Where Good Girls Belong
- 2 years ago
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You Belong To Me 2 free porn video
It hung heavy like some kind of obscene party favor, but at the time they had more important things to worry about. Even after rescuing him, her casual remarks about him having “a good weight” were offered more so to lighten the mood than anything else. Still, she didn’t forget and as the days passed the shape of it plagued the back of her mind. Like some kind of venereal disease.
Little by little, those thoughts grew into insurmountable red flags that ate at her precious spare time. She knew she was too logical for the whole choosing thing. How was she supposed to pick a Chosen with everything she had seen? Everything she had done? More so, with all the possibilities the future dangled in front of her.
And to share her magic with some twerp, just because he had good genes. The idea of it was like listening to someone’s fingernails droll against a tabletop. But that’s what society expected of all good little witches. Pick a mate, breed him, and leave him. Well, at least at home to care for the next generation of witchlings. There was the option of going artificial, but who knew what kind of backwater hereditary oddities that would produce.
All this and more rattled in the back of her brain, forgotten. At least until one morning of no exceptional consequence. She awoke to the sound of birds chirping. A hue of gold through her bedroom window. The blanket half covering her body. Alone.
Not alone in a way that felt comfortable either. That was the natural state of things. This wasn’t that. This was, well, fucking irritating. Here she was at the tender age of twenty four. Probably the most awesome person that had ever walked the face of her dimension, and yet she was alone. She hadn’t even been able to snag a girlfriend in the past year.
Lauren had been able to. Even the little ditz of a succubus had managed somehow. And where did that leave her? No girlfriend. No Chosen. Nothing.
And the cause of all this—the man who had prodded her mind with his thing—had already managed to pair up as well. With a fucking ghost. A ghost who all of a sudden decided one day she wasn’t a ghost at all, but a fucking deity.
It wasn’t that Gina was all that hung up on him specifically per se. True, he wasn’t born with magic and despite that had been picked by said ghost’s brother to inherit magic all the same. No, not that. Maybe just the fact that the exact moment she found herself the slightest bit curious, the carpet had been ripped from under her. That stung.
“What am I even doing here?” she asked as she rolled from one side of the bed to the other.
This must’ve been what a saltwater fish felt like when it was bred in captivity and then for no reason at all thrown into the ocean. The world had seemed so small before, and now she was the small one. All the significance of everything was just...gone. Did that mean that she was suddenly and inexplicably insignificant as well?
Had her window been open, she might have felt the early November chill. Her room might not have been so warm and humid. She might have taken to sleeping with clothes on, as opposed to her normal ritual of sleeping nude.
As all of that wasn’t the case, what she felt as she rolled along her bed was the cool caress of her blankets against her bare skin. The friction of it against her nipples. The way it cupped her hips. The way it teased between her legs, another part of her that was now as equally frustrated as her brain was.
Gina wasn’t much one for ideas that nagged. If there was a benefit to it—clear and evident—then who the hell cared. Life was easier that way.
If Ehma wanted him, that was Ehma’s business. Just like whatever happened in Gina’s head was Gina’s. I’ll just take a few liberties, she thought between breaths, her hands already finding a way to occupy themselves.
Some witches were size-queens. Some preferred a Chosen who was so effeminate, they might as well have not been called men anyway. For her, stamina was probably more important. Even that paled in comparison to what really got her magma burning.
During her entire tenure in the breeding department, she had seen it once—maybe twice. The time that stood out the clearest was almost more profound than any other secret she had ever learned and the dance that ensued branded itself in her brain without fail. Even now it was a clearer memory than her recollection of the day before.
The witch, Gina didn’t really remember so much. The man neither. What she did remember was the moment in which the woman pulled on the tether bound to the man’s neck. That moment—that single moment—set in motion a struggle for power that Gina had never imagined.
From the observation room, Gina watched the silent movie play across the pixelated screen. All was normal at first. Standard and boring. As the witch reigned in her purchase and was making to lead him out of the small meeting chamber, the man’s reaction turned swift and unbridled.
The dread Gina felt then was there with her now. As she stroked an areola and tempted the untamed curls of silver that decorated her mound, she could feel it. All those years ago, she had sat and watched with taut muscles. A single hand over the emergency Command to Quarantine. What would happen if she didn’t press it? What would happen if she let this happen?
As the witch tugged on the man’s collar, the man lurched back. The witch stumbled. He was behind her before her momentum balanced. Without warning, her neck was wrapped in the leather embrace of his leash.
Gina crouched closer, trying to be sure. But no, the witch didn’t look scared at all. Her hands rose to the man’s biceps and caressed. Her head tilted. She spoke something Gina would have died then and there to hear.
For the next thirty minutes their dance continued in that tiny room, Gina the only witness to their deeds. Who was really in control was anyone’s guess. Maybe neither were, both lost to some carnal practice that had long departed their society. Witches were always in control. Witches were always the dominant participant. If they weren’t, men without magic would abuse their positions. But this—this was something else, and so from that day forward it was a dance to her.
