Dex Darling Ch. 01

For the fifth time now, I revise my plans for tomorrow's heist, my eyes glazing over the projection from my digipad. All these plans won't mean anything unless I have access to Atlas' notorious penthouse party. A party that is known to quench any fantasy imaginable. As much as I'd love to take part, let loose my deepest, darkest desires, I have entirely different reasons for wanting to gain entry.

I check my phone for Myra's message again. Nothing. She's supposed to be here already and hand over an invitation with my name on it. Yet, except for a rustle here and there, I appear to be the only one in this deserted park. I have a vague idea as to why she chose this spot and the thought alone makes me want to rub my thighs together. Even the cold breeze isn't enough to quell the hunger that begins to take root.

My drones finish their periodic sweep of the park perimeter and report no movement. Not even Myra. That's to be expected, though. Despite being a Tier 5 user--the lowest of tiers--her powers are no joke when it comes to evading surveillance. Her senses are infinitely more sophisticated than any sensor array out there. Eyes sharper than an eagle's, nose more sensitive than a bloodhound, ears on par with a bat, and touch and taste, incomparable to anything in existence. But none of these are tactically beneficial when compared to Tier 1 folk who are invincible or can detonate anything they see with a mere thought, so people tend to underestimate her when they hear of her rank. But over the years of knowing each other, we found more exciting ways of putting her powers to use. At that, I can't help but bring a hand down into my pants.

"Hi, Dex darling." I yank my hand out as soon as I hear her voice--all spice and honey. I don't see her, but my body reacts to her all the same. I clench my things on instinct as if that'd stop the wetness that begins to pool there.

No, don't lose sight of what's important, I tell myself. And because I don't want her to sense what her presence is doing to me, I begin shifting subtly, morphing my vagina into a dick.

"Don't do that to me now." Her voice comes from behind the tree I'm leaning against. When I turn to face her, my restraint becomes a thing of the past. "You should know by now that nothing escapes my nose. Or my eyes." Her gaze moves lower to the bulge in my pants.

She's dressed in all black. A tank top with arm holes that droop all the way to her waist and a frilly little skirt that barely covers her thighs.

Witch came prepared.

Despite all her wiles and attempts to tempt me, I see that her hands are empty. No invitation in sight. And with that my anger slips.

She kept me waiting for over an hour for nothing.

I reach for her throat and with force--just the right amount--I slam her against the tree. A moan escapes her lips. My other hand presses into her hips, squeezing the delicate muscle underneath that thin layer of clothing. My fingers want to dip lower, tear that frilly thing called skirt, slap her tits out of those ridiculous armholes. Just play with her.

I take a deep breath. And another. There is time yet for those things.

My face an inch from hers, I say, "Where the fuck is the invitation you promised?"

She smirks at me, her senses no doubt picking up on the war inside my head. "Hmm maybe I forgot. I thought you wanted to see me tonight." She then roams a finger over my breast, barely touching my hardened nipple and takes it lower to the hard length threatening to tear a hole in my jeans.

That's enough.

I twist her hips so that her front is now pressed against the rough tree bark. My grip on her throat moves to her neck, pressing her cheek on the tree, and my other hand takes hold of both her wrists. I then press my breasts into her back, nuzzling my face into her bright purple locks.

"Why do you insist on punishing me like this?" I breathe against her neck.

She laughs, but can't help herself from arching her back and letting her head fall on my shoulders. "What are you going to do about it, Dex?"

My hand digs into her wrists, yet she hasn't fisted her hands. So I give her something to hold on to. I press my cock into her hands and she gasps at the sensation, immediately getting to stroking it. "Is this what you want? Tell me where the invitation is and you can have this and much, much more."

"Think of this as a down-payment then. Give me something first and I'll give you what you want."

I'll be lying to myself if I say I was expecting an invitation without any action tonight. Every single time we meet for anything, it always devolves into something more. All part of a grand play we co-wrote over the last few years of working together. And so our mutual time now comes with extra perks. Once we knew each other's affinities, that was it; we weren't willing to let each other go.

I run my tongue over her neck, a gentle caress. I then kiss her ear and whisper, "What are your senses attuned to right now?"

"Twenty percent," she says, all breathy.

All her writhing makes sense now. She's so sensitive to the slightest of touches that even a cold breeze feels like an encapsulating hug. But that's not enough.

"Bring it up to forty percent," I say as I continue to lick her delicate neck.

She gasps, still squirming in my grip. "I don't think I can."

A lie.

As soon as she says that, I bite down on her neck, all the gentleness gone. She yelps at the sudden pain. I then inch away from her, taking away the warmth of my breasts on her back and the assurance of my dick in her hand.

"No, please... don't stop."

"Then do what I say, Myra."

A shiver runs down her spine as she says, "Done."

I close in and lick the same spot on her neck. Sure enough, she's slithering against the touch, over-sensitized. I can't work on her like this, though--her reacting in jerks and writhes to my every single action. At that moment, I see that frilly skirt and know exactly what to do.

I twist her again to face me, only to find that one of her tits has popped out from the armholes, all red from rubbing against the tree. I resist the urge to squeeze it. In her current state, she'd just make it difficult to let me keep my hold. And she needs to be punished for this shit, for the restraint I'm forced to employ.

"Stay right here," I say as I lean her against the tree.

I then go behind the tree and reach around to grab her arms. The trunk is big enough that her wrists don't exactly connect; there is still a wide gap and I need something to bind her there.

I don't care to use my leather jacket and risk it getting damaged, what with all her squirming against the tree. She's the one who needs punishment, not me. So I rip her strip of a skirt, garnering a gasp from her, and tie her wrists together.

Taking a step back, I say, "What's the safe word, Myra?"

"Helium," she gasps.

"Safe action?"

"Biting you." There's urgency in her tone.

Pleased with the binding, I walk around the tree to face her. That is when I find out just how just devious she is. She has nothing underneath. Nothing covering her underneath that flimsy skirt. This entire time, she had her crotch out in the open.

I grin wide at the sight.

Slowly, teasingly, I begin stripping. First my leather jacket, then my pants. And as I take the next layer off, I begin shifting. My t-shirt is stretched to the max as I grow my boobs and the tip of my dick makes an appearance from the waistband of my panties as I increase its girth and curve it up.

To my pleasure, I find Myra drooling and staring at all of my transformed assets.

I discard the rest of my clothes and take a step toward her. There is anticipation written all over her face. Anticipation and desire.

"Where is the invitation to Atlas' party, Myra?" I breathe against her ear.

She arches her back, eager to lean into my touch.

Well, if that's what she wants.

I slap her clit. And before she can make any sound, I block her mouth with my hand.

Again, I slap her clit. She moans into my hand, vibrations skittering over my arm.

I loop my other hand through her armholes and gather the material between her breasts. I lick the one that's red from rubbing against the tree, leaving a generous layer of my saliva all over her nipple. And then I blow air on her nipple. She whimpers in my hand.

I let go of my hold on her shirt, happy to see that the material stays right where it is, all scrunched up between her voluptuous breasts. I then scoop her ass. She wraps her legs around my waist, but I stop her from sliding over my dick.

She's incredibly drenched down there, her inner thighs impossibly wet. There's something else down there... an unmistakable feel of metal.

"Do you have a plug in your ass?"

She nods shakily.

"Damn Myra..."