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licenciator · 3 hours ago

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Strange Recompense

***Over 18s Only***

Written by commission. This story features Dr Strange and a female reader. Themes include submission, BDSM and graphic sexual content.

You were his. Your arrogance, your naivety, had fooled you into believing yourself able to outwit and deceive your Master, and now, you would face your punishment.

It had all seemed so easy, in your mind, as you crossed the threshold of the Sanctum Santorum in the dead of night, your heart filled with plans, purpose and lustful desire. You had come for the stone. Not to steal it, but to prove to your mentor, Dr Stephen Strange, who had nurtured your burgeoning magical skills these past months, that you were worthy of his affections. Worthy of him. If you could bypass the Mystic’s many defences and place your hand on the enchanting, green piece of eternity, then perhaps he would begin to look at you in the same way you looked at him. Perhaps, for once, it would be he and not you, bringing himself to a feverish climax at night, lost in a fantasy world of orgasmic perpetuity. When you had proven yourself to him, you had dreamed, he would beg for your body, for your sex, for your soul. And when he had begged you enough, you would surrender them.

He had taught you so much, perhaps too much for his own good, you had allowed yourself to think, as you dealt with the enchantments in the ornate, archaic hallway, with ease. Mandalas of sparkling, mystic art were produced at your whim, saving you from enchantments and spells that would have surely paralysed most other intruders, and began to climb the grand staircase in the heart of the room. It was there that you had found him.

You had wanted him since the moment your eyes had met, across a crowded street in the heart of Greenwich Village. You were drawn to him, as if by some temporal magnet forged of magic and lust. He had come to you. For you. Your eyes had never left him as he explained how he had sensed the skills you had developed and made it his mission to find and train you. You took in each facet of his thin, angular face; his piercing eyes, his neatly trimmed beard, the greying hair, framing his high cheekbones. As much as you had wanted answers to the magical energy you had begun to feel burning inside yourself, you wanted him; this peculiar man, strolling through New York in his blue shirt and startlingly red cape, a gaudy looking medallion clasped around his chest. You wanted all the secrets he could give you, all of his techniques, and not just purely those of the magical kind.

In time, he had told you of the true nature of his jewellery of choice, this Eye of Agamotto, as he called it, and the powerful stone it housed. Your new mentor was its guardian, and no other could be allowed to touch it. It was then that you had hatched your plan. You had felt your powers growing by the day, but Strange only ever looked at you with the eyes of a kindly, if stern, mentor, not with the desire you felt for him. To earn his lust would require more skill than an average training day in this palace of enchantments could provide.

The memories had flooded through you as you took in the sight before you. Framed by the circular skylight you had gazed through so many times, his deep red Cloak of Levitation flowing behind him, floated your master, levitating in peaceful slumber. Your draw dropped as your mouth began to water. Gone was the old -fashioned attire, leaving Strange, aside from his magical cape, resplendent in nakedness. His body, thin and toned was more beautiful to you than even your most extravagant fantasies had allowed you to believe, and you had felt your hand inch towards your groin, reaching under your waistband and pressing the fabric of your panties against yourself, at this unexpected but very welcome state. Your eyes had fallen to his waist, and you had gulped at the perfectly formed outer symbol of his manhood, your rubbing increasing as you imagined it awakening, feeling it harden and grow in your hand while you drew him from his dreams into ecstatic reality.

With phenomenal restraint, you had broken away from the sight and stilled your fingers, summoning every fibre of energy you could muster into rising into the air before him, your heart beginning to pound at your proximity to the naked sorcerer. Your breath light and your head spinning, you had reached forward slowly, ever so slowly, towards the Eye of Agamotto, still clasped around his neck, the tip of your middle finger brushing, only very slightly, the golden casing which house the stone.

It was then, that Dr Strange had awoken.

With alacrity faster than any lightening storm could ever produce, his eyes, once piercing and wise, but now fierce and furious, had snapped open and peered into your own, while golden mandalas wrapped, themselves tightly around your wrists, forcing your arms out to each side, more, binding your ankles in magical bonds. And now you waited, your plans in ruins, to face the fury of the Sorcerer Supreme.

“You!” The word fell from his thin lips in a gasp, and you could feel in it, the pain of your betrayal. “You came for the Stone?”

You shook your head, quickly, uselessly, your denials struggling to pour from your mouth.

“No!” you finally responded. “It’s not like that, I was trying to impress you!”

The magician floated before you in beautiful naked fury as you stuttered and stumbled through your explanations; how often you had played with yourself to the thought of him fucking you, how desperately you yearned for his touch and how you had hoped, that by proving yourself able to reach the stone, you had hoped he would look at you as you looked at him.

The words fell from you incoherently, your mind spinning as though you were drunk on the foolish severity of your actions, and you stared into his face, desperate for any sign that he believed you. Finally, after a tortuous age, you watched his brow furrow in thought.

“I believe you,” he ultimately concluded, his voice soft but laced with an indescribable danger. “I can’t even begin to tell you how foolish, unworthy and stupidly dangerous it was of you to do this... However, I… believe you.”

Pangs of relief flowed through you, and you breathed deeply for the first time since he had awoken.

“Thank you,” you sighed, attempting a smile before gesturing with your head at your mystical bonds. “So, can you let me out of these things now?”

He simply stared for a moment, taking you in, and you saw, for the first time, an inkling of mischievousness in his stern, imposing face.

“I’m afraid, it’s not quite that simple,” he began. “You have touched the Eye of Agamotto without permission.”

“I barely even brushed against it,” you protested.

“That doesn’t matter.“ Strange’s voice was severe. “You have touched it, the intent was in your heart, and now you must make the choice.”

“What choice?” you nervously asked, your voice shaking.

“Of punishment,” he replied.

“What do you mean, punishment?”

“There must be a punishment for your transgression. You must face either, expulsion from our order…,”

“No!”

“Either…,” he repeated, his voice stern and commanding, “expulsion or, recompense.”

“What ‘recompense’?” you queried, your voice racked with confusion, but the sorcerer refused to answer.

“Choose. Choose now,” he ordered.

Your mind was ablaze with guilt, shame, embarrassment and uncertainty. All you knew for sure was that he believed you, and there was a chance of forgiveness, and frankly, there was little you wouldn’t do to stay in this new life you had found. If only you knew what the recompense would be…

“I choose…,” you stuttered, “I choose recompense.”

You scanned his features for any sign of what this might mean, but little could be discerned from his rigid, penetrating stare, until, with a wave of his hands, the enchanter returned himself and you to the ground, your magical restraints still firmly in place; the restriction at once frustrating and exciting you.

“Then we shall begin.”

The sorcerer’s words were harsh and authoritative, and the pit of your stomach churned in anxious anticipation of what, exactly, was about to begin.

“But remember,” Strange said, “if you change your mind, and decide you would prefer to walk away from your potential, you can at any time say so, and your recompense will cease. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Stephen, but…”

Your sentence was cut short by the tightening of your magical bonds, pressing hard into your flesh, accompanied by a raised eyebrow from the powerful magical hero.

“Stephen?” he quizzed, a flicker of lust flashing in his eyes. “Not tonight. Tonight, it would be more appropriate for you to call me, Master.”

The churning in your stomach gave way to a sudden and overwhelming onslaught of butterflies which spread through your senses, your head light as it was claimed by nervous anticipation.

“Master?” you asked, your voice shaking and uncertain.

“Master,” he confirmed, “tell your Master that you understand.”

“I understand,” you stuttered in response. “I understand, Master.”

Strange walked closer towards you, each step exuding the power of his magical office.

“Well, then,” he said, his voice as charming as ever it was, “before we begin, we should perhaps, redress the balance.”

You squinted in confusion before, on instinct, your eyes finally dropped from his, towards the part of his body that had drawn you to it moments earlier. While earlier, it had lain in elegantly proportioned rest, it now stood hard, thick and ready, its delicate skin straining against its length and its tip glistening with expectancy. You began to realise, finally, as you absorbed the sight into your memory, exactly what form the penance you were about to pay, would take. And you realised, for the first time, that your desires might have indebted you in ways you might be unable to pay. With a wave of the sorcerer’s fingers, a golden mandala, pointed and sharp appeared in the space between you, a torrent of sudden fear running through you as it hung inches from your eyes.

