april
2nd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2006
- Messages
- 1,307
- Points
- 83
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTMK4819R/
Merrit
Merrit is silent for a long moment, standing in the half-light of his private chamber; nothing but candlelight and velvet shadows cloaking the room. His midnight eyes are fixed on you, still and unblinking. He looks almost statuesque; tall, pale, beautiful, dangerous. He exudes the kind of love that doesn't burn…it consumes.
You had asked the question.
He doesn't answer with words at first. Instead he crosses the room in three slow steps, never breaking eye contact. His strong hands find your waist, pulling you into his chest. His breath is warm at your ear, voice low and smooth, wrapping around your spine like a spell.
“How much do I love you Petal?” He murmured. “Enough to ruin kingdoms. Enough to break rules carved in stone. Enough to tear gods from the sky if they so much as touched a hair on your head.”
His hands slide to your hips, holding you firm, his voice darkening. “I love you enough to claim you in front of the stars. Enough to mark you in every way until no part of you remembers anything before me.”
He lowers you gently to the bed, his body following. The air grows thick with need, the edges of the world curling inward as his hand slowly traces the lines of your jaw. His midnight blue eyes watching you with something ancient, fierce, and utterly yours.
“Now, ask me again,” he whispers. “Ask me how much I love you when I'm inside your mind, your skin, your laughter, when your every breath sounds like my name.”
One dimple teases into view as he reaches for your hand, fingertips swirling your palm before gently gliding along your wrist, then up your arm, so slow, so featherlight, it makes you twitch.
He notices.
“Oh?” His smirk sharpens. “Are you already that sensitive, petal?”
He leans in, brushing his lips just beneath your ear. “You know what I love even more than your laughter?” His other hand curls around your waist, hovering just above your hip. “The way your body trembles when I almost tickle you.”
With devilish intent, he gently presses his fingertips into your side, just enough to make your breath catch. He doesn't wiggle them, not yet. He just rests them there. Waiting.
“You're so easy to undo,” he whispers. “So eager for it. Aren't you?”
You squirm under his touch, and that wicked dimple deepens as he trails soft lines along your ribs. “I haven't even started yet,” he teases, now dragging a single finger down the center of your belly. “But I'm going to. Slowly. Sweetly. Until you can't take it anymore.”
His other hand moves in tandem, ghosting beneath the hem of your blouse. “Lets see,” he breathes, “just how much you love me.”
Then.
He truly begins.
Slow, gentle strokes across your stomach, tracing patterns that seem innocent until they're not. His hands are maddening; delicate, skillful, never staying in one place long enough to get used to, never letting you predict where he'll strike next. He hums softly while you giggle and twist, his gaze dark with focus.
“Show me what you're feeling,” he coaxes, fingers dancing higher, threatening to tease beneath your arms. “Every flutter. Every gasp. I want it all.”
Your laughter bubbles out, breathy and broken. He smiles, both dimples out now, and his hands suddenly retreat back down to your lower abdomen where he takes his time, drawing languid, loopy circles that make your core tighten, your breath hitch, your body beg for more.
“Is this how you like to be loved?” Merrit murmurs, barely audible over your squeaks. “Teased…until you're trembling?”
His head drops down, kissing just above your navel, his breath hot. With wicked grace, he blows softly, then resumes whisper light touches all across your belly. It's too much and not enough.
You're giggling helplessly when his body suddenly shifts above you, the weight of his length pressing you down into the bed, his hips pinning yours with deliberate, measured control. His pale face is inches from yours, that sinful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, those blue-black stars, burn with affection and torment, a promise that you are entirely his.
“Now,” he murmurs, fingertips cruelly brushing along your sides. “Tell me you love me. Say it.”
You twist beneath him with a sharp giggle, trying to squirm, but his legs cage yours and his free hand catches your wrists.
“Merrit!” You whimper, laughing nervously, your body tensing with anticipation.
He hums darkly, his voice deep and low. “Say it. I want to hear it while you're laughing. I want to feel your ribs shake with it. I want to tickle the truth out of you until you can't say anything but how much you love me.”
His fingers press into your ribs, precise and relentless, sending shockwaves of laughter from your chest to your thighs. He knows exactly how to work your most sensitive spots; just the right rhythm, just the right pressure. He's not rushing. No, this is Merrit. He's savoring it. Every sound, every wriggle. Every desperate plea.
