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Your heart pounds as you hover between Sevika’s thighs, the strap-on’s firm length pressing against her slick folds. She’s so open, so ready, her body glistening under the dim light like an invitation you finally have the nerve to claim. The sight of her—strong, scarred, unyielding Sevika—yielding to you sends a rush of power through your veins that makes your head swim.
You lean forward, but when she reaches up to guide you, you swat her hand away. Not tonight. You slide your hands up her thighs, fingers digging into the firm muscle there. The way her breath catches when you squeeze harder tells you she’s melting.
Your usual place is beneath her, taking what she gives, but now you want to watch her take what you give.
Sevika’s eyes lock on yours, that confident spark still there, but softer, edged with anticipation. You catch her wrist, pinning it flat against the pillow.
When she tries to flex her mechanical arm, the metal whining as she attempts to sit up and reclaim the rhythm, you don't back down. Instead, you drop your weight, your chest crushing against hers to ground her, wordlessly demanding she stay down.
She lets out a sharp, frustrated huff, but when you don't budge, she finally relents, her muscles going slack
A heavy, pulsing heat settles in your gut as you look down at her, but you're not satisfied yet. You want her vulnerable; you want to see how she arches when she can't see you coming.
"Flip over," you command.
She blinks, surprised by the bluntness, but before she can respond, you’re pushing her shoulder, forcing her to roll. You help her up, your hands insistent until she’s braced on all fours, her head hanging low, her breath coming in ragged pants.
You take a second to just look at her—the broad, scarred expanse of her back, the powerful curve of her ass, she looks like a prize. You can't resist; you bring your palm down in a sharp, stinging slap against one cheek. The sound cracks through the quiet room, leaving a blossoming heat in its wake.
"You—" Sevika starts, her head whipping around, a growl beginning to form in her throat.
But you’re faster. Reaching out and winding your fingers into her hair, fisting it tight, tugging her head back until she’s forced to look up at you over her shoulder. Mesmerized, you watch as her pupils blow wide, the exact second she realizes you aren't just playing—you're in control.
Without warning, you thrust forward from behind, burying the strap deep inside her in one sharp motion. Sevika gasps, a low groan ripping from her throat. You pull back slowly, watching her pussy stretch around the silicone, then slam in again, rougher this time.
When she tries to arch her hips back to meet you, seeking that familiar rhythm she usually dictates, you shove her lower back down, pinning her hips to the bed to keep her from moving.
"Stay," you command, the word vibrating with a ghost of the authority she usually carries. Her hand fists the sheets, as she fights every instinct to take over.
"Fuck," she hisses, her voice a shredded wreck.
The view is perfect: her back arching, scarred skin flushed, the mechanical arm trembling under her weight. Leaning down, you sink your teeth into the thick muscle of her shoulder. You bite hard, wanting to leave a mark that will still be purple when she puts her coat on tomorrow. Sevika lets out a sharp, jagged moan, her back snapping even tighter into an arch.
You don't pull away, choosing to soothe the sting with a rough, possessive suck, your tongue swirling over the marks as your hips resume their pace.
Your pace quickens, hips snapping forward.
Each plunge makes her squelch wetly, her arousal coating the strap and dripping down her thighs. You grip her hips harder, your nails leaving faint red lines on her skin—marks she’ll feel tomorrow, a secret reminder of your turn at the reins.
"Holy fuck," you breathe.
Deep muscles of her back and shoulders ripple and coil with every thrust, the skin over her spine pulling taut. She’s built like a weapon, but right now, she’s unraveling for you, her breaths coming in ragged, desperate pants.
However, you want to see her face when she breaks.
"On your back," you command, your hands leaving her hips to grip her shoulders, physically guiding her.
She flips with a heavy, gratified groan, her limbs heavy and loose.
As she settles into the cushions, you hover over her again, and the view is even better: her firm breasts are heaving, bouncing with the force of her own frantic breathing. Her nipples are dark, hardened peaks, and the way her abs tense and ripple with every ragged inhale makes your own pulse spike.
Sevika’s eyes flutter open. "Harder," she demands, her voice cracking.
Your palm slides over the column of her neck, wrapping firmly around her throat. It's just enough pressure to anchor her, the hammer of her pulse jumping against your skin.
You fuck into her relentlessly, the strap hitting deep, grinding against the spot that makes her thighs quake, and her mouth hang open.
Her mechanical fingers dig into your back suddenly, stinging, pulling you closer.
It’s not an act of dominance—it's a plea, her way of urging you to push her further. Releasing her throat to brace on the bed, pounding faster, your own arousal building from the harness's pressure.
Sevika’s moans grow louder, unrestrained, her pussy clenching tighter around the strap as she nears the edge.
"Cum for me," you say, your own voice faltering.
She shudders, her body bowing off the mattress, a cry tearing from her as her orgasm hits. Her head thrashes back, eyes rolling as her walls pulse in heavy, rhythmic waves, milking the strap and sending her slickness flooding out.
The sheer visual of her surrender sends a jolt of pleasure so sharp through your own core that you're certain you're going to follow her over the edge just from the sight of it.
You don't stop, riding her through it, drawing out every tremor until she's gasping and spent.
Finally, you slow, pulling out with a wet slide. Sevika reaches for you, her hand cupping your face, and pulling you down.
"Not bad," she murmurs against your lips, that smirk returning, but softer.