Your senses threatening to overwhelm you, you tried to summon the magical powers you possessed, which you had learned to control with such expertise under the magician’s tutelage.

Your efforts were useless. The power would not emerge. Even the simple force to move your head and look away was blocked to you.

Though you opened your mouth to object, or perhaps to scream, the mandalic blade before you shifted in the air, slicing at your clothes, leaving you gasping in shock as they fell, piece by tattered piece to the floor below, only your thin, cotton underwear protecting what was left of your modesty. Trepidation ran through your almost totally exposed body, though the sensation of your nipples stiffening against the material of your bra, and the dampness in your panties pressing against you betrayed the eagerness you tried to repress to embrace your deserved punishment.

“Wha… what’s happening…?”

The anxiousness in your words should have been alien to you. Not since that first day of magical training had you felt anything other than supreme confidence, but now it too, just as, for the moment at least, your access to your powers, was gone.

“You are being prepared for your recompense,” Strange answered, his tone seeped in what you understood now was a justified arrogance. “I’d say you were almost ready…”

The magical blade moved again, slower this time, slicing away the straps of your bra and sniping your panties away from you, your final garments joining your others in lying, ruined, on the Sanctum’s polished floor.

Naked, exposed, and bound in magical bonds, your eyes wide in excited consternation, you stared into your Master’s face. Though the house’s chilled air raised goosebumps on your exhibited skin, the drop in temperature was countered by the burning heat of your humiliation. Your Master feasted his eyes upon you, his lip curling into a lustful snarl as he moved his hands once more, and lowered himself and you to the floor, kicking away the remnants of your clothing.

Your ethereal, golden bonds began to pull and twist, contorting you down, onto your knees, before him, your arms clasped behind your back. The movement overwhelmed you, assaulting your senses with an intense cocktail of desire and agitation. Though your tight bonds, and the new look in your Master’s eye excited you, even the strength of your yearning could not wholly displace the gnawing of fear. You had wanted this, wanted him, so very much, for so very long, and you knew, now, that he was about to take you.

A tendril of shining light burst forth from Strange’s hand towards you, wrapping itself swiftly around your neck and you shuffled on your bare knees towards him as he pulled it, hard, in a charged display of his Mastery of the mystic arts, and of you. Your eyes locked onto that part of him closest, so very, very close to your face, which just moments before you had yearned to take silent hold of. Its sweet scent filled your nostrils, and your mouth hung open in greedy anticipation, your tongue licking fresh saliva over your teeth.

“Not yet,” came his stern order. “A good slave will only act when instructed.”

You wordlessly nodded your acceptance and sat back on your knees, your anticipation making you gasp even more than the tightness of the magical collar around your throat.

Your eyes following the object of your fixation without blinking, Strange wrapped his other hand around it, gently stroking it before you, teasing you with what you desired but refusing to gratify your lust until it was earned. He pulled you closer still, and began to trace your features with it, until delicate drops of his pre-cum adorned the edge of your face. You stuck out your tongue, trying desperately to catch a taste, as he moved, before he could contain himself no longer and plunged himself into the warm cavity of your mouth.

The sudden movement shocked you, as did the size, as you felt the back of your tongue pushed down by the intrusion. His grip on your collar tightened further as pulled your head down, all the way down, and back again, faster and deeper until you could feel him pressing mercilessly against the back of your throat, the sound of your gagging only spurring him on harder still.

At last, he withdrew, his dick coated in your saliva, granting you a precious moment to heave air into your lungs before he pushed himself back between your lips again. His strong, firm hand stroked your cheek for a moment, before reaching to the back of your head and clumping your hair, pulling it back roughly.

“Look at me,” he commanded. “Don’t take your eyes off mine.”

You did as he bade, staring up into his stern features as he continued to callously fuck your mouth. You saw everything in his eyes; his anger, his sorrow, his lust for you. You were sure your own eyes conveyed each of the complex emotions you were feeling, too, and something in them caused the sorcerer to slow his thrusting, pulling out of your mouth and holding the tip of his dick agonisingly close to you.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.

“No,” you responded defiantly, the taste of his pre-cum, sweet on your lips, “I want you to fuck me.”

For a moment you your words shocked you as much as you hoped they had shocked your Master. You were subjugated, utterly, at the total control of the Sorcerer Supreme, but though the anxious trepidation still burned in the pit of your stomach, you knew, with every fibre of your consciousness that right here, right now, you wanted this.

A half smile cracked onto his thin face at your response.

“You want who to fuck you?”

“You,” you answered. Master.”

Silence hung between you for a moment before his smile, full of lust and authority widened further.

“Say please.”

“Please, Master.”

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me, Master.”

“I can’t hear you,” he cruelly toyed.

“PLEASE, MASTER!” You shouted with every decibel your bound body. “PLEASE FUCK ME, MASTER!”

As soon as the words left your salivating mouth, your magical bonds contorted again, lifting you just inches from the floor, thrusting your arms out to each side, your legs swiftly following, exposing your vulnerable sex to whatever machinations hid behind your Master’s narrowing, dominant eyes.

The gasp you exhaled at your body’s involuntary movements served only to spur Strange’s lust further, as he stepped towards you, one hand hovering close, so close to your exposed and yearning skin, while his other gripped tightly to your ethereal leash.

For a moment of brief eternity, it hung there, the Sorcerer’s eyes feasting on your naked excitement and delighting in the reaction of your flesh. Just as you thought the moment would never arrive, the back of his fingertips brushed, one by perfectly manicured one against you, the deep sigh of relief you breathed matched in intensity only by the wanton anticipation you felt building between your splayed legs.

His fingers moved majestically upon you, tracing each contour of your torso, skirting the outline of your collar bone, your ribs, your navel, as he prolonged the torture of your wait, until finally, they moved upwards, teasing the aching, stiff nipple of your left breast, his thumb and forefinger pulling on it hard as he claimed it. You had long heard stories from friends that this sensation alone could build to climactic release – stories you had always dismissed, until now. With supernatural speed, your collar tightened behind you, now held by some unseen force as his other hand joined its compatriot in exploring you, squeezing and pulling as hard at your right breast as your left.

Your eyes stayed on your Master’s, he had ordered as much, and your breathing heightened as your body reacted to his touch in a pleasure as unbridled as you were restrained. The throbbing in your untouched sex pounded within you, somehow stirred into crescendo by his ownership of you and you felt yourself, somehow, through some tantric mysticism felt it stir towards crescendo. You began to feel the cry of passion you had so often toyed yourself into releasing as you rubbed and played to thoughts of this man, build inside you, and your mouth hung open wider still, ready to surrender to it.

As though taking cue from your ecstatic expression, Strange’s hands dropped from your chest, his left clamping hard on the back of your head, clumping your hair once more, while his right sank below your stomach, his fingers reaching for your grateful, pulsating clit which reacted at once to his touch, sending waves of pleasure through you.

“Do you want to cum?” he asked, his voice as hard and firm as the dick he had pushed into your mouth.

You nodded with what movement in your head he still afforded you.

“Then beg.”

You answered loudly, your tone pleading and desperate.

“Please let me cum, Master,” you entreated, “please let me cum!”

Your words became profane as he responded by pressing two fingers past the wet lips of your expectant pussy, pushing them deeper inside you as it clenched tightly against them, curling them back against your inner wall as he relished your cries.

In moments it was enough, and rapturous ecstasy rippled through you as your Master granted your request, his wet fingers not relenting for a second as they drew out every last vestige of physical joy from your orgasm.

“Say thank you,” he ordered as your panting finally began to subside.

“Thank you, Master,” you answered gratefully, “thank you for making me cum! Thank you for… Oh, fuck…”

Even as you had begun to speak Strange was upon you, pushing the hard dick whose taste still lingered in your mouth against your pussy, which earnestly granted him entrance, inch by glorious inch.

