Women of Steel 1: Marti Gets Her M.A.N.

by Camille Anthony

  “He-man spawned a show featuring his twin sister, She-Ra. Name her horse.”

  I’ll be damned, two honest stumps in a row!

  Her mouth tight, she shook her head, wordlessly admitting defeat.

  “You now owe me two items. I choose your pants and undies.”

  “But I thought, since I already have one boot off…”

  “I like you a little off balance, Lover,” he crooned.

  His diabolical expression told her he realized she felt more nakedly exposed wearing only that one boot.

  His eager hands stripped her of her short pants with swift dispatch, but lingered over the removal of her plain white military-issue panties. He played with her, letting his fingers stray, brushing and bumping against skin already sensitized by his earlier touches.

  When he got around to sliding the sturdy material down her legs the top of her thighs were wet and slick, her arousal obvious.

  “Only the boot and an IUD left. You ready to cry ‘mercy’ yet?”

  She bared her teeth. “Not on your life!”

  “Another double whammy coming, then.”

  Naked except for that damned boot, Marti tried to appear nonchalant. She wasn’t cold. The room’s automatic climate control had instantly adjusted to her body temperature, ensuring her comfort. In fact, as a daughter of the house, her ease took precedence with the domicile. He was probably too warm.

  Oh, wait! Kill that notion. As a construct, Den would be impervious to temperature extremes.

  Her brow creased as she realized the increasingly difficult time she had keeping Denzel’s true situation in mind. The more she interacted with him, the less like an android he seemed and the more appealing she found him.

  “Thanks for the warning. Go for it.”

  “On Jeopardy, this would be the daily double. The category is Hercules. Care to bet on how you’ll do?”

  “There were two Hercules. Which one are you asking about -- the one in the Disney movie or the one with the Xena spin-off?”

  “Neither, and don’t try to trick me. Your category was cartoon shows and characters, so those two you named wouldn’t qualify. There was an earlier, late 1950’s, early 1960’s cartoon show version. The theme song went something like this -- Hercules! Women and children cheer him, Hercules! Only the evil fear him! Fighting for the Right -- fighting with his might -- with the strength of ten ordinary men! That’s the mighty Hercules!”

  Her spirits took a nose-dive before her heart went soaring. At first, she couldn’t understand why she felt such split emotions and then she understood that while it was okay to lose a contest as long as it was by her own design, it was totally different facing a legitimate loss. Knowing her true goals, she had thought she could lose gracefully since it allowed her to achieve her needs without having to beg or explain herself. She’d never planned on her opponent truly besting her.

  Priding herself on having better sportsmanship than that, she shrugged off the momentary depression. Still, she couldn’t help the resigned sigh she heaved as she lifted her hands in defeat.

  “I have to admit your knowledge of the past far surpasses mine. I already know I’ve lost, since I’ve never heard of that cartoon, but ask your questions anyway.”

  “What was the name of Hercules’ small sidekick, and what manner of being was he?”

  She perked up, sensing the opportunity to prolong the game. With luck, her answer might fall into an area gray enough Denzel would accept it as correct. “I don’t know the sidekick’s name, but it was a mythological being.” Hopefully, she’d managed to turn his double whammy into a single run.

  His half smile was rueful. “Since Hercules, himself, was a figure of Greek mythology, it makes sense any being he interacted with, as a friend, would also be mythological, so I’ll give you that part of the question, but --”

  She grinned happily, quickly interjecting her next sentence before he could continue. “I formally cry mercy.”

  By crying mercy before the game was officially concluded, the loser gained the right to retain -- for dignity’s sake -- the last item of clothing.

  “I choose to keep my IUD.”

  Not that she had worries about an unwanted pregnancy, not with an A.I. unit, but gaming aside, she didn’t have the time to make an appointment with her gynecologist for an unscheduled replacement.

  “You refused my earlier offer of mercy and technically the game is all but over.”

  “Technically, you owe me another question. I did get half your double whammy right.”

