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Cruel Intentions

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Isabela knew that voice. That voice made her heart ache, her fingers tighten. That voice made her want to apologize.

Isabela never apologized.

I'm so sorrry.

"I told you to strip." The voice had dropped, low and growly, and she felt that rumble low in her stomach. She was blindfolded, couldn't see him, but she knew him. She couldn't resist.

Not that I resist that many things. That would be dull.

She grinned, pulling her scarf off her head and flinging it in the direction of his voice.

There was a hum of approval, footsteps approaching, the soft slide of bare feet against a wooden floor, and then a hand, stroking her hair.

"Keep going."

So she did, sliding off layers. More layers than she wore, nowadays, old clothes from her previous life, fancy clothes, overdress and underdress and petticoats and a slip and thin silk pantaloons and stockings, and always that voice, encouraging her, or a hand, sliding across her skin.

Soon she had it all off, everything except the corset to support her breasts.

"Stop." Those hands, holding hers, that voice.

She stopped. Let him guide her across the floor. Let him pull her into a chair, his chest firm behind her shoulders, warm even through his shirt, his erection a hard length she could feel trapped behind the small of her back. She moaned a little, rubbing back against him, feeling the taut cloth of his trousers catch on her skin.

"Shh." His hand wrapped around her neck, pushing her jaw up, her head back, making her think about every breath passing beneath his fingers. His other arm crossed under her breasts, pinning her arms to her sides. "Spread your legs."

Normally she preferred to be the one calling the shots, but the impossible relief of that voice, of the second chance it offered...

She spread her thighs as wide as she could, lifting up as well until her knees were above his thighs, her legs sliding down the outside of his until she could tuck her feet behind his calves, making his trousers wrinkle between them, slight ridges against her skin.

"Now." He'd lifted his head, and she frowned. Now what? What do you want?

She shuddered as another pair of hands touched her thighs, fingers firm and cool, and an unknown tongue found her clit.

"Andraste's tits." Her voice was a hiss as his hand tightened around her neck, almost but not quite blocking her attempt to breathe, her fingers digging into his thighs.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" His breath was hot against her ear, making her whole body writhe, pushing up against that mysterious mouth, the tongue now licking inside her cunt. "You tried to tell me, tried to show me, tried to explain how you couldn't bear to be tied down again, but you wanted to come back to me, didn't you?"

"Yes." She moaned, that answer for him, for the mouth between her legs, for the hands hard and hot against her skin.

"I didn't understand." She felt his lips brush the skin in front of her ear, gentle against her temple, her cheek, a flick of his tongue against her jaw. "I do now. And now I want to appreciate the opportunity you're providing me."

"What." She gasped, swallowed, as the lips started to suck her clit, as her body arched and she forgot words. "What, opportunity?"

"That's for me to know."

She cried out wordlessly, her body pushing against his arms as the orgasm flashed across her skin, and the mouth between her legs disappeared.

He shoved her to the ground in front of their chair, her knees hitting the floor awkwardly, the move shocking her breath back into her chest. "Thank the nice lady for her good work."

His hands were firm against her head, pushing her forward, until she felt the warmth of another woman past her nose, smelled the arousal of another woman's wet pussy. "Make her scream, my dear."

She licked the stranger's folds, tasting and teasing, listening to the sound of her breathing, adjusting to the feel of her muscles twitching. Humming occasionally, as his hands stroked down her back, petted her hair, tapped her ass.

Isabela slid a finger inside the woman, twisting until she made her jump, until she heard her voice moan. Isabela's mouth moved up to her clit, licking, circling, sucking, finger pumping and curving inside her, over and over, until she felt the tension build, until she could hear her breath catch, and then, only then, she very gently bit.

"Ah!" The stranger screamed, just as requested, her legs taut as she came, her breath sobbing as she came down. "Oh, yes."

"Nicely done." He leaned along her back to whisper praise in her ear, his hand sliding around her hip to cup her sex, a gentle chuckle audible as his fingers felt her slick. His head lifted again, his next words aimed at the stranger. "Send the boys in, would you dear? I'll get her ready."

