Once upon a time, a very long time ago, Nora had been an earnest little human girl with a few rather dark tendencies, and the problem with dark tendencies (especially ones found in someone otherwise bright and lovely), she soon learned, was that it was easy to exploit them. One of the first promises she'd made herself in her new life was that she wouldn't let that happen again, she wouldn't trust herself to just anyone, and in a lot of ways she could only trust herself to Eric. He could undo her a thousand times over, but he'd always put her back together.
She knew that, she knew it instinctively and absolutely, and usually she loved it more than anything. Usually her submission was a gift she could give him, and in return she'd be rewarded with hours spent outside of herself and so much in herself all at once.
Sometimes, like now, it wasn't quite that simple.
What he said was true, of course. He could see right through her sometimes, in a way that nobody else ever could, he knew her weaknesses right along with her strengths. He knew how to combat them, too.
When he stepped away, her first goal was to listen for what he might be getting up to, but before she could stop herself she realized she'd let out a little moan as much in anticipation for what was coming as in mourning the brief loss of even his harshest touches. Once he'd returned, then, it didn't take long for that to give way to a series of almost feral cries as the flogger hit her. In her case, the not knowing, the disequilibrium was almost worse than the pain.
The first time she tried to answer, the only thing that came out was a low, inarticulate whine, but finally she managed a very strained and slightly slurred "Unstable."
no subject
She knew that, she knew it instinctively and absolutely, and usually she loved it more than anything. Usually her submission was a gift she could give him, and in return she'd be rewarded with hours spent outside of herself and so much in herself all at once.
Sometimes, like now, it wasn't quite that simple.
What he said was true, of course. He could see right through her sometimes, in a way that nobody else ever could, he knew her weaknesses right along with her strengths. He knew how to combat them, too.
When he stepped away, her first goal was to listen for what he might be getting up to, but before she could stop herself she realized she'd let out a little moan as much in anticipation for what was coming as in mourning the brief loss of even his harshest touches. Once he'd returned, then, it didn't take long for that to give way to a series of almost feral cries as the flogger hit her. In her case, the not knowing, the disequilibrium was almost worse than the pain.
The first time she tried to answer, the only thing that came out was a low, inarticulate whine, but finally she managed a very strained and slightly slurred "Unstable."