Ibis - Leviathan Laroche (love letters to the dead .txt) 📗

other, I usually caught a light smack. Once I lunged forward, as if to break away. But the pits were crowded, and I really didn't want to escape. Her fingers just snagged the back of my arm, and the coils of her whip went around my neck. There were laughs and hoots as she force-marched me past the Corvette. 

I didn't realize that we weren't heading for the elevators until we were almost at the front entrance. She caught my elbow and pulled me out the door.

An October night in Vegas is crisp. My first deep breath chilled my throat and set what light arm-hair I had on end. The cold air was enough to encourage me to be brisk, but she had a better plan to urge me on. 

The first time her whip cracked, about two feet to my left, I just about jumped out of skin. I stopped dead still, then turned to look back; she had that same wicked grin again when she motioned forward with her head. The whip cracked again to my right, and I hopped to it.

We drew a crowd on Las Vegas Boulevard. She loved it. She hissed at me, hissed at the crowd, swished her ass as surely as if it had a tail, and cracked her whip whenever she had enough room. A group of tourists each filming the Bellagio's water show turned as we walked by to record us instead. (Well, her, really, just like she said. It wasn't my perky nipples poking through my costume that caught their eye.) She shoved me forward again, clawed the space around her clear, and showed us all – especially me – just how good she was with the whip. The air popped and cracked around my head and shoulders. Several times I felt the wind of it past my ear; each time I flinched or tried to dodge out of the way, she laughed. The tourists applauded while I grimaced. She must have stopped, because suddenly I did too, yanked back to her by a tug on my cape. 

She held me tightly – one arm and the whip wrapped around my waist – and I realized that she was stronger than I had given her credit for. Not as strong as me, of course. Well, probably not.... Her arm didn't budge at my faux struggles, and those thighs – there was enough power in those flanks to crack walnuts. Or a head. In her heels, and with her cowl ears and that mane of black hair, she had half an inch on me. Caught in that hug, I felt overpowered. 

Flashes were going off all around us. She grabbed my chin between a few clawed fingers and angled my cheek up and toward her. To the audible satisfaction of the crowd, she slathered her tongue up the side my face, from the top of my neck to the corner of my eye, and again up my jawline to my ear, which she nuzzled. "Struggle a little more, Rrrobin, or they might think you like it!"

I do like it! Through the gag, it came out more as, "I-oo ryk-ih!"

She laughed and pushed me away, sending me skipping again with a crack of the whip.

*

It's a long walk from Caesar's Palace to the Luxor, which is where we eventually arrived. Technically it's about a block and a half, but a Las Vegas block has got to be at least a mile. I jogged most of the way, stumbling ahead of her, ducking from the occasional crack of the whip. Her lashes never struck, but I never managed not to jump when I heard it snap. She strode behind me at a clipped, determined pace, but we stopped frequently, whenever enough people wanted to take a picture commemorating my capture, or when she just wanted to maintain her arousal.

Actually, she did a good job of keeping us both excited over the 45 minutes or so the walk took. The tips of her claws on the back of my neck, her hot breath on my cheek, a brush of her nipples against my arm, a flick of her tongue over my lips – any of these were enough to keep me unbalanced, on the hazy boundary between public embarrassment and the constant glowing, heart-beating hope that she would take the scene further. But her low, sultry voice and the libidinous threats it uttered were what really threatened to stretch the crotch in my costume and bring the unwelcome attention. 

There was this one time, on the corner between New York, New York and Excalibur, when she started dry-humping the back of my leg while moaning "Rrrobin..." again and again in my ear... Somewhere there is a frat-boy with about 40 great shots of what she did to me. I want them back.

For her part, I realized two things seemed to turn her on – her ability to arouse me (which was half of a dangerous positive feedback loop), and her ability to control me. Whether she did the ordering with the whip, grabbing hands, or with sternly spoken commands, my obedience made her more likely to follow with an ear nibble or a whispered idea of what new dirty thing she might do to me, the details of which she was just as likely not to share – it was enough that I knew that she had an idea. But it wasn't enough that I simply comply – she wanted a stallion, not a gelding – so the more I pretended to struggle or, towards the end, did struggle, the more her wicked smile widened. 

*

At last we were at the Luxor, inside and heading along the outside of the gaming floor, directly for the elevator bank. By this time, I didn't even notice the half-dozen other people waiting for a lift with us; I was happy to see her re-coiling her whip. 

