." The order came as she grabbed a hand of his hair. He winced, expecting a pull, but she only held him still until her implant dissolved the top half of her dress. When she pulled him back in he tasted bare flesh this time, and he felt her drop a kiss at the crown of his head. "And don't stop. You want to fuck me, don't you?"

The answer to the question seemed so obvious it startled a laugh out of him. He had, he always had, since the day he'd stumbled bleeding into her office. For someone from the lower floors she'd always kept herself so fucking high above him. Like she was better than him, even though he owned her - owned the whole damn city - and maybe she was right. He was underneath her now. Anything she asked he'd give it to her, deal or no deal, and there were dangerous promises on his tongue.

"You can't."

She made good on her threat and yanked his hair hard enough that the smeared pixels at the edges of his vision turned to flashing stars.

Of course: she hadn't told him to stop.

He got back to work and she shifted again; in the time he'd lost to his thoughts she'd pushed what remained of her dress up between them so that her hand could work at her clit. They were close enough he felt it almost brush his cock with every furious stroke. It was like a tiny explosion every time and he thought he might come or cry, just from that.

After a time, she muttered fuck, and stopped to rest her head somewhere above him. The tension in her body felt like a decision waiting to be made. As always, Claudia made it.

"Don't," she said, around a ragged breath, "come."

That was all the warning he got before her hips shifted and her tiny hand wrapped around his cock. She sat herself on it with a blissful sigh as it stretched her wide. He waited; she didn't move, except to go back to bringing herself off with her hand.

He did cry after all.