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For Jill, it was more than just necessary to her to take her redemption at Drake's Breath. It was the salvation she needed to move forward, the vindication of achieving absolution against a power she once trembled before, a direct confrontation of her deepest darkest fears.
Make no mistake, these fears were not of death or dying or even injury during the course of infiltrating that infernal hell she used to call home. Her fears were facing the untold numbers of men she murdered at the hands of barbarism, the women and young girls sacrificed to force her to prime repeatedly, and then slain when her body gave out and she couldn't, and just as prevalent despite being buried deep within her psyche, the knowledge that Clive would undoubtedly look upon her in a different light when he learned about what she did.
From the moment Jill was taken from Rosaria, she became familiar with anguish. Her imprisonment in Ironholm was everything she had never understood about barbarism. It was an undeniable force of malicious intent she couldn't have fathomed at a time in her life when all she had experienced was a political trading, and escape from a blighted home. Granted, her status as a ward at the Duchy of Rosaria wasn't necessarily the easiest change of pace, but the kindness from her new caretakers, and her newfound crush on a strapping young Shield created romantic feelings that drowned out her discomfort. Nevertheless, during her tenure at Drake's Breath, all she considered about her experience alongside Shiva was anguish.
The sheer amount of taxation her body has gone through should mean it miracle enough she wasn't entirely stone. But it did mean there was a large presence of the curse upon her. Large swaths of her skin was blotched in ashen stone, blooming in dusty clouds like ink dipped in water, crawling up her sides and along the ridges of her shoulder blades, and the reason for such tumult in her thoughts. For all it might be worth, the infection of her curse meant more to her than just stone crusted skin and limited mobility, it was a direct reflection of her imprisonment, the brutal trauma she experienced, a daily reminder of her past transgressions and worldly sins.
How cruel a world it was to reflect such forced trauma with a petrified expression against her own will. How ironic to have the ability to actively grow and change as a living breathing being yet shackled by a brand of unyielding stagnation; how terrible a life to live knowing that with every breath of life, a blighted plague festers in response, decaying unendingly, be it skin upon mortal bodies or wheat among the fields. This was more than just the ebb and flow of life and death, it was undue punishment for the audacity of being born, for simply trying to survive, for actions she had no choice in performing, and allegiance bought with searing shackles of a burning rage.
The moments that Jill anguished, it was because she felt deep within the bones of her body the sorrow of their plight, the indescribable suffering of a futile struggle against living, and the sheer grit it takes to keep treading onward to fight not for a world for themselves, but a world for their children. Their children's children.
She anguished in that damnable temple from the moment she was taken from Rosaria. Lava hot, brutally unforgiving, punishing and torturous, barbaric.
She anguished over the trodden bodies of her kith, assaulted with chains and of knives and of men, dragged through coals, and sacrificed to an unloving mountain of alien will for doing naught but exist.
She anguished for her broken body, withering to stone, pushed beyond reckoning, never to be whole again, never to be beautiful again.
She anguishes here presently, sprawled horizontally on volcanic stone clutching Clive as he held her through powerful wrecking sobs. She anguishes here remembering how he carried her limp form out the fortress after collapsing from another priming event, even though he already helped fight her battles, and labored her labors. She anguishes while he strokes her hair and tells her it's going to be ok, laying on the cinders of a broken rock in the middle of accursed boiling waters, crystalline shards and embers of hot ash raining down upon them in a sprinkling of blistering needles. She anguishes at how comforting he is when he shouldn't be, how kind he is when he should judge her, how loving he is when she doesn't deserve it for all the atrocities she has committed.
She anguishes over the crumbling rubble of her once prison, now vacant and in ruin, hating that she had even once called it a home, or resigned to a life she never thought she would be without, hating these conflicting feelings.
And she anguishes knowing that here she lay, alive, free, still strong despite her ailments, all at the behest of thousands of slain lives, thousands of innocent lost, thousands of hours of toil and torture.
