Messed Up With Me

CODE: D (set in the D Is For Damien storyline)

TAKES PLACE DURING (specific story): Scene 1: The Scorpio Murders (in progress); scene 2: The Scorpio Murders (?); scene 3: NA

PAIRING: Matthew "Puck" Benteen/Psyche Cooper (M/F)

EXPLANATION: Puck and Psyche were probably my first real exploration into the whole BDSM thing...Puck, an avowed sociopath (albeit a rather well-behaved one), just seemed like the most likely candidate to be a sadist. Meanwhile, Psyche, whose scene with Luther Broderick (see "Let It Go") was written before these, I believe, seemed the most likely candidate to be a masochist. Stick the two together, and what have you got...? Well, whatever it is, I've gotten three scenes out of it so far. The first scene, "Messed Up With Me," takes place during the in-progress The Scorpio Murders; although not included in the story (I think it cuts off just as she kisses him), reference IS made to the bruises on Psyche's wrists the morning after. (This was quite a feat for me to include in one of my PG-13 works, before I had even admitted the X-rated scene had ever been written.)

DISCLAIMERS: As these were written quite a while back, Puck comes across as VERY sympathetic in these pieces...more so than he probably should, considering, hello, he's a SOCIOPATH! Well, like I said, he's a rather tame one...he DOES have a conscience, he just prefers not to listen to it most of the time. But I do not think he and Psyche really love each other. It's mainly a physical thing, and I know already that he would have nothing against her seeing others...so...all that mushy stuff they get into in these? Just skip over it. It probably didn't happen that way. Also beware point of view problems, especially in "Messed Up With Me," which is WAY cheesy. Ick!

* * * * *

Messed Up With Me

"Why are you in this room?"

"I come here to look out the windows and think," Puck replied. "As you may know my room has no windows."

His voice was always dripping with sarcasm. Psyche decided not to let it bother her. It evidently suited him just fine.

She crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching him watch the rain outside. In the distance there was the sound of thunder. The water was running in rivulets down the glass. They were both still for a long time.

It didn't seem that he was going to talk unless she did first, so she finally spoke. "What do you think of this case?"

He glanced at her; it was meaningless conversation and he could tell. He only grinned bitterly. "Excellent work and lousy pay. The story of my life."

Seeing as he'd brought up the subject... "I heard you tried to kill yourself once."

He nodded. "True."

He seemed pretty open about it, as far as questions were concerned. "How?"

He pantomimed slitting his wrists and swallowing a handful of what Psyche assumed were pills. She knew he was too smart to overdose on aspirin and die a slow painful death; it must have been sleeping pills. "There was no gun available," he explained, as if in apology. "My dad didn't really believe in guns. But then again, I guess I wouldn't be standing here telling you of my wonderful near-death experience."

"How long were you in the hospital?" she asked, getting up and going over to join him.

He shrugged. "A few weeks. Couldn't really tell 'cause I was out like a light. Then they stuck me in the community health center to see how successfully they could mess with my head."

He still spoke of it indifferently, though she could sense a measure of bitterness lurking beneath the surface, as if he'd simply wished to be left alone. He had an arm up against the windowframe and was tapping the glass. His shoulders looked tense. It was the natural thing to do; she reached out and massaged the nearer one, talking as she did so.

"Dr. Leja works out of a place like that. Not an institution but a kind of community health center. I suppose she's not a licensed psychiatrist so she can't prescribe drugs or anything, but--"

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

She stopped talking and looked at him. His eyes were closed and he was frowning at the window. His shoulders felt as tense as ever.

"I'm sorry. Does that bother you?"

"It doesn't exactly bother."

That surprised her. Just a massage of the shoulders... He still seemed upset, and she didn't see what harm she could do. They were alone, weren't they? And she thought she'd seen a flicker of interest when they'd first met with the group at the Family House Restaurant. She doubted that had been misinterpreted. She rubbed his shoulder and tried to loosen him up before he sprained something.

He turned to look at her now. His eyes were open and he looked as if he were mad at her.

"You don't want to do that, okay?" His voice was ice. "You don't want to get messed up with me."

"Who says I would?"

"I do."

But there was more in his voice than anger. It was as if some hidden part of him were in fact pleading with her to stay. Because he was tired of being alone.

