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She looks so pretty like this.
All tied up like a present, delivered right at the feet of your throne, naked but for the binds securing her wrists behind her back, the collar fastened around her neck, and those blue eyes blazing with the righteous shame of defeat.
Fucking finally.
You grin at her.
A wicked, arrogant, obnoxiously self satisfied smirk.
"Well, well, look who has finally decided to drop by. Hey, Adora."
Her gaze hardens, those deep blue eyes flashing with fury, her jaw grinding at what has become your trademark taunting greeting, her cheeks flaming with a mix of annoyance and indignation and anger.
You scoff inwardly, wondering why she even bothers, for you see well underneath all of that.
You see it in the way her perfect, rosy nipples go stiff (but not because of the light chill in the air). You see it in the way she squirms (but not because of the discomfort of the binds).
She is so trasparent.
"What? No come back?" You inquire, quirking an impressed eyebrow. "Not even a thanks for my kind hospitality?" You taunt, crossing your legs at the knee and clicking your tongue in disappointment. "And here I thought you had at least been taught some manners on how to address your superiors in that Fairytale land of Princesses you have been calling home."
It takes a moment, but at last she seems to abandon whatever scrap of dignity she had left, finally kneeling on the dais.
The rush of arousal triggered by that delightful show of submission, by the acceptance of defeat, is so strong and sudden that it almost gives you vertigo, but you, at least, are able to conceal such a reaction by slipping behind the familiar mask of a delighted, wicked grin.
"That's more like it." You purr approvingly, standing up from your throne and assessing her up and down with an air of satisfaction. "It seems like someone has learned her place after all, hasn't she?"
This has her head snapping up from her submissive bow. Her blue eyes newly ablaze. As incandescent and unforgiving as the flame of a welder.
"You won't get away with this." She snarls, tugging uselessly at her binds.
You can't help but laugh. Because that's just so Adora. Only seeing what's in front of her rather than the whole picture.
"Oh, but you misunderstood." You coo, leaning down to grasp her chin between your claws. "In fact, I have no intention to get away with anything. I'm going to own this. Own you." Her pupils shrink and her breath hitches exquisitely.
You smirk.
"That's right. I'm going to parade you through the streets of the entire Fright Zone and let the rest of the world know that you now belong to me."
The prospect of being shown around like nothing more than a pretty prize has her sobering up. Her jaw clenching hard enough to outline the muscles there.
"I won't. Ever." She grits out.
"Oh, Adora." You smile condescendingly. "But you will." You promise her with confident certainty.
"You will pledge yourself to me and accept me, as your Lord."
Her face twists in a mixture of anger and disgust. "I never realized you were such a sick sadist."
Your smirk stretches into a grin in response to that. "Flattery won't get you out of this either, Princess."
"Fuck you!" She spits venomously. And the vehemence in her voice is so delightful that you can't help but purr.
"Say please first and I'll consider it."
She remains defiantly silent. But her cheeks are red and her eyes are alight... with something else other than indignation and anger.
"No?" You ask when no answer comes forth after a minute. "Well then. I suppose I'll have to start things up on my own."
That sure earns you a reaction. And while you expected as much, it's a whole other thing seeing it happen, witnessing the way her eyes widen. Hearing the tiny, stuttered gasp of breath that only your exceptional hearing allows you to catch. Even under the constant rumble of machinery and loud ventilation system in the chamber, you can almost hear the way her heartbeat stutters out of rhythm as well.
But that's just the beginning.
And by the time you have unbuttoned your shirt down to your navel and stripped off your torn leather pants, Adora can no longer pretend to feel simply hatred and fierce hostility.
You sit comfortably back down on your throne.
One foot perched on the armrest, one hand trailing down the fur of your chest and abdomen, slowly.
Adora's eyes follow every single inch your fingers travel with rapt attention, pupils blown wide. Her throat visibly bobbing as she swallows, roughly, what feels like a brick. Her whole face heating up like a furnace.
And by the time your hand has reached its destination, coming to rest between your legs, parting your folds, exposing yourself to her, that fierce blush has spread all the way down her chest and reached the tips of her ears.
A part of you expected her to divert her gaze. To turn around and look away and pretend this isn't happening. But she simply can't seem to be able to stop staring. Eyes wide, dark and unblinking. Lips lightly parted.