“I…I love you! Merrit, I love you!” You shriek through the torment, thrashing as he digs into your sides more firmly, fingers dancing up toward your underarm and then back down to your waist with infuriating patience.
His voice is honeyed with cruelty. “Not enough. Say it again. Louder.”
You gasp for air, tears beginning to form at the corners of your eyes. “I love you! I love you! Merrit! Please!”
He kisses your forehead tenderly, his hand never stopping. “Good girl. But I'm not quite done yet.”
He had you completely pinned, completely at his mercy; hip to hip, thighs straddled, his weight ensuring zero chance of escape. You looked up at him with wide, tearful eyes, your chest rising and falling rapidly, desperate for air.
“Again,” he murmurs with that unsympathetic, velvet voice. “Say it.”
“I love you…” you gasped through a giggle, your voice cracking under the weight of impending hysteria.
He chuckled low in his throat. “No, no, no. Not just once, love. I want it over and over.” His fingers flexed ominously above your weakest point and you knew what was coming.
Then he leaned down, head dropping to your neck, lips brushing your skin, wet and obscene. “Let's see how long you can hold out before you break completely.”
He dove into your underarm, fingers curling and releasing over the sensitive nerves and tendons mercilessly. The touch was fiendish, remorseless. He knew precisely how to make you dissolve.
Your laughter exploded, high and anguished. “AH! NOOO! M-MERRIT, PLEASE! PLEHEHEHEASE!”
“Please what?” He asked sweetly against your cheek, not slowing at all.
You buck, tears streaming down your temples as the tickling overwhelmed every sense. “I LOVE YOU! I-LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU, MERRIT! I SWEAR!”
He beamed down at you like the prince of shadows he was. “Again.”
“ILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOU!”
“Thats better,” he purred, tone molten with satisfaction. “Keep going, petal. Keep confessing.”
The torture never stops, fingers burrowing into the hollow beneath your arms while his mouth left gentle kisses on your cheek, your jaw, your temple. It was unbearable; affection and torment perfectly entwined.
You screamed professions of love, your laughter making words sound barely coherent now. Desperate pleas and promises spilled out shamelessly.
“ANYTHING, I PROMISE YOU…PLEASE! ANYTHING!”
Still, he didn't let up. “Promise me forever,” he growled softly, “while you're laughing so pretty for me.”
You whimpered, hysterical, your voice stuttering. “I promise! I belong to you forever…Merrit, FOREVER!”
He finally slowed, hands gentling, giving you the barest chance to breathe. He brushes a damp strand of hair from your face as you lie there, gasping, shaking, and flushed with giggles still echoing in your lungs. His lips resume those sweet, maddening kisses; forehead, chin, cheeks, nose, and finally your lips; tender and slow, like he's tasting the sounds still lingering between you.
“You're so beautiful like this,” he murmured, voice threaded with both devotion and threat. “So wrecked…your body begging for more.”
You barely whisper his name before he slides his fingers between your bodies and brushes over your right hip, drawing a startled squeal from your lips.
“Oh, was that too soon?” He coos mockingly, eyes flirting with mischief. “Poor thing. I was going to let you recover. Truly. But then that sweet sound you made…” he traces a fingertip within the dip of your hip, smirking, “and that just felt like an invitation.”
Your mouth opened to protest, but Merrit has already repositioned himself above you, dragging your arms down, pinning both your wrists beneath his knees at your sides.
“What do you love most about me?” He purrs, his hands resting lightly on his thighs, fingers tapping impatiently.
He doesn't wait for an answer, he attacks; hands moving with predacious speed, finding the dips on your hipbones and pressing in heartlessly. The room erupts with the frantic sounds of hysterics as your back arches clean off the mattress.
“WHAT DO YOU LOVE, PETAL?” He demands loudly, laughing with you. “Say it! Say it right!”
Your fingers clutch uselessly at the sheets beneath his knees as you scream out, “EVERYTHING! I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU!”
“That's not specific enough,” he growls mirthfully. “I want details. Do you love my hands? My mouth? My shadow drenched soul?” He bends over, so closely that his dark hair brushes your forehead. “Or is it how I ruin you?”