Maybe he wasn't a loner because he wanted to be or because he had an attitude problem. Maybe he was because he didn't want to be hurt.

Somehow she knew that was what it was. Without saying another word she stepped forward and kissed him. He started to back away, but she took his hand and held it. He didn't move again, though their mouths were both open, exploring. It was several minutes before he broke free.

"You don't have to do this," he whispered, his voice thick.

"I know," she said back, her own voice low. "But I should."

She leaned forward and continued kissing him, touching his face and neck. He didn't touch her; his arms he kept straight at his sides, fists clenched, as if at attention. She started to wonder if she'd made a mistake; perhaps he wasn't so interested, after all. Yet he continued to accept her mouth.

She let her hands wander, almost unconsciously, down his sides, down his front, to the top of his beltline and down.

At that instant his left hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. The move was so abrupt it startled her; she pulled back slightly and looked up at him. His eyes were burning, his teeth clenched. He looked furious.

She was ready to say she hadn't meant to upset him when he stepped forward to meet her again, still gripping her wrist tightly. His mouth came down over hers, stifling anything she may have said. His kiss was rough this time; when he drew away her lip was bleeding.

She couldn't tell if he or she had done that.

He pushed her so that she fell over, onto the bed. Before she could get up he was on top of her, his weight keeping down; he grabbed both of her wrists and pinioned them above her head, twisting her arm painfully as he did so.

A wave of fear swept over her. Had she underestimated him, after all? He'd always seemed so quiet; she had sensed the anger in him, but no rage such as this. All she'd wanted to do was make him feel comfortable.

But even as she thought that she knew it wasn't just rage. Simply looking at him she could tell how aroused he was. She had sparked something, though she hadn't expected it to come out this way. She twisted against him, purely a survival instinct; his grip became tighter on her wrists, he snarled, and his knee prevented her legs from moving.

His fingers seemed to cut into her skin; she gasped with pain as white-hot tendrils shot down her arms, and continued struggling; he continued to hold her down. Yet she felt something else in the midst of all this; her breath was coming faster, not only from fighting back; and a delirium swirled in her head. Puck bent down to kiss her again; she found herself accepting and submitting to the hold he had over her. He continued to pin her arms and each movement he made caused the tendrils of pain to reappear; yet somehow she found herself enjoying it.

She couldn't move herself; with his free hand he tore off her shirt. Several buttons popped off but neither noticed. His kiss moved down her neck; she managed to move her leg and accidentally jarred him. His teeth sank into her shoulder. She hissed but welcomed it, even the thin line of blood that trickled down her arm. That seemed to excite him anew; he pulled at her shorts, managing to get them off over her feet, underwear with them; he almost frenziedly pulled down his own. His knee knocked her legs apart.

There were no preliminaries; he was ready and even if she weren't he wouldn't have waited. In the back of his head he knew that, even if she'd said no, he wouldn't have listened. He positioned himself and violently thrust deep inside.

She gasped with mingled pain and pleasure. No man she'd been with before had ever gone so deep, been so urgent; she could tell he hadn't been with anybody for far too long. She pulled her hips away slightly as he pulled out; when he entered again she felt herself arching against him, her muscles spasming in rhythm with his thrusts.

He wasn't kissing her now; she could see him above her, moving quickly forward and backward, his eyes slits, his teeth clenched. His fingers dug into her wrists. His other hand was planted beside her. She somehow managed to free one hand, took his, and guided it down to where their bodies met. Then she explored him with her hand, and let him do the same to her. Her fingernails raked his back; he hissed at her through his teeth and twisted her arm again. His free hand grabbed her wrist and brought it back up to join its fellow; she giggled under her breath and started twisting her hips from side to side, as if trying to escape. The grinding motion infuriated and stimulated him more; he pinned her right thigh down and increased the tempo of his thrusts. She felt that if he went any deeper she'd burst in two; he felt he couldn't get deep enough. There was a tightening inside of them both. Puck felt a red fury rising up in his chest. If he didn't let it out soon he would scream.

Psyche already was whimpering with delicious agony. She could hear a frustrated growl rising in Puck's throat; she felt she'd have to scream or die.

His thrusts were crushing her into the bed. It seemed as if they were in tempo with her pounding heart. She could hear both in her head, and thought they were the same. The bed creaked but neither noticed. If fire had been sweeping through the room they wouldn't have noticed that either, so hot with fury and passion were they both.