And that's all the encouragement you need to start touching yourself without further delay. The original intention of starting slowly, however, is quickly dismissed in front of that look of pure, unconceiled, ardent desire.
You let your fingers explore for a moment and...
Fuck.
You are so wet already.
Your clit hard and throbbing under your touch.
Your entire core spamming as you start to apply a firmer pressure, drawing tight circles over it and feeling a fresh flood of wetness gushing out from your opening.
If the low groan that Adora tries (and fails) to choke in the depths of her chest is anything to go by, then it was as much seen as it was felt.
"C-catra..."
You seize her in place with a sharp, dangerous look through narrowed eyes.
"It's Lord Catra to you, Princess." You correct her imperiously. "But... I think I'll let it slide. This time. After all, I can be merciful." You conclude with another obnoxious smirk.
If a look could strike someone down like lightening, the one Adora gives you is a nice attempt to achieve that.
Too bad it's hardly effective on you, and you only meet it with a saccarine smile in return.
"Yes... pet?" You needle her further but, much to your surprise, she doesn't react in any way worth of notice. Maybe she didn't hear you. What, with her eyes glued to the distracting sight of your fingers playing between your slick folds.
You stretch your other leg forward and lift her chin up with you foot, forcing her to meet your gaze.
"Was there something you wanted to ask me?"
She swallows thickly, then licks her lips, as if trying to bring moisture to her mouth, and its such a pitiful sight that you decide to help her out a little.
"If you want to take over, if you want a taste... you know what you have to do."
Her resolution starts to crumble. Visibly. The defiance and hostility she has been wearing even over her nakedness, start slipping off her frame, slowly burning away under the scorching desire that she's no longer able to conceal.
"P-please..."
Ooh. The head rush.
Your eyes flutter closed and your nostrils flare as you inhale deeply.
Falling from her lips like that, surrender surely sounds sweet.
But it's not enough.
A taste of victory has only left you greedy for more.
(In so many ways).
"Please, what?" You demand.
This time, she doesn't fight it, and it becomes clear that her resolution to keep her defiance up is quickly turning to dust.
"Please... Lord Catra. L-let me do that for you." She begs and stutters. What a treat. "Let me prove my fealty to you."
You are left so utterly stunned by the way she phrase it, by the look of absolute earnestness on her face, that for a moment your cockiness fades and you almost forget yourself, lost as you get into the dark, liquid desire pooled in her eyes.
It lasts for a second, but then you blink out of that thick haze of incredulity and bask in the rush of satisfaction that follows suit and that fills all the crevices that her previous victories over you had left.
Wordlessly, you reach for the leash draped on the armrest of your throne and beckon her closer.
For once, she obeys without hesitation, readily exposing her neck for you to hook the clasp on the metal ring of her collar.
You coil the leash slowly into your hand, forcing her to shuffle right up to you. Right between your legs.
This close, you can clearly see her pupils greedily swallowing the blue of her irises, turning her eyes into two dark, bottomless pits of lust she can't do anything about.
This close, you can hear the way her breath hitches in her throat when you tug, gently, experimentally, on the leash to test its resistance.
This close, you can smell the salty, lightly musky sweetness of the essence pooling between her own legs.
Your mouth instantly waters at the scent and you have to work very hard to choke down the growl that threatens to rumble in your chest.
Your grasp on control grows slippery, but you refuse to let go so soon. It's gonna take much more than simply smelling her for you to give in. Definitely more than seeing the way she looks between your legs and licks her lips as if she has been wandering the Crimson Waste for days without a drop of water. More than the pleading look in her eyes hidden under that utterly fake scowl of confrontation. Why does she even keep bothering at this point with this whole non-compliance facade... is truly beyond you.
"I don't know if you have quite earned the privilege yet," You tell her at last, waiting until the prospect of denial has her squirm impatiently on the spot. "But I guess it would be unbecoming of me, as your host and Lord, to not at least give you the chance now, wouldn't it?"
A look of utter relief and eagerness takes over her features, and it takes a great deal of effort not to snort in front of it.
Before you settle comfortably back onto your throne, you deliver one last warning.
"You bite, and I'll make sure to return the favor." You assure her, showily running the tip of your tongue over the wicked points of your razor sharp fangs.
The whimper that slips past her lips at the slow, deliberate motion has you grinning diabolically at her.
Perhaps later, you think.
For now however...