  “Assuming that I accept your plea for mercy,” he began, a small smile playing about his well-shaped lips, “what makes you think I will allow you to choose which item you will retain?” His smile widened, became predatory as he tapped her lone footwear. “The word ‘Mom’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Almost as nice a ring as ‘Dad’!”

  Her jaw dropped. “Shit on a shingle, I keep forgetting the damned boot!”

  Chapter Eleven

  He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You seem to have forgotten quite a lot, haven’t you?”

  She looked him straight in the eye. “What do you mean by that?”

  He shrugged. “For some reason, I thought you’d give me more competition than this, especially in a category of your own choosing.”

  “Are you implying I threw the game?”

  “Did you?”

  She heard the anger in his two-word question. She decided to be factually honest. “I have never thrown a game in my life. I always play to win.” Never mind that winning has nothing to do with this game. What matters is that I’m not lying, though I am lying through my teeth. Those last questions are what won you the game and I certainly did not know the answers.

  “You’ve won, fair and square.” Flinging out her hands, she exposed her body to him in surrender. “So, what are you going to do with your spoils of war?”

  He advanced on her, his tread unhurried and sure. “What has always been done with such beauteous spoils, my dear?” His hands caught in her hair, tugging her head back, bringing her face up to meet his. “I’m going to fuck you. I am going to claim you. When I am through with you, you will submit and openly admit you belong to me.”

  His harsh, unyielding words made her hot. Nipples tightening, thrills zinging down a direct line to her vagina, she barely resisted crossing her legs to apply pressure to her aching clit.

  Holding her breath, she waited, half expecting a frenzied assault, but his mouth fell on hers gently. His lips were warm, soft and hard all at once and they brushed against hers insistently, begging, not demanding, entrance.

  His hands, large and hot on the cool skin of her back, swept up, pressing her into the solid wall of his body, scraping her breasts against the coarse hair dotting his chest.

  His tongue dipped and swirled inside her mouth, inviting her to dance with wicked flicks and darting forays. Moaning, she went up on her tiptoes to engage him more fully.

  He drew back to gaze down at her, one hand stroking the softness of her bottom lip. “Show me where your bedroom is,” he demanded in gruff tones, dark brown eyes glowing with eagerness.

  Wordlessly, she turned in his embrace, grabbed his hand and led him down a broad, naturally lit corridor that led away from the entry into the bowels of the dwelling. The ringing of her single boot heel on the tiles sounding as odd and off-kilter as the warmth of his hand on hers made her feel.

  The first door on the left opened to a wide, high room, practically empty except for a huge canopied bed. The drapes on the bed and billowing at the open windows were sheer, pale spring green, the bed covers a shimmering cream. The parquet floor, set in the mosaic style of ancient Greece, sported tiles in a swirling pattern of blues, greens, creams, and ochre. Along the bare walls, vibrant decorative waist-high vases held dried fronds and grasses. An open doorway showed a connecting bathing room in corresponding shades, all airy, light, and inviting while another open door gave glimpses of a spare, Spartan multimedia w
orkstation. The entire place exuded an aura of peaceful tranquility, a quality she sorely lacked at the moment.

  Still silent, she waited for his comments, somehow unsurprised at his insight when he finally remarked upon the suite of rooms.

  Denzel sighed and relaxed. He had finally found her mark. Everywhere he looked, he could see her signature written in sure strokes upon the canvas of the walls, the bed, the ceilings and floors. “This is not the master bedroom. This is the room you have always occupied.”

  “Yes.”

  “This is your private place, the place where you discard reality and become who you believe yourself to truly be.”

  “Yes.”

  “Together, in this room, we will fulfill all your carnal dreams.”

  Her lids dropped over glazed eyes. “Yes, please.”

  He moved toward her then, slow and sure, each motion unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world.

  Still as stone, motionless as deep water, she stood stiffly erect, hands open at her sides, standing at almost military attention. Only her breathing betrayed her agitation, coming fast and broken between her parted lips.

  He stared a long time, noticing tiny accents he’d missed before. Like the dusting of freckles across her shoulders, little sugared drops of honey-colored flesh that lent a sun-drenched tint to her skin, the small raised mole at the corner of her right eye, a beauty mark to which he would make sure to pay homage.

