medicalling | Open Post

Look at that, the fae has practical magic. She had to wonder what kind of category pulling off her panties with spellcraft fell under - hospitality? Her rumination got cut short so fast, the moment he leaned over and his mouth found one nipple.

"Fuck," she managed to breathe out, arching her back up towards that perfect mouth, her nails scratching at the surface of the table. She watched him there, bent over her tits, looking beautiful, and almost missed the slide of his hand up her leg. There was no way to miss its return between her legs, though. She was slick by now, all but dripping and eager for any touch, brought to this point by his hands and the magic and the mouth.

Up it goes, nibbling up her throat - a sensitive spot, there. She couldn't help the slight rock of her hips, seeking his hand, seeking more friction. You kiss her neck, you better get ready to fuck her, Rowan. It's the rules.

What else? "I've never fucked with magic before," she admitted, letting her head tilt back to allow him better access to her throat. "I like it. And..." Here, she leaned her weight against one hand and reached down between them to grab his hand, guide it to her clit. "I prefer a rougher touch, don't go gentle on me. And talking - I like the talking."

Ah, there it was. That demanding presence. He liked the forwardness. The fact that she wasn't shy and coy about what she wanted while naked. He didn't want to bed a babe. He wanted to bed a woman that knew what worked for her and wasn't shy about sharing it. Her direction had his hand moving towards her clit, thumb grazing around teasingly before he was more firm with the brush over it.

"Well, I can definitely fuck with magic. I've a few tricks I don't get to use with humans, so if you're keen to allow me a little leeway, then I'll have you forgetting your name, your occupation, and what century this is." Was he boasting? Oh, definitely, but as it fell from his lips and landed without him biting it back, it was clearly the truth. "Lay back. I don't want you tipping the table over while I orate to a worthy cause."

"Christ," she blasphemed, before she laughed and laid herself back onto the table. "That's going to become a thing, won't it?" It would mean they've slept together more often than the once, if it became a thing. He's barely even begun to touch her, and she already knew that she'd want it to become a thing.

Is this the table they had scones together on? Probably it is. From here on, she would only think of this table as their table.

"You realise it takes one to know one, bossy."

"Oh, aye. I do." He was what he was, after all, and for the first fifty years of his life, weak or not, he was a prince. Still was, but he'd been solely a prince, and he found he liked the respect being a doctor and healer gave him over some trick of which sperm beat which to impregnate his mother.

She laid down and he knelt, pulling her legs over his shoulders and her ass towards the edge of the table without much preamble. She was partly over the edge now, but considering that he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue over her, that was exactly where he wanted her.

He called her magic balance magic once, so it almost made sense that she would be so good at staying balanced. He pulled her closer to the edge, and she lifted her legs, bent at the knees, toes on his shoulders like a ballerina.

She reached up to grab onto the the edge of the table above her head while he pulled her over the edge, and licked her open. "Good," she gasped, then melted into it so easily, legs over his shoulders, highs bracketing his head.

He dragged his tongue up to her clit, sucking at it and letting the edge of his teeth graze against her, taking her at her word for what she liked. And when he did that, he blew summer's golden glow against her cunt. He let his tongue slip into her, sucking at folds and wetness, the silky glide of the skin there was as warm as her mouth.

Rowan felt her thighs around his face, hand smoothing up to grip her thigh as he feasted at her.

She trembled under his hold, gasping as soon as she could feel the warmth of magic wash over her. Then his tongue slipping into her, every suck tugging at the coiled heat in the pit of her stomach. She felt all afloat, folds puffy and wet, clit swollen and throbbing with each heartbeat.

If she didn't know any better, she'd think she's high. But she didn't keep a grip on her reason for too long; instead, she keeps one hand grabbing the table, and reaches down with her other to grab his hair, not tugging him anywhere yet. She needs an anchor before she floats.

"Fuck, this is is gonna be embarrassingly quick," she muttered, already rewarding his next lick with a raspy groan.

All the better for her to get wet and loose so he could truly test out the sturdiness of that table by fucking her over it. But, that would come after he sucked at her again. After a thumb brushed over her clit while he mimicked the act with his tongue. She was sweet and tangy on his lips, against his nose, wet on his beard as he ate and sucked.

That comment got a rumble of some primal sound pressed against her as he waited for her to tip over.

It was a warning with only about a few more seconds to it, and then - there she goes. Tipped over the edge, or rather throwing herself over the edge. When she came, it was unrestrained and joyful, a release that felt like a long time coming. She lifted herself towards his mouth, hips bucking in some wild attempt to ride his face from below (and mid-air), the grip on his hair serving as leverage.

The coil snaps, and she let out a gasp, a sharp moan, and broke apart. Unintentionally, her senses opened further, magic emanating from her in ripples. Hearth magic, the kind that invited one to fuck and fill and meet the demands of nature for more.

