[ part of his words before had mentioned the want of attention. she's not quite sure if that really aligns with these uncontrolled sensations, and yet there's something peculiarly arousing in the way he intends to focus entirely on her. likely, it's due to the way she's become quite expectant of men's desires for her, the number of brutish drunks at the bar who'd offered large tips for her to blow them behind the building or to let them to slide their dick between her tits β all easily rejected before she effortlessly kicked them out on their asses with plenty of broken ribs to join their bills.
whatever the man's actual intentions behind it, the movement of his fingers applies pleasure towards her, adding to the heavy slick that soaks through the flimsy unitard with every stroke.
she watches the purposeful fall of that strap, its reliability in holding her up now loosened as her breasts slacken more against the fabric still trapping it. cheeks burn flush, aware that they're still not quite private here, and yet feeling undeniably turned on by the danger of it, by the part of here that doesn't care for once for too much decency.
but his fingers catch over her clit, the friction of fabric stroking over that sensitive bundle of nerves and the sudden overwhelming spike of pleasure does indeed have her jolt back against him, hips jutting out forward with a sharp thrust against his hand. her breasts give a light bounce in the reaction, fabric from the unstrapped side dipping lower that her nipple nearly begins to peek over it. ]
Ah, pleaseβ [ the plea leaves her lips in a small whimper before she can restrain herself, hips giving a slight squirm. ] It feelsβkeep touching me like that, please.
[Now there's a pretty sight, he thinks with his blue eyes sharp behind the security of his mask, and the prospect of a little catch of personal entertainment besides: can he make her squirm and wriggle enough that her breasts fall out of her top? She's certainly endowed enough that it's plausible, and he wouldn't mind seeing it. There's something particularly erotic about dishevelment, of having taken something put-together and pristine and left his own personal mark on it.]
Shhh. Someone's going to know what you're up to, if you keep talking like that.
[It's entirely a ruse; these alcoves are designed for liaisons of exactly this nature, dampening the ambient sounds so that people can't be overheard unless they go out of their way to try. But it's just one more layer to the thrill of danger she must be feeling: unsteady on her feet and her top threatening to fall and her body craving the touch of a man she doesn't know.]
You're this wet already, and I'm not even inside you.
[It's not just that the fabric is soaked, either, but that it's slick, sliding all the easier against her sensitive folds with the benefit of lubrication to help guide the way as he rubs and strokes and stimulates her.]
[ if he purposely means to add concern for her, it certainly succeeds as she catches herself on her words, curling her lip inward to press her teeth down over it as if that might be able to silence away the soft noises that work through her throat. it's a strange feeling, not wanting to be caught, and yet feeling the thrill in knowing that they could. it's not like she wants to be seen like this, in the arms of a strange man, her breasts nearly spilling out the top of her unitard as she grinds against a steady palm, but there's something nearly feral and anxious for the stimulation that it's hard to keep herself caring for subtlety. ]
I'm not usually ... like this.
[ because how could she be that wet when she's barely been touched, wondering if this lies in one of those things that simply is, all because of this mark on her skin, heightening want and and drip of slick from her needy cunt.
he applies that wet friction with the pressure of his fingers to the unitard, fabric grinding firmly over her folds and clit, her hips rocking against his strokes, intoxicated by the satisfying rub that jolts pleasure through her. her hand holds onto his wrist to brace herself, the angle of her arm as a result allowing the only reliable strap to now loosen at an angle at her shoulder, still hanging on but not having quite the same grip now that the other strap falls free.
but it's just enough, the top hem of the unitard dipping a bit more as she arches her shoulders more against his chest to jut her hips forward for his hand, the heavy round curve of a breast empowering that weak fabric to dip over it, the tight peak of her nipple exposed freely to the open air. her breath hitches when she notices, fingers squeezing at his arm, movement of her hips weakening but not entirely stopping. ]
[And the best part is, it's impossible to tell whether she really means it or is just playing up the chastity angle; either way, it's all the better because it adds up to him being the exception, and therefore exceptional.
Beneath the circle of his supporting arm, she writhes — and sure enough, just as he'd hoped with breathless anticipation, she spills out of her top from the natural rocking motions her body is making against his stroking fingers. And oh, isn't she a sight, with her breasts so firm and her nipples so peaked, just begging to be pinched at and pulled.]
And so what if they see? Isn't that why you're wearing a mask?
[But it's the perfect opportunity to adjust the arm he's got around her, shifting it upward so that it's angled across her breasts instead — not just affording her the most laughable illusion of modesty, but giving him ample excuse to cup one of them in the palm of his hand, thumbing and circling the raised nipple as he does.
It's a distraction, to say the least, and one he intends to make use of; while he temporarily seeks to draw her attention to the touch to her chest, his other set of fingers finally pry the fabric of the unitard away and stroke her directly, rubbing only long enough to get thoroughly coated with slick before sliding low in search of her entrance.]