Her body is shaking with myriads of emotion, uncontrollable waves of crashing anger, and stormy volatile thoughts of prior trauma, memories rippling through her body and mind as if she was still experiencing them
She hiccupped wetly, a mournful howl wrenching from her battered and sob wrecked throat and she gripped Clive like a lifeline, pressing her face against his sweat soaked chest, and fisting her dirty hands in his blood soaked cape. His thick arms surrounded her shaking body, one around her shoulders so his hand securely tucked the back of her head into his body, under his chin, the other under the curve of her midsection, his forearm bracing against the plane of her back. The whole of her body was encased in his as he let her wail her grievances, lay among the ashes of bitter conquest, and release her years of burdens into his shoulder. His mouth rested upon the crown of her head as he embraced her, she could feel him mouthing words into her hair, his fingers gripping tightly against her scalp, but the scattered sounds of crashing ocean spray, of crumbling lava rock, and of the ringing in her ears muted them to dull whispers.
Even as she began to calm, relaxing into his body and letting her form tremble against his soothing words and strong embrace, her vision wobbled and a dizziness overtook her, an agonizing swirl of darkness in her head that pounded with a fury of titan himself, and suddenly she slipped, falling headlong into a deep dark vacuum of an echoing silence.
When next Jill awoke it was to the slow steady rocking of sea travel. As she opened her eyes, she was greeted with a blurred view of planked hardwood ceilings and she blinked slowly letting her vision clear and waited until the woodgrain was in full focus. She breathed out a deep sigh, still feeling sore from her collapse on the volcanic shores, and looked around to assess her surroundings.
A set of portholes next to where she lay encouraged sunlight to stream in columns of yellow light across the creaky wood and provided a visual interest to watch the undulating waves as they sailed. She was presently laying on a flatbed of rumpled sheets, and as she turned her head to the side she noticed a second pillow, and an empty bedside. There were bolted shelves spanning a bank of the wall in front her with rope tethers and carrying all manner of packages, bundles, containers, and tools. Near what looked to be the cabin door was a table with a plate of fruit and bread resting atop the surface as well as a two goblets and a canteen of what she hoped was water.
And to her relief, on the far wall was a built in desk with a familiar set of blades laid upon it, as well as what appeared to be her mail skirt and blue wrap overlayer.
She breathed deeply again shifting back to look at the ceiling and took a few moments to move her appendages, feeling the soft blankets and the legging straps around the soles of her feet, ankles rotate and crackle, hips and ribs twist normally, and shoulders roll under her. She raised one hand in front of her face and gave herself a small wave with her fingers, finding her gloves also removed, and her arm mostly bare to the elements, the sleeve of her shift having slipped downward.
She closed her eyes again, smelling deeply of the salt in the air, the earthy musk of her dirty hair, and an herbal scent that reminded her of ointment or tincture. The events of Drake's Breath came slowly back to her and she lay in a state of fluctuating emotions, all vying to out compete the others, as they emerged in a cacophony of derelict images. Her internal conflict both embraced and rejected this new marker in the timeline of events that signaled a definitive end to that part of her life. The more she celebrated the ruin of Ironholm, savored victory over her oppressors, bid farewell to her bitter past, the more she felt like she really hadn't come out of this on top, that she incurred more wounds than what she inflicted.
The issue was deeply personal, a vanity of longing and of loathing. A deep revulsion of her body that had suffered so traumatically, and came out uglier in the end.
The thought of her own flesh seemed alien to her, a body forced upon her existence, brutally tread upon, scarred by aether, never to be whole again. It frightened her to think of how Clive would surely feel the same way she did when he saw her battered skin, made unclean by the elements. Her body was almost as gone as Cid's had been before his end, what if she couldn't remain on their journey, or support Clive when he needs it. She tried to suppress these quelling thoughts, attempting another vow to continue to be strong for him, look past her curse and trudge forward like all the rest, to ignore the pain, and focus on the goal. Ignoring the issue might not fix her internal reflections, but it had helped in the past to keep her eyes ahead and her legs moving forward.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew her attention from her muddied thoughts. The heavy bootsteps paused at the door to the room and as it slid open along the track and she took in the visage of Clive's broad form ducking under the bulkhead to enter, and swiftly turning to close the door behind him, the distinct sound of a latch clacking sharply in the room.