You pant between squeals, barely able to catch a breath, but his little game demands you try. You screech out nonsense, then finally manage a breathless, “Your hands, your mouth…Oh gods, Merrit, please stop!”
But he doesn't stop.
He digs in now, properly. No mercy. His fingers flutter and press, spidering madly against your hips. He's smiling again, so sweetly, dimples flashing in stark contrast to the devilish rhythm of his hands.
“You're not being completely honest with me, are you, love? There's one thing you love more about me, isn't there?”
He knows you can't think. He knows you're barely even breathing. And yet he keeps pushing, keeps teasing out of pure desire; perfect, gleeful desire to hear you beg and admit surrender. His grin is both sinister and loving, the cruelest kind of familiarity.
“I'll tickle it out of you if I must,” he whispered, low and dangerous. “Again and again, until the only words in your mouth are mine.”
His eyes pool with satisfaction, knowing full well you're too giggly and dazed to form words easily. But his fingers are already inching towards your underarms again.
“Tell me what I do to you,”he coaxes in a deep, teasing growl. “Tell me what you want me to keep doing to you. Say it. Say it or else…”
He lets the threat linger.
The moment you stall, Merrit pounces, hands diving back beneath your arms, both now, fingers working with unholy accuracy, forcing you to explode into belting laughter, hips bucking frantically, legs kicking furiously as the scene turns reckless and chaotic.
“What do I do to you, love? What does your body crave? Come now, speak through the laughter. Beg for it. Properly.”
The confession breaks free; torn from your lips between the chaos he's created and wild-eyed desperation. “I think about you all day, about this…everyday! I can't focus, I can't stop! I…I even dream about it; about your hands, about you tormenting me like this, I love it!!!”
He stills.
His smile turns molten.
“Oh, petal…” he breathes as a rare, boyish grin overtakes him. “You dream about this?”
His hands return in full force, and you scream, thrashing helplessly as his fingers vie for every hypersensitive spot within reach. “Let's make your dreams even worse, shall we?”
Your laughter rips through the chamber, echoing against the walls as Merrit drinks it in, ravenous and adoring; his torment, your surrender, all wrapped in a confession he'll never let you live down.
Merrit
Merrit is silent for a long moment, standing in the half-light of his private chamber; nothing but candlelight and velvet shadows cloaking the room. His midnight eyes are fixed on you, still and unblinking. He looks almost statuesque; tall, pale, beautiful, dangerous. He exudes the kind of love that doesn't burn…it consumes.
You had asked the question.
He doesn't answer with words at first. Instead he crosses the room in three slow steps, never breaking eye contact. His strong hands find your waist, pulling you into his chest. His breath is warm at your ear, voice low and smooth, wrapping around your spine like a spell.
“How much do I love you Petal?” He murmured. “Enough to ruin kingdoms. Enough to break rules carved in stone. Enough to tear gods from the sky if they so much as touched a hair on your head.”
His hands slide to your hips, holding you firm, his voice darkening. “I love you enough to claim you in front of the stars. Enough to mark you in every way until no part of you remembers anything before me.”
He lowers you gently to the bed, his body following. The air grows thick with need, the edges of the world curling inward as his hand slowly traces the lines of your jaw. His midnight blue eyes watching you with something ancient, fierce, and utterly yours.
“Now, ask me again,” he whispers. “Ask me how much I love you when I'm inside your mind, your skin, your laughter, when your every breath sounds like my name.”
One dimple teases into view as he reaches for your hand, fingertips swirling your palm before gently gliding along your wrist, then up your arm, so slow, so featherlight, it makes you twitch.
He notices.
“Oh?” His smirk sharpens. “Are you already that sensitive, petal?”
He leans in, brushing his lips just beneath your ear. “You know what I love even more than your laughter?” His other hand curls around your waist, hovering just above your hip. “The way your body trembles when I almost tickle you.”
With devilish intent, he gently presses his fingertips into your side, just enough to make your breath catch. He doesn't wiggle them, not yet. He just rests them there. Waiting.
“You're so easy to undo,” he whispers. “So eager for it. Aren't you?”
You squirm under his touch, and that wicked dimple deepens as he trails soft lines along your ribs. “I haven't even started yet,” he teases, now dragging a single finger down the center of your belly. “But I'm going to. Slowly. Sweetly. Until you can't take it anymore.”