"Boys? Ready?" Isabela asked, trying to turn around and touch him, kiss, taste him. It's been so long.

"Oh, you didn't think that was it, did you?" He pulled on her hands, avoiding her embrace, leading her across smooth floor, pushing her onto a bed, tying her wrists together, then attaching them to the headboard. "Tonight will be a night to remember, my love."

And it was, oh Maker, it was.

The first man he called up fucked her mouth, his cock hard and hot and burning down her throat til she could barely breathe, and just as he swelled, just as she lifted her head to try and swallow, he pulled out, shooting his seed across her chin, her neck, the top of her chest.

The second cut her corset off her, the cool pressure of his blade against her skin making her writhe until she could feel the goose-bumps across her skin. And then he fucked her breasts, hands kneading and teasing and twisting her nipples, cock hard between them as he rubbed them together. He groaned above her, this stranger, his seed hot against her breasts as he came.

By now she was aching, her cunt empty and clenching, wanting nothing more than a touch, a finger, a cock, anything, her clit throbbing in time to the whisper off to the side. The one she'd hurt, back again, encouraging, ordering, never silent, always there, watching.

She could feel his gaze, heat on her skin, even as other men touched, took her, fucked her.

For him. All for him.

The third man turned her over, the tacky drying seed of the previous two sticking to the sheet beneath her. His hands spread her ass, his tongue a promise of things to come. First his finger, lubrication. Then his cock, so wide, so hard, that first thrust almost burning, then pleasure and tension, in and out, never quite far enough to hit her favorite spot, teasing and tightening but not quite enough.

She was swearing, begging, asking for more, harder, deeper.

Instead he pulled out, and she felt his seed, hot along her back.

And then his voice, to the side, denying her any relief. "Don't let her come, boys. Do whatever you want, but stop before she comes. Every time. You can come as often as you'd like, though, as often as you can, as long as you don't do it inside her. Cover her with your seed."

And they did. Between her thighs, the angle just wrong so they wouldn't rub her clit. One spanked her with a paddle til she was red and hot, thighs clenching and breath ragged, then fucked her ass again, his nails digging into sensitized flesh as he spread her cheeks apart, pain and heat and pleasure 'til she screamed.

They turned her over played with her breasts, hands and mouths, licking and sucking, pulling back when one of them was ready to come along her breasts, returning to rub the result into her skin, to taste their mingled seed upon her. She could feel the tug from her nipples straight to her womb, but just as her back lifted her chest up towards them, just as she was almost there, his voice called them off again.

They fucked each other on top of her, groans and grunts and skin rubbing against her, never enough, never in the right place, spilling along her stomach and thighs one after another after another.

And then they stopped, though she could feel them watching as she writhed on the bed, trying for friction from something, anything, to get herself off. They waited until the tension eased, a sour taste in her throat and a burn of denial in her muscles.

They fucked her again, one after the other, filling her mouth and her throat with cocks, hands hard and ruthless along her hips, her breasts, her legs, until she couldn't breathe, couldn't gasp, couldn't bear another moment, her body straining for relief, air, release, and the darkness behind her eyes grew heavier than that created by the blindfold, and she passed out.

She woke up to silence, darkness, the blindfold still secure over her eyes. She tried to talk, but her throat burned, dry and sore.

"Shh," gentle hands, untying her wrists, rubbing down her arms as they fell to the bed. "Take your time."

She turned her head until her head found his hand, rubbing her nose against his wrist. She felt him sigh, his hands sliding along her temples, his mouth soft as he finally kissed her. She tried to pour all her regret, all her relief, all her desire into that kiss, lips moving and tongue diving into his mouth, moaning low in her throat.

I loved you. I did. But it wasn't enough ...

"I'm so -"

"Shh," his finger pressed against her lips. "No need."

She felt a tentative touch along her blindfold, reached her hands up to cover his. Shook her head no.

She knew this wasn't real, just a dream. He never did forgive her, never would. Never should. But if she got too close, thought his name, saw his face, she was afraid it would break the spell, wake her up, end it all.