“You’ve wanted this all along, haven’t you?” he asked, his breath becoming quicker as he pushed his full length deep inside you, his hand slapping sharply against your cheek when you failed to answer at once.

“Yes, Master,” you answered, your voice cracking with pleasure, “I’ve wanted it all along.”

“How many times have you played with yourself imagining this?”

“Every day, Master,” you cried out, your breasts shaking as he thrust himself inside you, pausing sometimes to grind his flesh against yours, his neatly trimmed pubic hair tickling and toying with your clit. “I play with myself every day for you!”

You screamed your confession as another ocean of pleasure culminated inside you, his thrusting intensifying as you came around him, coating him in your essence. He withdrew and watched the blissful inflections of your face, slowly stroking your wetness over himself, toying with his tip as your eyes, for once, dropped from his to enjoy the sight. Your body ached to curl into post-coital rest, but your bonds held you fast, enslaved still to your Master’s whims.

“Bad girl,” he almost whispered, the words finally filling the air with a sound other than your ecstatic panting. “I told you to keep your eyes on mine…”

The golden mandalas strapped around you shifted again, forcing you to bend into the new position desired by your Master, forcing you to accept further punishment. Returned hard to the floor, you felt your head move, pressing the side of your face against it, while your knees bent up beneath you, your arms once more tied magically behind your back, your ass pointed upwards towards the Master you had betrayed.

“If you can’t keep your eyes on mine, then you don’t get to watch what happens next…”

The pang of fear you had felt when the Sorcerer had first awoken ran through you again and you heard yourself begin to plead for mercy.”

“Please, Master,” you began, “I’m sorry, I…”

Your pleas were interrupted by the sound of a hard slap and the sting of a firm palm on your ass.

“You will learn,” Strange began, punctuating each word with another slap on each sensitive cheek in turn, “to do as you are told.”

“Ye... yes, Master,” you answered, an intoxication of pleasure and pain assaulting your senses as slap after slap connected with your stinging, unprotected ass.

“Say it,” he ordered, his until now measured voice wild, as though he had finally given in totally to his lust for you.

“I will – ow – learn to – ow – do as I’m told, Master!”

He wordlessly continued, the sound of your spanking broken only by your promises to do as commanded as his hand came down faster and harder until the orgasmic agony threated to overwhelm you. You braced yourself for another barrage, but the spanking stopped, as instantly as it had begun, but before any thoughts of clemency could reach your mind, your controlled arms shifted behind you, your hands gripping your stinging cheeks and spreading them apart.

Your addled senses hadn’t even time to register your embarrassment and shock before you felt his hot breath behind you, and those hands which had seconds before inflicted such punishment, grip your waist tightly. No words came from the Sorcerer now as he began greedily enjoying your exposed pussy, his teeth nibbling at your lips and his tongue flicked and licked at your clit until you felt your whole being give in once more to the orgasmic reactions he commanded.

You had no energy left even to shout your obedience to your Master, but still the pleasure came, his tongue now shifting upwards, delighting in the sweet taste of your ass. You knew, as his tongue pushed deeper, followed by fingers coated in your own cum what you were being prepared for and you braced yourself as you felt the tip of his dick press against your smallest, tightest hole.

“Thank you, Master,” you managed to whisper as your asshole gave way to him, “thank you for fucking my ass…”

Strange remained silent, lost in the ecstasy of you, and the pleasure of how obediently you were taking your ass fucking. The intensity of his thrusts increased, and you knew you were reaching the apex of your recompense. One arm was suddenly, without warning, released from its bondage, and you felt it directed by your Master between your legs, your fingers rubbing furiously at your clit as he buried himself deeper and harder into your ass.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped as pleasure claimed you once more, “Oh, fuck, thank you, thank, you, thank you, Master!”

The moment your pleasure peaked, he pulled himself from you, your bonds twisting your body round once more to face him, your hand still rubbing at your pussy and your eyes now firmly locked on his.

He looked different now, his face reddened with effort and coated in sweat, his hair matted and displaced over his forehead as he pushed his throbbing and straining dick back inside your mouth.

There was no shock for you anymore, no reticence. You were his. Totally. And serving your Master brought many rewards.

It was as you sucked on him and let your tongue tease him that you realised your bonds were released. Movement was yours once more, and the first you made was to reach up and grab the Sorcerer’s ass, pulling him deeper into your mouth, deeper even than he had pushed himself at the start of your penance. His eyes closed and your mouth felt his dick stiffen harder, impossibly hard, before releasing his ecstasy inside you at last, filling your mouth with the thick streams of his cum.

His cries of pleasure enriched you and you continued to suck and play with your tongue as you felt him begin to soften in your mouth, his cum spilling out onto your chin as he finally withdrew and knelt beside you on the floor, wrapping his cloak around your shoulders and holding you to his hot, naked chest.

For an age you knelt there together in silence, but no words were needed. Not anymore. You had tested your Master and failed, but somehow, also won. This man you had yearned for, this Sorcerer Supreme, had grown closer to you then you had ever dreamed possible as a result of your transgression. Closer even still, through the punishment you knew you had deserved. Your Strange recompense.

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licenciator · 3 hours ago

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Highest Honour

**WARNING - Over 18s Only**

Summary: You and the Doctor have saved a planet from destruction, earning the highest honour their culture offers. You soon learn that this more than just tea at the palace…

Short story with the 10th Doctor and female reader. Features consensual sex, vaginal sex, public sex, masturbation, oral sex, anal play, cum play, fantasy, light spanking, voyeurism.

Against all odds, in the face of deadly threats and pure terror, he had done it again. Another planet, another people saved by this man, this Doctor. Your Doctor.

He reached his hand out to you, helping you to your feet as the remnants of the invading fleet burned in the atmosphere above you. The electricity of his touch sent your mind at once back to the first time his fingers had gripped yours, pulling you away from a Dalek’s blast, saving your life and countless more before rewarding you for your help with a trip in the impossible blue box he adoringly called his TARDIS. As you stood, now, your adrenaline fuelled eyes meeting the sad, ancient depths of his own, you wanted him even more than you had that first time; his pin striped suit torn and battered, his tie askew and the sweat of his exertions cradling his thin face in perfect imperfection.

“You were brilliant today,” he told you, his voice warm and sincere, “thank you.”

Until meeting him, confidence was not something you had felt flow through you, but he had helped you see the strength inside you, and draw on it, and alongside him you had saved worlds together, facing down galactic warmongers and timeless threats. You and your Doctor. And yet, despite all you had faced, what still reduced you to putty was a compliment from this man you yearned for and who, you knew, would never even think to look twice at you, at least, not in that way.

“It was nothing,” you stuttered, your nerves overflowing, infuriatingly, your eyes pulling away from his for fear of them betraying all you felt and wanted to say to him. Instead, you stayed silent, cursing yourself for your cowardice and hoping to just get back quickly to the TARDIS, where you could retreat to the safety of your room and put the fingers now clasping his to better use, giving yourself the pleasure you wanted to feel from him. You’d lost count of the times you had watched, out of his sight, concealed by coral pillars as he stood lovingly by his Time Ship’s console, rubbing yourself to muted frenzy, jealously wishing that the touch with which he deftly operated the controls was working its magic on you instead. You felt foolish and at yourself for being envious of a machine, but deep down you too knew that the ship was far more than just a tool, and that the Doctor’s bond with it was greater than any he would ever allow himself to feel with you, or any of those that had come before you. Your feelings could only ever be fantasy, but if fantasy was all you could have, you resolved to enjoy yours to the full, as you approached the battered blue box, standing outside the entrance to the congressional chamber of Planet Carnalia. Soon, goodbye’s would be bidden and your Doctor would whisk you away to new adventures, but your mind, and fingers would spend the journey to wherever, in ecstatic reverie.

“Doctor, wait!”