You tug at the leash and she readily shuffles closer, until her face is right in front of your cunt. To fluster her further, you spread yourself wide, unabashedly putting everything on display, and Adora... Adora, barely manages to give herself a moment to collect her thoughts and not appear too eager before inching closer and enveloping you in the exquisite warmth of her mouth.
Her tongue is so velvety, so unbelievably soft as it runs between your folds.
A tremulous breath of relief huffs through your nostrils and your eyes flutter closed.
"That's right." You purr approvingly. "Slow and steady. Prove yourself to me, Princess."
A soft noise that sounds suspiciously like a moan gets partially muffled by your flesh as she tongues wetly at your clit.
Fuck.
You almost let your pleasure be heard right there. Biting on your lip to hold it down, because it would be too soon. She would read too much into it. And that simply can't happen.
"Prove me you are worth keeping around." You tell her, sucking in a much needed breath of air to stop your head from spinning and regain your balance. "If not for your skills or as a throphy of my victory over the Rebellion to flash to my enemies, then for... entertainment."
That's what does it.
Hearing that twisted compliment spurs her on.
She goes to work with single-minded purpose. Switching between strategic flat licks that go from your opening to your clit, firmly circling it two, three times before sucking it between her lips and...
"Gnh..."
This time you are unable to contain the sound that slips past your lips.
But fuck...
That's good.
That's really good.
She is so great at this.
You lick your lips and take another breath, exhaling deeply, yet silently, as your free hand reaches out to slip onto Adora's hair. Freeing it from its usual ponytail and gripping it into a loose fist, guiding her while also starting to roll your hips against her, chasing after the compelling, slippery warmth of her mouth.
It feels so wonderful.
You can feel your own sticky heat pouring steadily out of you with every third flick of her tongue around your clit, your insides clenching with longing; a most vicious urge that has you almost consider freeing her hands from where they are still bound behind her back.
Those hands that are capable of performing miracles. Like... literally. And that would sure know how to soothe the ache that has started gnawing inside you.
But for a first performance, this will have to be enough. For now.
Thinking about what's next to come, however, becomes pretty much impossible the closer you are brought to that precipice, now almost within reach.
Adora must realize this, she must read all the signs of desperation that your body is so unabashedly showing, the way your voice catches as you try taunting her ("Is this the royal treatment reserved to all the Princesses?" And "No wonder the Alliance was so keen on keeping you with them, then.") completely going against what was your original plan of keeping your pleasure to yourself.
So rarely your plans go awry. But then again, most of the times they did, she was the one thwarting them.
Even with that thought burning in your mind, with the anger of those defeats simmering in your stomach, and the new determination it fills you with, it simply becomes impossible to keep up the pretense when she doubles her efforts at each one of your tauntings.
If anything, she seems to be spurred on by them. Licking and sucking and teasing at penetration with the tip of her tongue and then sucking again, flicking the hard, throbbing edge of your clit in the sweetly burning heat of her mouth until you are pushed with your back against the precipice with no way out but fall...
And so you do.
With your hand fisting a handful of blonde hair, your entire body tenses up as the tight coil in your lower belly snaps like an elastic band.
The surge of pleasure that zips through your nervous system - and soon enough floods through your entire body - nearly drowns you.
The heavy, violent pulses come relentlessly. Barely allowing you to breathe in between one and the next.
It truly feels like plunging into the ocean from a cliff, getting swallowed beneath the tumultuous waves crashing against its rocky face.
The only thing that keeps you anchored under those unrelenting tides of ecstasy, is the hand you have sneaked onto the back of Adora's head, holding her in place.
She keeps lapping at you for the entirety of it, enthusiastically so. Throughly showing her newfound devotion until it becomes too much for you to bear, your tender flesh growing overly sensitive with stimulation.
It must show in the way you shift your hips away from her mouth with a groan, because Adora stops (albeit with clear reluctance), gazing up at you with cheeks flushed and smeared in your own wetness, hair gloriously disheveled, and those deep blue eyes so shiny and open, so eager and pleased with herself.
"Was that to your satisfaction, my Lord?" She asks, a bit breathlessly, looking up at you from beneath her eyelashes and licking her swollen, glistening lips.
You are aware of the way your own eyes widen in front of that particular gesture. You can't quite help it. Luckily though, you recover pretty quickly, covering your slip up by smirking down at her.