[ she can't say for sure if the excess of her wetness is entirely credited to him, but she doesn't doubt that he's a great contributing factor at this point, that his technique has succeeded plenty in easily riling her, as shyness becomes abandoned for a greedier chase of pleasure. no, she certainly isn't like this, typically a little more reserved when it comes to sex, and yet embracing the fulfillment of these carnal urges now with a complete stranger and feeling all the more lustful for it.
because he's right, isn't he? the mask if meant to shield her identity, just as unknown of a patron as all the rest here. even the fullness of her now exposed breasts shouldn't necessarily be traced back to her, not when the horizonal scar on her skin, tucked beneath the swell of those mounds, remains covered by the bunched fabric of the unitard.
his arm is only a minor barrier in censoring the view but her worries subside the moment his thumb massages over her nipple when he gropes her breast, the point tightening stiffly from his attention, practically begging for the pinch and tug of his fingers.
breathless, she tries to speak, ]
Are you sure no one's gonnaβah...
[ another soft moan spills from her lips, as she earns the direct touch of his fingers to her cunt, the heat of his skin a satisfying blaze that tosses her head back against his shoulders, lips parted with a steady panting as she maintains the forward arch of her hips for him to guide his fingers low.
she thinks of what he'd told her before β he could be anyone she wants or no one at all. in this moment, she's not entirely sure which of those she'd prefer, but she closes her eyes all the same, letting herself abandon tifa lockhart, to feel the anonymity of the mask, to pretend this is the first. ]
Do you ... do you like me like this? [ she whispers between her heavy breaths, the shyness of asking plenty authentic on its own. but she tries it all the same, urged by the stimulation that pulls her away from herself. ] So messy for you...?
Hush. Just relax and enjoy it like a good little girl.
[It's pressing his luck, he knows, but this isn't just about her pleasure; he's more than hard enough in his slacks to be aching for attention, and he's already generously ignoring it for the sake of getting off on pleasuring her instead. He's allowed, surely, to pepper in a little dirty talk to make things enjoyable — especially if this stays about her satisfaction entirely and he's left to contend with his on his own.
Still, she's so responsive that he'd be hard-pressed to say he really minds. Her nipples peak so rapidly that he briskly shifts from thumbing at them to pinching and tugging, layering the constant rubbing between her legs with short flashes of sharper sensation, intent on keeping her thoughts scattered and her focus unbalanced.
While she's distracted, he tips his head to the side and catches the muzzle of his mask against his own shoulder, pushing it up and onto his forehead to free his mouth, leaving room to nuzzle in and drag his tongue over that red little diamond behind her ear. She wants her anonymity, of course, and so does he — but maybe they'd both be willing to gamble it a little for the sake of something worth even more.]
I'd like — [He begins, breathless, dripping with temptation dangled ripe for the taking.] — to make you come like this, just like this, and then get between your legs while you're still shaking from my fingers and lick you until you scream.
[He circles his fingers around her entrance; it's the only brief warning she gets before he's pressing his fingers up and into her, wet and ready and needy, fucking her fast and rapid with the cadence of his promises.]
I'd like to ruin you for everyone else who comes after this. Until it drives you mad, wondering who I am, wondering how to find me just so you can have this again.
[ tifa barely knows the definition of relaxing, usually always up to something to feel herself useful to feel like she's dedicating herself to helping someone, so the very concept of being still while someone devotes this level of attention to her is unheard of. any man calling her a good little girl would typically result in a full set of knuckles knocking out their teeth, given the usual context of it, but right now, the low promise of his voice paired with his devoted fingers, pinching the sensitive points of her nipples and exploring the slick drip of her cunt, has her whimpering a moan that sinks her back further against his body.
it's so much, with so much applied touch to her body, the mark behind her ear nearly beaming with its brightness as he grants it that arousing lick, her lashes fluttering as a result. she's so dizzy, the sight before her hazy as she drowns within those sharp pleasurable aches from tugged nipples and the exhilarating rubbing between her legs.
his promises to her ear arrive so unexpectedly, lips parting to find words before the sound leaves her mouth as a sudden sharp cry when he briskly drives his fingers fast inside of her. ]
W-waitβIβ! [ she can't even protest at this pace, throwing her head back again as she pants with short moans on every pounding thrust of those digits, one arm stretching out to press her hand flat to the wall simply for purchase as the other grips at his forearm, just to keep herself steady against his rocking hand.
she can't rock against him like this, not when he's fucking her so fast and deep that it takes all of her to hold herself in place. though she can barely focus on each individual word he speaks to her, she seems to understand them all the same, too acutely aware that she's never been pleasured like this before, so overstimulated and attentive, her mark leaving her all the hungrier for this ferocious pace. ]
Oh, fuck, Iβit feels so goodβyou're ... gonna make me comeβ [ even her voice sounds pleading, lost in the drive of his attention, of his buried knuckles, quick and relentless. she needs this, to satisfy that itch that's been given to her, but she wants it too. ] Please, please, please, don't stop, don't, I'mβ
[ she doesn't even need to rub at her clit to nudge her over that edge, already so soaked with pleasure that it doesn't take much rubbing of where she needs him to touch, as her thighs tense, legs quickly around his thrusting hands as she arches her back to his chest with jutting hips, as she climaxes with a tight squeeze around his fingers. ]
[It's such a rush, the power and the eroticism alike; there's something absolutely enthralling about the way this faceless woman comes undone from nothing more than the way he handles her, begging and shaking and clutching at anything she can find for purchase as her arousal bursts into climax around his clever fingers. And for a single fleeting moment he thinks of that gaggle of overeager men who'd surrounded her earlier, how they'd made their bid to have her but he's the one who came away with the prize, this gorgeous disheveled woman stimulated senseless in his arms.