The voice belonged to Torlosia, the Planet’s leader, and you both turned to face her, as she hurried to catch up with you. Dressed in flowing robes of red and gold, her turquoise skin glowing in the silver light of the twin moons above, her beauty seemed to reach inside you, demanding your attention, and you felt the tingling of a blush on your cheeks as she stood before you, smiling in gratitude.

“Doctor, we cannot thank you enough, both of you,” her glance to you deepening the redness in your face, “thanks to you, our people will live and thrive again.”

“Oh, it was nothing, Prime Minister,” the Doctor grinned, enthusiastically, “all in a day’s work! Now, we really must be getting off.”

“Where to this time?” asked Torlosia.

“Anywhere,” you answer, trying both to impress him and make sure he didn’t suggest it was time to get you home to your own time. “How about Saturn?”

“Nah, it’s boring,” the Doctor answered, “and anyway, Saturn’s not it’s real name.”

“Oh?” you quizzed, “what’s it’s real name, then?”

“Trevor.”

“Trevor?”

“Yeah…”

“The Planet Trevor?”

“Well, why’s ‘Saturn’ any better?” he said defensively before grinning at you, “I suppose we could go and ask which they prefer, if you like?”

You smiled your acquiescence and turned to bid farewell to Torlosia, only for her to step forward in earnest.

“Before you do that,” she began, “we cannot allow you to just slip away after saving so many of our lives. Not without showing you the depths of our gratitude, first.”

“Oh, really, there’s no need for all that,” protested the Doctor, “and I’m not sure my friend here would really be into all that…”

“Into what?” you ask, innocently.

Torlosia’s hand reached out to stroke your face, butterflies setting loose in your stomach at her touch. “Our very highest honour,” she answered simply. Turning back to the Doctor, she reached up to stroke his cheek, too, a glint of what looked like seduction in her eye, scattering the butterflies in you and replacing them with a pang of jealousy. “One we have afforded the Doctor and several of his other friends in times past, when their help has warranted it…”

“Other friends?” you interrupted, the familiar pang of jealousy you always felt at mention of your Doctor’s past companions, stabbing at you. “So, these ‘other friends’ have been up for this ‘highest honour’ have they, Doctor?”

You spoke the words accusingly, your eyes burrowing into his, and he shrugged, as flustered as you could ever recall seeing him.

“Well…,” he began, but the usual cacophony of words that followed didn’t come, and, for a moment, you almost thought he looked embarrassed, before Torlosia came to his rescue.

“Of course,” she answered, with a strange eagerness, “our gratitude to the Doctor always extends to the friends he relies on so much, and we insist on honouring them too. It would be our pleasure to extend those honours to you… our deep, and lasting pleasure.”

Her eyes were magnetic, her voice as sweet as honey, and in that second, you couldn’t imagine turning down any honour this beautiful woman desired to bestow on you. The Doctor though, looked nervous, as if for once in his centuries long life, words would not come to his rescue.

“It’s incredibly kind of you, Prime Minister,” he began, softly, “it’s just…”

“The Cabinet is assembled, Doctor,” she gently interrupted, “the choice, of course, is yours.”

With that, she turned and walked past the TARDIS, down the passageway, into the chamber. You looked up at the Time Lord, whose face had turned pale.

“We should go,” he whispered.

The expression he wore was one you hadn’t seen on him before, even when facing down Cyber armies and Sontaran squadrons, and you raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Doctor, what’s wrong?” you asked, the desire to follow Torlosia through the tunnel almost overwhelming you. “What harm can their ‘highest honour’ do us? A cup of tea with the planet’s rulers, a handshake for the cameras and maybe a badge and a souvenir pen, if we’re lucky. We’ll be back in the TARDIS and off to Satur…, sorry, Trevor, before you can say ‘photo opportunity’.”

He looked down at you with his big, ancient eyes, the smile you loved so much beginning to break through his nervousness.

“You really want to go through there, don’t you?”

“What? Tea with the Prime Minister?” you replied, reciprocating his smile, “who wouldn’t?”

He reached out and closed his fingers around yours, and began to slowly lead you through the tunnel through which Torlosia had vanished.

“Tea,” he mused, as you strode. “In your culture, everyone wants to go out for tea all the time. If you saved the Earth, and we’ll probably end up doing that sooner or later, you’d likely get an invitation for tea with the King, or dinner at the White House because eating and drinking together is the ultimate expression of social nicety and civilisation and sharing that with the people in charge is a huge honour. But that’s not the case everywhere in the universe…”

“No?” You asked, intrigued. “So, what are some of the other universal niceties, then?”

“Well,” he began, his vocabularic fluidity returning, “on Decahedron Twenty-Three, they have an honour’s ceremony every year, where recipients all stand on a stage and blow their noses in unison.”

“What?”

“It’s a little odd at first but you soon get used to it,” the Doctor explained, “or at least you would do, if the people of Decahedron Twenty-Three didn’t have twenty-three noses each… but even that’s better than Frectagrangion Twelve…”

“Why, what happens on Frectagrangion Twelve?”

“Let’s just say that while people on Earth like to get around a table and eat together, their social interactions are planned more around the other end of proceedings.”

“Oh, God, you don’t mean...?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, without elaborating further. “But the point I’m trying to make is that this is going to be a bit different to tea and a handshake.”

“So, what’s it going to be?” you asked, your hand gripping tightly to his as you approached an ornate alcove at the end of the tunnel and stepped through, the butterflies in your stomach unleashed anew, as you took in the sight before you.

You and the Doctor emerged into the centre of a dark, cavernous auditorium, the polished metal floor you stood on, humming with a vibrant energy and slowly rotating clockwise. Before you could open your mouth to ask where you were, a voice came from the shadows around you.

“You have chosen to join us,” the voice was Torlosia’s. “We are most gratified.”

Far above you, lights at the top of the chamber began to bleed through the darkness, revealing to you and the Doctor the full truth of your surroundings. In a circle around you, draped across grand, bejewelled chairs, were a dozen of the most beautiful people who had ever lain eyes upon in your life, six men, six women, each of them resplendent in nakedness. Torlosia, her finery discarded, stood before the largest seat, the beauty of her perfect, disrobed body demanding your attention and causing you to squeeze tighter still on the Doctor’s hand, your confusion matched only by your arousal.

“Here,” the Doctor whispered into your ear, “the primary social interaction is sex and physical intimacy.”

You gulped hard, words failing you at what you had walked so blindly into.

“She…, she wants to sleep with us?” you asked, forcing your voice through your reluctant larynx.

“Not quite,” the Doctor softly intoned. “They want us to make love. You and me. They’re here to watch. It’s the highest honour on the planet for people being rewarded to make love to an audience of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, while they, er.. they pleasure themselves.”

A gasp, small, uncertain, escaped your mouth, the situation overwhelming you. Making love… fucking the Doctor, was all you had dreamed of for so long, but to an audience? Your mind raced to pluck a sentence, any sentence from the word salad running through it but none would come, until eventually it reached to mask your shock with humour.

“For God’s sake, don’t let Boris Johnson here about this…”

“It’s ok,” the Doctor whispered, your obvious discomfort troubling him, and he stepped forward to address the naked assembly.

“Prime Minister Torlosia,” he began, “I cannot begin to express the gratitude we feel for you offering this honour, but my friend here is of a different culture…”

Once more, your friend was standing up for you, protecting you, and you wanted him all the more for it. These people wanted to honour you and likewise, you yearned to honour him with your all, and to have him reciprocate. This was no alien threat to be protected from, this was your chance for all you had desired. You stepped forward, in front of the man you adored.

“Prime Minister!” you called out. “Though I am from another culture, I was raised to respect and cherish those of others, and travelling with this man has made me appreciate that even more.”

“Are you sure?” the Doctor quizzed, “you don’t have to do this.”

“But I want to,” you answered him, turning back to the disrobed dignitaries. “I accept this honour and will play my part.”

Torlosia smiled at you with warmth and sincerity, lowering herself onto her grand chair, her hand reaching at once between her open legs, and her fingers beginning to play with her perfectly trimmed pubes.