"It was a decent start." You tell her, stroking her jaw with the back of your fingers, feeling generous enough to conceed a compliment, but not so much as to risk making one that would go straight to her head. (It's already big as it is).
"But we still have a long way to go." You inform her.
She seems... satisfied by your response. And fiercely determined. Her eyes positively flashing at the challenge placed in front of her (she's never been able to back down from those).
"What can I do for you next, my Lord?" She asks and your smirk widens, overly pleased.
So pliant. So eager to serve. And all it took was the taste of your cunt to make her so. It's... quite flattering to say the least.
In response to that, you swing your leg from the armrest and lean forward, slowly, savoring the way her pupils dilate further as you coil the leash in your other hand, until she is forced right up to your face.
You scent her and suppress a growl. (She smells exquisite).
She swallows. Audibly.
Your gazes meet.
And with your lips mere inches from her own, you voice your demand.
"Endure."
. . .
If she looked pretty when she was first presented to you at the feet of your throne, now she looks absolutely ravishing.
She may lack your flexibility, but the way her body arches is still a most delightful sight to witness.
The way the lithe, athletic muscles of her back and shoulders coil and release under her sweat glistening skin is just as mouth-watering.
The moans that fall from her lips composing the sweetest melody you'll ever hear.
But the most exquisite sight of all, the one that makes you clench painfully with need and has your stomach flutter something awful, is the one offered by her current, vulnerable position; bent over the throne, allowing you to thoroughly admire the way the puffy, swollen, glistening lips of her cunt stretch to accommodate the thick black shaft of your cock.
You must stare in awe a second too long, because Adora pushes her hips back, trying to take you to the hilt, but you'll have none of that.
"Nah-ah." You sing-song in admonishment, stilling her movement with a firm hand on her hip while your other one raises in the air. "I don't think so, Princess."
Her whimper of frustration turns into a sharp cry the moment your palm connects with her buttock. A sound that carries as much pain as it does (undeniably) pleasure.
A nice red imprint blazes on her right ass cheek afterwards.
It stings just looking at it. But it's important that she understands.
"Did you forget what this was about, Adora?" You ask her, leaning over her back to whisper in her ear, burying the shaft deep inside of her but remaining maddingly still, feeling the way she pulses and clenches greedily around you.
"No more control for you." You remind her, brushing a sweaty strand of golden hair away from the side of her face with one single claw. She shakes. A shiver that runs through her whole body from head to toe.
"I-I'm sorry, my Lord."
"No, you aren't." You declare confidently, yet without actual accusation weighing in your words. Because, after all, it doesn't really matter. It's truly of no consequence whatsoever.
You are going to break her regardless.
You are going to make her understand that She-Ra and her sword have been a noose around her neck this whole time. (And that this is how things were always going to end up like).
You are going to free her from that notion.
From the burden of duty.
You will fuck it right out of her.
And it's with that thought in mind that you lean back and resume your thrusts, slow and steady, precisely what she wants but not what she needs. Setting a rhythm that is granted to drive her insane within minutes.
Predictably, as soon as it starts having an effect on her, she fights it. Just like the moans that rise from her chest and that she stubbornly tries (and fails) to stifle in the back of her throat. They sound all the more beautiful to you.
Her hands - still tied behind her back and resting against the base of her spine - clench into fists, her forearms flexing as she tries, uselessly, to break free of the restraints.
"There is no way out of this." You remind her with a lazy click of your tongue.
She groans with exertion and relents but doesn't quite give up the attempt. Stubborn.
"If you want to come, you know what you have to do." You emphasize that by giving a deliberately vicious thrust, angling your hips to make sure to hit that spot and-
"Aahh!"
You know that you succeeded in your intent when she cries out like that. Sharp and unbidden.
"Come on, Princess." You taunt her, somehow managing to keep up the theatrics without giving away how labored your breathing has become, how far gone you are, how profoundly it is affecting you feeling her so...deeply and intimately- this prototype thing you are wearing sure is a marvelous invention, allowing you to feel absolutely everything.
"All you have to do..." You remind her, trailing one single claw down the center of her spine and eliciting yet another exquisite shiver in response when you circle around her hip. "...is ask."
A whimper follows, and just like that, you know you have her.
"P-please..."
There it is. A wicked grin stretches across your lips.
"Please make me come." She begs. "Let me come."