They were both gasping now, she from expectation, he as he felt himself drawing nearer his goal. She wrapped her free leg around his waist, urging him on. His thrusting grew faster and faster--she felt like a piston heating up inside a car--

She came before he did. Though he hadn't reached release she felt a hot, burning wave wash over her. She screamed aloud, not knowing or caring if anyone heard. The wall building inside her broke. But even as her head started to clear she could feel another one taking its place; Puck was pounding into her like a jackhammer. It went too; she screamed again. Her wrists felt as if they were ready to break. Puck felt as if he would never reach his peak; just as he was nearing release Psyche threw her hips up as hard as she could, meeting him as he thrust inside as far as he possibly could, his own hips crushing into hers. Immediately the dam broke; he felt himself go into her, and screamed at the air. He could dimly hear her cry answering his. They both howled as they climaxed together. She could feel his hotness inside her; he felt he was losing himself. Then it was over. Gasping for air, he let go of her wrists and pulled himself out, falling to her side. He could feel her chest heaving with exertion; she had come three times compared to his one, yet he felt he'd nearly killed himself trying to come. He shuddered once, as if with cold; then his head drooped to the side. He felt tired; so tired. He sensed her nuzzling against him; and instead of clearing his mind grew heavy and he lapsed into a deep sleep.

Reciprocation

He was sitting on his bunk and didn't bother looking at her until she joined him, biting into the apple. Even then he didn't look at her when he said, in a low, flat voice, "I'm sorry."

She looked at him, still chewing. "About what?"

He looked disgusted. "You know what."

"No, I don't."

"About last night."

She peered at him even more closely. "Why?"

He lifted his head now; she found the disgust was aimed not at her but inwards. He grabbed her arms and held them up for her to see. Dark bruises surrounded both of her wrists. She dropped the apple and looked at them as if they were bracelets.

"Because of this," he said, his voice bitter. "Because I did this."

She pulled away. Her own voice sounded slightly angry, as if she'd been offended. "So what? They'll go away."

"But not what I did to you!" he snapped. "God, Psyche, I practically raped you." He said it as if he were desperate to convince her it was so.

She gave a short laugh. "That's what you think?"

He just turned away.

She frowned. "Did you enjoy it?"

Beyond her sight, his eyes shut and the look of disgust returned.

"Tell me the truth, Puck. Did you enjoy it?"

He had to struggle to find his voice. His throat felt on fire with shame. He wished he could wash it all down the shower drain.

"At the time."

"Well, so did I. So it's not rape."

He turned to look at her. Now his glance was one of both disgust and utter bewilderment, as if he thought she'd just lost her mind.

"What?" he screeched. "That?" He took her arms again. "Look what I did! And I bit you!"

She shrugged indifferently. "Like I said, they'll go away."

"You screamed," he insisted.

"So did you."

"You tried to fight me off, damn it!"

"At first I did, yes."

"So you didn't want it!"

"Not at first."

"So what the hell's wrong with you?" he shouted.

She gave him an annoyed look. "I'm allowed to change my mind too, aren't I?"

"About what?"

"About 'wanting it,' as you put it," she shot back. He gaped at her. "Look. You scared me at first. I thought you were going to hurt me."

"And I did!"

"A bruise, Puck, wow." Now he looked insulted. "No way I can live that down."

"It's what you said!"

"You weren't interested in beating me up," Psyche snapped. "Maybe then I'd be upset. You just wanted sex."

"And doesn't that even insult you?"

"Not really. I wanted it too."

He couldn't believe what she was saying. "After that? For God's sake, Psyche, what the hell was in there for you? I practically held your arms behind your back!"

"Over my head, actually."

"Damn it, Psyche!"

"So what?" she fumed. "So what if you did? Did you ever stop to think maybe I liked it that way? Just like you did?"

"I didn't--"

"You just told me you did. You said you enjoyed it."

"At the time, but I wasn't thinking--"

"You were thinking you wanted to get laid." He gaped at her again, shocked. "And as soon as you bothered to quit harping and get down to it so was I."

He couldn't speak.

