She's always been curious about rope bondage. Not the Bettie Page kind of thing, but the artistic, asymmetrical positions you find in the work of high-end fetish photographers.
Saito makes her feel totally at ease, even as she's standing naked in front of him. He slides the rope around her chest first. It's rougher than she imagined, and smells faintly of something— grass? Hay? Something outdoors that she barely remembers from her childhood. It's tight, compressing above and below her breasts, but she can still breathe. He whispers into her ear, and Ariadne thinks it's just about the sexiest voice ever. The rope slides firmly around her back, like a massage.
When he ties her hands behind her back, she feels totally helpless. He attaches her chest to a bolt on the ceiling. In case, somehow, she falls. Then he knots another rope and weaves it around her body, finishing with a tight, doubled length between her legs. There’s a strategically placed knot, and now she understands why he thinks she might not keep her balance. She's thoroughly convinced when he quickly secures a rope to one of her ankles and lifts it off the ground.
She squirms, trying to keep control of her balance, but she loses it and drops a few inches. The rope catches her; the knot rubs her clit and burns with pleasure.
Every time she moves, the ropes follow her. Saito's sitting back and watching with that little smile on his face, enjoying her predicament. The torture is too much. She can move, but she can't escape, can barely hold her own against the tight wraps around her body and through her labia.
Eventually it becomes absolutely unbearable and she thrusts her hips — it hits just right and she comes, boneless, one foot touching the ground but no longer supporting her.
Afterwards, Saito gives her the rope she ruined. She treasures it with the memory.
Eames is on the floor, polishing Ariadne's favorite black leather boots. With his tongue. Naked. Well, not totally. He’s wearing a cock cage, which Ariadne concedes would not hold up as "clothing" in a court of law.
Anyway, he deserves it. Just this week, Eames has made comments rife with inappropriate sexual innuendo towards her at least seven times. Four to Arthur, once each to Dom and Yusuf (that she was there to hear). She's going to make him feel every word.
When her boots have been worshipped to her satisfaction, Ariadne drags him up by the hair. He's looking at her with those puppy dog eyes that make women weak, but she's not about to back out now from what he freely negotiated.
She buckles the cuffs around his wrists and attaches them to a strap she's prepared at the top of the door. His whole body is stretched out for her, and she can't help but press herself against his back for a moment, running her hands down his sides and biting the base of his neck, which is as far up as she can reach.
He knows he's going to be punished. He's resigned to it, head bowed between his broad shoulders.
She warms him up with a leather flogger until his upper back and ass show pink. That's not the punishment; she's just being nice, getting the endorphins flowing. And then.
"One for each time you've impugned my virtue."
She brings around the thick rubber strap where Eames can see it. He shudders. She knows it hurts like hell, which is the point.
"Seven. Count for me."
She brings it down, medium hard, across the left cheek of his ass. "Fuck!" he twitches away, then, a moment later, "one."
The right, to match the left. "Two."
Inside the shoulderblades. "Three. Four."
Harder, perfectly centered, just above the top of his thighs. "Five." He's shivering now.
"I know you can take two more for me, honey," she coos in his ear. She rubs gently at the spots she's abused. "Ready?"
The strap makes a loud thwack when it comes down again, same spot. "Six."
Ariadne wants him to remember this for a long time. The last stroke is in the same spot, even harder, designed to smart and leave a mark. He yells inarticulately at the blow, and she presses her hand on that spot immediately (this is not an excuse to grab his ass. She doesn't need an excuse). His skin is red and hot to the touch.
"Seven," Eames says quietly.
She detaches him and guides him to sit on the floor. On his knees, to avoid putting any sensitive spots on the carpet. He's still trembling as he kneels at her feet, as she strokes his head and tells him how well he took it.
The rest of the team finds it unnerving when Eames cuts out his usual banter for almost a week.
“Shut up, you little bitch.”
Dom grabs a ball gag off the table and shoves it roughly between her teeth.
“Don’t look at me like that, you know what you did. Those short little skirts you’ve been wearing. Some guy was going to take advantage. You should be glad it’s me.”
He sits down and pulls Ariadne to him until she’s stretched out on his lap, held down with his left hand while he yanks up her skirt and pulls down her panties with his right. She’s actually kind of frightened. Which, she reminds herself to keep from panicking, was what she wanted.
She yelps the first time his hand hits her bare ass. Or tries to yelp; it comes out through the gag as more of a moan. It stings, even when he holds his hand against her after every stroke.
“How many times have I warned you about teasing boys, Ariadne?”
“Too many, slut.”
He spanks her again and again, until her ass throbs and she’s sure she can’t take any more. Just when she thinks that it has to end, he pauses and removes the gag.