You could push her for more. You are tempted to. But in all honestly? It's quite enough. And while you may have been accused of being many things during the years - driven, ruthless, fierce, feral - straight out cruel never actually made the cut.
Without any more preamble, you retract your claws and reach around to sneak your hand between her legs.
Her clit is so slick and hard, throbbing with its own heartbeat, that a couple of strokes over it paired with a few, deep, well-aimed thrusts, is all it takes to send her over the edge.
Well... that and your explicit permission, of course.
"Come for me."
She does. Instantly so.
And you can only watch in rapture as her back arches and her whole body stiffens for a handful of seconds before releasing all that tension with a gloriously loud, broken shout of pleasure that echoes all around you.
"You see?" You tell her, bent over her back to whisper close to her ear as you keep fucking her through the apex of her orgasm - through those exquisite contractions rippling around you - deep and hard and merciless. "I can be generous."
You churn your hips and keep stroking her until she can't take it anymore and crumbles on the throne, forehead pressed against the armrest, breathing raggedly and shaking all over with aftershock, still occasionally clenching around you.
"Never let it be said that I ain't." You warn her, and with that bit of advice, you ease out of her spasming cunt. A loss you feel keenly, but the need to come is nothing compared to the one of seeing her shattering completely.
You crave it. At a bone-deep level.
And despite the way she looks right now - breathless, drained, exhausted - you know she has more to give.
You may have cracked the surface, but she is not broken... yet.
And so, with an arm draped over her middle, you lift her up and help her back to her feet, only for you to take her place and sit down on the throne, still holding the leash tied to her collar in one hand, while gripping the shaft between your legs in the other one. It's slick in your fist, and hot with the silky warmth of her cunt.
You stroke it a few times and the gesture earns you her undivided attention. Those deep blue eyes fix on your gliding hand and she sinks her teeth in her bottom lip, squirming on the spot, pressing her thighs together to contain the new rush of need that you are pleased to realize has already settled in between them.
You let your eyes roam over her, taking in every gorgeous inch of her.
She looks so beautifully flushed, from the tips of her ears all they down her heaving chest. Her hair a wonderful wild mess cascading down her shoulders in golden curls. Her eyes dark and glazed over with lust.
Your heart lurches in your chest at the sight of her like this.
And that must be the reason why you sound so breathless when you deliver her your next order. "Sit on me, Princess" you tell her, spreading your legs wider and firmly holding the base of the cock in your fist. "Ride me. I know you want to."
Oh, heavens if she does...
The invitation is literally all she needs to hear.
She doesn't even pretend to play coy or act reluctant. Not even a snarky remark makes it past her lips.
You have stripped her of those when she first buried her face between your legs. There is no point in pretending she doesn't want this anymore. No point in acting tough or in control.
"Yes, my Lord." She simply obeys, head bowed in an attempt to hide how flustered she is rather than in submission, but the sight is still oh so lovely that your ego soars.
Yet another crack.
She wears them so beautifully.
And, somehow, they make her look... whole.
Not a magical, almighty being overburdened by righteousness.
Just a woman.
So perfectly flawed.
Stripped bare.
And enslaved by the most primal of needs.
I did that, you can't help but think. Your head spinning with the rush of pride attached to the realization.
The throne is wide enough to allow her to properly straddle you, resting her knees comfortably along your thighs, giving her the space and leverage necessary for her own to flex so she can lift herself off you without using her hands for bracing. She does a marvelous job too, taking you deep to the hilt in one single down stroke and providing you with the delightful view of her slender hips rolling against your own, of her toned abdomen rippling with each movement, and of her perfectly sized, smooth, soft breasts gently bouncing right in front of you.
Your mouth waters at the sight of the stiff, rosy nipples topping them.
It doesn't even take a minute for Adora to establish a rhythm, and she only falters when you succumb to the need to take one of her breasts in your mouth while gently kneading the other.
She cries out in appreciation. Shuddering. Clenching viciously around you. Whimpering with need when you switch between sucking them in your mouth and lapping around the areola, coaxing them into a painful firmness, smugly aware of what the raspy quality of your tongue must be doing to her.
"My L-lord..." It's impressive, truly, the fact that she manages to mantain her rhythm in spite of all the discomforts you have burdened her with in the current situation, so you can definitely give her a pass for stuttering considering how far gone she is, basically balancing on the razor's edge, just waiting for you to...