She placed a hand on his arm and moderated her voice. "Puck, yes I tried to get you off at first. But don't you think that if I'd truly wanted that I would've yelled for help? I'm sure more than one person in the building heard us screaming."

He flushed red.

"But then I saw you weren't interested in killing me. I honestly thought you were. You looked pissed."

Now he averted his eyes.

"Do you know you were ready for me the minute you had me down? You caught me a little offguard but I can catch on fast. Yes, you twisted my wrists a little hard; yes, you did bite my shoulder." More red. "But I couldn't care less about that. You turned me on."

"Shit." Muttered under his breath.

"You did. Why else do you think I was screaming?"

"Even when I--even after I--even then you were trying to squirm out. I felt it."

"And you liked that too, might I add. I was squirming because it felt good."

"For God's sake!"

"Quit acting holier than thou," she replied. "You thought it felt good too."

"I didn't even allow you to move."

"Didn't have to. You were doing just fine on your own."

He just kept staring at her. "What the hell kind of person are you?"

"The kind that works just fine with you."

He ran his hands down his face and was still for a long time. Finally he sighed and rubbed his eyes. "God, how do I get myself into these things?" he asked himself.

"I believe it was me who did that," Psyche said, "and it was like this." She rubbed his shoulders.

Puck looked up at her. His eyes were red rimmed but dry; his face was drawn. "What do you want from me?" he just about pleaded.

She quit massaging and looked him in the eyes. "What you want with me," she answered plainly. "Someone to be with. Someone who doesn't ask questions."

"I don't have anything for you."

"Yes you do. You gave me a taste of it last night."

She was squeezing his shoulder. They stared at each other. Somehow she sensed they were leaning toward each other; their foreheads touched. They parted their lips to kiss--

And he turned his head. "It's not good," he insisted. "I would just keep doing this, and you'd get nothing out of it--"

She was starting to get truly irritated. She turned his head back. "All right," she said. "All right, you want me to get something out of it. Let's just reciprocate." She undid her shirt.

He turned away again as she pulled it off. "Stop it, Psyche."

"Look at me, damn it!" He turned his head reluctantly. She was kneeling on the bed in her shorts and bra. He couldn't help it; there was something about the sight of her that way, with anger bringing the color out in her face.

"You wanted it," she said.

"I did not."

"Then you deserve an Oscar for that performance because that's how convincing it was. Look at me."

"I am!"

"Come here, then!"

He brought his legs up under him and knelt so that he faced her.

She looked exasperated. "Come closer."

He did, so that they sat several inches from each other.

"Now," she said, holding up one arm, "reach around and undo this."

"Psyche--"

"Do it!"

Her ordering was grating on his nerves. He sighed and undid her bra.

She didn't let it fall. Instead she reached out for his shirt. He started to back away, startled; she shot him a disgusted look.

"We're supposed to be reciprocating here." With another sigh he moved back and let her remove his shirt.

"Good." She shirked off her bra and put her arms to her sides. "Go ahead."

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

"You're not getting anyth--"

"Yes I am!" She grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast. He cringed as a wave of embarrassment swept over him. "Last night you were in such a hurry that you didn't get to sample all the wares. Now go ahead. Here's your chance."

She continued holding his hand so he had no choice. "You know what I like?" she asked, dropping her voice for effect. "I like to be squeezed."

He flushed again, yet also felt himself start. He was still embarrassed. However, she'd said she liked it. He hesitantly curled his fingers around the mound of her breast. She smiled and let go of his hand. He started kneading, still hesitant; her eyes closed and she let her breath out. He could feel her heart beating; it had sped up considerably since she'd first put his hand there. He took the other one; a slight sound escaped her and she started swaying gently. He kneaded harder. She gasped and kept swaying from side to side.

He couldn't believe it. It really was turning her on.

In response he dug his fingers into her breasts painfully; she cried out and started. His own heart was starting to pound; the breath was coming faster in his throat.

She opened her eyes to look at him; they were glazed. "See what happens when you reciprocate?"

He didn't answer. She slid forward, slipped her arms under his, and let her hands run over his shoulders. He had to kiss her or else risk losing control. He did so and she raked his back while he kissed and bit, though not hard enough to break her lip; she suddenly pulled away.

"Your turn again," she said, as if the kiss had been only an appetizer. His head was foggy; he looked at her uncomprehendingly. She wiggled her hips and smiled lasciviously.