And it was such a nice dream. To have eased his heart instead of breaking it.

His soft chuckle brushed her face, and her body stretched beside him, rolling in towards his warmth.  She smiled, trying to capture that sound, remember the feel of it in her heart and head when she woke up.

"Still want to play, do you?"

"With you?" She aimed her smile in the direction of his voice. "Always."

Strong arms slid under her shoulders, her thighs, lifted her up in the air. Her head felt fragile, almost spinning, her body light, floating as he carried her. She descended slowly, hot water and smooth ceramic, a bath so deep only her head was free of the water, resting against the smooth slope of the back of the tub.

Her ass stung, her muscles tightened, she hissed for just an instant, everything sore, before the water worked its magic and her body eased. "Maker."

She could hear the hum of his breath, a slight slosh of water, and then the gentle strokes of a soft wet cloth against her chin and cheeks.

Isabela sighed, her body sinking through the water, limbs heavy as he moved down her neck and shoulders, cleaning her skin until it felt soft and new. His touch was kind and smooth, not remotely sexual, and yet it wasn't long before her muscles started to tighten, her body shivering as the cloth slowly made its way down her body, all the pent up frustration from his game still there, hot and bitter beneath her skin.

He moved past her hips and down the outside of her legs all the way to her feet, (twice! once on each side, the tease), before finally reaching her inner thighs.

"Lift your legs." He finally spoke again, a soft request.

"Oh honey, anything you say." She managed a smirk, hooking her heels over the edges of the tub to hold her up. He laughed again, that soft chuckle, and her heart ached as she smiled, proud of herself, proud of him, thankful for this lovely hallucination.

The water shifted, splashing up against her chin as he moved, and she felt two arms between her legs, one hand supporting her ass so the cloth could clean between her cheeks, remove all traces of oil and slick and seed.

She whined, a little, lifting herself higher, stretching her thighs, hoping.

Nothing happened for a moment, an eternity.

Fingers, stroking along the very tops of her thighs. Finally, moving inwards, fingertips soft against her lower lips. Her clit was throbbing, aching as he took his time cleaning each fold and curve around it, her hips jerking at every other tantalizing touch, the shift of water never quite enough.

"Please," Isabela whispered, eyes closed tight in anticipation, as if that mattered, hidden behind cloth. "Please."

Pressure, just the slightest touch a shock like lightning, pain, aroused too long, too sensitive, too tender, but good, so good, a wordless cry past her lips as her hips thrust up against him, water splashing up the sides as her body jerked, and jerked again, his thumb, definitely his thumb, thick and broad and almost rounded, rough skin almost catching then sliding again, circling around and around, drawing it out.

Her muscles burned, her shout fading to a keen in the back of the throat as she shuddered, swallowing and spitting water as she slid back down in the tub.

She moaned, feeling her arms and legs twitch as her cunt clenched with one last aftershock.

"Maker," his voice was rough, and then his hands were rough, tangled in her hair, his mouth hard and forceful as he thrust his tongue in her mouth, and she'd never been so thankful for a dream, because she was ready again, already, feeding on his desperation.

She kissed him back, her tongue tasting his mouth, his lips, his tongue, panting every time his lips shifted. She reached out until she felt his shirt under her fingers, pulled on the fabric above his shoulders, hard and fast and ruthless. She yanked him into the tub with her, water pouring over the sides, splashing their faces, soaking her blindfold, her hair, his clothes, almost choking her as a wave crashed over her face.

Neither of them cared, his mouth hot on her skin, his shirt sticking to his back and shoulders as he heaved himself up so she could get her hands between them, fingers tugging on wet ties and thick cloth until she could shove his trousers out of their way, both of them panting, neither able to keep still, hips tilting towards each other, mouths bumping and slamming back together after every shift of their bodies.

His cock was free, hot and hard, oh blessed Andraste, she'd forgotten the feel of him, hard between her hands, and then his hands, fingers tight around her wrists as he yanked her arms out of his way, her thigh pinned between his hips and the tub, pinched and tight, and it didn't matter, because he was saying her name, he was pushing his cock inside her.