"Please..." She implores through a sob. And you can't deny her. She has been so good. Followed your instructions to the letter and provided you with a most spectacular show.
You release her left nipple from your mouth with an obscenely loud, wet, popping sound and look up at her, meeting her half lidded eyes and that exquisite, lust-drunken gaze.
"Do it." You command her, brushing a thumb over an oversensitive, abused nipple. "Come for me, pet."
Once again, your permission is all she needs in order to let go.
Her orgasm hits her hard and fast. Her first one, at least, does.
But it becomes instantly clear that she isn't done. Not yet. She keeps moving on top of you as if she just got a taste of what she was really after.
In the midst of her peak, your eyes meet and your heart stumbles all over itself at the intensity of the look that she gives you.
Something soft and needy that has nothing to do with the hunger consuming her.
"Catra..." She breathes. Your ears perking up instinctively. Because your name shouldn't sound so good falling from her lips like this. (Perhaps this is why you originally wanted her to address you as her "Lord". To avoid what follows suit).
An unidentified tangle of emotions tightens in your chest. Swelling behind your sternum. Urging you to act even before you can properly identify what each single strand represents or even what that look on her face means.
It hardly matter, considering that you already know what she wants, what she is asking of you.
Without a second thought, you reach behind her and cut through the binds holding her wrists together with a single claw.
They fall, torn to shreds, and as soon as she is freed, her hands shoot up to bury themselves in your thick, wild mane.
With the chance to hold herself up properly and brace against you, she rides you even harder.
In a way that will definitely leave her sore to the point of regret tomorrow. But fuck... it feels so good.
The wet, silky, tight slide of her inner muscles along the shaft. It tugs deep into your own core, where the other half of the device is hooked right against your front wall, sending pleasure signals to your entire nervous system, lighting it on fire.
"Please." She implores, and when you look up at her, you can see her eyes glistening with moisture. Your breath catches at the sight. Your heart throbbing in the confines of your chest. "Come with me."
And that's it.
You may, somehow, have been able to starve off your own need until now, but there is really nothing you can do in front of that pleading, desperate look or upon hearing that request.
Whatever restrain of self-control you had left snaps just like the binds around Adora's wrists did the moment you sliced through them.
As if realizing that you will follow her, with one more, deep thrust, Adora arches her back, rocking her hips to take you to the hilt, and coming with a choked wail and a gush of wetness spilling out of her in a rush.
It soaks the fur of your groin and thighs but you barely notice, for the sight of her coming undone so openly, so vulnerabily, is so spectacular that you find yourself toppling over that precipice with her the next time she drops, heavily, on top of you, grinding into your lap.
Sinking your claws onto her thighs to hold her in place, you come. Explosively.
The contractions rippling around the shaft so viciously intense that are almost painful. The overload of sensations almost leaves you dizzy. And yet, you yearn for more, rolling your hips up and meeting her as much as you are able to in your current position, but it's enough to slide just that extra inch deeper, it's enough to quench that thirst, until that coil in your belly has unfurled completely, until that ache deep inside of you has been soothed.
The free fall lasts for a sweet eternity. You glide through the descent smoothly, and the landing finds you both panting, trembling with exertion and lingering pleasure bordering in overstimulation.
Adora slumps forward, crashing against your chest. Boneless. Breathing heavily. Looking thoroughly ravished and... oh so deeply satisfied.
You can feel the blissed-out smile stretching on her face where she has pressed it against your collarbone.
Needless to say, it triggers one of your own.
There, you think, reaching up with one hand to stroke your fingers through her marvelous, golden hair.
That's your girl.
Only once you see her and feel her like this you are truly sated.
Only this sight subsides the hunger that has been gnawing inside you, the itch that has been crawling under your skin.
"You all right there, 'Dora?" You ask her softly.
She hums and nods against your chest. You are going to need something more than that to be sure, but for now, while she tries to regain her breathing (and bearings) it's enough.
In the meantime, you hold her in your arms and run your hands up and down her sides, her back, her thighs...
She is still fluttering around you, albeit weakly- she has nothing left to give. Nor do you.
Your current position though, which you somehow managed to maintain for all this time, suddenly feels deeply uncomfortable, and the mixture of your releases pooling beneath your seat doesn't help. But the mere thought of severing the contact just yet feels unbearable, and judging by the way Adora protests with a quiet whimper and by wrapping her arms tighter around you when you try to move, she must feel the same way.