  What was it about her that dazzled him?

  The brilliant sunlight pouring through the windows, bathing her in rays of gold, highlighting her hair and the golden tones of her skin, lovingly brushing the lines and angles of her tall, lithe body.

  His heartbeat sped up, fueled by the sight of her beauty. She was a work of ancient art, molded into a modern representation of the goddess Diana, the Huntress. Her pale pink breasts were high, full and firm, topped with proud stiff nipples the color of dark strawberries. Her strong and supple body -- smooth, sleek and hairless but for the full mane growing from her head -- was honed and fit, carrying enough flesh to mark her as a woman but not enough to hinder her fighting skills.

  His eyes lowered, avid gaze falling to her bare mound which bore the smooth evidence of recent waxing. From their time in the flitter, he knew the skin there to be downy soft, with no hint of stubble.

  The sight kindled a hunger for her low in his gut, quickly threatening to burn out of control. He wanted her to need him in the same, desperate way, wanted her to shed her calm and wary mien. He ached to see her raving, wild and intemperate, driven beyond sense and responsibility. He wouldn’t be satisfied until she lost all semblance of reason, lost herself in the joint blaze he intended to kindle between them.

  “Open your eyes, Martini.”

  Her lids snapped up, those beautiful blue eyes glared at him with a mixture of exasperation and impatience, and he caught the tip of his tongue between his lips to stop the laughter that wanted to escape.

  “Are you mine?”

  “For the next twenty-four hours…”

  The tremor in her voice had him rejoicing. By damn, the little Amazon isn’t half as calm as she would have me believe.

  “All debts must be paid. I owe you the removal of my lab coat. You might want to do that now, as you won’t be in a position to do it later.”

  Her little tongue came out, swiped her bottom lip. She helped him remove the coat, then stepped back, chin lowered and tucked close to her chest, allowing the heavy fall of her hair to obscure her features.

  “Lift your face and push back your hair. Never seek to conceal your expressive face from me.”

  She obediently brushed back her halo of hair with shaking hands, baring her face to his masterful gaze.

  “Now lie on the bed and spread your legs wide for me so I can remove your IUD.”

  She shuddered visibly before turning and crawling across the wide mattress of her bed, her rounded hips high and inviting, swaying gently, breasts bobbing as she prepared to position her body as ordered.

  “Wait!”

  She paused where she was, on all fours in the middle of her wide bed, the position exposing the swollen folds of her cunt and the puckered ring of her anus. He stared at her pink pussy, its moist, soft folds highlighted with the slick dew of her arousal. The brilliant afternoon sun poured through the sheer drapes, glinting on the slippery moisture adorning her intimate flesh, drawing his attention to the firm, muscular shape of her thighs. She was a worthy sight for the ancient gods of Olympus… and for the next twenty-four hours, she was his, her every movement, action and thought his to command.

  “You may carry on now, my dear. Lie on your back with your legs spread.”

  She positioned herself as ordered, hands fisted around the wrought iron headboard. He ran a finger down her torso, skimming her breasts and dipping into her belly button. He smiled into her eyes, feeling like a conqueror, when her body bucked, lifting up to maintain contact with his trailing digit. He marveled at the long lean lines of her body, infinitely glad to have her stretched out before his admiring gaze.

  Moving to stand at the foot of the bed, he grasped both her knees and tugged her toward him, pulling her legs wider apart, once again exposing her smooth, bare mons to his avid gaze.

  Smiling a little, he leaned over, swirled a fingertip into the thick, slippery cream coating her swollen labia and the tops of her thighs. Eyes catching hers and holding, he daubed the gathered moisture on the crests of her breasts, painting erotic designs into her high-standing nipples. Still holding her gaze with his, he brought his damp finger to his mouth, licking and sucking on the tip, slurping up all trace of her fragrant dew.

  “You taste delicious, second-hand. I want to taste you at the source.”