Her cunt clutches tight around his fingers, a sharp squeeze that stills his motions from how firmly her inner walls trap them, but he's still got his thumb free enough to find her clit and rub around the edges of it, wagering that direct stimulation would be far too much but the indirect variety will prolong the aftershocks of her pleasure.
And if he's a little hoarse from the sight of it, his own desire bleeding into the ragged words that escape his throat — well. Treated to a marvel like this, who could blame him, really?]
Close your eyes. Close them and don't look —
[— he says, urgent, as he slips his fingers free and pivots them so that he's in front of her with her back to the wall, holding her there with one hand against her stomach while he rips off his mask with the other. It doesn't matter; there's no chance of seeing his face, not when it only takes him a moment to bury his face in her bosom and start to kiss his way down, pausing only long enough to suck at each breast in turn before sinking down onto one knee between her legs.
Yor had been pretty like this, he thinks fleetingly — not to be uncomplimentary to this anonymous woman by thinking of another while he's fucking her, but rather just in a rare moment of nostalgia. He'd liked her, and there's so much reminiscent of her in this woman now, the power in her thighs and the sweetness of her curves, and maybe that's his own Hearts suit to blame for the twinge of fondness and ache, but he'll deny it the whole way down if he's ever asked.
(Damned dark-haired beauties. He really does have a type.)
But fuck it, fuck it all, he pulls one of her legs up to hitch over his shoulder and wraps his arm around it to steady her in place, his other hand drifting between his own legs almost as an afterthought. Just a little stimulation, he just wants that extra little edge of pleasure to feed the rest of it — as he replaces the concealment of his mask with the way he buries his face between her legs, mouth to her soaking folds, making good on his own dirty talk in his drive to be memorable.]
[ she can't say she recalls coming quite this hard in recent memory, but she also wonders if she could recall ever coming this hard ever, because why she's definitely had her share of good orgasms, it's hard to say how often she's had it this heavily stimulated, every limb quivering as he keeps his fingers pressed within her, teasing grazing touches around her clit. something about the continued mystery adds to that heat, this unknown man that seems to pick up with ease how best to touch her, how to utterly destroy her instantaneously with the smoothness of that husky lustful voice at her ear and his serving hands.
when he speaks again, it takes her a brief moment to blink herself back to steadiness, everything still incredibly hazy from her climax, but she's so enchanted with him in this moment, that all it takes is a simple request for her to follow her, abandoning usual doubt and skeptical trust to place herself in this man's hands the way she already has tonight.
he guides her to turn around and she does so, her eyes already shut, eyelids visibly closed within the eye sockets of her mask, as she presses herself back to the wall, thankful for the support it gives her to keep standing straight. without being able to watch him, she gasps softly as he mouths at her breasts, the suction of those lips drawing out sharper breaths that still haven't quite steadied themselves. and yet despite the elevated pleasure she's already received, she doesn't feel done, as if she's been given a plate of something so fulfilling that it only seems to make her hungrier, her mark glowing persistently as it demands more, more, more.
and he provides exactly that, the heat of his mouth pressing to her cunt, so deliciously arousing and desired, as her fingers reach down to his shoulder and guide their way to the back of his head, now free of its mask. she can feel the soft strands of it β blond, she recalls, from what peaked out in limited view before β and she combs her fingers through it, almost affectionately, even with the curl of her grip that tugs lightly at his scalp. ]
Oh, fuck, fuck, it's soβ [ she pants for breath, one heel firm to the ground as she balances her other leg atop his shoulder, using the wall at her back to keep herself upright. she can feel it, the soaking sloppy mess from her climax, now heavy on his tongue. ] You keep ... making me so wetβit's so much ...
ok but the spiderman pointing after this is going to be so fucking funny
[Rufus Shinra wouldn't let just anyone touch his hair, would make certain anyone afforded the privilege was well aware of the rare opportunity it was. But he's not quite Rufus Shinra right now, even maskless, and the fact of the matter is he likes the feeling of fingers carding through the strands — odd affection he's almost never received from anyone, living or dead. It's charming, though, how she's grasping for some sliver of agency in her own pleasure now that he's affording her enough of an opportunity to try for it; though he's very overtly the one setting the pace, he doesn't resist much should she try to pull his head here or there to get his tongue in the places it feels best.]
Mmmmm.
[She's so slick and so soft, and notwithstanding all the other more despicable pursuits he's ever committed his mouth to advancing, he's undeniably skilled at this one. The undulations of his tongue are less aggressive than the pace of his fingers had been, more focused on stirring up sensation than overwhelming her with arousal — understandably so, when she's fresh off one orgasm and likely overstimulated for it.
But he's a delicate touch, both with the heel of his hand pressed against the bulge in his trousers and with the way his tongue circles and flicks at her clit, the way it parts her folds and dips down to test at her hole before flattening again for a lengthy lick back up again.
When he comes up for air, it's brief, and as much to get a word in edgewise as to refill his lungs for the next pass.]
Too much?
[He chuckles, more on the side of teasing than of taunting, but she does seem to like it when he talks to her with that edge of dark filth, so —]
Should I stop?