His hair looked damp from ocean spray, and his leather armor shone with tiny droplets of seawater. She watched him head directly to the desk, not noticing she had awakened, and place a stone bowl upon the surface he had been carrying. As Jill took in his tall form, imposing in the small cabin, she smiled slightly, genuinely pleased to see him and not having the faculties yet to speak aloud anyway.
He began the process of undressing, shucking his gloves from his hands and his accessories from his belt and laying them next to her clothes. His cape and unbuckled spaulders landed atop his discarded gloves followed closely by the underlying mail shirt and securing outer leathers, leaving him in his white shirt and black pants. He ran his now bare fingers through his hair, shaking some of the seawater from the strands, and shifted his stance to favor one leg. He sighed lightly as he cuffed his sleeves in mechanical motions to the crook in his elbows, and then lifted the stone bowl in his hand, turning directly toward her.
Their eyes met across the room and she watched as his face blossomed into a look of surprise, his eyebrows lifting sharply and his eyes trained steadily upon hers. He took three large steps to the bedside where he lifted a leg to kneel on the firm mattress and reach for her face, still balancing the stone bowl aside him. He placed a gentle kiss upon her lips and Jill sighed into him, eyes closing in the blissful feeling of his mouth, and breathed with him deeply as they sealed their mouths together for several long moments. As he pulled back, he pressed their foreheads together, whispering lowly. "How are you feeling?"
She looked into his eyes somewhat forlornly, trying to work out a few good words to convey how she was feeling but finding herself battered and in no fit state for much else. Visions of stoney scarring littering her figure pricked her mind again and she knew they had likely grown from her experience at Drake's Breath. "I'm fine, Clive" Her voice was hardly above a whisper, a vulnerable plea to reject the truth of the matter, that being she most assuredly was not fine. "Thank you for asking."
His subtle expression exposed a lilt of sympathy for but a moment and she felt his thumb stroke across her cheek, before his eyes crinkled in the corners and he smiled at her. She lifted a heavy arm to caress his face as he did hers and ran her fingers through his salty hair, down the plane of his neck and chest and let it drop against the bed again.
"Good." His firm response was comforting, a strong reminder of his faith in her. His unwavering strength awed her at times, how determined a man he was, how his unending trudge forward was a lifeline in the darkness of her self-loathing, and she chided herself for allowing those thoughts to overshadow the efforts he made to carry her unconscious body aboard.
She shared his smile and relaxed into his gentle hand, now stroking through her hair, and down her side. "Your injuries took their toll. We should see Tarja when we return." He smoothed his hands down her thinly veiled form and patted twice on her hip. "But I have a curative to help with the ache in the meantime."
She looked at him somewhat concerned, feeling suddenly out of her element, and self conscious about her broken body. Thoughts of shame manifested quickly as the implication to remove her shift yet again gave rise to the fear that Clive would no longer like what he saw, no longer want her. "I don't..." She started, not knowing how to form the words, not wanting to give those thoughts the privilege of existing. "Clive, I'm not..." She could feel her body trembling in her own misery, the anxiety of knowing Clive would certainly loathe to look upon her accursed flesh wracked her body heavily. She turned her head to the side, looking to the stack of her clothes as a lifeline, a barrier reachable in a few short steps that she relied upon using as cover for her blotched and stone cracked skin.
For his part, Clive simply looked inquisitive, a mild concern lacing his features, staring down at her and waiting for an answer. But Jill couldn't say it, couldn't express her feelings out loud. She just fidgeted awkwardly in the silence, her hands coming up to fist protectively in the fabric at her front.
