drwhitly | Closed to formersurgeon

Closed to formersurgeon

Martin had been looking forward to seeing Joan Watson again. Ever since they had met, she was on his mind daily and nightly. So he woke up that morning, attempted to brush his hair, shape up his beard by the prison barber, and await her in his cell.

When the guard came in to bind him, he was surprised that his hands weren't cuffed, but the leash was still there attaching him to the wall; in case he was to run? It was a silly notion, but he didn't complain because he was going to see her that day.

When he saw her figure being let in the first set of doors, he stood, approaching the red line.

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Martin did hold her down as he felt her body react and tense. He kept her still in order to not lose his pace and focus. His teeth clenched despite his grunts, eyes watching his cock and her ass while flickering up to see her strained face.

This didn’t bring him to let up, but instead push on harder. It was as if he was riding her to push her to a sweet spot; for himself more than for her.

It was what she expected, to be fucked mercilessly, and that his focus would be more on his pleasure than on hers. Of course it would be...he was a psychopath. He used people for his own gain. Including in bed. But she was getting what she wanted as well.

She moaned loudly as he plowed her, not holding back her voice, as every rough thrust shoved her closer and closer to climax.

She hadn't used the safe word so there was really no reason for him to let up. He moaning and clenching around him was hard to hold back from. He felt his climax closing in but he still pondered out loud through his heavy breathing. "In your ass...pussy...or mouth?" It sounded like he may be asking or just thinking to himself; a bit unclear.

It was something they probably should have talked about beforehand, but she wasn't a huge fan of ass to mouth.

"Ass," she managed to gasp between moans. "Fill me...with your cum."

Martin clearly hadn't given it thorough thought, so her answer helped. It also allowed him to not pull out after he rammed into her at a rapid bucking pace as he felt the climax wash over him. He released inside of her with a long groan of his own as his eyes fluttered and his breath hitched then produced a heavy exhale.

Looking down at her as he finished, energy briefly drained of him, he slowly pulled out and laid back on the bed, working to catch his breath.

She worked to catch her breath as well, feeling the absence of him inside her, and the slow trickle of cum from her ass.

"That was intense," she breathed.

“That was everything I had been waiting for.” He added. “I think about you every night before I fall asleep.” She should know that already since they typically would text.

“Come here,” he reached out for her, assuming she would be in the mood to move from her position as her body readjusted.

"I think about you, too. Every night." Yes, it was when they would text, but for Joan at least it was more than that. He'd been on her mind almost constantly.

She moved toward him as well as she could considering her hands were still bound.

"Untie me?"

Martin laughed realizing that she was still bound. “I suppose those just fade into the background for me.” Even when not on him. He moved over and undid the binds. He looked over her wrists when they were free. “Shouldn’t leave a mark. At least not a lasting one.”

Joan rubbed her wrists a little to make sure the blood was flowing, then rolled over to nestle against him.

"That was definitely quite the experience. I've never been tied up and held down and fucked like that."

"First of many times," he assured her, an arm wrapping around her to hold her to him. "You certainly seemed to enjoy it."

"It didn't quite get me all the way there," she said. "But yes, I did." She tilted her head up to look at him. "Would it have mattered if I didn't?"

"I know," He smirked a knowing look. "Maybe we're just drawing your climax out."

Looking down at her, he was surprised by the question she asked, "Well, I have no intention of raping you if that's what you're asking." His fingers brushed over the silkiness of her hair. "Something tells me that you might not come back if I did.

Unless, of course, if you enjoyed the power dynamic more than the act itself." He pondered as he watched her expression. "In which case, it wouldn't have, no."

She laughed at that smirk, and tapped his chest. "Ah, clever."

The answer to her question drew a slow nod. "It...wasn't exactly what I was asking, no. What I was curious about was if it's important to you that I enjoy myself, or if it only matters insofar as you benefit from it." It was blunt, sure, but it wasn't like they weren't both aware of certain realities.

"Either way, it's not going to keep me from coming back. I'm just curious."

Martin slowly nods, “It does matter to me that you get pleasure and enjoy yourself.” He doesn’t need much time to think about this. It strokes the ego of a narcissist to be exceptional at sex and that does include pleasuring their partner. Not for the benefit of her as much as it is for him to feel esteemed and accomplished; however that is a bit difficult for him to distinguish. “I benefit from knowing it was me who did that for you.”

“Does that not match your sociopath diagnosis of me?” He teased her, tickling her side just gently with his arm wrapped around her.

She laughed a little as he tickled her, squirming gently against his side.

"Honestly, I'm a little uncertain in my diagnosis," she said. "You're not a traditional sociopath, because you're way too focused and deliberate, and you were far too successful as a surgeon. But...I don't think you're fully a psychopath either, because psychopaths don't feel emotion, and...I think you do."

Did he feel anything for her? That was the question that she left unasked. This thing they had was so strange, but Joan wanted to be with him, partially out of an almost perverse sort of curiosity, but also because of that deep sense of connection she felt. Even though she was savvy enough to know that it was entirely possible he did not feel it in return. But she believed he did.

“Psychopaths feel emotions.” He reminded her. “Just not all of the same emotions that you feel. I might not feel empathy but I feel things about people.” He paused before continuing. “Despite our ‘behaviors’ and personality traits, we want to be loved and cared for. People just don’t seem to want to give us a chance and get close to us.” Often due to his inability to do more than mimic certain emotions. However that didn’t mean that he lacked feeling towards her because she was showing up for him emotionally and physically which was something his family had abandoned him on.

Loved and cared for. She reached out to brush an unruly curl back from his face, a tender gesture, before leaning in to kiss him gently. It was hard for her to be able to tell if he really did feel for her or if he was just mimicking, but in truth it didn't change how she felt. Maybe it should have, but it didn't.

Martin liked the touch, kissing her back. He did enjoy her quite a bit and had no intention of letting her go; she was caring and attentive. "What are you thinking about, darling?"

"Emotions," she answered, intentionally vague, curious if and how he'd ask for clarification. "You?"

"Oh? My emotions or yours?" Considering what they had just been discussing.

"You," He smiled down at her, his hand back in her hair. "How fortunate our meeting was. I was remembering the other day the case you brought to me. How you came to meet me rather than just kept it over the phone." Not many were brave enough to make the trek to him.

"Both," she said, her smile slightly teasing. "How I feel about you. How you might feel about me."

She smiled up at him, playing with his hair. "I'm so glad I did. You turned out to be even more interesting than I expected, and I expected a lot."

“And how do you feel about me?” He asks now that he feels prompted. He doesn’t say how he feels about her just to keep the focus on her thoughts and feelings for the moment.

“I am too. You were quite an enigma at first, but now I feel like you could be much more.”

She pressed her lips, thinking for a moment, still playing with his hair.

"Attachment," she began. "Endearment. A strong desire for intimacy. To know you and be known in return."

There was one word that would have covered all of that, of course, but it was an exceedingly dangerous word to offer, considering how uncertain she was about how he truly felt about her.

“A very strong desire for intimacy.” His hand found her shoulder and slid down her arm. “So specific and yet so vague.” He observed. “What don’t you want me to know about you?” It was almost pondered out loud. “Since we are here forming an attachment.” He glanced over at the unattended. “And we have all the time in the world.” Hell, if she wanted to spend the night then he suspected very little would be done to stop her.

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