[The bastard.]
it's gonna be so beautifully disastrous, i can't wait
[ she doesn't so much as guides him with her tightening grip as she simply seeks something to latch onto, to keep her steady when her knees are already threatening to give out, when her thighs are still quivering from her last orgasm and yet readily seeking the chase for another. there's also something plenty arousing in feeling the motion of his head against her hand, how she can follow its movements as he explores the tasting of her.
the pace is so drastically different that it's almost jarring, in a way that isn't unpleasant, not as it seems to strangely help in grounding her, when his explorative tongue wanders with a patience that's almost torturously slow, rounding her clit with an awareness of its sensitivity that doesn't lets her breathe while still stretching out that lasting pleasure that doesn't seem to rest.
and then he stops, so abruptly, while she's sounding out another moan, that she has to will herself to avoid opening her eyes on instinct. she even gives a persistent shake of her head, before realizing that he might not even be looking towards her. ]
Don't.
[ with the convenience of those strands of hairs caught between her fingers, she briefly holds him as she blindly curves her hips forward, until she can feel the lips of her cunt teasing against the lips of his mouth, just the slightest flutter of contact as that damp pink skin smears its slick surface to the corner of his mouth and cheek. ]
Youβyou wanted to make me scream, didn't you? Make it so I can't forget, okay? [ her fingers loosen only so she can gently scrape the tip of his nails lightly to his scalp, thriving on these touches as her eyes remain shut, with honesty slipping from her lips with the boldness of this arousal. ] And ... and you won't either. Make me come so hard again that your tongue never forgets how I taste.
[And that's the first, most dangerous tell of his true identity — a favorite filler phrase of Rufus Shinra, spoken in the very same tone albeit with a significantly different context than his usual. Something she might think on later, perhaps; for the moment, he's humming his approval at the way her fingernails drag through his hair, alternating between pressing his mouth back against her and tilting aside to kiss at her thigh to keep her arousal holding at a plateau even while they exchange words.]
What a shame you can't scream my name. But I won't hold it against you.
[He noses at her thigh again, buying himself another moment to stretch and work his jaw in preparation, then ends her reprieve and returns to her cunt with renewed vigor; where before he'd tongued and teased, now he works his mouth firmly against her, paying lengthy attention to her clit as he sucks and laps at her.]
[ if there's any hints or crumbs sprinkled of the man's identity, tifa isn't in the midst of picking up on it, not while she isn't even seeking to find out who the man currently on the knees in front of her is, almost preferring that she not find out, since it means she stands a better chance of remaining a mystery herself. because she's not sure she ever wants to be found out, to be known for being this hungry for satisfaction, begging and pleading and moaning as shamelessly as she does now, basking in the luxury of anonymity.
though she does guiltily wish she could watch him, feeling the way he noses against her thigh as he paints momentary intermission kisses there, ticklish at the skin between the tight nets of her stockings. but it's all for the best, since she's not sure she could stare at him without instantly shying away at the way he buries his face to her cunt. ]
Is there ... something else you want me to call you?
[ or something else for her to shout in place of a name she doesn't wish to know. not that it matters since sounds will slip from her lips regardless. when his mouth returns, she's caught off guard by the increase in fervor, in the full devouring from lips and tongue. the leg atop his shoulder tightens, heel digging in at this back, as her hips respond to his mouth, writhing at the succulent attention to her clit.
as she keeps a hand clutched to his hair, the other rises to one of her free breasts, grabbing a palm full of the soft flesh and giving it firm squeeze as she pants soft moans again with each of her breaths. ]
[He could push his luck, perhaps. It wouldn't be the first he's demanded his partners call him one thing or another in bed, usually less for his own experience of hearing it and more for the thrill of getting them to say it. But that's more about the person he's provoking than it is about the words being said, and the thrill doesn't strike him as quite as potent when they're both anonymous.
Still, it's worth a moment's thought. Mostly because she sounds so pretty when she's panting and clinging to him like she'd fall if she didn't. Personalized appreciation has its allure, after all, particularly in a place like this.
And fortunately, there's an easy, natural code for them to fall back on, right close at hand.]
Wolf. Miss Bunny and Mister Wolf. [He rumbles a chuckle, low.] Since I'm enjoying your taste, and all.
[And eating her alive. That's certainly a part of it, too.]
[ in any other conversation, she would despise the metaphor, to shake with frustration at being seen as nothing more than prey against a predator, as if to highlight all of the weaknesses she's worked tirelessly to strengthen defenses in front of. but the costumes they wear here has certainly set their current roles into place, and there's no denial that it's him that's getting a full feast in eating her up, giving him plenty to lick up from between her legs.
annoying in other settings perhaps, but here β in tifa lockhart's place really is a bunny being made to bounce for the wolf that feeds so deliciously into her. the comparison regrettably turns her on more, index and thumb pinching tightly at her nipple. there's a satisfying freedom in pretending to be someone she's not β or to chase the cravings she's often too reserved to approach. difficult to say now. ]
Then ... eat me up, Mister Wolf. [ her back arches, hips rolling forward as her fingernails scrape lightly along the back of his head. her own cheeks flare red, bright with the lust that aligns with those animalistic desires of her own suit, made all the more appropriate with the assigned names of their game, emboldening her words to play along. ] Make β make this bunny come with your hungry mouth.