“Have you learned your lesson, girl?”
“Yes, daddy. Please.” She’s crying, drooling from the gag, a complete mess.
“Please fuck me. Please show me I’m your slut,” Ariadne gasps. She has no shame left, her ass is on fire, and now that he stopped she’s high on the pain and aching for more.
Dom throws her on the bed, drags her ass up in the air and shoves her face into the mattress. She barely has time to register the sound of a zipper and a condom wrapper before he’s inside her. The first thrust burns both inside and out, fast and rough on her smarting skin. He doesn’t give her time to adjust, pounding her painfully into the bed, again and again. It’s too much and it’s not enough, she wants to beg him to stop and beg him to keep going.
“Think I’m going to let you off easy? You’re not done until I’m done with you.”
He pulls her up, back against him, by a fistful of her hair.
“What do you say, Ariadne?”
“Fuck my dirty little cunt, daddy, please, don’t stop...”
There’s a little place in the back of her mind that knows how ridiculous this would sound to her normal self. But that part really isn’t important right now.
He throws her back down and fucks her so hard she feels it from her head to her toes. It’s an ongoing explosion inside her, the smack of hipbones against her ass accentuating the feeling of his cock, expanding it through her ass and up her spine. And then when he lifts her shoulders with one hand and reaches around for her clit with the other, she’s floating, screaming as he pulls her down onto him again and again.
At some point while she’s out of her mind, he probably comes; when she sinks back to reality, he’s holding her gently, like she might break.
“Are you okay?”
“Are you?” she asks back.
“You cried. I made you cry.”
“I wanted to cry. I trust you.”
Everyone has their demons.
"Are you sure this is safe?" asks Ariadne.
"I put you guys under every day. This is as safe as that, which is as safe as I can make it without being completely boring. Now relax. Enjoy."
She doesn't feel anything, until she does. It's subtle, but the fabric of the couch they're sitting on starts to feel rougher. The light in the room is brighter. And she never realized before how fascinating is the pattern on the rug. It goes around and around as she follows it with her eyes. The swirl around that one blue part is just perfect...
"See what I mean?"
"Everything is so intense..."
Yusuf's hair looks like a black cloud. Before she thinks, she reaches out to touch it. As she runs her fingers through it, fascinated with the feeling against her fingers, he dreamily explains the drug.
"LSD is amazing, but there's one problem. You get so focused on one thing, it's hard to really have fun. You're so busy looking at how blue the sky is that you don't want to be touched. Last time I dropped acid with a woman, she sorted a jumbo bag of jelly beans into all 42 different colors. I tried to paint something, profound, you know, and it was great at the time, it was a painting of all the beauty in the world. After we came down, all I could see was a big brown swirl. So I wanted something that would make experience memorable. That feels nice."
She's still touching his hair. Her body is starting to feel different too, kind of floaty. Her hand drifts down, around the side of his face, touching his soft skin and the rough stubble on his cheek.
"Everything. It's like I'm finally really seeing it. Feeling it."
His lips are soft and plush. When he sighs and parts them, she pushes the tips of her fingers inside. They scrape over his teeth, sending a tingle through her arm, and then his tongue swipes across, hot and slippery, an amazing contrast with dry lips and sharp teeth.
"Now you see, Ariadne? Somnacin lets you create worlds in your mind. Other drugs can remake the world around you."
He kisses her then, and in that moment it is like no other kiss. Her lips are even more sensitive than her fingers. When he slides his hands down her sides, the textures of her shirt and her jeans against her skin create the most brilliant contrast ever. But she wants to feel more skin, so she shrugs out of her sweater — scratchy wool —, her smooth silk blouse, thick jeans, soft cotton bra and panties. She promises herself she'll never take the amazing sensations of life for granted again.
He explores her from head to toe. It tingles when he runs his finger around the shell of her ear. Ariadne feels every exhalation like a breeze across her body. She never knew she had so many nerves. His tongue on her nipple is perfect wet heat; pleasure collects and flows downward, settling in her pelvis.
Ribs, hipbones, thighs, behind the knees, arches of the feet. She's humming with energy. When they press against each other it gets more intense, almost overwhelming. She's so sensitized that his chest hair scraping against her side almost hurts. Almost hurts, and feels delicious. She doesn't know how long they spend just rubbing skin together, lost in each other and the miraculous nature of their bodies.
When Yusuf slides down to lick between her legs, as he's licked basically everywhere else, it feels completely natural. Even a light flick of his tongue feels intense to her now. Her body is already floating, so when she comes, it’s gentle, like a gust of wind blowing her higher for a moment.