  Placing one knee on the mattress, he lowered himself between her legs, his hands pressing firmly against the smooth skin at her inner thighs, and ran his tongue along her damp slit. Without preamble, with no warning, his teeth latched onto her clit, bit down and retreated, leaving the bundle of nerves stinging from his sudden, sharp assault.

  “Ah!” she cried out, body jerking under his brusque handling.

  He bent his head to her again, this time sucking strongly at the stiff little spear of flesh, drawing it deep into his mouth, surrounding it with heat and pressure until she cried out again and again.

  Settling back on his haunches, Den sat up between her open legs, two fingers entering her, gently probing her pulsating opening. Barely venturing inside the tight ring of muscle at the entry of her vagina, his fingers rimmed the elastic portal, sensitizing it for a more substantial penetration.

  “I’ve made your clit red and needy. It’s standing up begging for more of my mouth.” He glanced up at her, grinning when he saw her lips part as she panted for air. “You’re a needy little sex-slave who wants a hard fucking, but I won’t give you what you want until I hear you begging me to suck your clit.”

  His fingers withdrew from her clasping grasp. Aching now, he cupped her mound with one broad palm, pressing against the soft pad of her vagina. “You’re awash with heat, wet with need. You need to come, but that won’t happen until I get what I want. So tell me, Lover, how badly do you want to come?”

  He watched as the muscles in her lower belly rippled. She swallowed, her tongue coming out to swipe across her lush lips, bathing them in moisture.

  “Please, Denzel… I need…”

  Easing down onto the bed, he took her bottom in both hands, raising her hips toward his mouth. A stream of clear, fragrant cream pooled at her entrance then slid down into the crevice of her bottom.

  “What do you need, Marti? Tell me!” He spoke through gritted teeth, barely holding on to his resolve to make her beg. Eyes narrowed on her writhing form, wanting only to bend his head and lap at the juices spilling from her cunt and drink the slick fluid declaring her arousal for him, only him, he demanded her obedience.

  “I want the words, Martini. I’ll accept nothing less than your total surrend
er.” Teasing her, tormenting her, he dipped his head and blew a stream of warm air across the wet flesh of her straining clit. His hungry heart pounded a glad rhythm as he felt her convulse beneath his mouth and hands.

  She unraveled beneath his touch. With a keening cry, her hips flew upward, causing her pelvis to butt against his nose.

  “Oh, holy fuck, Den! Holy Matrix… suck my clit, please. Suck it hard! Lick my pussy ‘til I come!”

  His hands came up, tightening on her thighs, controlling her involuntary movements. Holding her body to the mattress, he obeyed her shouted commands and ate at her throbbing flesh. His lashing tongue forged over and inside her intimate flesh with mindless intensity.

  Teeth, lips, tongue and mouth all joined in the sensual feast as he drove her relentlessly, edged her up and over one erotic precipice after another. His tongue worshipped her while his hands kneaded the resilient fleshy globes of her ass. Lifting her to his greedy face, he devoured the feminine heat nestled at the apex of her thighs.

  His cock, hard and distended, pressed between the mattress and his belly, the bulbous head weeping viscous fluid, the skin stretched taut and tight down the length of his shaft.

  He needed to be inside her. Needed to feel her pussy closing about him, intimate and close. Clasping and hot, she gloved his hard fingers with the living flame burning within her dark, hidden folds. He desperately wanted to sink into her welcoming heat… but first, he was going to remove her IUD. He wouldn’t fuck her until he had removed that killing device.

  “Hold still. I’m going to get that damned thing out of you. Since I don’t have the correct medical equipment, you might feel a bit of discomfort…” Placing one splayed hand palm down on her belly, he slipped two fingers up the tight channel of her sex, searching for the dangling string that should be just… about… there!

  Den crooked his fingers about the length of string and began tugging on it, exerting a steady, persistent pressure that slowly freed the IUD from its snug spot inside the mouth of her womb.

  Marti moaned low and sexy, shifting her hips and spreading her thighs, offering him easier access. She tried to draw her legs up and open, but her boot zip snagged in the silken fabric of the cream coverlet, trapping one leg in place. Denzel rolled his torso over the flat leg, holding it down as he continued to draw out the device.