As if he could sense her inner turmoil, Clive stood and placed the bowl on the bedside, returning swiftly with a goblet full of water from the canteen and handed it to her, waiting until her shaky grasp steadied. Jill craned her head slightly as she tilted the goblet to her lips and downed the drink, feeling immediately quenched, yet still trepidatious. Her unspoken words troubled her as deeply as the thoughts themselves. Why can't I just say it?
She proffered the empty goblet and he returned it to the table, a troubling expression now tinting his face. As he looked at her again, she chewed delicately on her bottom lip and clutched her shift tighter to her chest. This was not a good time to broach the subject, she did not want to talk about this, air even more of her fears out to dry. She needed time to get her anxieties under control.
Again, he must have sensed something from her nervousness because he was suddenly back on the bed, maneuvering his body to lie on his side next to her and turning her to turn toward him so they faced one another. His arms pulled her close in a light embrace and she was reminded of how familiar this position was. "Speak freely, Jill." His deep tone rumbled through her, a low whisper of concern.
She sighed deeply, knowing he wouldn't let up until she confessed and looked at his concerned blue eyes. She stuttered for a moment, still not finding courage to speak her mind, and then in a shaky exhale, jumped the gap and blurted everything out.
"The curse has spread, Clive, I'm no longer..." She paused again for a moment of tact, still afraid of giving life to the words she needed to say "...well I'm certainly not the girl I once was, as you are...now aware." She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his reaction, shutting herself inwards, and trying to be as small as possible.
She had said it. Said it aloud.
"Jill," His tone turned to a chiding exhale. "Do not labor these thoughts." He draped his arm across her waist, and propped his head up with his other fist, elbow pressed into the sheets. "I think no such thing about you, and neither should you." His hand at her waist squeezed gently in assurance, his face a calm expression of thoughtfulness.
She sighed, hearing the truth in his words, but still remained helpless to her own insecurities as they battered her mind in unforgiving waves of insidious pressure. "I know," she said, not really that sure she knew at all, but desperately wanting to be sure. "It's difficult not to think about it. About... us." She hoped he understood her implication, because she didn't want to explain in any real capacity. She released a hand holding onto the front of her shift, letting the fabric droop naturally and reached up to firmly press upon the bridge of her nose and the center of her brows with her knuckles, feeling a mild relief from her still aching head, and shielding her face behind her pressing fingers. "How silly I must seem to harbor ill thoughts when I'm lucky enough to be alive at all."
He hummed lightly and stroked up her body, fingers now grazing the thin fabric at her shoulder and drawing a path over her covered skin to dip around towards middle of her back. The action shifted the neckline of her shift and she watched his eyes travel down her face and neck to stare at it. "I think you are even more beautiful than the day we first met." His voice was low and soft, a smile in his expression, and a romantic flare of heat bloomed beneath her breast.
The feeling of his hand against her back caused her abdomen to flutter, and her breath to catch slightly before she ducked her head again to hide the flush on her cheeks. "You can't possibly..." believe that.
"Life has never been easy for us," he spoke again, a serious tone overshadowing his overall positive countenance. "And it won't magically improve anytime soon." His hand moved up her back to cradle her head with a soft caress before swiping firmly down to press against her lower back sensually, caressing the delicate curve of her spine, and pulling her close to his body. She instinctively grasped the front of his shirt in her hands, their breath mingling in the air between them.
"Your experiences make you the woman you are, Jill..." he smoothed down the rounded curve of her hip, his thumb dipping in the crease and his fingers grasping at her clothed flesh. He continued his path down her body, a firm massage on her thighs had her breathing heavily and his hand pulling her knee up had her heart pounding.
"...and you're strong for it."
The slide of the fabric down her now upturned leg was an explicit sensation of indiscretion despite still having her skin covered. He used her cradled knee as leverage to guide her back to the sheets, rolling atop her and settling across the length of her body in a heavy press. His head dipped to touch their foreheads together as his arms bracketed on either side of her shoulders.
"I have never seen such beauty as I see before me." He closed his eyes and deeply inhaled, dropping his head to rest in the crook of her shoulder, looking ever like a man relishing a satisfying sensation and she thought her heart might simply burst from her chest at his words of reverence.
