This Axe is Dull..

Novella watched her wife, squeezing her thighs together. She’d made Kaczor wait for her pleasure for too long—though she wouldn’t admit how thrilled this side of her wife made her feel. There was something liberating about the hunter becoming the hunted. When Kaczor promised she’d deny her undergarments for the rest of the evening, her intake of breath was sharp.

When her wife’s hand stopped moving, Ella stilled where she hung, eyes widening slightly in surprise—but it wasn’t surprise at the request for more information; in detail that surprised her. It was the suggestions Kaczor voiced, as she tried to coerce Ella into declaring what she wanted. Such filthy words from a very lovely mouth. I want to see your face. She didn’t provide any more details—her wife had done such a good job defining those for them both.

And Novella didn’t answer, when Kaczor asked—goaded—about how she must have enjoyed being her prey. She was busy trying to follow the woman’s movements, as Kaczor circled around her, though her bound hands kept her from fully turning around. And the whimper that left her mouth, when her slacks were pulled down, was real.

Realizing Kaczor was serious about checking how wet she was, she pulled herself up on the rope, to more easily adjust her stance—it was easier to settle her tiptoes a bit further apart if she held herself up off the ground entirely for a moment. Eager, willing—the entry of Kaczor’s fingers earned a quiet moan, and she leaned back on her bindings, trying to see her wife.

Tell me. She ordered, dancing on her tiptoes as Kaczor pulled her fingers away.