[He laughs again, and not unkindly; he's hardly about to complain at her willingness to play along, much less the way she's taken to pleasuring herself right along with his efforts. It certainly warrants a quick, appraising glance up to enjoy the view. It makes him wonder, idly, how much wetter he could make her from replacing her fingers on her breast with his own. She must be sensitive, to like it so much. He could bite them sore and then find her tomorrow just by looking for a pretty dark-haired woman squirming about from the chafing of her own clothes.
Now isn't that an attractive thought. Not particularly anonymous, but attractive — and worth contemplating when it was he'd gotten so concerned with his own ability to find her again. That would imply wanting to have this again, or more —
And so what if he does? She'd look just as lovely bouncing like a bunny on his cock.]
Heh. Then don't forget to scream for me, Miss Bunny —
[And since it'd be a little unwieldy to try to get a hand up and play with her breasts while he resumes his work, he opts instead to fit his fingers back up against her, first to hold her wide open while he runs his tongue the whole length of her cunt, and then to sneak back and press up into her again while he focuses the attentions of his mouth onto her clit.
His fingers slide so easily into her, loose and soaking wet as she is; he crooks them into a come-hither gesture once her walls are wrapped snugly around them, looking for the spot inside of her that will set her off at the same time he's stimulating her outside as well.]
[ it's a silly little game of playing pretend and she wonders if she might regret getting herself so tied up in it, if tomorrow comes and she'll feel the weight of shame for venturing somewhere so indecent, that she'd let herself be touched in a place so exposed, that she craved so hungrily to come over and over for a man whose name or face she doesn't even know.
but tomorrow is tomorrow, and right now, tifa remains in a swirl of suit-compelled lust, panting lewdly like an animal in heat, the animal that she seems to be with the ears upon her head and the wolf that eats greedily at her cunt like he truly might devour her for a meal.
with the inward slip of his fingers within her, returning to where they've seemed to find familiarity tonight, tifa gasps a sharper breath, as those digits thrust with such ease as if they belong there, taking her apart bit by bit. ]
Mmm, that'sβ! [ as his lips latch onto her clit, she tilts her head back, eyes half-lidded as she stares up into the ceiling, still keeping her gaze strayed away from her devoted provider of pleasure, clinging to the comfort of that lasting mystery, even as her mind races with the curiosity to know whose tongue does so well to such at that sensitive swollen bud, whose fingers curl to massage the depths of her cunt to guide her towards that peak.
another gasp with a sounding cry likely heard through the club. ]
Right thereβ I'm going to ... M-Mister Wolfβ! [ she calls out that false name with mewling whimper, as the climax takes command once more, hips squirming as she comes around his fingers for the second time tonight, even more slick against his knuckles than the first time, and leaving an equal mess against his lips and she rocks to feel that heightening excess of stimulation that begins to weaken her limbs where she stands. ]
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no subject
whatever the man's actual intentions behind it, the movement of his fingers applies pleasure towards her, adding to the heavy slick that soaks through the flimsy unitard with every stroke.
she watches the purposeful fall of that strap, its reliability in holding her up now loosened as her breasts slacken more against the fabric still trapping it. cheeks burn flush, aware that they're still not quite private here, and yet feeling undeniably turned on by the danger of it, by the part of here that doesn't care for once for too much decency.
but his fingers catch over her clit, the friction of fabric stroking over that sensitive bundle of nerves and the sudden overwhelming spike of pleasure does indeed have her jolt back against him, hips jutting out forward with a sharp thrust against his hand. her breasts give a light bounce in the reaction, fabric from the unstrapped side dipping lower that her nipple nearly begins to peek over it. ]
Ah, pleaseβ [ the plea leaves her lips in a small whimper before she can restrain herself, hips giving a slight squirm. ] It feelsβkeep touching me like that, please.
no subject
Shhh. Someone's going to know what you're up to, if you keep talking like that.
[It's entirely a ruse; these alcoves are designed for liaisons of exactly this nature, dampening the ambient sounds so that people can't be overheard unless they go out of their way to try. But it's just one more layer to the thrill of danger she must be feeling: unsteady on her feet and her top threatening to fall and her body craving the touch of a man she doesn't know.]
You're this wet already, and I'm not even inside you.
[It's not just that the fabric is soaked, either, but that it's slick, sliding all the easier against her sensitive folds with the benefit of lubrication to help guide the way as he rubs and strokes and stimulates her.]
no subject
I'm not usually ... like this.
[ because how could she be that wet when she's barely been touched, wondering if this lies in one of those things that simply is, all because of this mark on her skin, heightening want and and drip of slick from her needy cunt.
he applies that wet friction with the pressure of his fingers to the unitard, fabric grinding firmly over her folds and clit, her hips rocking against his strokes, intoxicated by the satisfying rub that jolts pleasure through her. her hand holds onto his wrist to brace herself, the angle of her arm as a result allowing the only reliable strap to now loosen at an angle at her shoulder, still hanging on but not having quite the same grip now that the other strap falls free.
but it's just enough, the top hem of the unitard dipping a bit more as she arches her shoulders more against his chest to jut her hips forward for his hand, the heavy round curve of a breast empowering that weak fabric to dip over it, the tight peak of her nipple exposed freely to the open air. her breath hitches when she notices, fingers squeezing at his arm, movement of her hips weakening but not entirely stopping. ]
W-wait β someone might see.
no subject
[And the best part is, it's impossible to tell whether she really means it or is just playing up the chastity angle; either way, it's all the better because it adds up to him being the exception, and therefore exceptional.