Her body was flickering with the growing flames of a thousand candles. Adoration, respect, love, desire, solace, all coursing through her body at once, leaving her insides alight in a shower of sparks, crackling with anticipation. He was too good to her.
She slid her calves slowly up the length of his long legs, feeling them widen slightly for more contact and interlocked her ankles behind his back, repeating the motion with her arms up the ridges of his back, and deeply embracing him, unable to quite convey how taken she was with his veneration, how blessed she felt to have him to steel her mind from wandering thoughts of woe.
"You always know what to say..." Her breasts squished against his chest as he leaned over her and she turned her head to press her cheek against his hair, resting upon the pillow and letting their entwined presence sink into the sheets. She could feel him relax into her body, a dip at her pelvis, the breath in his belly expanding against her own, a deep and warm exhale against her cheek.
A low whisper reached her ears. "I love all of you, Jill." She trembled beneath him, body aching fiercely for him, soaking in his love and feeling the floaty elation anytime she heard those words, and she returned in kind. "I love you, Clive."
She stroked down his back, feeling the soft linen of his shirt and unlatched her ankles, opening her thighs to wind her calves back down the leathered musculature of his legs, entwining them, pulling his thighs to widen in-between hers, and trying her best to curl around him like vines along a tree branch.
She could hear a groan sound in the room and suddenly they were spinning again, and Jill dizzyingly found herself atop Clive, their positions reversed. She braced her now fully upright body on two arms at his chest, curling her feet slightly and feeling the securing strap of her leggings around the middle of her soles pull taut.
"As tempting as you are, I will first use this curative." His firm tone sounded less of a scolding remark for her, and more of a reassurance to himself and Jill adjusted herself to sit squarely in his lap, her fingers trailing down the front of his shirt toward his abdomen. She could feel herself internally clasp, the heady notion of sex far too exciting now to care for mere curative.
She wanted to worship the planes of his body, devour his deep gravelly moans, send them both to a place where she had never doubted herself or Clive in the first place. How foolish these thoughts of worthlessness in a time where every moment could be their last. How selfish of her to push the only man away who she ever wanted for thoughts of self slander.
Jill needed this man desperately, no matter to her plight of aethercurse.
Clive it seems had other plans as he sat up, deftly undoing the buttons of her shift and then pulling the fabric up and off her body, freeing her skin to the ambient air. Jill gasped at the sensation of freedom and reached to hold the slight globes of her breasts that puckered at the sensation. As she gently cupped and squeezed herself for relief, Clive had removed the shift from the bed entirely and was dipping two fingers into the stone bowl now sitting on the sheets beside them. How he had retrieved it was beyond her understanding.
He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck with soft lips and wet licks, and she felt him move her hair over her other shoulder and away from the plane of her back. The cold pasty touch of ointment on her spine made her shiver slightly and his teeth grazed her neck in response. She felt his fingers travel the line of her splattered wound, ebbing back and forth in circular motions to rub the ointment in. His touch strangely alternated from soft unfeeling pressure on the parts that were stone, and warm delicate sensual presses on the parts that were skin. His lips on her neck and his other arm steadying her as he worked was near maddening and she felt her head crane back, and her mouth open in a gasp of pleasure.
Never had such a clinical procedure felt so effective in her life. She was sure her mind was aiding these thoughts, convincing herself she was already feeling better even if her muscles didn't cooperate. She was sure it was her mind telling her that Clive's embrace as he rubbed small circles into the edges of her curse was no placebo, that the curative was truly a miracle medicine. However she didn't care to correct her imaginations, for the feeling was euphoric. She felt the fragrant oiling paste of the curative numb the dull twinging ache and soak into her skin, making the glide of his hands smooth along her back. She moaned slightly, gripping his arms and shoulders, tilting her head to the side to give him more access to her neck.