He reached out and pulled her shorts down. She removed them the rest of the way herself, and he repeated the process with her underwear. She stood to remove them, pulling them off slowly. A moment later she sat in front of him, completely naked.

His own eyes were glazed.

"Come here," she cooed.

He did so. She wrapped her arms around his neck and their mouths met again; his hands grasped her breasts and squeezed. She rubbed her thigh against him and felt him push against her; with her hand she felt his hardness through his clothes.

"Already?" she murmured. "It has been too long."

Looking back up at him she saw that the dull rage had come back into his eyes; his lips were parted and she could see his teeth. When he moved she felt his hardness again, hot against her leg.

"There'll be time for that in a minute," she said. "But first it's my turn."

Their lips locked again. She ran her hands down inside his shorts and grasped his buttocks. He had to break away to avoid biting her tongue. Her hands moved to the front, feeling him through the thin material of the underwear; it was bulging outward and throbbing as she touched.

He was panting, his eyes slits. She pulled down his shorts and underwear together; he pulled them off and flung them aside. Now freed, he was thrusting out toward her, quivering. Looking at him caused her own breath to increase.

He moved toward her. "Not yet," she said. He clenched his teeth but obeyed. She put her hands behind her back and knelt before him, thighs spread. "Not inside yet," she said. "But it's your turn."

He came forward, his mouth crushing hers. His hands explored all of her--her back, breasts, buttocks, between her legs. The whole time she kept her hands back but groaned with rapture as he squeezed her. Her back arched; her thigh rubbed against him. She could feel his hotness.

He was doing pretty well, she thought. She broke away, reached to the floor, and retrieved her bra, handing it to him. He looked at it. She lay down on her back, holding her hands up wrist to wrist.

"Tie me," she said.

He almost lost it. "What?" he asked in disbelief.

"Tie me!"

"But--I--"

"Trust me, you're going to want both of your hands free." Her smile--and her position--aroused him further. "So tie me."

He obeyed. Leaning over her so that their bodies brushed, he tied the bra around her wrists and secured her to the bedpost. He yanked on the ends to tighten it; she gasped as it cut into her skin. Then he moved back, and looked down at her.

Psyche lay on her back, arms tied above her head, only her legs free. She laughed under her breath and lifted one foot, touching him.

"I'm ready," she said huskily.

His voice was just as thick. "I thought it was your turn."

Another laugh. "It's both our turns."

He dropped to his hands and knees and came up on her. Though she accepted his kiss she did exactly what she'd done before; as soon as he positioned himself to enter her she wriggled out of the way. He moved and tried again; this time she shut her legs and refused to budge. Her laughter infuriated him. "What do you want, bitch?" he snarled; the more civilized part of his mind recoiled in shock, but Psyche only giggled harder.

"You're not going to have me," she said; and the baser part of his mind believed she meant it.

With another snarl he grabbed her thighs and forced them apart. She squealed as if in fright; immediately her struggles were renewed. Anyone watching would have thought she meant it. Including Puck.

She broke one leg free and shoved him backwards. He lunged forward and slapped her across the face, hard enough to sting but not to break the skin; while she was still recovering he pulled at her legs again. She started fighting back, screeching whenever he got a hold but checking herself not to say "no" unless she truly meant it.

He pinned one leg with his knee and brought his full weight down on top of her, his mouth covering hers. It was difficult for her to breathe. He rose abruptly and while she was regaining her breath he again forced her legs apart.

She shrieked and fought back; he kept his hold, his fingers sinking into her skin. He kissed her again; she took a gasp of air and he rammed himself inside.

She screamed, purely for effect, and started trying to break away, to force him out; he laughed under his breath and brought himself down so that his own thighs held hers in place. Every move she made only caused him to penetrate further. He dropped his head, caught her breasts and bit and sucked; his hands clawed her buttocks. She whimpered and jerked; he gasped as she arched upwards, into him. He started moving now, in and out; he continued to squeeze her painfully, and his teeth bit at her nipples more than once.