He was already pushed towards the need to mate, and when that flood of magic left her, he let it wrap around him. Let it encourage him to undo his trousers, to shove pants and underwear down to his thighs, then take himself in hand as he leaned over her, thrusting in with one long, hard rock of his hips. "I'm not finished with you yet, witch," he growled, bending over her to take her breast in his mouth.

Thankfully, the contraceptive spell was there to ward her against the primal instincts that all witches of her kind get - not to mate, but to rut into exhaustion - so even if her brain is fried and she wants him so badly she can taste it, at least there's not a single chance in hell this will take root.

But, on the other hand, if he would always be this good to her, something might take root - the elusive need to settle in one place, maybe.

She didn't have time to worry about that, not with the sudden flurry of movement from below. She lifted her head, in time to see him take himself in hand, and held her breath until he was in - "Oh, fuuuuck, yes - good," rushed out of her in one breath, while he growled that he wasn't finished.

"I sure fucking hope not, fae," she said back, running her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, down his bare back. The table legs already creaked in protest from the one thrust, and Ariadne had half a mind to tell him to wreck her again. Instead of that, she pulled him away from her breasts so she could kiss him, muffling a pleased groan at the taste of her on his lips and tongue and beard.

He would have been able to scent if she was ovulating or not and would have brought that up. But knowing she took care of her own side of things in a way that he could trust would just make it better.

As for her need to settle? Well... he wouldn't be against the idea. He didn't often get to have regular sex that didn't involve a brothel or anonymity. This? This was... different. He wasn't hiding what he was. What he could do. If anything, he was willing to pull out a few of the stops to show that as far as mating partners went, he was worth spending time to get to know.

She quipped at him and he smiled, but it was into the kiss because she was a saucy, bossy little thing that rose up to meet that thrust of his hips. He ignored the creak of the table, hand gripping her thigh and lifting her higher as if he could somehow make it so he could fuck deeper into her. And when he was as far as he could go, he let that summer light out through his cock. He let it vibrate with growth and life, and with a slight vibration before he drew almost fully out, then slammed back in.

Still careful, though. Witch she may be, but he could break something if he went too far.

A lesson for her: sex with other magical creatures was a lot more fun, maybe because she didn't need to hold back. She couldn't explain those bursts of magic rolling off her with anyone else, or why her partners often claimed sex with her made them feel high, but maybe it took another one with similar heat in his veins to let the barriers drop.

She broke the kiss when he rocked up inside her again, magic rolling off him and bolting inside her. Maybe she was still coming down from the intensity of her orgasm when he filled her in that fantastic long stroke, because every thrust feels insane. She broke the kiss and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding onto him.

"You have..." she panted, between thrusts, "such a nice cock..." She kissed his shoulder, the side of his neck, letting her magic brush against his. Get acquainted. "Feels incredible." Another kiss, deep and playful and filthy. The promise pressed against his lips, "I wanna come all over it."

A soft huff of a laugh against her lips before he let his tongue twine around hers, toes flexing in his shoes as he lifted up to grind into her at a different angle. He could feel her magic rolling up and crashing down around him, as if testing to see where it could seep in and make itself at home. Their powers were like their own creations, curling around each other in an arcane mating ritual while he started moving his hips faster. "So much talk. Where's all this action, witch? Why want something when you can just... do it."

Another quicker, faster succession of thrusts, hearing the table protest as it started to get scooted along the table. The sound of it moving was irritating, but eventually, it would get somewhere it would stop. Or it would break. He was prepared for either.

Her honest laugh got cut off by the fast thrusts, her head thrown back in pleasure. Did he just bait her into coming again? Maybe - it's possible.

"Oh fuck, oh god, oh fuck," was the so much talk she managed as he picked up the pace, her only warning. Not that she imagined him slowing down now - she might scratch him if he teased her like that, not when she's wound up so tight. The sounds of the table resisting valiantly against their onslaught get to compete with the filthy wet sounds of her cunt, and the latter might be louder when she topples into coming again.

He lets out a feline snarl as he feels her body squeezing around his, that gripping release that flexes and holds while she comes. Then he picks her up off the table, one arm at her back, one on her ass. He moves towards the stairs, still buried in her, still without coming, using magic to get his shoes and his pants the rest of the way off before he stops at the base of them. "I'm planning on taking you upstairs and ruining your bed so that you won't be able to sleep in it without thinking of me. Any objections?"

She can't help the flutter around his cock at that promise, because apparently Rowan has the gift of suggestion. "Nope, zero objections," she answers him. By the door that leads upstairs to her flat there is a little alarm box that she stops him by - he can hold her up a little longer, yes? - so she can lock the shop properly.

She brings down the wards on the door to her apartment with a touch of her fingers to the tattoo over her collarbone, and gives him a cheeky wink.