She’s as fascinated by him as he was by her. Has she ever really *tasted* cock before? Considered the paradox of how it feels, soft skin wrapping a rigid erection? Now she does. Now she’s entranced by the scent of his pubic hair and the way his thighs just slightly tremble when she swirls her tongue around the head. The bitter taste of his orgasm on her tongue is beautiful.
Yusuf tries to be embarrassed when they wake up hours later, naked on the floor. Ariadne laughs.
Ariadne boggles when Arthur opens the suitcase and starts laying out toys. She's not even sure what some of them are, and she's not inexperienced herself.
"Take off your clothes," he says calmly, arranging the tools of his trade on the nightstand. She does. He turned up the heat in the room, so she's not uncomfortable, but she still feels awkward, nude while he's fully dressed. She waits. Finally he seems satisfied with his preparations and turns back to her, sweeping appreciative eyes from head to toe. She feels desirable and exposed.
Arthur rolls up his sleeves. Now she knows he's serious.
He lifts a soft blindfold and settles it gently around her head. She's anticipating something, anything, so when he touches her with something soft and light, she jumps and giggles. He runs something furry down her chest, and she's let her guard down when there's a sharp scrape against her belly, something pointed inside the fluff. She identifies a Wartenberg wheel moving up and down her arms, tingling, then a soft cloth; a cold, metallic round object; the scrape of metal claws. He's heightening her senses slowly, playing her to increase the impact of the other kinds of toys.
He slides something firm and rounded over her thigh and, finally, between her legs. Cold wetness drips onto her and then the thing is sliding around. He explores, leisurely, exerting light pressure where it makes her gasp. Then he turns it on, which she was halfway expecting, yet still she twitches, soft vibrations buzzing against her clit. Arthur circles it lazily, first holding the vibrator above, then below, teasing her until she whimpers. He turns it up and slips it in her cunt; pleasant vibrations seem to fill her, swallowed by her body. He tilts it to press on her g spot, and she blurts out an "oh" despite herself. She imagines Arthur's smiling, that smug little smile he gets when he knows something you don't know.
When he draws the vibrator out of her, she's trembling a little from its effects. He replaces it with a new dildo, narrower and with a more plastic feel, but it's not vibrating. He slides it over her opening and then back to her ass, pressing gently with the slick tip until it slips inside. It burns a little, and a whole new raft of nerves fire all at once as her body pulls it in and the base settles between her cheeks.
"You like that?" There's still a smile in his voice.
Now that the plug is settled, his hands disappear from her body.
Then suddenly there's something vibrating against her nipple, making her yelp and jerk away from the intensity. He replaces it with a set of clamps that pinch, not too gently, just perfect. Arousal was already rippling from her ass to the root of her spine, and now it's joined by little waves from both nipples above, washing down to meet somewhere in her groin.
Arthur spreads her legs with firm, cool hands. She hadn't realized she'd clamped them shut. He holds something heavy and hard against her mons. When he turns it on, she almost screams. It's a vibration unlike the others, deep and throbbing and intense. It can only be a Magic Wand, and Ariadne approves of his taste. Then again, when has she ever been able to fault Arthur's taste?
Even so far away from her clit, it's stimulating, and she thrusts up into it, trying to get closer. He slides it slowly down, and it feels like torture, slipping quickly over her clit with a sudden jolt of overwhelming stimulation. He presses it against the opening of her cunt, and even though it's only on her skin, the vibration feels like it's everywhere. Heat is coiling and uncoiling through her body as he rocks the vibrator back and forth, getting closer and closer to that delicious direct pressure. Finally it's there, and immediately she's throbbing inside, slowly, then faster and faster. Fingers slide inside her and the vibration conducts through them, inside her, outside her, reaching from her tailbone to her navel. She realizes she's talking, chanting, "oh, fuck, God, yes, God."
Her thighs are shaking uncontrollably now. The pressure builds and darts of ecstasy are shooting from her clit and finally she explodes, screaming, body curling in on itself. It goes on and impossibly on and leaves her spent, shivering uncontrollably.
Careful hands remove the blindfold; she's blinking up into Arthur's face. He's still unfairly self-composed, though there's a flush on his face that could be arousal, and it looks like he's been biting his bottom lip. She's suddenly cold, covered in sweat, and there's a large wet patch spreading under her ass. He covers her with a fleece blanket and she apologizes for soaking his bed.
"Sorry, I don't usually..."
"I take it as a compliment," Arthur brushes it off, unfazed.
"Thank you," Ariadne says.
He lays beside her and puts his arm around her shoulders, letting her curl up and lay her head on his chest. His forearm wraps around her back and Ariadne realizes it's the most skin contact they've ever shared.