Gina laid for a moment, tired and unsatisfied. It had to be close to noon, but the fantasy just wasn’t cutting it anymore. Her fingers had already cramped once—the skin pruny—but her insides felt empty.
When the knock on her door came, she almost buried her face in her pillow for good. The world wasn’t fair. The gods weren’t fair. Everytime she thought her tolerance for being stabbed in the back was at a new threshold, here came along another knife aimed right for a new sweet spot.
The knocking continued.
“Yea, yea, yea,” Gina muttered as she pressed against the mattress and crossed the room. They wouldn’t even let her be successful at being unsuccessful. How ironic could you get? In one swooping motion, she turned the handle and flung the door open, ready to eye-murder who ever dared interrupt her self-subscribed depression.
“Good, you’re awake. Sorry if I...disturbed...you?”
His eyes darted across her bare skin like he had never seen a naked woman before. Well that was good. Just fine, in fact. Now he could see just what he was missing out on.
The only moment she even felt the slightest bit of discomfort was when his eyes traveled to her less than perfect breasts, but at that point who even gave a rat’s ass? So what if her cup size hadn’t budged after her thirteenth birthday. So what if it was true that most of the time she didn’t even need a bra.
If you’re gonna eye-fuck me, you might as well pull it out now. Gina lifted her eyebrows to demonstrate she was waiting for some kind of follow up, but as she propped herself against the door hinge she did manage to steal a glance at his crotch. Alive and well, I see.
At least he tried to make eye contact, instead of blatantly eye-fucking her. Even if he wasn’t very successful at it, that was probably better than the majority of his gender. “So, I wanted to know if you had some free time today? I was hoping we could pick up where we left off yesterday.”
This, again? “You’re serious? Can’t you go bother someone else? You know, some of us actually have better things we could be doing.”
That, of course, was a lie. She hadn’t had anything better to do since the day she’d been dragged to this boring ass hotel. No one would spar with her. No one would play volleyball or soccer. All the others were off in their own little heads without a care in the world.
No, the little study sessions he asked for since things had calmed down were probably the height of her mental stimulation. Gina just wanted to bust his chops a little, and she took great pleasure in doing so.
“I mean, Haven already taught me two spells. She said she won’t teach me anymore. I just figured…” His eyes drifted down the hall as he exhaled out of the side of his mouth. Did she hurt his feelings? Was he about to cry? Poor little guilt-tripping fuck. “It’s fine. I’ll come up with something else.”
He turned to leave, but she caught his sleeve midstep. “Fine, fine. Just let me throw some clothes on.”
His expression brightened and she praised herself for being able to make him dance both sides of the spectrum. “Are you sure? If you want, we can always do it later. It doesn’t have to be—”
Gina didn’t wait for him to finish. Before he could say another indecisive syllable, she yanked at his sleeve and let the door shut behind them with a click. He could save his gratitude for someone who deserved it. This was personal.
As Gina approached her bed, she pivoted. “So, you let the dirty Blood Witch teach you magic, huh? Show me.”
“Uh, okay. Did you want to put some clothes on first or?” He smiled with outstretched hands, either teetering like balancing scales.
She waved a hand to dismiss the question. “Show me.”
He shrugged, his smile casual. A full head taller than her—a man she would’ve normally considered handsome had he not be the focal point of her recent irritability. The grey shirt hemmed at just the right angle to give her a view of the outline hidden behind his basketball shorts. And then he was simply gone. Or so he would like her to believe.
Members of Haven’s family operated in shadows, not illusions.That alone reduced the possibilities. Then there was the subtle shift in air behind her, forced into close proximity by the obstruction of her bed. As soon as his hand grazed the bare skin of her shoulder, she countered.
Gina’s opposite leg drove backwards as she spun, pinning his wrist in the bed of her armpit and then an open fist took his chin. She jumped at an angle with his downward momentum and landed with his arm braced between her thighs. For a moment she thought she lost the hold as his arm flexed to break free, but she clenched at his wrist with both hands and wrenched it towards her. Every ounce of strength went into the hyperextended shoulder as her ankles locked across his chest.
Rule number 1: Never use a spell you aren’t prepared to die from, she thought in triumph. This was proof she hadn’t lost her touch. Not in the least. But why the hell was he frantically tapping her knee?
“Okay, okay. You got me. You got me.”
That she did, and it was her intention to see the elbow kissing her nethers aimed in the opposite direction. Valeri could always work one of her little miracles. “I think I’ll keep it.”
And with that, he knew she was serious. His body thrashed. Flailed. He grunted. One hand shot at her ankles and to her furry dug into her achilles.
Gina kicked at his face, her heel finding its mark in the meat of his neck. This was a mistake, though she didn’t realize it until later after some much needed reflection. With the first blow from her heel, his torso launched over the top of her leg as his body twisted. A moment later he was a hulking mass hunched above her.