“Then, let the honours commence,” she said. “Please disrobe and begin.”

Around you, the dozen beautiful figures began settling into position, their eyes on you and the Doctor, and their hands beginning to stroke and caress themselves in eager anticipation of what was to come. You turned back to face the Doctor, who reflected your own nervousness in his face.

“Are you really sure?” he asked again. In response, you gripped the seam of the top you wore, and pulled it over your head, dropping it to the floor as his eyes fell to the bra, cradling your breasts.

“Does that answer your question?” you grinned.

Unleashed from his self-restraint with your words, he returned your grin and began at once to pull at his clothes; the long, brown overcoat crumpling to the polished floor, followed quickly by shoes, suit jacket, trousers, tie and shirt. Slower than him, you kept your eyes on the growing bulge in his shorts as you peeled off your leggings and unhooked your bra to the stifled moans of your audience. Finally, after seconds which felt like millennia, he shed himself of the last piece of material clinging to him and stood before you, naked and yours.

Nervousness and desire were waging war within you, and you stood, hiding your breasts with your arms, and your legs closed, ashamed to go further but desperate to do so, watching your man, your Doctor, standing before you, his nakedness all you had imagined it to be. You could already feel the dampness in your knickers as his eyes feasted on you, his dick hardening in anticipation.

“Don’t be shy,” he softly said. “Show yourself to me.”

“There was an authority in his voice that belied his delicate inflections, and you knew you would obey whatever he asked you to do. Shyness still raging inside, you stood straight and dropped your arms to your sides, allowing him to take in your breasts, the stiffness in your nipples mirroring that in his rapidly thickening cock, as you waited for the command you knew would come next.

And it did.

His hand reached down, his fingers closing around his erection, slowly, gently beginning to stroke it, just as you had fantasised that he might, those nights in the TARDIS, when you dreamed of him climaxing to the thought of you, just as you were doing to him. His eyes moved to your waist, and your blush grew deeper, nervous but yearning for his orders.

“Pull them down.”

His voice was a whisper, almost as delicate in tone as it was hypnotic, and at once, you felt your hands slide up to your hips, your thumbs slipping into the waistband of your underwear as you prepared to obey. Around you, the flurry of stroking, rubbing and fingering from your audience increased and you felt your shyness begin to crumble against a sudden, unexpected, spark of confidence. These people were watching you, enjoying you, and you knew from the look in his eyes that the man who you had ached for, for so long, wanted you. This man. This Doctor. Your Doctor.

You cherished the moment, bending over as you shed yourself of the last of your modesty, relishing the gasps of pleasure from the assembled spectators as you stood straight, naked and ready for the Time Lord. His hand began to move quicker as his eyes drank you in, and you felt your own begin to twitch in response to the throbbing you felt in your freshly exposed crotch.

“Play with it,” he ordered. “Like you do in the TARDIS, when you think I don’t notice. Play with it for me.”

You felt your embarrassment return and threaten to engulf you, the mortification at the knowledge he had seen you, perhaps every time, almost overwhelming. But, the spark of confidence not only remained, it grew, and without any resistance, you moved your fingers to your wet lips, teasing yourself, and him, until your clit compelled you to oblige its call. The movement at the edge of your vision spurred you on as your audience settled deeper into the show, responding to their breaths and squeals by moving your other hand to caress and gently squeeze your breasts. But your focus remained on him, and the joy he was finding in you.

He stepped forward towards you and you kept your fingers moving as he moved closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your neck. Raising his hands to your face, he began to trace your features with the tips of his fingers, the yearning in your pussy deepening with each stroke of his finger. Stepping into an embrace, you felt his hand slide under yours and you let out a grateful moan as his fingers, finally, replaced yours in teasing and massaging your clitoris. You reciprocated, replacing the hand stroking his hard dick with your own, as though the thought of anyone else, even himself, touching it was enough to drive you into a jealous rage. He moaned his appreciation into your ear as you stroked it, working the shaft with your fingers and rubbing your thumb and forefinger over the head, relishing the sensation of his pre-cum, as it leaked onto them.

Repaying the favour, he increased the speed of his own fingers, slipping first one, then another between your lips and deeper, deeper inside you, the sensation building until your spasmed in pleasure, drenching his expert fingers as your body contorted against his and your moaning crescendoed, loudly around the chamber. Your other arm clasping tightly around his shoulders, he leant down, sucking and nibbling on your breasts as his fingers teased out every vestige of joy from your orgasm.

“That’s only the beginning,” he said, as he raised his head back up, and pressed his lips against yours. “Lie down.”

The metal, rotating floor was cold, but you didn’t care. Rolling his overcoat into a makeshift pillow, you allowed him to lay you down, as his mouth went greedily to work on your body. Around you, the moans of the watchers, each one of them pleasuring themselves, feverishly to you, sounded, and you leaned your head back to take them in, gripping your breasts as the Doctor worked his magic on you. Those hands, fresh from exploring your intimate sex, had reached around to lift your hips while his tongue, with the experience of centuries, worked your swollen clit into still another climax. You lifted your head, seeing the aching strain in his dick and knowing he wanted it inside you as much as you did. But it was his turn, and you wanted him somewhere else first.

“Stay on your knees,” you told him, as you wriggled from under him, and though his eyebrow raised, as if he wasn’t used to following orders, he did as you bade, shifting himself to an upright position, his knees on the floor. On all fours, you crept towards him, your arse pressed high into the air, relishing the expectation on his face. His dick was inches from your lips, its sweet scent in your nostrils and you could tell how desperately he wanted you to touch it, so for a mischievous second you let him wait. Running your tongue up and down the shaft, you savoured his groan as you finally opened your mouth wide and took him in. More gasps and moans came from the watching nobility, and from the wide grin on his face as you looked up to him, your mouth full of his cock, you knew he enjoyed the audience as much as you.

He leaned forward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth, and as you relished his taste, you felt his hands spank down on the cheeks of your arse, gripping them in a tight squeeze before releasing them and spanking down again. Your squeal of surprised agreement was muffled in your full mouth, but you wiggled your approval, wordlessly begging for more, and he readily obliged, spreading your cheeks open to the audible appreciation of your admirers and spanking each cheek again.

“Bad girl,” he muttered, as you squealed your appreciation. “Masturbating in my TARDIS?”

You were guilty as charged and you gleefully moaned your admission.

“People who play with themselves in my TARDIS need to be taught a lesson, don’t they?” he said as your left cheek was spanked again. And again, you murmured your agreement, as another spank landed on your right cheek.

“Stay like that,” he ordered, as he pulled himself from your mouth. “Stick it up in the air, higher.”

You pressed your face closer to the ground, pushing your backside up for him, and the audience to admire, as he moved to kneel behind you, easing his still rock hard dick into your soaking wet pussy. Gently at first, then faster and harder, the Time Lord thrust himself into you, his hands reaching up to your breasts as he fucked you. The crowd moaned their approval and you knew they were nearing the edge of an intensity from which nobody could pull back, but this fuck was yours and the Doctor’s to enjoy.

He was thrusting faster, each stroke sending reams of pleasure through your whole body as you felt his hands move again; your tight arsehole clamping around the thumb he pushed into it, while the fingers of his other hand went to work once more on your clit, until you reached the apex of your pleasure once more, screaming out your gratification for the universe to hear.

“Where do you want it?” he asked, desperately, as though he needed your permission to finish. On any other day you would have been happy to feel him cum inside you and relish the sensation of his pleasure within you. But right here, right now, you wanted to taste it, to see it.

“Stand up,” you ordered, and he obeyed, sliding out of you and struggling to his feet, his hand grasping his cock for fear of losing a second of sensation. You knelt in front of him, pushing your sweat glistened breasts together.

“Right here,” you urged him, opening your mouth and inviting his stream onto your tongue.

You watched, your pussy wet and aching, as he pulled himself furiously to his climax, his eyes never leaving yours. With a cry of agonised bliss, the Doctor’s hips buckled and streams of cum flew from his dick, landing hot on your face and tongue, and you grinned in eager appreciation.

