He would not give himself easily. The god of Mischief prefered domination of the mind to games of the body, but even he had needs. Loki would never lower himself to taking a mortal into his bed as his fellow gods occasionally did. Such dirty creatures were akin to animals, they would not touch him, no. But she was something else. Her helm, so like his, her clever eyes were a mirror of his own. The only creature truly capable of posessing his body was his own mind. Loki s eyes flicked closed as she straddled him, a clever smirk on her face that lit bright blue eyes. She wore a coat of fur on her shoulders and little else underneath, but a green collar was fastened around her neck.
He let her strip his shirt off, warms hands pressed against a thin chest, gentle at first until the Lady began to dig her nails in. He whimpered softly under her as she pierced his skin and she brought her lips to his ear, growling, "You were made to be ruled."
His words. Her lips. Her husky voice. She continued to touch as she pleased, where her nails went, her mouth followed, long pink tongue lapping at the blood she drew. He winced when she nipped the already sensitive cuts, her teeth drew the smallest of moans from him. Broken god. Poor, pathetic little creature. She pressed her lips to his, demanding his attention, and her hands found their way around his neck. Lithe fingers squeezed as her tongue parted his teeth, he gasped and she relented for only a moment, allowing him breath before depriving him of it once again. All at once, he found breath returning to his lungs as she pulled away, her mouth leaving his bloody and bitten, his neck circled with a ring of red. She slinked back, letting the cape fall from her shoulders, and slipped a soft hand into his trousers. His eyes rolled back and his moans grew in volume as she took him in her hand, a grin spreading across her face as her clever fingers worked up and down his shaft, each touch bringing a new mewl.
"How long has it been?" She laughed as he shuddered into her and withdrew her hand, fingers sticky. She licked one, and then, in a moment of inspiration, pressed it to his mouth. His lips took the offering with silent reverence, tongue sliding over her thin, already wet fingers. She smiled as he licked them clean, and then, satisfied, leaned back. Her sinuous body stretched out on the bed, dark hair covering her breasts, her legs open in invitation.
Her eyes bade him come, and she guided his head gently between her legs. His lips played around sensitive flesh and she scratched her nails across his scalp as her body bucked and shuddered in response. His tongue and teeth danced over her and she cried out, breath catching in her throat.
"Mine..." She whispered, panting, as he kissed her stomach, "Mine."
His hand cupped her breast, clever fingers teasing her nipples as he began to establish his own rhythm. Suddenly, she pushed him back.
"Roll over." The Lady commanded, and the god obeyed, his body stretched out on the bed, bare back exposed.
Loki shivered as he felt her tie his hands together and then move to his ankles. She left him there for a few moments, fear and desire clouding his mind. Finally, the Lady took his belt from the floor and she smiled down at him. Without warning, the leather kissed his pale flesh. She began whipping him harder, barely giving him a chance to recover before his skin was split again. A strangled sound came from his mouth as blood spilled over his back and he fought to hide his tears in the now bloodstained sheets. Gods did not cry, gods did not submit, gods did not desire such humiliation. She tossed the belt aside and ran a finger over one of the deeper welt, laughing softly as he shuddered.
"I want you to beg, my bruised little god...beg me for more or beg me for mercy." Her voice was a raspy purr, arousal clouding her delivery.
"I want..." He struggled to speak, soft skin unused to such punishment, "More. Give me more, my lady." He choked out.
She straddled his back, running a hand gently up the bloody surface. Her voice was barely a whisper as she replied, "No."
She kissed him instead, her tongue soothing the wounds she had made before. He wanted pain, she gave him softness. He wanted abuse, but she offered a balm. She untied his chafing wrists and then released his ankles. The Lady rolled him over and regarded his tearstained face with an unnerving smile. His eyes asked for her body and her command, and the Lady aimed to satisfy. She stroked his cheek, crawling on top of him.
"Never forget..." She took him between her thighs, eyes rolling back as he penetrated her, "You belong...to me." The Lady s snarl morphed into a scream as she found release. The man beneath her matched her tone as he moaned, and then, it was over. They collapsed onto each other, panting, bodies slick with sweat, cum, and blood. The god of mischief slept soundly that night as the Lady faded back into his mind, a sick creation of a demented god.