"I should warn you that I plan to ruin you for all other witches. Second door on the right." Otherwise, he'll end up with them in her kitchen, and that table absolutely cannot make it if they fuck on it.

Such a trial for him to hold a naked witch in his arms, cock buried inside her, but somehow, he manages. He pauses to let her set what she needs to set, then walks up the stairs with her- which is an interesting sensation when one has one's dick buried to the hilt in another's body.

His glamour is flickering slightly when he reaches the top, that need crawling up through him until it was getting to be hard to think past the urge to mate. "I haven't exactly had a line of them at my door, waiting for a ride." Mostly witches either ran away from him because they knew he was something, or they kept their mouths shut because they knew about the fae and didn't want to bring down any immortal creature's wrath on themselves. Smart witches, but he wasn't the usual fae.

He got to the door to her bedroom, a thought making it open before he reached it and he stepped through into her bedroom. It smelled like her, and he was infused with the need to make it smell like him- and sex.

It really is, but being the one who has the dick buried inside her, she would fully recommend it - it feels like he bounces her on his dick with every step he takes, and if by the top of the stairs she is breathy and clamped tight around him again, well. Blame her, sure.

"Good, I'm competitive. It's a problem." She possibly should have been one of those witches who should've kept her mouth shut, but the problem was that he was too much fun to be around, trade barbs with, and look at. The worthy cause wants what the worthy cause wants.

He walks them through the door of her bedroom, the moonlight bathing it through wide windows to the side of her bed. She could turn on the light, or she could kiss him, and Ariadne has her priorities stright - so she kisses him, and trusts that he'll either find the bed or fuck her into the floor. Either way, she's winning.

Fae senses were a wonderful thing. They included such useful things as stamina to fuck a witch for a whole night, speed to make it seem as if time was his bitch, and the ability to see in near total darkness. Tolkien had apparently had some familiarity with fae, or the makers and writers of elves had. For all intents and purposes, that's what he was capable of, though there was more magic in his kind than the elven ones.

Which meant that he could make it over to her bed, to kneel on it, to lay her down while still buried inside her and thrust into her to make sure he was fully seated before he braced up to look down at her. "Are you, then? Well, what's the wager, Baby Yaga?"

She lets out a groan at that thrust, her back arching under him, her legs coming up to wrap around his waist. Her bedroom is where most of her glamour spells fade, because what need does she have for armor of any kind here? The makeup is human-made and stays on - but the spell that keeps it perfectly fixed all day is gone, so from hereon out, he's going to mess it up and it will be hot - but the charm that holds her hair pinned perfectly in place is gone before her back hits the mattress.

Splayed around her head like a dark halo, she looks debauched. It's only been a few rounds.

Does she have a wager in mind? She grins up at him. "I wager," she starts, pulling from her pool of natural magic to give herself a boost and rolling them over to sink down on his cock again. "That by the end of tonight, I'll be your favourite." She leans down and gives him a quick kiss, then sits up so she can have the leverage she wants to ride him. "Likely?"

He felt the push of magic, then the physical push as he was rolled over onto his back. He laughed, not minding the mess of make up and hair in the slightest. That's what happened during a good time. Good sex was messy.

His hands slid up along the outsides of her thighs, up over her hips, then up further to cup her breasts. "How many witches do you think I've bedded?" One. The answer was one. It had been thirty years after he'd first left Underhill, twenty after poor Maddie, and he'd been afraid to be with normal humans after her. The witch had shown him that there was something to be said for humans that were a little more than mundane, but she'd also been grieving the loss of her sisters in the aftermath of the witch burnings. They'd taken solace in each other and after that, he'd rarely come across them, other than to see them stare, then bolt.

"Didn't say your favourite witch, darling," she points out. She runs her hands up his chest, rolling her hips and for a moment just enjoying the delicious sensation of just having inside her.

Unable to stay still, those little back and forth motions of her hips become longer strokes, her hands settling on his waist for a grip - you should always hold onto the horse while riding, right?

"Just your favourite." She's not going to hold it against him if she doesn't win the wager, the attempt is fun enough.

His hands move to press her breasts together, to let him take her nipples in his fingers and roll and pinch them. To tug and tease as he bends his knees to brace his feet on the bed and push up into her. Rowan is not the type to lay there and just be ridden. There might be a bit of bucking bronco in him. "What happens if you win or lose?"

One shouldn't make deals when one's dick was being stroked by the inside of a tight gripping cunt, but he'd always been told he needed to live a little.

She lets out a heady moan at the attention paid to her tits, sinking down so hard on his cock when he pinches her nipples that skin slaps against skin. To say she's delighted that he doesn't let her just do all the work is putting it mildly.

Spured on by the bucking bronco under her, she stays at that pace, hard and fast and wet. Ravenous.

"Name your conditions," she says back, because apparently sex is when logic exits the fucking building.

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Is she measuring accurately? >>

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