Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

Control	By : BatPhace Category: A through F > Forgotten Realms Views: 3025 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Forgotten Realms, any of the settings, nor do I own any of the characters depicted here nor do I make any money from this work of fan fiction

Chapter List
- 1-Control
- 2-Part 2: Taking it Back
- 1
- 2
Part 2. Don't forget to review. I'm a review whore, so make my day and leave me a little note :D
~
The mercenary and the assassin circled slowly, gracefully, warily searching for any opening, any weakness that could be exploited. There were none, of course, but that fact seemed only a minor setback to both participants. Jarlaxle blew a trickling bead of sweat from the tip of his nose as he considered his opponent and the ardor that seemed to be budding in Artemis Entreri as they sparred. This match was different than yesterday's. Yesterday's had been different from the one before it. And they were all different from the matches that had come before they had been... intimate. Jarlaxle smiled at the thought and almost became distracted enough to leave himself open to the assassin's blade as it came on in a short rush and then darted away.
They had gone about their business in Heliogabalus, and on the surface, to one looking in the window, everything would seem normal. At least as normal as possible for a drow mercenary partnered with a human assassin. Things were far from normal, even for these two. It was a subtle thing, none but those most familiar with the two would have noticed. Jarlaxle could count those familiars on one hand.
Artemis had run the gamut of emotions long denied and unwelcome in these days since his... experience... with the drow. Damn Jarlaxle to each and every one of the nine hells. The assassin had woken almost every night since sweating and desperate from nightmares -or dreams, depending on one's viewpoint- of heated pleasure and dulcet Drow words. The key to it all was in the words somewhere; he knew it, though he knew not why. He knew, too, that there was only one way to end it, to bring himself back under his own will and free him from this turmoil for good. It was was an inevitable thing, like eating or breathing. He would stand in Jarlaxle's doorway for hours in the night sometimes. He could not step inside to take back what was rightfully his. He was not ready.
And yet he was angry also, on some level anyway. Angry that Jarlaxle had been able to get this close. Entreri smirked as he lunged in and was parried aside again, entertaining the thought of slitting the dark elf's throat from ear to ear -should he ever get close enough, for it was that very thing that he was having a problem doing now- and cramming the flute down that open throat just for ever giving him the stupid thing in the first place. Other notions crept into his mind that were entertaining in a much more unsettling way, and that alone was plenty of reason to murder the meddling drow. As Artemis circled there, the longer they fought, the more his thoughts of Jarlaxle centered not on blood and torture, but on intoxicating ecstasy. The words, the heat. The almost faded bite to the back of his shoulder twinged and an involuntary shiver rode along Entreri's spine; oh, and the pain. That exquisite, silken pain.
Entreri came on then, the ferocity in his eyes taking on a new passion. And so it begins, Jarlaxle thought with a grin.
He let the assassin push him back, staying defensive, until he had nowhere else to go. Shoved against the wall, Jarlaxle dropped his defensive posture infinitesimally, wavering his strength just enough to allow Entreri's dagger through and toward his throat, much to the assassin's shock; Jarlaxle had no doubt that Artemis would pull his thrust.
He did, just in time, and as the blade barely touched the obsidian flesh of the drow's throat Jarlaxle dropped his daggers to the ground.
Artemis froze, locking stares with the drow, frenetic fury crashing within his eyes. He knew Jarlaxle had just thrown the match. As he bore his body against Jarlaxle's, both bare, heated and damp, with his blade against the drow's throat, that fact held less weight with Entreri than the implication of Jarlaxle's surrender. Pressed so close there was no hiding their excitement. The fire in those dark eyes seemed to falter just for a moment. Jarlaxle smiled, but before he could speak Entreri uttered a desperate question.
“The words, Jarlaxle,” he whispered, “What did the words mean?”
The dark elf considered taking a coy approach and asking ‘What words would those be?' but something in the edge of Artemis' voice told him that would be a bad idea. This was important to him, for some reason Jarlaxle could not fathom. Besides, it took no effort to recall those words. They were there in his mind as though he had just spoken them, vivid and terrific, and being drow, he had a long time to remember them. They were honest words, the drow had mused in these days since he had gone to Artemis. Perhaps the most honest he had ever spoken, in his life of half-truths and twisted rationale. Artemis watched him with raptor intensity, and Jarlaxle almost felt uncomfortable under the weight of the gaze even as he inhaled the soap and sweat scent of the man.
