thecapitol | and I scream from the top of my lungs / what's going on?

"Oh, that's forward of you," she says, giggling, not offended but delighted. Over the years Temple has developed an ability to do all sorts of sexual things under the surveillance of the Capitol without leaving a trace on the cameras, and she does so now, positioning herself so that she can fondle Ford just a little bit. Not enough to get to the main course, naturally, but to whet the appetite a little.

"Damn fuckin' right," Ford agrees with a smirk, his thumb massaging under the hem of her dress, teasing at the upper rise of her breast, and groans when her hand begins to play at the growing bulge between his legs. This is all happening so fast, if he were the type to get dizzy he would be. Women throw themselves at him on the regular, of course, but this Temple is a whole other level of throwing herself at him.

He fucking loves it.

"How far t'your place, then?" he rumbles, mouthing into her neck.

"Oh, only another minute or so. I like living in the middle of the city, you know? The Capitol is as close as any of us get to paradise." She sounds as if she entirely believes it, with a sort of fervor most people reserve for church. She drags her fingernails slightly over the back of his head.

In a moment, the car pulls to a stop in front of a mansion that can only be described as palatial. It's the 'town home' of one of Panem's most successful entrepreneurs and his wife, and it oozes a sense of new money and urge to prove itself.

"Here we are. It shouldn't be too much of a mess."

"Yeah," he agrees without even thinking. "'S fuckin' heaven." And so are her fingernails where they drag over his scalp, over the prickle of his close-shorn hair. He can't even bring himself to pull away from her to look around them, to see where they're going, until she's announcing that they're here. For all he knows, he's being dragged into some secret lab to be experimented on, so the Capitol can steal the key to his masculinity, but right now he doesn't give a flying fuck.

"I spent nine months in a cave in Afghanistan, held against my will, forced to build a nuclear weapon," he grits as they get out of the car. "Mess doesn't bother me, love."

"I don't know where that is," Temple says, leading him by the asscheek more than anything else towards the front door and the bedroom. "But I'll be sure to tell the media about it, and about all the other things you're good at, too. Well, almost all of them."

The mezzanine of the house is as opulent as any other building in the Capitol, with tapestries and oil paintings of a family in finery and grim expressions staring out the door. The portrait of Temple and her husband make it pretty clear she's married to anyone paying attention, but Ford could be forgiven for not noticing that, at the moment.

There's a five year-old boy in a tiny tailored suit asleep on the couch, his jacket over his shoulder as a blanket.

"Don't mind him, I gave him a Xanax. He won't wake no matter how much noise we make."

"Tell 'em everything," he growls. "Better off, eh? Good--fuck, good publicity an' whatnot." The interjection comes when he glances down, sees her dress ridden up high enough that he can almost see the bottoms of her ass cheeks, and he's so goddamn hard it's painful. And it's for this reason he doesn't even look up to see the paintings, to see the portrait of this woman's husband. He's just sort of assuming she's married at this point, I mean, look at her. Who wouldn't put an ass like that on lockdown as soon as possible?

The presence of a kid, however, has Ford pausing, going a little tense, as they pass the sofa. He arches an eyebrow at Temple, looking incredulous. "You sure? 'S that...safe?"

"Sure it is. I hardly weigh more than him and I pop them like candy," Temple says, entirely oblivious to how terrible a parent she is. She leads Rick to a bedroom with a bed that could house an entire harem, palatial curtains and a view of a lake through a wall-to-wall window. She skims her fingernails over his short-cut hair for a moment, grinning and teasing.

"Are you sure you don't want to keep just a little bit of this secret?" she asks, palming his groin and whispering in his ear.

Ford manages to tear his gaze away from the poor, passed-out little chap. Probably not actually fine, but he's content to deal with it later. Or possibly never. After all, it's her kid, and mother knows best...right?

Sure.

Her palm pressing into his groin has him groaning again, and he can't help but curl his arm around her waist, pulling her in close and growling into her neck. "Yeah, this we c'n keep secret," he agrees, eager to get to work. The way he's tugging at the hem of her dress means her clothes are not long for this world. "Bedroom?"

"Bedroom," she agrees, breaking the cool seductress veneer for something more anticipatory, hungry, almost desperate - not the upturned lip but the sweat between pelvis and thigh - and she all but drags him towards a bedroom large enough to fit a fleet of cars. The bed could hold an entire harem.

Somehow, during all this, she manages to get her underwear off and with a quick flick of her ankle, toss them off her foot and to the corner of the room.