His mouth was sinfully wonderful, nibbling soft bites, massaging her skin with his teeth, laving the roughness of his ministrations with slow kisses and the warming heat of his tongue and breath. He worshiped the column up to the base of her jaw and then all the way down to the dip near her shoulder. Jill's arms around his neck pulled tighter, clutching his head to her body, pressing her naked breasts against the linen of his shirt, and hearing herself moan again softly into the ambient air.
She felt him shift again and he was suddenly laying her back against the sheets once more, kneeling above her and unbuttoning the waistband of her leggings, pulling them down swiftly and tossing then aside. She looked up at him, and found his eyes glazed, a heady look of concentration about his countenance and she stretched her arms above her to tangle in her hair, giving him unfettered access to her splotched sides. He quickly ripped his shirt from being tucked in the waist of his pants and tossed it somewhere out of sight, reaching once more for the ointment. She closed her eyes again with a soft gasp as she felt another pass of cooling paste along her skin just under a breast, his strong fingers working down her ribs, the muscles across her naked belly and toward the swell of her hips and she squirmed against the sheets for him.
He leaned over her, tonguing an aching nipple into his mouth, his hands firmly massaging her flesh in small circles and she moaned wantonly, her legs jerking to the sides of his hips, wanting to open for him. She felt the vibration of his responding groan against her breast as his lips teasing her puckered flesh relentlessly. He lifted one thigh sensually, tracing the curse down the flag of her hip and slender leg, unknowingly pulling her wider for him and Jill arched against the sheets, her pelvis tilting to receive.
Clive released her nipple from his mouth and left a burning trail of kisses down her sternum, past her ribs, and to her bellybutton where he licked delicately, drawing a shudder from her whole form. She was gasping on the sheets, writhing under his finger work and awash with the romantic bliss of Clive's attention to detail. Her arousal was a burning heat at her core, simmering wetly between her legs, sticking to her thighs.
He sat back slightly, lifting her leg to rest on his naked shoulder and dutifully attended to the small spots on her calf, his lips pressing kisses the farther up her leg he worked. Jill's other leg lifted to brace her foot on his thigh, succumbing to a desire to push, to pull, to move anything at all. "By the flames..." She heard herself whisper, eyes closing as she relished in the weightless feeling of her now quivering body.
"Good?" Clive asked, his body leaning sideways to set the stone bowl of poultice again on the bedside, and wiping his hands on a corner of the sheet. The leg on his shoulder fell to the sheets and she relaxed it to lay open against the bed.
"Very good." Jill moaned softly. "That is certainly not how it goes in the infirmary." Jill was panting, her body both numb and overstimulated, her skin rubbed thoroughly with ointment and deeply massaged to a tender softness.
"Mmm" Clive leaned over again, his now curative free hands sliding back up the curves of her body, and his weight resting fully upon her and the bed. He dipped his head to kiss her, this time deeply, his tongue slipping inside her mouth to explore the back of her teeth, tangle with hers. She felt herself whine into his mouth, her brows furrowing in bliss and entwined their legs again, anchoring him to the bed and spreading his thighs between hers erotically. His leathers were pulled tight over his bulging crotch and she rocked into it, wanting to open the whole of her pelvis for what lie beneath. He pulled back slightly, sliding his tongue from her mouth and nipping at her lower lip.
"You mean to tell me, Tarja doesn't put you on your back like I do?" His eyes belayed amusement, and he rocked into her at the expression of his thoughts, the feeling of his dick now clearly prominent against her nethers.
"Clive!" Jill sharply gasped, utterly scandalized at his teasing. She gazed at his wolfish grin, a flush coating the whole of her face and neck. His words certainly distracted her from his shuffling movements at their hips because all of a sudden the weeping slit of his cockhead smashed against her pussy, and glided thickly up through her lips to lay squished between their bodies rigidly. Jill shuddered and arched her neck, head pressing against the sheets and a soft cry escaped her.