“'Zuul'raght',” Jarlaxle breathed, and Artemis shivered a little as the memory attached to that word and that velvet voice hit him like a kick in the stomach and shot straight to anatomy much lower, “It translates to 'amazing'.”
Artemis mouthed the word, not daring to try to emulate the Drow inflections with his human tongue, but soaking up the true significance behind it as easily as his body soaked up the heat the dark elf was pouring off. Jarlaxle continued when Artemis' slate eyes met his own once more.
“'Llieh', is 'perfect',” Jarlaxle kept his voice low, the melody of it bringing another shudder at another memory. Something was shifting in Artemis with each word, each syllable even, as they played within his mind once more. Jarlaxle could all but see the power building within he man. The heat of his body. The contrasting cold steel of the blade still at his throat; it all came together for Jarlaxle in a rush of elated exhilaration.
Artemis' eyes flashed then, “Dos ... satrire...”
“‘Dos satiir ssin’urn’?” Jarlaxle offered. Artemis' eyes widened slightly at the recognition, and Jarlaxle smiled. “It means ‘you feel beautiful’.” Jarlaxle watched as Entreri comprehended and he saw something in the assassin's eyes change. Nothing obvious, but dramatic to the drow nonetheless. It made Jarlaxle swallow a bit harder than required, which of course moved the blade at his throat uncomfortably.
“Tell me more, Jarlaxle,” Artemis murmured, grinding his body against the trapped drow. He just feels soo good, Entreri thought. Sensual, lithe and sinuous, like a hot drink on a cold desert winter night. Entreri almost caressed the dark elf's cheek with his lips; as it was only his breath ghosted across Jarlaxle's skin, making it rise in bumps all the way down his right arm. “How do you say... ‘pleasure me...’?” Entreri all but purred.
Jarlaxle was transfixed by the voice, nothing else existed but those eyes, “'Ss... Ssrigg'tul uns'a...”
Again Artemis mouthed the words, then aloud in no more than a roughened whisper and with a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth and in his voice, “...with your mouth.”
Jarlaxle licked his lips in anticipation, “...xuil dosst norrs'.” His knees went a little weak as the words escaped his lips, he noticed, and he seemed just the tiniest bit short of breath. Strange.
Entreri waited a moment, a moment where his features darkened though the light in the room had not changed, and then he mouthed the entire sentence, still not daring to attempt the Drow words aloud. He may as well have spoken them right beside Jarlaxle's ear; the effect would have been no different as he felt the assassin's lips move, imagined those words in that voice within his mind. The drow shuddered visibly, eyelids fluttered over crimson eyes, and his mouth opened in an almost imperceptible gasp.
“Asanque,” Jarlaxle breathed, feeling the mirroring shudder that rolled through the assassin's body. 'As you wish'; Artemis knew that phrase all too well. It had been one of the few Jarlaxle had insisted he learn for his own good while 'residing' in Menzoberranzan.
Slowly, gently, Jarlaxle touched him, stroking his sides and stomach with light fingertips, and Artemis leaned back just enough to allow the drow room to move. Is this real or another nightmare, the assassin found himself wondering. It felt real. Heated lips traced over his sweat cooled skin, down his neck and bare chest, across his stomach as Jarlaxle found himself at eye level with the already rigid bulge in Entreri's soft leather pants.
Entreri stared down, watching Jarlaxle's hands play over his body and working to loosen his belt, and felt intoxicating satisfaction at having the drow on his knees and looking so eager before him. At the same time, holding Jarlaxle's glowing garnet orbs as they peered up at him, unblinking and undoubting, had the assassin feeling... warm? No, that wasn't it, and he lost the train of thought completely as Jarlaxle's warm fingers on his already warm skin conflicted with the cool of the air as his arousal was exposed. Entreri's eyes shut and he had to brace his arm, still holding the dagger tightly in hand, against the wall before him as Jarlaxle's tongue traced up the sensitive underside of this rigid manhood, all the way to the tip, before swallowing the whole length down the back of his tight throat in one shocking motion. Entreri moaned aloud, all of his pleasure echoed there as it poured from him at the persuasion of the drow's hot mouth.