"Yes, fuck, yes, please, more," she didn't know what she was saying, didn't know what to do with her hands, arms flailing in the darkness before wrapping around his shoulders, fingers digging into his neck, stroking through his hair, gripping his arms, tugging on his shirt, wet and clinging to his back, the front dragging in the water and catching on her breasts, "fuck, yes."

He rolled his hips, all the way in, rubbing everywhere inside her, and she screamed as her body almost spasmed, muscles burning, bucking up against him, cunt clenching his cock, thighs clenching around his hips. Her head hit the edge of the tub so hard she stunned herself, unable to move, and it didn't matter, because he kept moving, in and out, riding the pulse of her pleasure. She shuddered and jerked beneath him, so hot, so hard, oh Maker. He bit her shoulder, growling against her skin as his hips jerked once, twice more, swelling inside her as she arched and tightened even more, the heat of his seed inside her taking her over the edge with him.

"Isabela," the word was barely louder than the sound of his breathing. His lips were soft as he kissed her, long and slow and sweet. Her body felt warm and heavy beneath him, and she so seldom bothered with sweet, but she rather hoped this would never end.

Never wake up, never again.

"Oh lover," she shifted beneath him, his wet clothes going cold beneath her fingers as she stroked his back. "That was... you were..." she purred, unable to think of a thing to say that could encompass how very sated she felt.

"I'm not done yet."

She felt him move, heard the slap of wet fabric against the floor as he stripped, and despite expecting it, squeaked in surprise as he picked her up again, the water remaining in the bottom of the tub sloshing over his arms.

They were back in the bed, wrapped in blankets and each other, each touch achingly slow as he warmed them up, hands stroking skin, gentle licks and kisses along muscles and curves. She laughed when he stuck his tongue in her navel, rolled him over and tickled his ribs until he laughed as well.

She straddled his hips, took him inside, so slowly, so full. She could feel every finger as his hands stroked her thighs; every shift of his body was exquisite as he rubbed inside her. She rocked her hips, her body swaying back and forth as he rolled up against her, over and over, timeless and perfect in the nature of dreams, pleasure building, passing between them, thick and heavy and slow.

Her orgasm when it came was much the same, starting with her cunt, tightening around him, both of them moaning. She felt so full of his cock she could feel the pulse of his heart between her legs, matching hers, a heavy thud as the muscles low in her stomach clenched. Her breasts were heavy, nipples tight, a shivering ache up her spine, a tremble in her thighs, heat flushing across her skin. Her head fell back, a sigh escaping her mouth as the rolling pleasure tightened her shoulders, her arms, making its way all the way down her legs to curl her toes.

His body lifted up beneath her, and she could feel him coming inside her, hear the stutter of his breath, the moan of his words. "Oh, Isabela, I lo-"

She fell forward, her mouth on his, swallowing his words before he could finish. If he said such a thing in her dream ...

Her chest ached as she tasted his tongue, as her body shivered above him, his cock softening, resting against the walls of her cunt.

They kissed for a long time, until their breathing slowed and their hearts settled and the last of the water and sweat dried off their skin.

She was almost asleep, snug against his side, when he spoke up again. "And who would you like me to invite for your next surprise? More strangers? Or friends? That one who leads, perhaps, so rough, always being responsible..."

She ignored the odd depth to his voice, laughed softly against his skin. "She is much too monogamous to enjoy the way I play." You are too monogamous to enjoy the way I play. She felt his fingers tighten around her, tensed at his touch, too tight, too harsh, a dark growl rolling over her before he relaxed again. Just a dream? "But Sparklefingers could use the break, I'm sure. Poor man has forgotten how to play. I'll ask Anders if he and his electricity trick are allowed out of the clinic."

"Anderss," his voice was almost a hiss, still oddly dark. "I'll ask. Don't you worry about a thing."

Isabela sighed, and tried, but fell asleep with worry a tight knot in her stomach. Somehow, something had gone horribly wrong, but she'd be damned if she could tell precisely when or how.

Just a dream. Nothing wrong with a dream. Right?