Luckily, you think of an alternative that will allow you to savor the afterglow much more comfortably.
And so, without pulling out of her yet, and summoning whatever scrap of strength left in your body, you stand and lift her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around your waist and tightening further as you shift her weight to lay her down on her back on the floor.
The dias is cold and hard beneath you, but against your hot, sweaty skin it's actually a welcoming relief.
You are particularly careful as you lay her down, supporting her head, and making sure not to put your whole weight on her by bracing yourself on your elbow instead.
Only then you reach between your bodies to pull out, both from her and then yourself; carefully, mindfully, aware of how tender and sensitive she must feel, discarding the toy without a second look as to where it lands, doing the same with her leash and collar, before gathering a shaky, twitching, quietly murmuring Adora in your arms.
"H-hey..." She croaks sheepishly, eventually, finally having recovered enough to manage a greeting.
You pull back just enough to be able to look at her, startling a bit when you are met with a pair of the most stunning blue eyes you have ever seen, looking up at you with overwhelming softness and affection.
A sudden, unbidden wave of similar emotions swells inside you then. Urgent. Demanding. And you can't fight it.
Something like a vice tightening around your heart. So exquisitely painfully that it makes it hard for you to even breathe.
"Hey yourself..." You greet her back with a grin, lightly winded still, leaning in to nuzzle the side of her nose with your own. She sighs and reaches up to run her hands through your mane, lightly scratching at your scalp without meaning to, and promptly causing your diaphragm to vibrate.
"Catra..."
"I'm right here." You assure her, holding her close. "I got you, babe."
Not close enough apparently, for she hooks one of her hands onto the back of your neck, urging you down in search for that one last missing piece.
Once again, you are far too happy to oblige.
Your lips meet in a slow and infinitely tender kiss.
It's not even open-mouthed. There is not even a hint of tongue, and yet, the sentiment in it manages to leave you absolutely breathless. That same feeling in your chest tightening even further, as if preparing to implode on itself.
"You did so good." You praise her as soon as you part. Going to the attack by pressing soft kisses all over her lovely face. "So good. You were such a good girl." Upon hearing that, a shiver runs through her spine, raising goosebumps in its wake that have nothing to do with the light chill in the air. And even though you guess that the reason that has her tucking her head into the crook of your neck is so that she can hide the furious blush spreading on her cheeks, a pang of apprehension twists suddenly in your stomach. A chill of dread licking down your spine and making your hackle rise.
"Was I... too rough?" It's a miracle you even manage to ask that question considering how breathless and sick the possibility that you were makes you feel.
As if knowing that words, no matter how sincere, won't ease that tight, spiked knot of worry that has suddenly lodged itself in your throat, Adora delivers her answer by pulling you into another kiss, this one deep and long and all-consuming, leaving no space for doubts of any kind.
By the time she draws back, you are left blinking stupidly, wondering what had you so perturbed, until you see Adora shaking her head with a smile and confirm you that, "It was exactly how I wanted it."
The rush of reassurance is like a soothing balm, allowing you to exhale the rest of the apprehension that had taken a hold of you, easing the tension in your chest by releasing the breath you had been holding and smiling gratefully at her.
"And thank you." She adds, much to your utter bafflement, with such a weighty amount of honesty and gratitude that has your lips part repeatedly like a gasping fish and your cheeks flare up with heat. "You were right. I... I really needed that." She admits, and then you are no longer the only one blushing furiously.
You have to blink some more to get rid of the fog of confusion that had temporarily clouded your every thought but, luckily, you mange to recover in a reasonable amount of time without risking to look too stunned.
"I... mh... S-sure. Anytime." You assure her, stuttering in spite of your best efforts to act unaffected, trying for a confident smirk in order not to look too thrown by her heartfelt confession, but you can feel that the edges are too soft, shaping it into an honest, terribly fond (and quite flustered) smile instead. "I mean it."
She smiles right back at you, a little bashfully, but with a knowing twinkle in her eyes.
She looks so serene and content. Lighter somehow. And knowing that you are the reason for that, knowing that you have succeeded in what was your original plan, is what gives you the greatest boost of all, what brings you as much satisfaction as the one brought by the many orgasms you have shared in the past half an hour, even if you have only considered your own pleasure an after-effect. (Albeit a very, very enjoyable one).