The assassin's other hand roamed down and he found himself wishing for the first time that Jarlaxle had hair so his fingers could tangle in the down-white locks. He settled instead for tracing his fingertips along the sensitive shell of the elf's pointed ear, eliciting a shuddering moan from the male as his mouth slowly worked over Entreri's shaft. Artemis groaned as the vibration pealed up into his abdomen and he moved his hand around to the back of Jarlaxle’s neck, urging the pace of his mouth with a twitch of calloused fingers.
The dark elf complied, smiling inwardly at his own arousal at his position. It had been a long, long time since he had pleasured another male like this, and he had forgotten how sensual it could be. His teeth and lips and tongue drew ragged groans and growls from the man that made Jarlaxle’s own erection ache and he reached down to ease it through his breeches, accidentally scraping his teeth along the assassin's length and bringing forth a pleasured hiss from the man.
Artemis’ hand on the back of the drow's neck tensed, and Jarlaxle could feel the assassin’s body tightening with his impending climax. With a hiss through clenched teeth and a thrust down the mercenary’s throat, Entreri came, hard, and Jarlaxle swallowed greedily, milking the last of the assassin’s essence between thrusts and short bursts of breath. Jarlaxle thought it done then, thought his plan complete with that release, and he rose to admire the man in his afterglow.
Artemis lazily drug his other arm up to block the elf in place and keep him from turning away as he recovered. Something was burning through him with each passing moment like a flame engulfing a piece of parchment. Something hot and sovereign, pulling him. What he had thought unattainable and beyond him was now tantalizingly within his grasp. Artemis raised his head and at first Jarlaxle did not understand what he saw in those molten eyes when he met them. They should have been sated, maybe even -dare Jarlaxle think it- grateful, but something stirred there, something not unlike anger. No, this was not anger, it was power. Dominance. Then, with a jolt of sudden insight, Jarlaxle realized....
That had been only the beginning.
He almost did not like the smile that made it's way over Entreri's lips now, or the wicked gleam in his granite eyes. They were feral in their intensity, and Jarlaxle's excitement, as evidenced by his own throbbing erection straining against his breeches, did not escape the assassin's notice as he looked the drow over hungrily
“Take it, Artemis,” Jarlaxle whispered fervently before his brain could stop him, “Take me.” Jarlaxle swallowed hard at the assassin's ensuing growl, but his time for concern was short as Artemis turned him about and pushed him back into his own room, pressing him, prone, to his own bed. There was a loud 'thump' that Jarlaxle recognized as Entreri's dagger finding a place -probably buried an inch deep- in his wooden night table.
It was happening so fast, Jarlaxle thought. He felt helpless -somewhat willingly so, he had to admit- in the assassin's hands, and that made him more than a little nervous. Jarlaxle Baenre was always in control. Oh, not now. What had he gotten himself into? The tremor that coursed it's way into his stomach was not all that disagreeable though, all misgivings aside.
The thought was lost as he realized that Artemis was pulling at his breeches, stripping him bare -a seemingly small thing that affected the drow far more than he would ever admit. A long buried shame momentarily pulsed to life in Jarlaxle's dark cheeks at memories of situations similar to this during his short time at Tier Breche. Jarlaxle thought again of pushing himself up and over, but then Entreri's bare thighs were straddling his, hot body slithering up him to settle his delicious weight over the dark elf's back and along his body, breathing in roughly beside Jarlaxle's ear, inhaling his scent, and erection grinding into Jarlaxle's sacrum; it was the most erotic thing the drow had ever felt.
Likewise, Entreri almost could not restrain himself as the control surged within him; the flash floods that occasionally afflicted the deserts of his homeland came to mind. When had he ever felt this, even in all his years as a perfect assassin? It seemed rooted in the very core of his being, swelling within him like a crashing wave as it carried him along. And he knew, deep down, that he could do whatever he wanted to Jarlaxle right then and the drow would never utter a word of protest. Another shiver rolled across the assassin's skin.
“I enjoy the sound of my name spilling from your lips,” Entreri whispered harshly along a pointed ear before nipping the tip with his teeth. Jarlaxle thought he might die as the man moved to the other ear and drug his tongue along the edge of it. Artemis' next words, though, were a compelling demand, “Say it, Jarlaxle.”
