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When Jane Pegged Thor

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He’s up for just about anything she wants. She’s not sure if it’s because he feels like this is the way he’s going to prove his love to her or if they just raise them really slutty on his planet.

She kind of thinks it’s the latter, because if he was doing it out of warped obligation he probably wouldn’t have fondled the dildo in its harness quite so...hungrily.

So they have their reunion sex, and it goes from hungry and tender to hungry and fucking rough, with her on top and him holding her thighs, her ass, slamming up into her and so, so good.

But now they’re here, with him spread out on her bed (California king--because he’s huge and he takes up all the space and flails and he broke the full-sized she’s had since college), thighs falling apart and hips rolling, just a little, as she crooks a lubed up finger inside him. He’s been hard since she whispered in his ear after dinner that she was going to fuck him, and she thinks it’s some warrior spirit thing, this stamina business, because he can go for hours, and maybe, when they’ve got a few days, she’s going to test that out. See how many times she can push him to the brink before he snaps. She kind of wants to see what it would look like if he broke for her.

She slides her finger out and drizzles more lube onto her fingers, pushing two back in and listening for the way his breath catches, scratching the nails of her free hand up his groin and then smoothing her hand out, pressing down. His dick leaves a wet trail along the back of her hand, jumping a little when she finds his prostate (good news: he has one) with her middle finger, circling it.

“Jane--” he gasps, and she grins, bites her bottom lip to keep from giggling because it’s not funny, but it is heady. She broke rules and found a bridge between fucking galaxies for him, so she thinks--she thinks she’s earned this. Earned him.

“Shh,” she says, scissoring her fingers a little, watching him loosen around them, part of her fascinated and the other part of her recognizing that she’s dripping down her thighs. “You’re so hot like this, just let me.”

He makes a strangled, inarticulate noise, which is good, because his attempts at reciprocal dirty talk have been a little too stilted and formal for her to really get anything out of it, so they imposed the “shut up or I gag you” rule. She thinks he might like that one too much.

“Is this pleasurable for you?” he asks, voice breaking a little when she drags her finger deliberately over that spot. “Does this display of wanton arousal please you?”

She pulls out her fingers then presses them back in, rough, building up a rhythm. “Shut up,” she reminds him, because fair’s fair and he gets a warning.

“More,” he says, ignoring her. “I--Jane, I can accommodate more.”

The ball gag is a little thing--slides more onto his tongue and behind his teeth than it stretches his jaw and lips. Comfortable but effective, which is what she’s going for, and she kisses him, deep and lingering, before sliding it into place. He’s docile like this, lifting his head to let her buckle it, keeping it raised when she fumbles with it because the fingers of her right hand are so slicked up. Later she’ll look into it--try to see if it’s a sub-space type of thing or just how he is--but now she just wants to fuck him.

The dildo is small--well, it’s not big. Slender, marketed for its “realism”, and when she fastens the harness it doesn’t feel absurd, doesn’t feel like she needs to grab the lube again and spend another few hours (fine, ten minutes) stretching him further.

“Ready for me?” she asks, shifting and sliding half under him, pushing him up a little so when she fucks into him all his weight is going to bear on that point--he’s going to feel it every time she slides up against his prostate.

He makes some pleading noise, swallowed awkwardly around the gag, throat working hard and she smiles up at him, can’t help the little thrill as she presses her dick against his hole pushes. He arches so sweetly, hands skittering across the sheets like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, containing a shudder in his shoulders. She keeps one hand at the base of the dick and presses the other one to his groin, smoothing it up and down as she pushes in, a long inexorable slide, nothing hard and fast, not yet. She doesn’t want him lost in all the sensation, she wants this to be his focal point: her fucking him.

The harness presses just right against her clit, and even if it didn’t--fuck, how could she not be hot at the sight of this? Of him staring at her like she’s the only thing in the world--in the universe?

She lets him settle, shift his hips to decide if he’s comfortable, if he can handle more.

Okay, she gives him about five seconds and then she pulls out and fucks back in, hard, quick little thrusts.

She has him panting within the span of seconds, already slick under her, making these guttural noises around the gag, and she leans down, presses a sloppy kiss to his stretched lips and thrust back in.

They find a rhythm, or rather, she remembers how this works, and steadies herself just right, fucking in hard. He braces himself against the headboard, rolling his hips to meet her and she can feel it, the build at the base of her spine, but fuck it. Fuck if she’s going to come first--fuck if she’s going to come before she sees him wrecked.

Jane wraps her hand around his dick and he shouts, eyes flying open to stare at her and she can’t help laugh--did he forget about that? About his dick, leaking against abs she’s never seen outside of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue--she jerks him and watches his abs flex appreciatively, head thrown back as much as he can manage on his back, and he moans, like he’s torn--can’t decide if he wants to fuck into her fist or fuck himself back down on her dick.

And she doesn’t let him make up his mind--keeps him on the knife’s edge until he’s gone, chest heaving and whimpering, hips twitching frantically and something that might be pleasepleaseplease stuck behind the gag.

She takes pity and jerks her wrist just right, twists and flicks her thumb over the head of his leaking dick and then he’s coming, clenching around the dick up his ass and heaving for breath.

He’s just so fucking gorgeous like this, and she pulls out, fumbles the clasp of the harness and bites her lower lip as she slides it off, undoing the gag and kneeling over his face.

God, he takes it beautiful but he eats pussy like he was made to do it, hands wrapping around her thighs to keep her pressed against him like he doesn’t have to breathe, tongue working while he just sucks at her clit and that’s it, just this little scrape of teeth and she’s gone, hanging onto the headboard so she doesn’t actually smother him. In a nonsexy way.

When her legs work she gets up and goes to the bathroom, waits for the water to run hot and then comes out with the washcloth.

“I can--” he starts, trying to sit up and then looking down at his body, betrayed when it won’t quite cooperate.

“Person who gets fucked gets to rest,” she says. “Earth custom.”

He contemplates that while she wipes the come off his stomach and chest, and then laughs and wipes his face off, too, because he looks--well. He looks ridden hard and put away wet.

“Jane,” he says, reaching for her, and she goes, slides under the sheet and lets him run an appreciative hand down her side.

“I have one that vibrates,” she tells him, and then laughs when his eyes darken speculatively. Seriously, they raise them slutty in Asgard.