His other hand moves in tandem, ghosting beneath the hem of your blouse. “Lets see,” he breathes, “just how much you love me.”
Then.
He truly begins.
Slow, gentle strokes across your stomach, tracing patterns that seem innocent until they're not. His hands are maddening; delicate, skillful, never staying in one place long enough to get used to, never letting you predict where he'll strike next. He hums softly while you giggle and twist, his gaze dark with focus.
“Show me what you're feeling,” he coaxes, fingers dancing higher, threatening to tease beneath your arms. “Every flutter. Every gasp. I want it all.”
Your laughter bubbles out, breathy and broken. He smiles, both dimples out now, and his hands suddenly retreat back down to your lower abdomen where he takes his time, drawing languid, loopy circles that make your core tighten, your breath hitch, your body beg for more.
“Is this how you like to be loved?” Merrit murmurs, barely audible over your squeaks. “Teased…until you're trembling?”
His head drops down, kissing just above your navel, his breath hot. With wicked grace, he blows softly, then resumes whisper light touches all across your belly. It's too much and not enough.
You're giggling helplessly when his body suddenly shifts above you, the weight of his length pressing you down into the bed, his hips pinning yours with deliberate, measured control. His pale face is inches from yours, that sinful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, those blue-black stars, burn with affection and torment, a promise that you are entirely his.
“Now,” he murmurs, fingertips cruelly brushing along your sides. “Tell me you love me. Say it.”
You twist beneath him with a sharp giggle, trying to squirm, but his legs cage yours and his free hand catches your wrists.
“Merrit!” You whimper, laughing nervously, your body tensing with anticipation.
He hums darkly, his voice deep and low. “Say it. I want to hear it while you're laughing. I want to feel your ribs shake with it. I want to tickle the truth out of you until you can't say anything but how much you love me.”
His fingers press into your ribs, precise and relentless, sending shockwaves of laughter from your chest to your thighs. He knows exactly how to work your most sensitive spots; just the right rhythm, just the right pressure. He's not rushing. No, this is Merrit. He's savoring it. Every sound, every wriggle. Every desperate plea.
“I…I love you! Merrit, I love you!” You shriek through the torment, thrashing as he digs into your sides more firmly, fingers dancing up toward your underarm and then back down to your waist with infuriating patience.
His voice is honeyed with cruelty. “Not enough. Say it again. Louder.”
You gasp for air, tears beginning to form at the corners of your eyes. “I love you! I love you! Merrit! Please!”
He kisses your forehead tenderly, his hand never stopping. “Good girl. But I'm not quite done yet.”
He had you completely pinned, completely at his mercy; hip to hip, thighs straddled, his weight ensuring zero chance of escape. You looked up at him with wide, tearful eyes, your chest rising and falling rapidly, desperate for air.
“Again,” he murmurs with that unsympathetic, velvet voice. “Say it.”
“I love you…” you gasped through a giggle, your voice cracking under the weight of impending hysteria.
He chuckled low in his throat. “No, no, no. Not just once, love. I want it over and over.” His fingers flexed ominously above your weakest point and you knew what was coming.
Then he leaned down, head dropping to your neck, lips brushing your skin, wet and obscene. “Let's see how long you can hold out before you break completely.”
He dove into your underarm, fingers curling and releasing over the sensitive nerves and tendons mercilessly. The touch was fiendish, remorseless. He knew precisely how to make you dissolve.
Your laughter exploded, high and anguished. “AH! NOOO! M-MERRIT, PLEASE! PLEHEHEHEASE!”
“Please what?” He asked sweetly against your cheek, not slowing at all.
You buck, tears streaming down your temples as the tickling overwhelmed every sense. “I LOVE YOU! I-LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU, MERRIT! I SWEAR!”
He beamed down at you like the prince of shadows he was. “Again.”
“ILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOU!”
“Thats better,” he purred, tone molten with satisfaction. “Keep going, petal. Keep confessing.”
The torture never stops, fingers burrowing into the hollow beneath your arms while his mouth left gentle kisses on your cheek, your jaw, your temple. It was unbearable; affection and torment perfectly entwined.