Jarlaxle let the syllables roll off his tongue, “Artemis,” caressing each in turn, his melodic voice dripping with desire. The shudder that he felt play through Entreri's body against his back made the mercenary smile. No, he thought, this was no power-mad Master at the Academy. Jarlaxle's muscles quivered in anticipation.
“Again,” Entreri growled, and Jarlaxle sensed the raw command in the man's voice somewhere in his gut, like the pulling of a cord.
“Artemis,” the drow hissed and pushed against the mattress with every muscle, creating a grinding friction against the assassin's body, especially against the hardened length pressed into the small of his back. Entreri sucked in a surprised breath and pushed Jarlaxle back down flat with all his weight briefly, pulling an echoing gasp from the drow elf as his erection was pinned into the mattress beneath him, and then a surprised yelp when the assassin bit him over his right shoulder blade; the exact place Entreri had been marked. Jarlaxle did not try to move again.
“I am going to enjoy this,” Artemis chuckled darkly. Oh, and would he ever. Artemis had every intention of savoring this time, for no matter what the drow dragged or manipulated him into from now until his death he would always have this moment of Jarlaxle's capitulation. He would not be cruel, at least not overly so, but this had been the mercenary's plan after all, and Artemis would not lose the opportunity. Jarlaxle should be proud.
The drow felt the weight against his back lift and tilt to the side, reaching for something. Jarlaxle's eyes flew open wide when the weight righted and he felt the unmistakable cold steel of a blade pressed to the back of his neck. Jarlaxle tensed beneath Entreri, carefully pulling his head around as far as he could to eye the man over his shoulder.
“You will trust me, Jarlaxle.” It wasn't a question, or a request. Jarlaxle swallowed hard, disconcerted and enthralled at once.
“Yes, Artemis.” The drow felt the tip of the blade press harder into his skin, bringing a tiny shock of pain and making Jarlaxle tingle into his very marrow. “Explicitly.”
Artemis felt saturated in the heady feel of the domination rushing through him. It was a most potent liquor coursing its way through his veins, rushing along his every nerve and carrying him away. The assassin tried to remind himself who he was, where he was, and most importantly who he was with. Ah, he would have to be careful, said a little voice in the back of his mind. A very, very little voice.
“I will try not to draw blood,” Artemis whispered more to himself than to Jarlaxle, smiling again at the sharp intake of breath from the normally steady mercenary. Entreri wondered absently if it were possible for a drow's knuckles to turn white; Jarlaxle was gripping his blankets hard enough to have managed it if it were.
The man's heated lips tracing up and down the skin over Jarlaxle's spine collided with the steel tracing fiery cold lines across the rest of his back. Jarlaxle arched into the blazing pleasure and the flawless pain; groaning again as he inadvertently ground his erection into the mattress.
“You enjoy it so, don't you Jarlaxle?” Entreri murmured against the obsidian flesh, eliciting a hiss that sounded like a 'yes' from the mercenary. “Of course you do. You would find the pleasure in pain.”
Artemis had been shot by wizard's lightning before; that was close to what he felt now. Every stroke with the dagger, every taste of salt and spice that laced Jarlaxle's skin, every tiny twitch and gasp from the mercenary beneath him brought a new shimmering thread of pleasure through the man.
The power resounding in Artemis' voice was thrilling and Jarlaxle found himself shivering at the force of it. He could feel the heat of rushing blood welling beneath his skin, but not breaking it. The mercenary was not being carved at, filleted. His blood was not running over his skin in rivulets from a score of garish slices and stabs, healed only to be reopened again and again. There was pain, but it was not painful. Jarlaxle had been the natural dominant in most of his willing partnerships -Priestesses and Matron Mothers hardly counted as willing partnerships after all. He had underestimated the human completely. To have someone who could make the drow want to submit instead of simply forcing it from him was an insidious premise that Jarlaxle had not planned for or insured against.
“You've imagined this before, haven't you? You have thought of us, like this,” Entreri's whispered words were rough and dark and almost mischievous, “You are not the only one who hears things Jarlaxle.” Artemis' hands traced coarse lines over the drow's body, forcing a shudder from him as he was compelled to answer.