Beneath the circle of his supporting arm, she writhes — and sure enough, just as he'd hoped with breathless anticipation, she spills out of her top from the natural rocking motions her body is making against his stroking fingers. And oh, isn't she a sight, with her breasts so firm and her nipples so peaked, just begging to be pinched at and pulled.]
And so what if they see? Isn't that why you're wearing a mask?
[But it's the perfect opportunity to adjust the arm he's got around her, shifting it upward so that it's angled across her breasts instead — not just affording her the most laughable illusion of modesty, but giving him ample excuse to cup one of them in the palm of his hand, thumbing and circling the raised nipple as he does.
It's a distraction, to say the least, and one he intends to make use of; while he temporarily seeks to draw her attention to the touch to her chest, his other set of fingers finally pry the fabric of the unitard away and stroke her directly, rubbing only long enough to get thoroughly coated with slick before sliding low in search of her entrance.]
no subject
because he's right, isn't he? the mask if meant to shield her identity, just as unknown of a patron as all the rest here. even the fullness of her now exposed breasts shouldn't necessarily be traced back to her, not when the horizonal scar on her skin, tucked beneath the swell of those mounds, remains covered by the bunched fabric of the unitard.
his arm is only a minor barrier in censoring the view but her worries subside the moment his thumb massages over her nipple when he gropes her breast, the point tightening stiffly from his attention, practically begging for the pinch and tug of his fingers.
breathless, she tries to speak, ]
Are you sure no one's gonnaβah...
[ another soft moan spills from her lips, as she earns the direct touch of his fingers to her cunt, the heat of his skin a satisfying blaze that tosses her head back against his shoulders, lips parted with a steady panting as she maintains the forward arch of her hips for him to guide his fingers low.
she thinks of what he'd told her before β he could be anyone she wants or no one at all. in this moment, she's not entirely sure which of those she'd prefer, but she closes her eyes all the same, letting herself abandon tifa lockhart, to feel the anonymity of the mask, to pretend this is the first. ]
Do you ... do you like me like this? [ she whispers between her heavy breaths, the shyness of asking plenty authentic on its own. but she tries it all the same, urged by the stimulation that pulls her away from herself. ] So messy for you...?
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[It's pressing his luck, he knows, but this isn't just about her pleasure; he's more than hard enough in his slacks to be aching for attention, and he's already generously ignoring it for the sake of getting off on pleasuring her instead. He's allowed, surely, to pepper in a little dirty talk to make things enjoyable — especially if this stays about her satisfaction entirely and he's left to contend with his on his own.
Still, she's so responsive that he'd be hard-pressed to say he really minds. Her nipples peak so rapidly that he briskly shifts from thumbing at them to pinching and tugging, layering the constant rubbing between her legs with short flashes of sharper sensation, intent on keeping her thoughts scattered and her focus unbalanced.
While she's distracted, he tips his head to the side and catches the muzzle of his mask against his own shoulder, pushing it up and onto his forehead to free his mouth, leaving room to nuzzle in and drag his tongue over that red little diamond behind her ear. She wants her anonymity, of course, and so does he — but maybe they'd both be willing to gamble it a little for the sake of something worth even more.]
I'd like — [He begins, breathless, dripping with temptation dangled ripe for the taking.] — to make you come like this, just like this, and then get between your legs while you're still shaking from my fingers and lick you until you scream.
[He circles his fingers around her entrance; it's the only brief warning she gets before he's pressing his fingers up and into her, wet and ready and needy, fucking her fast and rapid with the cadence of his promises.]
I'd like to ruin you for everyone else who comes after this. Until it drives you mad, wondering who I am, wondering how to find me just so you can have this again.
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it's so much, with so much applied touch to her body, the mark behind her ear nearly beaming with its brightness as he grants it that arousing lick, her lashes fluttering as a result. she's so dizzy, the sight before her hazy as she drowns within those sharp pleasurable aches from tugged nipples and the exhilarating rubbing between her legs.
his promises to her ear arrive so unexpectedly, lips parting to find words before the sound leaves her mouth as a sudden sharp cry when he briskly drives his fingers fast inside of her. ]
W-waitβIβ! [ she can't even protest at this pace, throwing her head back again as she pants with short moans on every pounding thrust of those digits, one arm stretching out to press her hand flat to the wall simply for purchase as the other grips at his forearm, just to keep herself steady against his rocking hand.
she can't rock against him like this, not when he's fucking her so fast and deep that it takes all of her to hold herself in place. though she can barely focus on each individual word he speaks to her, she seems to understand them all the same, too acutely aware that she's never been pleasured like this before, so overstimulated and attentive, her mark leaving her all the hungrier for this ferocious pace. ]
Oh, fuck, Iβit feels so goodβyou're ... gonna make me comeβ [ even her voice sounds pleading, lost in the drive of his attention, of his buried knuckles, quick and relentless. she needs this, to satisfy that itch that's been given to her, but she wants it too. ] Please, please, please, don't stop, don't, I'mβ
[ she doesn't even need to rub at her clit to nudge her over that edge, already so soaked with pleasure that it doesn't take much rubbing of where she needs him to touch, as her thighs tense, legs quickly around his thrusting hands as she arches her back to his chest with jutting hips, as she climaxes with a tight squeeze around his fingers. ]
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[It's such a rush, the power and the eroticism alike; there's something absolutely enthralling about the way this faceless woman comes undone from nothing more than the way he handles her, begging and shaking and clutching at anything she can find for purchase as her arousal bursts into climax around his clever fingers. And for a single fleeting moment he thinks of that gaggle of overeager men who'd surrounded her earlier, how they'd made their bid to have her but he's the one who came away with the prize, this gorgeous disheveled woman stimulated senseless in his arms.