She continued to writhe against him as long as she could keep up the act; eventually, though, her cries turned into panting gasps and her struggles into a rhythmic pace. His hands still squeezed her buttocks painfully; yet this only served to accentuate the pleasure building up from Puck's fast thrusting. He certainly wasn't the slow gentle type. That would have suited her just fine but this was better. He let go of her breast and his jaws locked; his hands left her back and he placed them on her hips, propelling himself forward with each push. He was grunting now with the effort; she felt too tight, as if she were doing it on purpose. That infuriated him; he thrust harder.

Psyche continued arching to meet him, pushing his arms up each time. She still cried out once in a while; he was hot and swollen inside her, and the friction hurt; yet it grew higher and higher.

His hands clutched her hips, squeezing tightly; he thrust his own hips forward into her, harder each time; his teeth were bared and his fingers dug into her skin. She bit her lip till it bled, moving with him rapidly, up and down, back and forth. Everything seemed crystal clear to her now, the taste of blood in her mouth, the sight of the sweat on Puck's face, the brutal, painful harshness of his stabbing, pounding thrusts, the sound of his savage animal grunts as he built toward release. She found herself crying out in time with him; he dug his feet into the bed, forcing his whole weight upon her with each push; she couldn't even move upwards. It was coming, she could feel it; her tightness was hurting him as well, as his increasingly frenzied cries proved. She brought her legs up, wrapping them around him; her feet pushed against his buttocks in an attempt to send him deeper. He kept thrusting, harder and harder, faster and faster, his fingernails breaking her skin--

She screamed and arched. The move was so sudden that it pushed him upwards. He cried out as he climaxed with her. For a brief moment they were suspended in the air. Then she sank back down, bringing him with her; he felt her muscles release as she let out her breath. He groaned as he finished, then pulled himself out. He collapsed next to her; they lay with their chests heaving for several minutes.

Finally he sensed his breath, and his strength, returning; Psyche moved slightly and he bent to undo her wrists. She pulled them back and rubbed them; he knew she'd have those and quite a few other bruises to deal with later.

He brushed aside her damp hair and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. She turned to look at him, surprised; after the show he'd just put on this was the last thing she'd expected. He stared at her in the dim light.

"Psyche--" His voice was hoarse; he had to swallow several times to speak, as his mouth was dry. "I don't know what to say to you--"

She continued looking up at him, her eyes blue-gray in the light. He swallowed again.

"Thank you."

Her reply was to snuggle against him as she had before, her head resting against his chest. He sighed, put his arm over her; they both slept.

Resisting Arrest

He locked the shower room door after him, and then turned to face her. A grin slowly spread across his face as he jangled the handcuffs Mulroy had given him.

"Look what I've got," he said.

Psyche grinned back. "Have I been bad, Officer?"

It was a silly thing to say, yet the image it conjured excited her.

Puck continued grinning and went along. "Very bad, Ma'am."

She giggled under her breath. "Was I going too fast, Officer?"

"Way over the speed limit."

"I guess I'll just have to take a breathalyzer test." He looked puzzled; she took him by the hand and led him into the shower section. Once there she dropped to her knees in front of him, undoing his pants. At first he looked surprised, then shocked; she could tell he hadn't expected this. He even started to pull away, yet she glanced up at him and the grin still on her face told him he didn't have to. He stayed.

She drew him out, her hands caressing, up and down; his breathing grew faster and he gasped when she took him in her mouth, sucking, her tongue swirling around him. She could feel him growing hotter, hardening; his body started to shake as she sucked. When she sensed he could take it no longer she pulled away, looking up at him. He was fully erect now; he still shook slightly and as he looked down at her his eyes narrowed.

"That's very bad, trying to bribe an officer," he scolded, his voice quavery. "It looks like I'll have to take you in."

She faked a pout. "Isn't there any way I could dissuade you?"

"We'll just have to see." He took the handcuffs, dragged her to her feet, and cuffed her to the showerhead. She giggled again. He unbuttoned her shirt and undid her bra, pulling it off and tossing it to the side; he pulled down her shorts and underwear. His breath was coming faster; she twisted her wrists against the cuffs. The showerhead was low enough so that she wasn't hanging, yet too high to allow her to do anything but stand. He laughed, seeing the movement.

"Naughty," he chided, "resisting arrest. I'll just have to punish that."