“Yes,” the drow admitted and implored, “Xsa, yesssss,” hissing a bit as the dagger nicked at his skin just over his right hip. The pain not only made him gasp but shot a thunderclap through his spine to pool in his abdomen and right behind his erection, forcing it even tighter, almost painfully so, as it was pressed against the mattress.
The way Jarlaxle was reacting to him fascinated Artemis to no end, and excited him, and he almost considered pressing harder with the blade, maybe even drawing blood. Pushing farther, taking more. Oh, would Jarlaxle Baenre lay so complacent then, the assassin wondered. The sad thing that Entreri knew was that he probably would, for the simple fact that the drow was used to so much worse than Artemis would ever have the stomach to deal him.
Suddenly and inexplicably disgusted, Artemis threw the dagger into the wall across the room; he did not want to cause any more pain. He refused to be compared to one of those bitch priestesses in this drow's mind, no matter what else the mercenary secretly compared him to. Entreri pressed up against Jarlaxle's back fully, all heat and hard muscle and arousal, crushing against the dark elf with a primal ferocity that all but pulsed out from him and into Jarlaxle, dragging the drow to the point of pure, shameless desperation.
“Please,” Jarlaxle half moaned, half implored -a strange but not unpleasant sound from that melodious elven voice; Artemis decided he liked it-, “Please, Artemis.”
Entreri froze, holding stone still against the drow's back for a moment and causing Jarlaxle's body to balk and twitch from the withdrawal of sensation. Artemis smiled against the onyx skin of the mercenary’s shoulder.
“Where is your oil, Jarlaxle?” This time it was Jarlaxle's turn to pause, and Artemis caught on before the drow even uttered a word.
“I- I don't use it.” There was that twinge of shame again, for he had found that his time at Tier Breche all those centuries ago, unpleasant though it had been, had given him an appreciation of the... rougher ways of things.
That would never do, Artemis thought. No more pain.
Entreri moved to the side after a moment, pulling Jarlaxle over with him so that they were still pressed together. Now, laying sidelong with Artemis' free arm draped about his middle, with the assassin's fingers tracing those same delicious lines across the now exposed front of the drow, with his rough tongue and smoldering lips ghosting along his shoulders, neck and ear, Jarlaxle forgot his shame; his moan breaking from him, sultry and resonant. It made even Jarlaxle shudder to hear it, for he was not sure he could say he ever had before. Not like that.
The dark elf writhed against him, and Entreri took a new and greater pleasure in this approach of control. That he, Artemis Entreri, heartless killer by trade and choice, could affect this wanton sensuality from the ever steady leader of Bregan D'aerthe, that he could reduce the always controlled drow elf to this writhing mass of unadulterated need, caused a wicked shiver through Entreri's whole body. This was something new he could strive to master, in his life of being the best of the best at everything that mattered. And yet there, too, was a strange responsibility within the assassin's thoughts along with the dominance. It was a new, but not uncomfortable, weight on the assassin's shoulders.
When Jarlaxle felt Entreri's fingertips move to his lips, coaxing them open, he obeyed. When Entreri commanded him gently to relax, he obeyed. When Entreri demanded he open himself, demanded entrance to his body, he obeyed. Jarlaxle's breath stuttered as one saliva slicked finger entered him, then eventually another, slowly, deliberately. The dark elf found that his apprehension was betrayed by his lust as he felt himself melt and coil around the pleasure Entreri was stoking in him.
“Stroke yourself for me, Jarlaxle,” the assassin murmured beside a pointed ear, low voice vibrating across the shell and making Jarlaxle shiver. Again the dark elf obeyed, almost mindlessly, wrapping one hand around his own throbbing member, letting out a groan as Entreri simultaneously brushed something hot and sweet within him.
Artemis almost lost himself within the melody of the dark elf's moaning. The flow and the near hypnotic cadence were intoxicating. He withdrew his fingers, replacing them with the tip of his erection against Jarlaxle's entrance, moving teasingly, spreading the generous wetness that had accumulated there across the drow's flesh. There was an expectant pause when neither man nor elf took a breath.
Calmly, relentlessly, inexorably, the assassin breached him. The further he thrust the harder Jarlaxle arched against him until he was fully seated and Jarlaxle was rigid around him. The friction was delicious. The heat, the tightness, the very notion of the act itself, Artemis found, were beyond incredible.