 

Once we were in the elevator car, she untied the gag. But before I even had a chance to work my jaw, she slid it up over my mask, covering my eyes, and tugged the knot tight again. I rubbed the corners of my mouth with the back of my wrists until she hissed and slapped them away from my face, taking over the job herself. One fingertip, claw arched back, circled the outside of my lips, then pushed its way inside. Wet with my saliva, the fingertip slid over the top of my cheek and along the outer profile of my ear, then slipped in the middle to deposit the spit. While I jerked away from the wet willy, her other hand found its way to my ass, slid down, down, then beneath and between my cheeks. A quick, firm poke wedged the tights up into place. I grunted. Whatever the other people on the elevator thought about her prank, they thought it in silence.

Several dings later, it was our turn to leave the elevator. My Catwoman prodded me, then put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me forward. "Don't worry, Dickie boy," she purred. "I won't run you into any walls. I don't want to bruise you just yet." 

Let me just say – as much as masks agitate me, a blindfold gives me the sweats. My false sense of echolocation gave me the impression that walls were only inches away, that we were walking into sharp edges. I stumbled forward, and found it impossible to walk straight. Even with her hand firmly on my shoulders, claws not quite digging in, I would begin to list to one side, then careen back on track as she corrected. I'm sure the alcohol from earlier hadn't helped. It didn't take long at all for me to lose complete track of where we were, how many times we'd turned, or how far we worked.

At last, after several sharp turns at the end and a long walk that could have just as easily put us right back next to the elevator, she stopped me. I heard the swipe of a card and a click as the door opened, and then I was being steered inside a room. Ever so hesitantly I crept before here, step-feeling my way into the room until she demanded that I stop and turn to the left. One firm push against my chest and I stumbled backwards; the back of my legs struck something soft, and I fell back flatly onto a bed.

"Put your hands over your head and move up on the bed, Rrrobin." Her sonorous voice filled the room in a way I'd never experienced in the open spaces of the casino and Las Vegas Boulevard. It had a tone of maturity, or gravitas. I did as asked, and when my hands hit the headboard fixed to the wall behind me, I stopped.

She knelt on the bed, then; I felt her weight on the end of the bed, then shifting from side to side as she crawled up my length, boots brushing against the outsides of my legs. She stopped when I felt her face directly over mine. Her breath filled my nostrils each time I inhaled. Her elbows sank into the pillow on either side of my head, and the tips of her claws played over my cheeks, the sides of my neck, behind my ears.

"Open your mouth, just a little." She leaned down further, pressing down on me, and closed her mouth over mine. Her kiss was warm, and at first not hard. Her lips engulfed mine, then lightly caught each of my upper and lower lips in turn. When I lifted my head back against her, returning the kiss, she clapped a gloved hand over my forehead an pushed me down, holding me in place. Then she kissed me again, and this time her tongue brushed over my lips before teasingly darting between them. She kept her hand on my head as she pushed deeper, turning her face at an angle so our mouths could lock and give her better access. Her other hand started at my ribs while she forced her tongue around the gap between my lips and my teeth, then wandered down to my hips and along the outer curve of my butt. She broke from the kiss to breathe and bite my chin, and her free hand slid back up my side, up my arm to grab my fisted hands. Restraining me thus, she plunged back into the kiss, thrusting with her tongue and spooning her saliva into my mouth. Her thumb caught the ziptie around my wrists, she lifted it up the headboard to catch it on some hook waiting there above my head.

Then she leaned back, sitting on my pelvis, and used the muscles in her legs to squeeze her buttocks and slide her cheeks forward and back a few inches, creating a friction that brought my erection back to life in a hurry.

"Mmmm..." Her purr sent the blood rushing to all parts of my body. "Well, Rrrobin, there are a few things I've got to take care of before this Pussy has a Dick for dinner. You fairly trapped now, by all the rrrules pertaining to superheroes. You're my captive, tied up in my secret lair, awaiting a terrible fate, without much hope of escape, and I'm going to step out to do some evil deeds."

Her fingers went back to the ziptie and she tested to see how tight it was. "But I should let you in on a little secret, even before the next episode. It really wouldn't take a crack detective to escape this trap. If you want to leave while I'm gone, you can. If there's a fire, you're not restrained. You should be able to pull your hands free pretty easily, and I'm sure a clever boy like you can find your way to the elevator. But I warn you, and this is the trap: if you even try to escape, I won't stop you. Not right now. If I come back