He pulled down his own pants and underwear. Psyche laughed and strained against the handcuffs, jerking on her wrists painfully. He caught her by the shoulder and kissed her, his tongue meeting hers. He squeezed her breasts, digging in his fingers and clawing her. She hissed. He ran his hands down to her hips, and then between her legs; she jerked and gasped as he felt her, his fingers going inside. He pinched the inside of her thigh and she jerked again, squealing with pain. With another laugh he drew himself close so their bodies pressed together; he caught her by the buttocks and reached underneath, pulling her apart. She felt him now, hot and hard; he rubbed against her, his breath on her neck. She squirmed and whimpered, her body aching for him. He felt her wetness against his fingers; keeping her thighs parted from behind, he ducked slightly, positioning himself below to enter her; then he did so, thrusting upwards with a gasp. Psyche cried out and continued straining against the cuffs. The metal bit into her skin.

For a moment Puck stayed inside her, hot and throbbing; he was panting already, his head thrown back and his eyes closed; then he pulled out.

She let out her own breath. He gripped her buttocks tighter and thrust upward again, raising himself onto his toes. A strangled sob escaped Psyche's throat; she jerked and her hips arched into him. Her body was quivering against him; his breath hoarse, Puck squeezed her, pulling her against him; he started undulating his hips slowly, then faster, until finally the two of them were writhing, him gasping and her crying out. He was pulsing hard inside her, engorged, filling her up painfully. He gritted his teeth, loosing his hold and grasping her thighs instead; then he began thrusting into her. She couldn't stop her back from arching, pulling her onto her toes and letting go again, the cuffs pinching her wrists. He snarled and his fingers dug into her skin. He gnawed at her shoulder, drawing blood; she sobbed again and tried to twist away. If he hadn't known her better he'd have thought she was crying out in pain; however, he knew the greater reason was her throbbing desire. He knew because he felt it too. He found her mouth and moved his hands to claw her breasts again, then raking her back, pulling himself into her; the faster he thrust the stronger she arched, until suddenly she broke the kiss, screaming, whipping her head wildly from side to side. She pressed against him, tightening around him; he felt himself start in response to her orgasm, yet pulled himself out just in time. He was still erect, throbbing outward; however, he managed to hold it in as he unlocked the cuffs, letting her down and quickly handcuffing her back to a pipe set low in the wall. She was again on her hands and knees; as he stood she looked back up at him, tugging weakly on the cuffs, her breath ragged. At first she merely looked confused; then she gave a little shriek and renewed her efforts to free herself.

"Not again, Puck, not again!" she yelled, pulling harder. He laughed under his breath and dropped to his own knees behind her. She squealed as she tried to break loose; he caught her breasts in his hands and she screamed. He kissed her neck, squeezing her body roughly. She gasped and tried to pull away. At first she truly hadn't wanted to go any further; she'd already climaxed, and her arm muscles screamed with pain. Now, however, as he fondled her, she could feel a tightening inside, and her breath grew faster again. She kept pulling at the cuffs desperately.

"Not again, Puck--oh, God!" she gasped when he arched his hips against her, hot on her skin. He pushed her so she fell forward onto her elbows; laughing breathlessly he parted her buttocks, straddling her from behind. She cried out and sobbed as if terrified. He took himself in his own hand, holding her hip to steady her, and guided himself in; she gasped and he let go, grabbing her other hip. He squirmed from side to side; Psyche sobbed again. Panting, he bent over her, on hands and knees, pressing his body against her. He pulled out slightly as he did so. Then, with a strained grunt, he forced himself inside as deep as he could go. Psyche shrieked and fought against the cuffs, rattling the pipe.

He undulated again, pulsing inside her. He groaned as he did so, his hips grinding against her buttocks. She could feel his muscles contracting, his swollen urgency inside her. She moaned out loud at his hardness.

"Oh, God, Puck--oh, God--"

Her moaning his name stimulated him further. He raised himself slightly, grasping her breasts; his grinding grew faster and more frenzied. He groaned her own name.

"Psyche..." he gasped sharply "...God, Psyche--"

"Harder!"

He twisted inside her painfully, side to side. She arched spasmodically and let out a loud moan.

"Harder, Puck, please!"

Gritting his teeth, he dropped his hands again and pulled out. He rammed inside so sharply that they both lurched forward, Psyche banging her arms on the pipe. She let out a high-pitched whine, whipping her head from side to side.