Her cunt clutches tight around his fingers, a sharp squeeze that stills his motions from how firmly her inner walls trap them, but he's still got his thumb free enough to find her clit and rub around the edges of it, wagering that direct stimulation would be far too much but the indirect variety will prolong the aftershocks of her pleasure.
And if he's a little hoarse from the sight of it, his own desire bleeding into the ragged words that escape his throat — well. Treated to a marvel like this, who could blame him, really?]
Close your eyes. Close them and don't look —
[— he says, urgent, as he slips his fingers free and pivots them so that he's in front of her with her back to the wall, holding her there with one hand against her stomach while he rips off his mask with the other. It doesn't matter; there's no chance of seeing his face, not when it only takes him a moment to bury his face in her bosom and start to kiss his way down, pausing only long enough to suck at each breast in turn before sinking down onto one knee between her legs.
Yor had been pretty like this, he thinks fleetingly — not to be uncomplimentary to this anonymous woman by thinking of another while he's fucking her, but rather just in a rare moment of nostalgia. He'd liked her, and there's so much reminiscent of her in this woman now, the power in her thighs and the sweetness of her curves, and maybe that's his own Hearts suit to blame for the twinge of fondness and ache, but he'll deny it the whole way down if he's ever asked.
(Damned dark-haired beauties. He really does have a type.)
But fuck it, fuck it all, he pulls one of her legs up to hitch over his shoulder and wraps his arm around it to steady her in place, his other hand drifting between his own legs almost as an afterthought. Just a little stimulation, he just wants that extra little edge of pleasure to feed the rest of it — as he replaces the concealment of his mask with the way he buries his face between her legs, mouth to her soaking folds, making good on his own dirty talk in his drive to be memorable.]
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when he speaks again, it takes her a brief moment to blink herself back to steadiness, everything still incredibly hazy from her climax, but she's so enchanted with him in this moment, that all it takes is a simple request for her to follow her, abandoning usual doubt and skeptical trust to place herself in this man's hands the way she already has tonight.
he guides her to turn around and she does so, her eyes already shut, eyelids visibly closed within the eye sockets of her mask, as she presses herself back to the wall, thankful for the support it gives her to keep standing straight. without being able to watch him, she gasps softly as he mouths at her breasts, the suction of those lips drawing out sharper breaths that still haven't quite steadied themselves. and yet despite the elevated pleasure she's already received, she doesn't feel done, as if she's been given a plate of something so fulfilling that it only seems to make her hungrier, her mark glowing persistently as it demands more, more, more.
and he provides exactly that, the heat of his mouth pressing to her cunt, so deliciously arousing and desired, as her fingers reach down to his shoulder and guide their way to the back of his head, now free of its mask. she can feel the soft strands of it β blond, she recalls, from what peaked out in limited view before β and she combs her fingers through it, almost affectionately, even with the curl of her grip that tugs lightly at his scalp. ]
Oh, fuck, fuck, it's soβ [ she pants for breath, one heel firm to the ground as she balances her other leg atop his shoulder, using the wall at her back to keep herself upright. she can feel it, the soaking sloppy mess from her climax, now heavy on his tongue. ] You keep ... making me so wetβit's so much ...
ok but the spiderman pointing after this is going to be so fucking funny
Mmmmm.
[She's so slick and so soft, and notwithstanding all the other more despicable pursuits he's ever committed his mouth to advancing, he's undeniably skilled at this one. The undulations of his tongue are less aggressive than the pace of his fingers had been, more focused on stirring up sensation than overwhelming her with arousal — understandably so, when she's fresh off one orgasm and likely overstimulated for it.
But he's a delicate touch, both with the heel of his hand pressed against the bulge in his trousers and with the way his tongue circles and flicks at her clit, the way it parts her folds and dips down to test at her hole before flattening again for a lengthy lick back up again.
When he comes up for air, it's brief, and as much to get a word in edgewise as to refill his lungs for the next pass.]
Too much?
[He chuckles, more on the side of teasing than of taunting, but she does seem to like it when he talks to her with that edge of dark filth, so —]
Should I stop?
[The bastard.]
it's gonna be so beautifully disastrous, i can't wait
the pace is so drastically different that it's almost jarring, in a way that isn't unpleasant, not as it seems to strangely help in grounding her, when his explorative tongue wanders with a patience that's almost torturously slow, rounding her clit with an awareness of its sensitivity that doesn't lets her breathe while still stretching out that lasting pleasure that doesn't seem to rest.
and then he stops, so abruptly, while she's sounding out another moan, that she has to will herself to avoid opening her eyes on instinct. she even gives a persistent shake of her head, before realizing that he might not even be looking towards her. ]
Don't.
