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She’s up against the wall now, feeling the cold, smooth surface just beneath her skin, both of her arms pushing against it, bracing herself for what comes next. They’re often busy, the two of them, so busy with lives and jobs and people, other people; but they find the time, snatch it where they can. A hotel, one renowned for its discretion as well as for its creature comforts, is their preferred venue of choice; a room is always ready, at any time, for their personal use.
Ragged breathing. The prosecutor – or prosecutrix, she thinks, that would be the most correct English word – is flushed, her skin crimson in spots. They’ve only been there an hour, maybe two, but it feels like much longer. Discarded clothes lie crumpled across the red carpet, a mute testament to the activities of the past hour. Two bras dangle over the backs of a chair, left there a mere twenty minutes ago. A pair of glasses sits serenely on a coffee table as their owner runs her hands along the prosecutrix’s back.
“E-enough teasing,” she whispers, eyes tightly shut. If her partner was anybody else this would be shameful, humiliating, but not with her. A fingertip trails lightly up her spine, over her shoulderblade, around, around... another finds its way down her body, tugging on the elastic of her panties. Blonde hair fills Franziska’s vision as she turns her head, seeking a kiss from her lover.
Lips touch, mouths open, and Franziska feels a gentle warmth engulf her body. She’s dimly aware of her underwear being pulled down, tossed away, of a hand caressing one of her breasts, but she’s more concerned with teeth and tongue, with this passionate, intense, beautiful kiss. An eternity later, they draw away, panting.
“Do you want-“
Franziska shakes her head, breathing heavily, chest heaving. “N-no. Today, I think... today...”
The girl – the woman – the goddess embracing her from behind nods, releases her. Franziska stumbles back slightly, unable to lean against her lover, before catching herself. Foolishness, certainly, but... acceptable in the present circumstances, yes? She sits herself down on the bed, fighting to control her breathing, one hand unconsciously brushing her hair.
Adrian turns, whip in hand. It’s still odd to see this –her lover, with her whip, the whip that by rights she should have in her hand right now – and there’s still something wrong with the picture. Franziska tilts her head slightly and tuts.
“More confidence, Adrian,” she says, finally, standing up and striding around the woman. “You have a... a nubile young maiden before you, who is foolishly gazing at you with foolishly adoring eyes...” - she ran a hand down the blonde’s back, letting it rest on one cheek - “and you are the one holding the whip.”
She pauses, because Adrian is no longer standing passively staring at the whip. Instead, one of Franziska’s arms is behind her own back; the hand that was on one buttock is now held in a vice-like grip. “Is it about strength, Franziska?” the blonde asks, her face curious, suddenly close to Franziska’s own. They’re moving backwards, towards the bed; Adrian snatches a kiss as she forces both of Franziska’s hands behind her back.
She’s never seen her this determined before, Franziska thinks as she falls backwards onto the bed. Adrian advances on her, naked and beautiful, the whip coiled around one hand as she tugs on it menacingly. She pauses for effect, and uncurls the whip.
The change is quite incredible, Franziska thinks. And then Adrian is on her, like a storm, or more accurately like a sex-starved blonde who hasn’t felt her lover’s caresses in a week. The last few hours have been nothing more than teasing, Franziska realises, as they kiss and bite and lick and suck and glory in the pleasures of each other’s bodies.
Engrossed as she is in the act of following the curves of Adrian’s breasts with her tongue, it is some time before Franziska notices that her hands have been bound together. The leather presses into her skin tightly but not painfully as Adrian draws back, gazing at her adoringly, toying with the handle of the whip itself. Franziska watches with baited breath as Adrian slowly, deliberately, licks the handle.
“Yes...” she hears herself whispering, flushed and sweating, helpless and yet oh-so ready. The blonde tugs on the whip, and Franziska finds herself upended, legs spread. She tries to twist her head to look behind her, but her lover’s hand – gentle, but firm – is on her head and so she’s at the mercy of Adrian Andrews.
“Eyes front, Franziska,” the girl whispers, and so the Prosecutrix waits, sweat beading off her brow, suddenly impatient. How – long is she going to make her wait, wait for that incredible, joyous mome-
Franziska gasps, suddenly breathless as the whip handle goes into her, a jolt of pleasure arching through her entire body. The cool, solid leather feels glorious inside her, and she buckles and writhes as it goes in, out, in, and out again. Adrian’s hand is still on the back of her head, fingers caressing and kneading her hair as the German girl shudders.
“F-faster... ahhh... faster, please, Adrian...” she mutters, shaking, rocking her hips, chasing the elusive feel of the whip’s intricately braided handle. As a warm, moist something touches the crack of her buttocks – Adrian’s tongue, most definitely, a foolish and unhygienic but most enjoyable affection of hers – Franziska’s ragged breathing turns to a low moan as she begins to spasm uncontrollably.
The whip goes in just that little bit further, and Adrian brushes over an especially sensitive part of her anatomy, and Franziska throws her head back, a sudden, wordless cry escaping her lips as she comes.
Adrian notices, of course, she must notice, but she doesn’t stop, just slows the thrusting of the whip’s handle, in... out... in... out. Franziska rides the aftershocks, still gasping for air, feeling a distant throbbing in her stomach and below, realising only after some time that her lover has released her from her hold and is snuggling up to her, breath warm on her cheeks.
“Did you enjoy that?” Adrian asks, timidly, as Franziska reaches up and strokes her face. She just made the most feared Prosecutrix in the city gasp and scream and writhe in pure ecstacy, and yet she’s still so desperately unsure of herself, Franziska muses, and pulls the woman towards her for a kiss.
“You did... beautiful, Adrian,” she whispers, breathing huskily, one hand reaching for the now-discarded whip. “But I... I think that’s it’s time... I repay the favour...”