She managed to blink away the blinding pleasure for a moment to retort, "If Tarja heard you talking like that, she'd put you on your back." Jill gasped as she felt Clive move again, sliding the ridge of his cock up and down the outside of her folds, a low chortle rumbling in his throat at her graphic words.
The feel of him at her entrance was maddening, the heavy weight of it, the promise of girth, the thick masted head flushed red and drooling atop her mound; she wanted it buried inside her, and she wanted it now.
"Not a chance," Clive grit out, sounding a groan in her ear, hurriedly reaching down to fist himself as a steadying measure. Jill looked down between them at the pornographic view of his hand holding his prick against her open thighs and grunted softly, as he continued to pet her pussylips with the head of his cock. The contrast of her pale skin against the black leather of his unlaced rumpled pants only enhanced the view and heightened her need.
"Or maybe," Jill was impatient, using her feet to try and pull Clive into her by the backs of his thick thighs, and failing to budge the steel wall that was his muscled body. "If you don't get inside of me, I'll be the one putting you on your back." She could feel the squish of her wetness even as her legs remained apart and desperately needed it to be filled.
He grunted out a startled laugh, and his dick at her hole was suddenly gone as he wrenched them sideways again, landing so she was above him, their bodies an odd angle on the bed, and their limbs a tangled mess. He gave her a roguish look, and reached down again to fist himself, his knuckles brushing across her dripping slit and mound with each dragging stroke upward. "At your command, My Lady." He spoke, a clearly teasing tone of wicked implication.
Jill moaned long and low, quickly adjusting herself to kneel above him, aligning his dick with her pussy. Her breathing quickened as she rushed to get him inside of her. She reached a hand down to widen her hole with two fingers, and sat slowly, engulfing his body and letting gravity assist in his penetration, causing both parties to moan obscenely. She threw her head back, feeling herself arch, and continued to adjust until their hips were flush, her inner thighs bracketing his waist, and her cunt spread so wide and drooling where they connected.
Clive let out a rakish grunt, his hands now sliding downward to cup her knees and tilted his pelvis, the dick inside of her moving in tandem, plugging her hole and stretching her deeply. She could feel every inch of him, swollen inside of her shaking body, shoved flush against her deepest parts, a rod of iron that she clenched around in flutters of ecstasy. Already she felt her peak draw near.
She flexed her thighs, dragging him from her body and then sat again, building an agonizing rhythm, taking him deeply within her at every downstroke. His prick was hot inside of her, a burning presence that had her whining and squeezing involuntarily. Every time she sat, the soft squishy head of his cock adhered to the back of her pussy in a wet kiss that left her shuddering.
Clive's rough exclamations had Jill peering down at him, his face awash in pleasure, mouth slackened, eyes trained at the junction of her thighs where they connected. His arms were astride her legs, squeezing her ankles at his sides with full hand grips. His muscles clenched with every thrust, the cut plane of his abs flexing rhythmically, his chest heaving with hot breath, the taut cords in his neck glistening with new sweat.
She could hardly concentrate on all the stimulus, feeling fuller than ever, the wet glide of him inside her inflamed her walls with sparks of excruciating bliss. She pressed down on his chest with both hands as she shifted her legs farther apart, and he moaned wildly beneath her, the hands on her ankles squeezing tightly and them moving to grip the flesh of her ass.
The experience of having such a place of power over him let loose her inhibitions. The stretched walls of her pussy, his solid hips between her, the hands spreading her as she moved, it was rapture.
Clive's fingers squeezed the flesh at her backside and reached further behind, touching the slippery wetness where they were joined and Jill gasped out sharply, a cry of pleasure bubbling from her throat as his wandering digits stimulated the ridge of his prick and the stretched skin of her taint with every measured stroke. She felt herself lose control slightly at the new sensation and the muscles inside of her contracted sharply drawing a frantic "Ah, Fuck" from his mouth. His head slammed back against the sheets neck clenching and arching and his hands shifted again, holding at the crease of her hip while one thumb brushed over her clit several times.
