mischief-maker-loki:
mischief-maker-loki:
Loki gently entwines his fingers in her hair, slowly tugging her hair back. He leans in, his lips brushing her ear. “Here, kitty, kitty…” His voice is a low purr. His tongue flickers out to tease her ear lobe before nipping it lightly. “Now, what shall I do with you…
“Wha—” Summer’s cry of surprise is choked off almost immediately by the satin gag that loops itself into her mouth. She reaches up to scrabble at the fabric and is stopped by the silk twining itself around her wrists, the sight of it blocked by the velvet blindfold wrapped over her eyes. Senses down to touch and sound and empathy, she freezes in place under Loki’s hand, the soft black velvet collar and lead latching into place about her throat. Only the fact that her mind recognises this Loki keeps her from lashing out with fire as she shudders under his mouth.
Perhaps unlike some others she has encountered, Loki doesn’t try and curb his desire for her. Grinning, he gives the leash a teasing tug. “You will find, my dear, that removal of some senses enhance the others.” He trails the backs of his fingers across her cheek before pulling her hair over across one shoulder. After a teasing moment his lips trail over her skin. He toys with the silk holding her wrists, smiling against her skin. “I think I shall enjoy this particular addition to the game.
Every touch causes her to twitch at the surprise of it. His voice is like a lifeline, something to cling to, and she can’t help her head turning to try to follow it. She wants to say his name, wants to respond, and has no idea how one does so, bound up as she is. The best she can do is a whimper.
“One day,” Loki murmurs as he gently lowers her onto her back, situating her bound hands above her head so he can get at her abdomen, “you will finally believe when I, and others, say you are beautiful. I could watch you all day, writhing at my touch.” He slowly lifts her shirt, just to expose her stomach, caressing the fair skin there. Loki leans in and kisses her through the gag. His touches remain more or less innocent, simply getting her used to feeling him on her skin.
There’s no reason Loki’s hands on her skin should feel so erotic, but they do. Is it because she is helpless to his touch? Is it something in his voice? It’s a glorious voice, made more so by her focus on it now; if the velvet binding her eyes had a sound it would be his voice. The muscles in her stomach twitch under his cool hands, and she can’t help arching her back into the touch.
Slowly, Loki’s lips move down Summer’s neck. He groans softly as she arches against him, pressing her hip against the leather containing his steel hard length. The god trails hot kisses down her collarbone and across the swell of her breasts, though never moving under the fabric of her shirt. He has many more hours still, and he seems perfectly content to take his time and kiss every inch of her skin.
He looks up as he moves to kiss across her stomach while his hand begins an exploration of her thighs. Once again, he remains respectful and doesn’t touch where she expects except for a few accidental brushes of his fingertips. “Darling, beautiful Summer…” Loki pauses, sighing a little and blowing lightly on her stomach, “even though you can’t speak… I don’t want you to hold back. I want to hear every whimper and sigh… And don’t worry about the fire. I won’t be harmed by it. I want you to relax completely.”
Summer wails, pitifully and low in her throat. Relax? How can she relax? With his hands, his voice, she can’t see or move herself … determinedly she forces her muscles to loosen and blows her breath out. Every ‘accidental brush’ induces a whimper, his breath across her skin a sighing sob. She wants, and he’s teasing, and she’s helpless. Trying to hold a picture of the scene in her mind, she reaches out with her feet, trying to lock Loki in with her legs.