All shoulders and eyes, his face splotched red from exertion. Thin veins spiderwebbed his temple and his breaths came in ragged bursts. Was she surprised? You bet. Was she about to lose? Hell no.
One might think she was the vulnerable one. What with his palms braced against her shoulders, but that simply wasn’t the case. He was a guy. And that made him weak no matter what position he thought gave him leverage.
With eye contact maintained, she slid her hand ever so slowly between them. Over the ridge of her hips. Through her forest of slick curls. She was slick though—maybe even more than before he interrupted her—and that on its own was strange. But not as strange as the lumber that bulged against the fabric of his shorts as her knuckles scraped passed.
Why are you hard right now? There was no need to be quick—he was all but hypnotized as he stared down at her—but quick she moved anyway. She lingered only a split second to make a conscious note of his width and length, and then squeezed.
There was a kind of need then. One that wasn’t quite foreign, but definitely not her native language. It was so close. He was so close. When she had full control of his thickness, she almost slapped it against herself. Like a plump sausage just waiting to be devoured. And had she ever been this frustratingly hungry before?
What the hell are you doin’ girl?
But her body knew. His body seemed to get the gist as well. The only problem was her own confused expression reflected in his eyes. Mere inches above, all that registered in her mind was her own appearance. I look scared.
But she wasn’t, right? That was just— They were just— Fuck, I need to get laid.
Gina’s hips arched at the thought. She managed to fight them back away from the shielded head of his baby-maker, but the back and forth motion only encouraged her thighs to clench in hunger.
“You said...you have a daughter, right?” He nodded to her question. Strange that she couldn’t tell if he was scared she was going to rip it off, or worse seduce him into using it for its real purpose. Either way— “Is she pretty?”
“Of course she’s pretty. I made her myself.”
Cocky bastard. Huh, cock. Her eyes went wide, their size bigger in what was reflected from his pupils. Why am I’m holding a cock right now?
“Okay, that’s it for today,” she said as she placed both hands on his chest and pushed.
“Fuuu,” he sighed in relief. He sat on his heels looking down at her, a few bullets of sweat dotting his shirt. “For a moment I was really sure you were gonna squeeze until it exploded.”
I’d have to fuck the shit out of you to make that happen.
She corrected herself immediately as she pried her eyes away from the red helmet caught in his waistband. At least that’s what she told herself. Really her eyes didn’t leave until he moved to massage the stem, which had apparently incurred most of her wrath. That little motion took away her last glimpse, and her interest fled along with it.
“Were you really gonna do it?” he asked while rotating his shoulder. The answer probably wasn’t as nice as he would have liked, but she gave a resounding yes anyway.
Gina kicked herself away and propped herself on her elbows. “You’re lucky I didn’t.”
“I’m fucking lucky I still remember how to spar. I almost ripped out your tendon. And your supposed to let go when someone taps out.”
That really didn’t make sense to her—the wording of it—but she decided to save it for a later date. Instead, she turned her attention to her achilles. Deep indentations from his fingernails lined one side, the other a dark red from the knuckle of his thumb.
This might just require vengeance, she thought with less resolve than expected. As she studied it, a hand leapt into view and inched closer.
“Does it hurt?”
She wanted to say no. That it didn’t hurt. That she was perfectly fine. Those words didn’t seem right though as his fingertip grazed the curve of her ankle. All she seemed capable of was an up and down nod that had more to do with his touch and less to do with the pain she actually felt.
It would be swollen in no time flat, that was for certain. Oddly, she found herself entranced just watching his finger slide against her skin. “Does your lucky leprechaun hurt?”
“My what?” He paused while rotating his jaw. Finally, the smile returned to his face as he caught the meaning of her euphemism. “Oh, just a little. I was pretty...stimulated.”
That much was clear. Even now it looked pretty well stimulated as his admission gave her another opportunity to look. Gina smirked. “I’ll aim for the balls next time.”
“Please don’t.”
Her taunt received a quicker reaction than she anticipated and his hand pulled away, leaving a splotch of white around her red ankle. “Ah, son of a whore.”
What were they even doing right now? They were alone. In her room. She was naked with her weight resting on a bent knee. But he was just staring into her eyes, his jaw set.
It was so quiet she could hear the thump of her own heartbeat in her ears. If she moved first—if she let on that there was something more she might want—she lost. But if she didn’t make the first move, did that mean he wouldn’t? And how was she supposed to maintain eye contact when it felt like so much hinged on this single moment?
The urge to look away won out. She’d have to take this additional loss...for now. But there were many ways to skin a cat. Now that this particular idea had lodged itself inside her, she knew she wouldn’t be satisfied. Not until something else had physically taken its rightful place. That determination shattered though as something collided with her door from the outside.
Gina jumped off the bed, ready to unleash hell. The only was that when she opened the door to the hallway, it was empty. Empty except for...a stapler? -->
Dottie
- 10.09.2022
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