Spars

Really, Papalymo isn't sure how they got into this predicament. Maybe it was some offhanded comment regarding how much he enjoyed watching Yda beat people up, or the evil glint in her eyes whenever she caught him staring. No matter how, because it is really hard to concentrate on that when Yda is straddling his waist with his hands pinned above his head. Both of their breathing is erratic and labored. Yda's knee is shoved between his legs and his erection straining painfully.

Okay, he lied. He did know how they got into this situation. They were sparring and Papalymo may have gotten distracted and may have accidentally gotten hard when she hit him. Yda's face was priceless and Papalymo knows he will never live it down but at this exact moment, hedoesn't care. Her hands are leaving bruises on his wrists and his eyes are rolled back. The cold metal of her boots scrapes his thighs and snags the fabric of his pants. His robes are too tight and his head is light. Yda keeps his hands pinned with on hand, leaning her whole weight on to it and then drags the nails of her other hand down his wrists and arms. She leaves scratches that burn and Papalymo can't stop his hips from jerking.

He tries to keep his voice down but it nearly impossible when Yda starts biting his neck. She opens his robes painfully slow and her nails leave raised lines in their wake. She lets up a little, her fingers suddenly soft and tender as she soothes the scratches. It is almost worst and a whine escapes his throat. She has left her mark in the form of hickeys and bruises all across his neck and collarbone but by now he has plenty of excuses to tell people. She lets go of his wrist and lets her fingers trace the bite marks she has left. She licks the shell of his ear and he shudders. Her knee shifts against his erection. It is too tense and Papalymo finds himself holding his breath.

“Yda...” his voice is pathetic and she laughs breathlessly. She presses her knee against his cock and he rocks against it with a groan. The steel is sharp and cold even through the fabric of his pants but the pressure is wonderful. Her hands are softly drawing aimless patterns against the wounds she's inflicted and every once in a while they will brush against his nipples. He can feel a wet spot forming on his pants from his precum and it's humiliating. It is painful how soft she is being.

“Want more?” She whispers and he hisses. She nips at his ear and he rolls his hips sharply. Her hands dance across his neck lightly and then, suddenly, she wraps her hand around his neck rough enough to cut off his breathing and allow bruises to bloom under her fingertips. He gasps sharply and his eyes roll back. His cock twitches and he shudders violently. He nearly cums right there. Yda relaxes her grip, taking the tip of his pointed ear into her mouth. With one hand still wrapped around his neck, she uses her other hand to stroke his ribs and down to his hipbones. She lets her hand come to rest just inches from his swollen erection but puts enough weight that he can't tilt his hips. Her knee pushes against his balls and she tightens her hand around his neck ever so slightly. He arcs his back into her touch.

Yda kisses his ear and then she cuts off his airways again with a squeeze. Papalymo's vision goes blurry — he sees stars. Her the steel of her boot is pressed tightly against his cock and she rocks it. It is painful and amazing. He manages to gasp out her name and then he is coming. She slowly releases his neck and pulls back her leg. She uses her tongue and lips to soothe the bruises and helps him out of his dirty pants to just hold him. He can't bring himself to say anything but he wants to thank her. He is exhausted, but content. She kisses his forehead and pets his hair as he catches his breath.

“I did good?” She asks, suddenly shy.

“Aye. Very good, Yda,” he sighs and she giggles, pulling him tightly against her.