It took Artemis a moment to realize that Jarlaxle was not so well off. On the contrary he was tense as a bow string and trembling violently, which would have been pleasurable had it not alarmed the assassin so. He mentally kicked himself, uncoiling against the dark elf, loosening his fingertips from Jarlaxle's hip to stroke gently along the drow's side, whispering soft words; he returned the show of kindness he was shown.
“Trust me, Jarlaxle. Relax. That's it.” It was a gentle command, whispered softly against the mercenary’s ear and Jarlaxle found himself complying, even before he realized, letting each muscle go in turn.
There was no more pain when Artemis moved again. The assassin's initial lazy, fluid strokes sent a smoldering pleasure spreading out through the drow's limbs, and Jarlaxle melted back against Entreri. Jarlaxle's world narrowed, containing only Artemis Entreri; only the sensations he created and the sounds he brought forth. He could feel every muscle of the assassin's body moving against him as the man continued his languid thrusts. Jarlaxle began to stroke himself harder, more insistently, craving that completion he felt looming over him. Entreri's hand came around to his wrist, holding him back, controlling even that motion, keeping it tortuously slow to match closely the rhythm of his hips. Jarlaxle whimpered his capitulation, and he heard the assassin's dark growl beside his ear.
“You will find your pleasure at my behest, and mine alone,” and Artemis accentuated his point by thrusting just a bit harder, and squeezing the rigid member, pulling yet another shuddering groan from the drow.
It was a euphoria the assassin had never experienced, this hot pleasure coursing its way through him. He felt as though he were feeding off it like some sort of incubus or vampire. He could see why the lifestyle would be appealing, if this was anything close to what they felt. He did not want it to end. He had toyed with the drow, and thus himself, keeping Jarlaxle at the edge of rapture, that very precipice of ultimate release, always commanding him back if he thought the elf would slip over. And always, without fail, Jarlaxle had obeyed, though it must have been torture for the mercenary not to give in. The assassin wondered absently if perhaps Jarlaxle himself would take a lesson from this experience of his own making. Entreri would have smirked at the thought, were his teeth not ground together in growling pleasure as he felt the foreshadowing heat that preceded his release washing over him like the flames of a wizard's fireball.
Suddenly, Entreri's body began to rock more frantically as his own climax began, and Jarlaxle's world expanded once again at the feeling of the man growing and erupting within him, at the sound of Entreri's roar muffled into his own skin. The drow could hear the air moving within the room again, and feel the whisper of it across every inch of his skin, could sense the very beat of Artemis' erratic heart, and every surge of the assassin within him. Jarlaxle whimpered, aching more desperately, more exquisitely, than he'd ever experienced. Every fiber of his being crying out for his own release. But he couldn't. Not yet. Entreri had not commanded him...
And then...
“Now, Jarlaxle. Come for me! NOW!” cried the assassin in the throes of his orgasm. Jarlaxle eagerly complied, lithe body arching, every cell bursting at once as he spilled into the blankets of his own bed. Somehow, though his mind felt numbed beyond any intoxication, he registered the gasping of the assassin and the clenching of the man's fingertips at his hips as Jarlaxle's inner muscles throbbed around him. He heard ragged keening cries and knew they must be his own. That was all Jarlaxle registered as each nerve was set ablaze and doused all at once.
Their breathing ragged, both the assassin and the mercenary fought their way back to lucidity; it was a hard won fight. Neither wanted to leave this place each had found with and within the other. It was a place of peace, and pleasure, though neither knew the words to call it. Even their instincts screaming out that they were ultimately vulnerable could not sway them to movement, could not bring their minds to clarity.
As he slowly, slowly found his thoughts again, Artemis realized the conflict in his mind was not so conflicted anymore. Each thought had a place, and he could examine them one at a time as though picking out a piece of fruit to eat or a shirt to wear. He saw now what lay before him, and what had transpired behind him to bring it on, and what needed to be done now.
As always, Jarlaxle's plan had worked.
Entreri began laughing, a slow chuckle at first, escalating to a full on, earnest belly laugh at the realization that Jarlaxle had been right all along, and worse, he would never be rid of the drow now.
Jarlaxle turned a puzzled eye on the man who had just torn him asunder and restored him within the same experience and merely smiled. Oh, yes, what had he gotten himself into.
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Control