Around you both, the assembled thirteen cried out as one, an orgasmic chorus sounding out around the chamber in simultaneous honour of the display before them.

The Doctor, his breathing heavy and his legs shaking reached down to you, pulling you up to your feet before leaning forward and kissing you, his cum passing between your lips as you embraced tightly in post-coital contentment.

You didn’t know how much time passed, but you held tightly to your Doctor, not wanting the embrace to end, for fear it may not happen again. Finally, a voice called from the assembled spectators.

“Thank you both,” Torlosia said.

You turned to see her standing, unsteadily, her hand still gently playing with that perfect pussy, eking out the last throws of her pleasure.

“It was an honour,” the Doctor breathed, heavily.

“The highest,” you confirmed, happily.

“Again, you have our thanks,” Torlosia answered, with a smile. “Farewell on your journeys and go with our love.”

The Doctor gently broke your embrace and stooped down to pick up his discarded clothes, and you followed his lead before walking back down the alleyway towards the TARDIS. The intensity of your experience began to slowly subside and you felt your excitement start to give way to a curious disappointment. The Doctor, you knew, was a private, haunted man, and away from this arena and this culture, you knew you would not experience this side of him again. Could you ever go back, you wondered, to just being friends who travelled together? Your desires relegated once more to feverish but unfulfilled masturbatory fantasy?

Together, you reached the TARDIS and the still naked Doctor fished in the pockets of his crumpled clothes for the key, opening the door for you as you held your own clothes against you in sudden modesty.

“I suppose we’re off to Planet Trevor, then?” you asked, barely hiding the disappointment in your voice.

“Sounds like a plan,” the Doctor nodded, “unless…, nah.”

“Unless what?”

“Well, you know we were talking about other planets and other cultures?” he said, a mischievous glint returning to his face.

“Yeah?”

“Well, three or four hundred years ago, the people of Centuri Seven abandoned the concept of clothes. We could pop over there first, if you like? Given we’re already, erm, undressed for the occasion…”

“You grinned and nodded, stepping into the magic blue box with this man. This Doctor. Your Doctor.

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licenciator · 1 day ago

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Currently working on a Jekyll & Hyde inspired original piece. Needless to say, it will be smutty as actual fuck.

#dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll and hyde

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licenciator · 1 day ago

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licenciator · 4 days ago

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A little something for ROMY-CON attendees ♥️

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licenciator · 6 days ago

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Gambler's Grip

****WARNING - Over 18s Only****

Summary: Sometime after X-Men 97, Gambit is back from death and by Rogue's side. Despite the Cajun's insistence that she has nothing to be sorry for, Rogue cannot shake her feelings of guilt. Written by commission.

Short story featuring Rogue and Gambit. Features BDSM, CNC, consensual sex, vaginal sex, anal sex, masturbation, cum play, spanking, punishment.

Long-fallen leaves crumpled under her boot as she breathed the deepest sigh her super-powered but exhausted body would allow her, and paused to rest against an ancient, oak tree, a short way into the forest she walked through.

The ordeal was over, Rogue allowed herself to accept. It was over, and he was back. The Cajun thief whose card-throwing skills and mastery of biokinetic energy had led him to a hero’s death in the fall of Genosha, after so-long and against such odds, was returned. Though their skin remained separated by the cruel necessity of unwanted materials, the intensity of their first embrace transcended the merely physical, as though their souls themselves entwined in celestial ecstasy. As much as he had suffered, so too had she, as she fought her unrelenting fight first for revenge, then justice and, finally, hope. Now, hope was fulfilled, and he was returned. Mutantkind had recovered the hero named Gambit, and she had recovered her love, a man named Remy LeBeau.

And yet…

Her love for her man, her Remy, burned with the ferocity of a thousand suns and the merest look from his beautiful, dark and red eyes was enough to show her the depth of his reciprocation. But though she had battled to bring him back to her side, so much within her refused to forgive herself for what had gone before. The knowledge that her beautiful love, who could have any woman or man he wished, but who chose to give his all to the one person he couldn’t touch, had gone to his death believing she did not love him back. The yearning she felt for physical connection had made the offer of Magneto too much to resist, if only for a moment, but it was a moment Remy never knew had ended, before he sacrificed himself to save thousands.

Now he was back, here, their love finally open and official for their friends to celebrate with them but the pain of what she had done gnawed at her incessantly, despite his reassurances that there was nothing to forgive, that he understood her need for touch, that he would have waited an infinity to be there for her, however she needed him to be, his love eternal and undiminished. In return, she had begged him to show anger, to release the pain her rejection of him had caused; to let it all out so they could purge it together and be free. And each time she had begged, he had refused, declaring he had no right to show anger, and no desire to show anything but love, despite whatever pain he had felt.

Just minutes earlier, she had pleaded again, but to no avail, and so, into the black Westchester night, she had stormed in frustration, determined to shout her anger at herself and at Gambit’s stoic martyrdom. Once her body was emptied of rage, she thought to herself, she would return and slip into the bed they now shared since his resurrection. She would, she began to plot to herself, gently wake him with a gloved hand stroking his chiselled, warm face, before moving it further down his body, fixing her eyes on his as she wrapped it around the perfect cock she imagined already stiffening beneath her touch.

Surrendering to her outdoor daydream, Rogue felt the same hand she planned to employ, reach downwards, brushing and pressing against her uniform-clad crotch, the unmistakeable sensation of her pussy dampening in anticipation thrilling her as so often it did. She began to press harder, but then…

Something wasn’t right. The softest of cushioned steps sounded from behind her. Perhaps, had she not been so engrossed in self-pleasure, she might have heard them before it was too late, but before she could even move her hand away from her pussy, the sensation of cold metal surrounded her neck, followed by the click of a clasp, locking into place.

Rogue gasped, half in shock, half in delight, as the owner of her collar stepped out from behind her, into view. Remy LeBeau. Gambit. But Gambit as she had never seen him before.

Although she had felt the touch of such restraints before and knew their power-dampening properties, she gave a perfunctory struggle, both to confirm she was, for now, powerless, and to indulge what the darkest part of her hoped was about to happen.

“What the hell d’ya think you’re playing at, Swamp Rat?”

Gambit’s stare was austere, strict and, Rogue thought, a little dangerous. Beneath his trench coat, the usual pinks and blues were gone, replaced by pitch black, which only added to the uncertainty of what was happening.

“I figured you weren’t gonna let ‘dis one go, chère.” His voice, though as intoxicating as ever, was bereft of the lightness she was accustomed to hearing in it, instead, each word was imbibed with an air of authority, of a type Remy LeBeau would typically scorn. “You know how much you’ve pressed at ‘dis, you know how hard you’ve tried to get me to let go, completely of every restraint I ever placed on myself, of every rule I ever made.”

Rogue could only nod. She knew only too well. From their fateful first kiss so long ago, they had known everything about each other, the good, the bad and the dark. And it was that side of himself she had begged him to explore in order to make her atone for the pain she caused, to pay the proper penance. Until now, he had always refused.

“You spent so damn long chipping away at ‘dis,” Gambit continued, his eyes never leaving hers. “So damn long trying to make me break, ‘den comin’ out her and playin’ wit’ ‘dat sweet pussy of yours when I wouldn’t crumble. You think Gambit a fool, chère?”

“Wh… what? No, Remy, ah don’t...”

The words wouldn’t come, whether through shock at the language her love used or the thought that his use of them meant she had finally broken through his armour, and he was about to truly let go.

“Gambit ain’t no fool.”

Rogue shook her head. Remy LeBeau was many things, some of which the nervousness inside her told her she was about to find out, but a fool he was not.

“I already told you chère, there ain’t nothin’ to forgive. But you still want the goddamn punishment, oui?”

She nodded, eagerly, taking herself by surprise at how badly she wanted it.

“Damn it Cajun, I need to be punished,” she exclaimed in earnest, “I deserve it!”