[ with the convenience of those strands of hairs caught between her fingers, she briefly holds him as she blindly curves her hips forward, until she can feel the lips of her cunt teasing against the lips of his mouth, just the slightest flutter of contact as that damp pink skin smears its slick surface to the corner of his mouth and cheek. ]
Youβyou wanted to make me scream, didn't you? Make it so I can't forget, okay? [ her fingers loosen only so she can gently scrape the tip of his nails lightly to his scalp, thriving on these touches as her eyes remain shut, with honesty slipping from her lips with the boldness of this arousal. ] And ... and you won't either. Make me come so hard again that your tongue never forgets how I taste.
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[And that's the first, most dangerous tell of his true identity — a favorite filler phrase of Rufus Shinra, spoken in the very same tone albeit with a significantly different context than his usual. Something she might think on later, perhaps; for the moment, he's humming his approval at the way her fingernails drag through his hair, alternating between pressing his mouth back against her and tilting aside to kiss at her thigh to keep her arousal holding at a plateau even while they exchange words.]
What a shame you can't scream my name. But I won't hold it against you.
[He noses at her thigh again, buying himself another moment to stretch and work his jaw in preparation, then ends her reprieve and returns to her cunt with renewed vigor; where before he'd tongued and teased, now he works his mouth firmly against her, paying lengthy attention to her clit as he sucks and laps at her.]
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though she does guiltily wish she could watch him, feeling the way he noses against her thigh as he paints momentary intermission kisses there, ticklish at the skin between the tight nets of her stockings. but it's all for the best, since she's not sure she could stare at him without instantly shying away at the way he buries his face to her cunt. ]
Is there ... something else you want me to call you?
[ or something else for her to shout in place of a name she doesn't wish to know. not that it matters since sounds will slip from her lips regardless. when his mouth returns, she's caught off guard by the increase in fervor, in the full devouring from lips and tongue. the leg atop his shoulder tightens, heel digging in at this back, as her hips respond to his mouth, writhing at the succulent attention to her clit.
as she keeps a hand clutched to his hair, the other rises to one of her free breasts, grabbing a palm full of the soft flesh and giving it firm squeeze as she pants soft moans again with each of her breaths. ]
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Still, it's worth a moment's thought. Mostly because she sounds so pretty when she's panting and clinging to him like she'd fall if she didn't. Personalized appreciation has its allure, after all, particularly in a place like this.
And fortunately, there's an easy, natural code for them to fall back on, right close at hand.]
Wolf. Miss Bunny and Mister Wolf. [He rumbles a chuckle, low.] Since I'm enjoying your taste, and all.
[And eating her alive. That's certainly a part of it, too.]
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annoying in other settings perhaps, but here β in tifa lockhart's place really is a bunny being made to bounce for the wolf that feeds so deliciously into her. the comparison regrettably turns her on more, index and thumb pinching tightly at her nipple. there's a satisfying freedom in pretending to be someone she's not β or to chase the cravings she's often too reserved to approach. difficult to say now. ]
Then ... eat me up, Mister Wolf. [ her back arches, hips rolling forward as her fingernails scrape lightly along the back of his head. her own cheeks flare red, bright with the lust that aligns with those animalistic desires of her own suit, made all the more appropriate with the assigned names of their game, emboldening her words to play along. ] Make β make this bunny come with your hungry mouth.
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Now isn't that an attractive thought. Not particularly anonymous, but attractive — and worth contemplating when it was he'd gotten so concerned with his own ability to find her again. That would imply wanting to have this again, or more —
And so what if he does? She'd look just as lovely bouncing like a bunny on his cock.]
Heh. Then don't forget to scream for me, Miss Bunny —
[And since it'd be a little unwieldy to try to get a hand up and play with her breasts while he resumes his work, he opts instead to fit his fingers back up against her, first to hold her wide open while he runs his tongue the whole length of her cunt, and then to sneak back and press up into her again while he focuses the attentions of his mouth onto her clit.
His fingers slide so easily into her, loose and soaking wet as she is; he crooks them into a come-hither gesture once her walls are wrapped snugly around them, looking for the spot inside of her that will set her off at the same time he's stimulating her outside as well.]
forgive me for how ridiculously late this is ;;
but tomorrow is tomorrow, and right now, tifa remains in a swirl of suit-compelled lust, panting lewdly like an animal in heat, the animal that she seems to be with the ears upon her head and the wolf that eats greedily at her cunt like he truly might devour her for a meal.
with the inward slip of his fingers within her, returning to where they've seemed to find familiarity tonight, tifa gasps a sharper breath, as those digits thrust with such ease as if they belong there, taking her apart bit by bit. ]
Mmm, that'sβ! [ as his lips latch onto her clit, she tilts her head back, eyes half-lidded as she stares up into the ceiling, still keeping her gaze strayed away from her devoted provider of pleasure, clinging to the comfort of that lasting mystery, even as her mind races with the curiosity to know whose tongue does so well to such at that sensitive swollen bud, whose fingers curl to massage the depths of her cunt to guide her towards that peak.
another gasp with a sounding cry likely heard through the club. ]
Right thereβ I'm going to ... M-Mister Wolfβ! [ she calls out that false name with mewling whimper, as the climax takes command once more, hips squirming as she comes around his fingers for the second time tonight, even more slick against his knuckles than the first time, and leaving an equal mess against his lips and she rocks to feel that heightening excess of stimulation that begins to weaken her limbs where she stands. ]