He doesn't put up a struggle; he's not exactly in this to play coy, to pretend they're coming in here for a nightcap. No, he's pretty content to be dragged to her bedroom, to marvel at the way she manages to get out of her underwear without so much as a struggle, without batting an eye.

Rick kicks the door shut behind it; it closes with an almighty slam that he pays absolutely no mind in favor of tugging Temple in close, his hands snaking around once more to slip beneath her hem and give her bare ass a firm squeeze, pressing his pelvis firmly into hers.

She makes a squeak when he squeezes her bottom, one that almost makes her sound like a chewtoy but is followed by a giggle. And then something seems to change in her, like her brain's been hollowed out and the grinning face looking at Rick is nothing but a mask over pure emptiness. It isn't anything about the way she moves or behaves, just something behind the eyes, something missing, an alertness gone.

She grabs at his belt and undoes it, then stands on tip-toe to lick the side of his jaw. A dribble of cream smears along the inside of her thigh.

God, she is like a chewtoy. A really fucking sexy little minx of a chewtoy. And Ford is more than happy to be the rottweiler in that analogy. If he notices a sudden change in her--an emptiness where a spark should be--he doesn't let on, though truth be told he's far too absorbed in her hands on his belt and her tongue on the stubble of his jaw.

"Eager little thing, ain't you, Miz Stevens," he breathes, itching already to be out of their clothes.

"When someone gives me a good enough reason to be eager," she gasps, grabbing his ass just in case she wasn't making her point clear enough. It doesn't take long for her to undo his belt, and she snaps it to the side and then tosses it. She starts to pull up her dress, her face hidden behind the inside-out cloth and her bottom half bare to the air.

This is a woman who knows how to get a belt off. He's impressed. Immediately, his hands go to his fly, practically ripping the damn thing open in an attempt to get his pants off--but mostly because he's too busy watching her pull her dress up. Stepping out of his pants, Rick half-bends, mouthing along the pale expanse of her stomach, his hands helping her dress along and up over her head, and then he pulls her flush to him, his cock trapped against her stomach.

And god he hopes she's used to big dicks. He can't take another poor girl crying at the sight of it.

Temple makes another giggling sound as Rick licks along her stomach (her Caesarian scars perfectly hidden by Capitol surgeries, the ugly heart-shape gouged into her thigh in shiny tissue not so much) and sits back on the bed, now completely naked, breasts bouncing around.

She pulls his face back to hers and closes her eyes. She doesn't need to see to feel around his testicles.

She's a delectable little thing, mark on her thigh and all, and Ford is mesmerized for a moment by the perfect bounce of her tits as she sits back. She's pulling him in and he's powerless to resist in the face of all that bare flesh; he kisses her with relish, groaning as her hand messes with his wedding tackle like it's prom night and they're in the back of his dad's Cadillac. In return, he skims a hand along her bare hip, thumb passing over her bikini line and then dipping lower, tracing the lines of her cunt with warm, calloused skin.

"Oh!" Temple's voice is musical, delighted, a pure tone even above the breathiness. She gives his balls the slightest squeeze, not enough to hurt but enough to guide him to climb up on the bed, onto her, with his hand still fondling her between her legs.

And then she lets go and rolls over, until her back is to his chest and her buttocks is to his stomach. "Fuck me, Mr. Ford."

Holy fuck. Holy shit, fuck, this woman is actually real and part of Ford can't believe that he's actually found a woman willing to act like this. He didn't even have to prompt her, didn't have to suggest in any way that she conduct herself like the femme fatale of his dreams, and here she is, rolling over and presenting him with that ass like a ripe peach and telling him to fuck her.

"'Mr. Ford.' Like that sound of that, swee'eart." He grabs her hips, pulling her back so she's flush with his chest, his cock nestled between her ass cheeks. "Your wish is my command, innit," he breathes, taking his cock in hand, his trusty cock that's never once let him down, and proceeding to drag it along her cunt, his breath hot on her shoulder.

Temple shudders and moans as her groin twitches and flushes and yearns, yearns hard enough that if she could make it reach out and grab that dick he's pulling across the surface she would, she'd swallow that cock up like a venus flytrap does prey. She tilts her head back, eyes rolling.

"Make it rough." She pants, excited even before he's entered her. "Bite me. Leave marks."

All the better to flaunt them in front of her husband later.

and I scream from the top of my lungs / what's going on?

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