Jill's body released without warning, clamping fiercely down on his cock, her knees jerking to close but blocked by his body between her thighs, and she felt her whole body shudder through a mind-numbing orgasm as he continued to softly rub her clit, her channel sucking along the intrusion in waves of undulating spasms. "Founder, Jill" was his weak response, her body having stilled atop his as she slowly came back down from the sky, twitching with the aftershocks of sparking bliss.
She wasn't aware of what sounds she was making as all the blood in her body rushed to her groin, swollen and still wanting. Clive's deep groan under her had her flexing again, and as she pushed up slightly, a gush of her fluid lubricated his penetration, and he gripped her tightly with near bruising strength. Jill's body shuddered and she adjusted to sit up straighter, beginning a rhythm again, stirring their connection, controlling his ebb and flow within her body.
She closed her eyes, awash with orgasmic bliss, already starting to build again to another peak and slid her fingers up the planes of her own body. Her featherlight touch was a direct contrast to the smoldering passion burning inside her, and it made her shiver as she felt along her own curves and dips.
Her belly button was the most sensitive, sharp spears of icy sensations accosted her when she dipped her finger inside and made her shudder and clamp down upon his dick. The skin on her belly and ribs was soft, and she smoothed her hand across her body, mostly dodging the splatter of stony scars, but occasionally feeling their prominence. The globes of her breasts were bouncing as she lifted and sat rhythmically and she cupped them again to squeeze the friction, feel their warmth, and ease the ache of her pebbled nipples. Her clavicle and neck were nothing to write home about but it felt good to swipe up the planes of her chest and neck and grip the strands of her long hair as she lost herself to waves of pleasure.
Clive's hands were on her waist again, thumbs brushing against her belly as he began to guide her faster, shucking her body on and off his cock in tandem with her rhythm, the wet glide becoming far too stimulating. The muscles in her thighs were burning, an exertion she happily ignored for her want to keep shoving him inside of her. Her arms reached back down and braced upon his forearms, letting him take some control and fucking up into her.
He was gasping, eyes screwed shut, a furrowed look of concentration upon his brow, and she derived great pleasure knowing her body was the reason he teetered on the edge of release, a precipice of euphoria. She herself wasn't that far off, her whole body being yanked around, shoved repeatedly upon his prick.
She could feel when he was near ready to release, his cock swelling mere slivers longer, throbbing against her walls, his thrusting slowing ever so slightly, his pelvis tilting in just the right way, and she relished the thought of her sheer might atop him in wondrous rapture. She had missed his hands readjusting his grip again, and that damnable thumb pressed diligently upon her clit, jarring her from her thoughts and ripping a second release from her body.
She jerked heavily, her movements abruptly stopping and she arched her back unintentionally, slamming down upon his groin and clenching heavily around his twitching prick. In her bliss she nearly missed his sharp gasp, before a long whining moan of an exhale sounded in the room and a gush of heat spilled within her, splashing in hot streams, and dripping in small rivers down her passage. The moments lasted excruciatingly long, as if stopped by time herself. Clive was clutching her, his shaking hands like embers on her belly, keeping her astride him, and panting heavily.
She watched his eyes blink open and refocus blearily, a grunt working it's way out of his throat and his eyebrows relaxing again from their furrow. She leaned forward to get off of him, and they both groaned with the slide, their fluids splashing onto his belly in a messy splatter. Jill fell to one side, sitting upright on one hip, bracing an arm by his shoulder and curling her legs under her.
As she looked his dazed expression, she couldn't help but smile down at him, and leaned over to kiss him, her breasts brushing against his shoulder, and her hand cupping his jaw. She felt his own arm snake around her body to palm the back of her head as they kissed, engaging her with warm breath and gentle tongue. As they parted briefly, his hand stayed at her nape and the corner of his mouth tilted in a pleased smile.
"I could never find you undesirable, Jill."
She closed her eyes and smiled at hearing his whispered admission, feeling an elation thrum through her bones, and a wash of relaxed calm pique her emotions. She leaned down to kiss him again solidly, gently, lovingly.
"I know."