You did this for her.
...all right. Maybe the first part was for your benefit, but the rest of it? It was for her.
To help her understand.
To teach her how to discern the two parts of herself.
She had to realize that control is She-Ra's thing in battle. A burden. A weapon pointed at herself. A restraint.
She had to understand that "Adora" - plain, ordinary, dorky, klutzy Adora - is not all powerful.
She is not all seeing and all knowing.
That no one expects her to be invincible all the time.
That the world won't end if she allows herself to remove those shackles and enjoy the freedom that comes with it.
That she is not without weaknesses and has never been (a part of you still takes an inexplicable amount of pride in knowing you are her greatest one). And that pretending she doesn't won't make it so, so she might as well embrace the reality of it instead of the empty comfort that comes with denial.
She just had to let go completely. For this was, among other things, also an exercise in trust.
If you stop to actually consider it, this whole thing was basically just a therapy session, really.
You are pulled back from your musing by Adora sighing in contentment and snuggling further into your arms. Instinctively, you wrap them tighter around her, rearranging your bodies so that you are resting with your back against the throne and with her curled up right with her head against your chest.
"I liked it too." You admit, needlessly, after a minute of comfortable silence, swallowing hard at the fresh memories of her bent over, so pliant and vulnerable, so open and trusting, an image that promptly has your inner temperature rise all over again and your heart stumbling over several beats. "...a lot."
Adora laughs, a breathy, shaky, amused laugh. "Yeah, I could tell." She says as one of her hands disentangles from your mane to reach and stroke that spot behind your ear, instantly making your diaphragm vibrate along with your larinx to emit an embarrassingly loud purr.
Who the fuck cares, you think, as your bodies fold closer onto each other's on mutual accord, seeking for warmth and comfort.
You are alone anyways.
Well...
...not quite.
One of your hands finds its own way lower, to rest on her belly, your thumb stroking tenderly just below her navel, along the spot where the tiniest bump is starting to show on her otherwise very flat, very toned abdomen.
Adora hums in contentment at the gesture, her lips curled into an unmistakable smile that you can feel pressing against the side of your neck.
Of course, her stomach choses this exact moment of quiet, cozy tenderness to emit the most obnoxiously loud, growling noise.
You can barely suppress your laugh.
"Hungry?" You ask her instead, smirking knowingly.
She giggles, not even embarrassed anymore. "Almost constantly these days."
And since it's safe and she is clearly comfortable (or perhaps resigned to this recent, metabolic change) you join in with a chuckle, too.
"Then we should probably get up and go home to get you two fed." You suggest.
Heavens may have mercy on all of you if She-Ra were to ever get hangry.
Forget Prime and his brainwashed posse.
No one in the universe would survive such a calamity.
And yet, even with that pretty real possibility in mind, the prospect of severing this coziness and bursting your peaceful little bubble of newfound comfort and understanding is as unappealing to you as it is for Adora, who makes her own reluctance known.
"Just... a few more minutes, please?"
The most embarrassingly endeared smile curls on your lips, reaching and softening the look in your eyes into something overly mushy. Something that, no doubt, would have had your past-self cringe and gag at in disgust.
"Of course," you whisper, nuzzling her cheek with your nose and pressing a kiss to her temple.
Because fuck your bratty, damaged past-self.
How could you possibly ever deny her anything when she gets this gooey and cuddly?
It's all you ever wanted.
To have her in your arms like this.
To hold her and kiss her and love her.
(...to be a part of her, you think, heart fluttering wildly behind your sternum as your hand resumes its soothing motion on the tiny bump of her belly.)
And that's precisely what you do.
Unabashedly purring up a storm while she sighs contently, burrowing her face in your collarbone while lightly scratching at that spot beneath your jaw, her breathing easing into the slow, hypnotic rhythm of drowsiness that, within minutes, tugs seductively at your own consciousness.
You probably shouldn't give into the temptation, here, still naked and curled up on the floor like two bugs.
But it hardly matters, really.
That sense of safeness and belonging, the one you have long searched for, you have finally learned (and accepted), lies in her arms.
No matter where you may find yourselves.
With that comforting reminder, you give in and join her in slumber.
The rest of the world can wait.
After all, you have all the time in the universe... and beyond.