"Ahhh--Puck--oh my God--"

He snarled, baring his teeth; yet even he couldn't keep up his rage, as much as an aphrodisiac it might be. He cried out, thrusting deeply, rocking into her.

"Oh--Psyche--unnh!"

Her back was arched. He grabbed her buttocks and rubbed them against him, quivering and shaking. He was absolutely on fire! He couldn't believe he hadn't come yet.

He started thrusting again, his breath harsh and fast.

She threw back her head; her eyes were closed and her face twisted with strain. "Ohhh...Puck...harder!"

He tried to comply. His own muscles were screaming with exhaustion, yet she only grew tighter and hotter inside. His groan became a shriek.

"Psyche!"

"Harder!" She was bucking against him. "Oh, God, Puck--faster! Faster! Please, please, please!"

He thrust as hard and fast as he possibly could, considering her tightness. He threw back his head, groaning and spasming.

Psyche was shrieking now, her voice shrill and ragged. "God, Puck, fill me, fill me! Now! Now!"

He grabbed her hips, howling and straining, grinding, ramming, thrusting--

"Puck!"

She screamed, back arching, hips bucking. She tightened around him, squeezing; he cried out her name, his hips grinding into her as he released. His fluid gushed inside her, pouring out of him; as his stiffness and throbbing ebbed he groaned and shuddered, pulling her buttocks apart to draw himself out. She collapsed on the floor as soon as he did. He was still wet, leaking slightly on the floor; he uncuffed her, then stood up shakily and turned on the shower. Psyche squealed and attempted to cover her head as the water rained down on her. Puck merely laughed, splashing her.

"Puck!" she cried, her voice cracking. Simply hearing her say that aroused him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Delousing," he said. "Consider yourself my prisoner. You've made Officer Benteen very happy." He pulled her up, drew her to him, and kissed her, laughing again as she pulled away, trying to wipe the water from her eyes with her shirtsleeves. She wasn't altogether successful, and ended up laughing too, staggering into the wall.

"God, Puck, I'm all wet."

"That's not such a bad thing, is it?" He again drew her close and kissed her. She responded this time, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing close. For several minutes they stood in the shower, water splashing over them, embracing. She suddenly noticed his hardness returning, and broke away, shaking her head.

"No, no, not again, Puck. Twice is more than enough!"

"You forget it was only once for me." He smiled at her again; this time there was nothing of deceit in it, and she found her shoulders relaxing. "I agree though. We've had enough Cops and Speeders for today. I just wanted to thank you for an excellent performance." He stepped forward and kissed her a third time, running his hands through her wet hair. She paused for a moment, uncertain whether this was another trick or not, then gave in, accepting his mouth. She let him kiss her for several minutes, moaning softly into her mouth, before he reluctantly broke it this time, grinning as he bent to retrieve her clothes. She rubbed her arms with her hands, taking the clothes from him and dressing. She couldn't help laughing at how wet they both were, dripping from the shower. He laughed too and reached up to turn it off. When he looked at her again she saw that desire was still in his eyes, but it was accompanied by something else--she wouldn't call it love, but it was very close. It surprised her a little, how they played these games and he always, no matter what, ended up thanking her, as if he owed her. She wondered if he knew how it was for her too. But saying anything would just embarrass him. She simply waited for him to finish dressing, then followed him out of the shower room.

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This item is not looking for critique. It was written solely for entertainment's sake. Although a scene from a possibly longer story, it is complete in itself and unless otherwise stated there is not going to be any more of it written. Additional unrelated SCENES may be written, but single scenes themselves are complete as they are. So please do not expect more. If you are interested in reading the series which INSPIRED the scene, just look elsewhere in my portfolio and you should find something. (Use the "story codes" given in the scene headers. For example, "MI" = "Manitou Island" series.)

I am not looking for critique on grammar, spelling, style, sentence structure, flow, or the mechanics of writing. What I AM interested in is commentary on such things as characterization, plot, symbolism, theme, etc.--the deeper aspects of the story. I like to know if a scene is believable, if the characters are interesting, what you thought of how they interacted, if the writing evoked any emotions, things such as that.

Feel free to criticize, but just keep in mind that I'm working on more important projects and shared this just for fun and/or to illustrate character interactions, so I don't plan to revise it any time soon. Comments on the characters, theme, etc. are more than welcome.