For the first time, a hint of his typical smile appeared at the corner of Gambit’s mouth, though etched with just a hint of cruelty.

“’Den come a little closer and stand in front of me, petit.”

Rogue hesitantly began to move, then more quickly as he ordered again, his voice harsh and domineering, displeased with even momentary delay. Her arrival before him was greeted with a thumb and forefinger under her chin, forcing her head up to look up, her eyes staring into his, wide in uncertainty.

With his other hand, Remy remove a long, shining pair of tailor’s scissors from his coat pocket, snipping the black handle in the air between them. Her eyes moved to the blades as he slowly, so, so slowly moved them down Rogue’s body to the hem of her uniform.

Snip.

Rogue began to object but a sharp, firm tap from Remy’s hand on her cheek told her that her protestations were useless. Another small, sharp slap reinforced the message before the hand returned to its position under her chin. Rogue gulped, beginning to wonder if it was really so wise to beg for so long for the Cajun thief to unleash his darker side.

Snip.

She gave no objection this time as the scissors reached the collar of her ruined uniform, which fell open to reveal her breasts, cupped in the red, lacy bra she had thought to tease him with again, and she saw for the first time how full of lust his eyes were. Lust for her. Lust which she knew damn well was about to be satisfied.

The scissors moved once more, the cold steel sending goosebumps through her as he slid them carefully, but wilfully behind the waistband of your green and yellow uniform bottoms.

Snip.

“Magneto not the only one good with metal, chère, no?”

A pang of dizziness shot through Rogue’s mind at Gambit’s pointed barb, and she gulped once more as he cut down the left leg of her uniform, down to the knee, then the same on the right.

Snip.

They fell away, hanging around her knees, leaving her red lace panties in full view. Panties which they both knew she had made herself cum in already that day, and which now, despite the tingle of anxiousness she had started to feel, were damp again.

Remy discarded the scissors, pulling the remnants of her uniform shirt from her shoulders and ordered her to rid herself of her shredded clothing. She hesitated again. Another error. The Cajun’s thumb and forefinger under her chin became an instant full clasp of her throat, pushing her backwards until Rogue felt the cold, rough bark on her exposed and vulnerable flesh. He gave his order one more time, and she scrambled to comply, standing before him again, awaiting instruction, her eyes wide.

“How much you play wit’ your pussy today, chère?” Gambit asked, his voice soft but commanding. Her voice uncharacteristically nervous, Rogue stated the number, only for his eyes to narrow in disapproval.

“’Dat’s not enough, chère,” he tutted. “No-damn-where near enough. On your knees, petit, put ‘dat hand of yours inside those panties for me.”

A wave of sudden embarrassment shot through Rogue, but Remy’s grip moved at lightening pace from her throat to the back of her head, clumping her hair and pulling it down, hard. She obeyed his command, dropping to her knees and slipping her into her panties, the intensity of the moment forcing her to comply and rub at her swollen, aching clit.

As she knelt before him, her eyes locked into his as she bucked and rubbed onto her hand, she felt him roughly pull the bra straps from her shoulders, freeing her breasts for his enjoyment, his hands greedily pulling and tugging at her hard nipples as her orgasm built inside her. Just as she began to feel the cusp of the crescendo, her lover’s hand clamped onto her arm and pulled her hand from her panties.

“No.”

Rogue looked up in frustrated pleading, unable to find the words to complain.

“You don’t have my permission to cum yet, petit,” Gambit said, his face set in enjoyment. “You have to earn it.”

Rogue’s eyes widened further still as Remy pulled the coat from his shoulders and the belt from his waist, her mouth salivating as he finally pulled the aching, hard dick from his pants and commanded her to open her mouth. At once eager and scared to take it in, Rogue leaned forward, tasting the tip as Gambit pushed it over her tongue until she felt it push against the back of her throat, spit filling her mouth as his hands pulled at her hair and he thrust into her face.

She had pleaded for him to punish her like this but now, in the moment, in the open air, exposed and powerless, the rush was unlike anything Rogue could have expected. Her eyes began to water at the intrusion in her mouth and her ears filled with the sound of herself sucking and gagging on her lover’s insistent cock, as his voice commanded her to thank him for the privilege. Trying her best to mumble a few words, Rogue jolted as a sharp slap connected with her ass cheeks.

“Elocute, chère,” she heard Gambit say as she looked up to see him brandishing the cane he had begun to punish her ass with, with the firm strokes of a strict disciplinarian. “Let Gambit hear you say it like you mean it.”

She struggled to shout thanks past his hard, relentless mouth fucking, a fresh cane spank on her ass for each failed attempt. The unfairness of it began to overwhelm her before the Cajun relented from his spanking and pulled his dick from her mouth, relishing her gasps as he granted momentary respite. Breathless, she asked if she had pleased him, and if she might be allowed to cum, expectantly making to return her hand to her panties. He pulled it away, binding her wrists together with cords pulled swiftly from a burlap bag behind him.

“’Dat pussy, chère,” he whispered as he secured her restraints, “belongs to me. Not you, not Erik, but me.”

Pulled up from the floor, Rogue felt herself pushed back against the tree as Gambit slid his own hand down the front of her panties, delighting in the wetness and sliding two fingers straight into her warm hole.

It relaxed to accept him at once, recognising its new Master as he pushed another finger inside, curling them back to find the spot they both knew would make her fold.

“Keep looking in my eyes,” he ordered, as his wrist movements quickened, her pussy responding in instant, orgasmic intensity. Rogue screamed profanities, the pleasure overtaking her senses but still Remy’s voice cut through, ordering her to keep her fucking eyes on his. Her legs turned to jelly, and her knees buckled, her body supported only by her lover’s grip on her throat and pussy.

Overcome, Rogue attempted to rest against the tree, but Remy warned you that she wasn’t finished yet. Punishment was what she had demanded, and it had only just begun. Pulling his lover away from the trunk, Gambit retrieved a thick, strong rope from the bag and hooked one end to Rogue’s helpless, bound wrists, throwing the other over the gnarled branch above her head and pulling it down until her arms stretched high above her.

Goosebumps broke out over every millimetre of the young mutant’s flesh, the intensity of the lust behind Gambit’s red eyes impossible for her body, mind or soul to deny. His fingers delicately teasing her bare arms, he pulled away the remnants of Rogue’s red, lace bra, pausing only to enjoy the wriggle she made as she tried to twist and turn in any way that might satisfy the calls of her throbbing clit. Toying with his captive still further, the Cajun ran his fingers down her exposed body to the edge of her soaked, ruined panties, inching them into place over her clit and pulling at them, allowing the friction to tease her.

As Rogue felt herself begin to surrender once more to the building ecstasy inside her, she felt a rough tug as Remy pulled her tattered and torn panties from her body and pushed the cum-soaked lace into her open mouth.

“You belong to me chère,” he said softly in her ear. “Now and forever, you belong to me.”

Swiftly, deliberately, the Cajun shed himself of his shirt. Her eyes followed him as he walked slowly around her, until the limited mobility he had granted her hid him from view.

She sensed him, at last, behind her, his fingertips brushing ever so delicately on the skin of her neck, moving down, over her armpits, tracing her ribs, taking in the curve of her hips, until his palm connected with her right ass cheek, and she gave a shout through her panties at the sting. The noise invited a second, harder spank as he stepped closer into her, his face by her ear, as he softly reminded her not to make a sound without his express permission.

Rogue nodded, helpless to do otherwise.

She felt his now naked body pressed against her own and his face nuzzling into her neck; the familiar warm sensation growing in the pussy which she knew would soon be claimed again. She supressed the moan she yearned to give as he bit down, just hard enough, on her shoulder, her neck, her ear… his left hand exploring her right breast, pinching and pulling at the stiff, still hardening nipple, while his right squeezed and spanked at her ass.

He asked, in that dreamlike Cajun accent, if she understood why this has to happen this way, and Rogue nodded before another harder slap connected with her pink, stinging ass cheek.