You screamed professions of love, your laughter making words sound barely coherent now. Desperate pleas and promises spilled out shamelessly.
“ANYTHING, I PROMISE YOU…PLEASE! ANYTHING!”
Still, he didn't let up. “Promise me forever,” he growled softly, “while you're laughing so pretty for me.”
You whimpered, hysterical, your voice stuttering. “I promise! I belong to you forever…Merrit, FOREVER!”
He finally slowed, hands gentling, giving you the barest chance to breathe. He brushes a damp strand of hair from your face as you lie there, gasping, shaking, and flushed with giggles still echoing in your lungs. His lips resume those sweet, maddening kisses; forehead, chin, cheeks, nose, and finally your lips; tender and slow, like he's tasting the sounds still lingering between you.
“You're so beautiful like this,” he murmured, voice threaded with both devotion and threat. “So wrecked…your body begging for more.”
You barely whisper his name before he slides his fingers between your bodies and brushes over your right hip, drawing a startled squeal from your lips.
“Oh, was that too soon?” He coos mockingly, eyes flirting with mischief. “Poor thing. I was going to let you recover. Truly. But then that sweet sound you made…” he traces a fingertip within the dip of your hip, smirking, “and that just felt like an invitation.”
Your mouth opened to protest, but Merrit has already repositioned himself above you, dragging your arms down, pinning both your wrists beneath his knees at your sides.
“What do you love most about me?” He purrs, his hands resting lightly on his thighs, fingers tapping impatiently.
He doesn't wait for an answer, he attacks; hands moving with predacious speed, finding the dips on your hipbones and pressing in heartlessly. The room erupts with the frantic sounds of hysterics as your back arches clean off the mattress.
“WHAT DO YOU LOVE, PETAL?” He demands loudly, laughing with you. “Say it! Say it right!”
Your fingers clutch uselessly at the sheets beneath his knees as you scream out, “EVERYTHING! I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU!”
“That's not specific enough,” he growls mirthfully. “I want details. Do you love my hands? My mouth? My shadow drenched soul?” He bends over, so closely that his dark hair brushes your forehead. “Or is it how I ruin you?”
You pant between squeals, barely able to catch a breath, but his little game demands you try. You screech out nonsense, then finally manage a breathless, “Your hands, your mouth…Oh gods, Merrit, please stop!”
But he doesn't stop.
He digs in now, properly. No mercy. His fingers flutter and press, spidering madly against your hips. He's smiling again, so sweetly, dimples flashing in stark contrast to the devilish rhythm of his hands.
“You're not being completely honest with me, are you, love? There's one thing you love more about me, isn't there?”
He knows you can't think. He knows you're barely even breathing. And yet he keeps pushing, keeps teasing out of pure desire; perfect, gleeful desire to hear you beg and admit surrender. His grin is both sinister and loving, the cruelest kind of familiarity.
“I'll tickle it out of you if I must,” he whispered, low and dangerous. “Again and again, until the only words in your mouth are mine.”
His eyes pool with satisfaction, knowing full well you're too giggly and dazed to form words easily. But his fingers are already inching towards your underarms again.
“Tell me what I do to you,”he coaxes in a deep, teasing growl. “Tell me what you want me to keep doing to you. Say it. Say it or else…”
He lets the threat linger.
The moment you stall, Merrit pounces, hands diving back beneath your arms, both now, fingers working with unholy accuracy, forcing you to explode into belting laughter, hips bucking frantically, legs kicking furiously as the scene turns reckless and chaotic.
“What do I do to you, love? What does your body crave? Come now, speak through the laughter. Beg for it. Properly.”
The confession breaks free; torn from your lips between the chaos he's created and wild-eyed desperation. “I think about you all day, about this…everyday! I can't focus, I can't stop! I…I even dream about it; about your hands, about you tormenting me like this, I love it!!!”
He stills.
His smile turns molten.
“Oh, petal…” he breathes as a rare, boyish grin overtakes him. “You dream about this?”
His hands return in full force, and you scream, thrashing helplessly as his fingers vie for every hypersensitive spot within reach. “Let's make your dreams even worse, shall we?”
Your laughter rips through the chamber, echoing against the walls as Merrit drinks it in, ravenous and adoring; his torment, your surrender, all wrapped in a confession he'll never let you live down.