“Speak when your Master speaks to you,” he demanded.

“Yes Master.”

She shouted the words as loud as she could, through the ruined panties filling her mouth, and he pulled them from her mouth, discarding them on the floor. Her heart raced as he stepped back in front of her and she took in the full sight of his nakedness for the first time that night.

“You broke my heart, chère,” he said, softly.

Hearing him say the words flooded Rogue’s senses with the guilt that had taunted her thoughts for so long. But though she had yearned for him to admit the pain she had caused him, to blame her for it, the vocalised admission she had screamed at him to make was almost too much to bear, and she shook her head in sudden denial.

His fingers spanked sharply against her clit.

“Say it, chère,” he demanded softly, ignoring her recoil and spanking her pussy again. “Tell Gambit out loud what you did.”

“I…,” she faltered, another spank connecting with her clit in response. “I broke your heart.”

“Louder, chère,” he ordered. “Louder for the whole damn mansion to hear.” “I BROKE YOUR HEART!” “You broke WHO’S heart, chère?” “MY MASTER’S!”

“You spat in my face, petit,” Gambit recounted, slowly, the memory of the agony she had placed in his heart breaking through the shell he had crafted for the night. “You tore Gambit’s heart into pieces and spat in his face. So do it now.” The pleasure, the discomfort, the intensity of the beautiful torture he had trapped her in was intoxicating enough but the Cajun’s latest order overwhelmed her and, like a volcano of ecstatic rage, she finally, screamed her refusal, to the forest.

Gambit’s hand spanked once more onto her pussy, remaining there as though to hammer home his ownership of her, pushing two fingers once more inside his squirming, ecstatic, overwhelmed lover.

“I said,” he began, his voice cracking under the tumult of conflicting emotion, “spit in your Master’s face.”

The Vesuvian waves of shared emotion had long been heightened by the touching of their souls, and Rogue felt all the rage, regret, hurt, joy, wonder and love burning as one inside her. She spat it out at her lover’s face, her head dizzy once more at the splendour of seeing his handsome, charming, beautiful face, adorned with her own saliva. He grinned wide and took hold of her throat once more, spitting into her open mouth, forcing his own onto it as their tongues combined and they screamed their long-repressed pain into each other’s bodies.

Refusing to unclamp his mouth from hers as she moaned in tortuous pleasure, his fingers pushed deeper inside her, as her pussy widened to accommodate three, four, five… his whole, damn, fist.

The rage Rogue shouted into him turned to orgasmic chaos as she came again, her fluids squirting past Remy’s knuckles and onto the forest floor as he squeezed her throat tighter, restricting the air to her brain and making her surrender to the insanity of her punishment.

Finally, he pulled his mouth from hers and she heaved air into her lungs. Mascara stained her cheeks and sweat had matted her brown and white hair, but she knew she would be allowed little respite. The hand that seconds ago had been inside her was now by her face, as one by one, the fingers Gambit had used to get her off were pushed into her mouth; her tastebuds relishing the flavour of her own pussy.

“You know what you still don’t understand, chère?” Gambit asked, as she sucked and nibbled at his fingers. She shook her head.

“You ain’t even been punished for what you think Gambit punishing you for.”

Rogue looked into his eyes in silent, exhausted confusion as he began to softly caress her face.

“Gambit never hated you for breaking his heart,” the Cajun gently intoned. “I resented it, sure, I hated him for taking you. But you won me heart and soul a long time back, chère. You have me. You will always have me. You might think you’re in the Gambler’s Grip right now, but I been in yours forever. Your punishment ain’t for seeing if you could work something out wit’ a guy who could touch you. It’s for thinking you had something to be sorry for, and for not believing ‘dat there ain’t nothing you could do to make Gambit stop loving you.”

Reaching up, Remy unhooked his soulmate’s arms from the branch unbinding her wrists and freeing her aching limbs from their restraints, standing before her, as naked and vulnerable as she, with only the silence of pure love between them.

“Remy, I…” Rogue began, her voice faltering as the words refused to come.

“We equals, chère,” he said, picking up her sentence. “We both gon’ do stupid things, both ‘gon make mistakes. But we both always ‘gon be here for each other forever. Ain’t nothin’ or nobody can stop ‘dat. Not even death.”

Rogue blinked back the tear she felt forming in her eye and pulled her lover to her, clasping her arms around his neck and accepting the warmth of his body against hers, not wanting the moment to end.

“Ah love you, swamp rat,” she softly said, looking into his deep, loving eyes. Spying the Cajun’s discarded trench coat on the ground she crossed over and slowly knelt down upon it, casting a lustful glance over her shoulder at the man she loved.

“Ah suppose,” she began, her customary mischievousness returned to her voice, “we should make use of what time we have before this old collar needs to come off. What d’ya say, Cajun?”

It was Gambit’s turn to be lost for words, before the opportunity presenting itself made him realise that on this occasion, actions would speak louder.

Her face down on the stretched-out coat, Rogue felt him kneeling behind her, his hot breath on her most intimate places, before the first sensation of his tongue reached her labia, gleefully lapping up the cum she had already spent, then moving to her clit, seeking to generate more. She moaned uncontrollably as Remy expertly sucked, licked, nibbled and played with the pussy she had surrendered to him, until she felt herself building to cum again.

As she shook on all fours, recovering from her latest orgasm, Remy LeBeau assured her of his eternal love for her. She reciprocated with a gasp as she felt his hands squeeze and spread her ass cheeks apart and felt the sensation of his tongue exploring each, sweet inch of it. Pushing two fingers back inside her pussy, Gambit pressed his thumb into Rogue’s tightest, most private hole and she moaned in profane delight as he complimented his anal assault by tugging her hair back, hard. Another, still louder moan accompanied the all-consuming joy of Remy’s achingly hard dick being pushed, slowly inside her pussy, as his fingers continued to explore her asshole, the combination of penetrations making her body shudder and jerk.

Satisfied with you latest pulsing climax and the loosening of her asshole, Gambit waited for the throes of her ecstasy to subside before easing his cock from its home and pressing its tip against her ass, marvelling at how readily it gave way to him.

“Oh, fuck, oh fuck…” Rogue panted her expletives as Gambit sunk his full, impressive length deep, deep inside her asshole.

“You like ‘dat, chère?” he asked her, his voice cracking with pleasure.

“Ah fuck, ah love it, sugah,” she answered in surprised and absolute honesty. “Ah love you, Remy, an’ ah love you fucking my ass.”

The pace of the assfucking increased, and Rogue knew her man was nearing his limit as he pulled out of her ass and pressed her cheeks apart, sensing him staring in adoration at her gaping hole. She grew desperate for the sight, feel and taste of his cum and scrambled forward, turning to face him on her knees as he clamped his hand tight around his dick.

“Give it to me, Remy,” she ordered as his hand moved rapidly up and down his long, thick shaft. “Give all of it to me, and nobody else. No-one else, ever.”

She knelt, mouth open wide and tongue out waiting for him to deliver as ordered, her heart bursting with love, lust and devotion. His face twisted into orgasmic contortions and a stream of thick, white cum spring from the tip of his dick, landing hot and sweet on her face and tongue, dripping down onto the power-dampening collar that had made their night possible.

As his knees buckled and the stroke of his hand grew slower, the remaining droplets of cum leaking from his slowly softening dick, Rogue gently pulled him down onto the coat with her, embracing her man and being embraced by him. Their lips met in a passionate, loving kiss, as they tasted and shared each other’s essence, becoming ever more entwined together.

These two had been through everything this world and the next could throw at them. They were joined for eternity, body, heart, soul and mind. And they each knew as they lay together, embracing on the forest floor, that whatever challenges, whatever pains the future might hold, they would face them as partners, lovers, and, one day soon, spouses. They would face them together. Gambit and Rogue.

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licenciator · 6 days ago

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The kind of couple who would absolutely rock new levels of sexual intensity one day, and lie in bed snuggling and making each other laugh with farting competitions the next.

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licenciator · 9 days ago