Challenge

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So Diana Prince had this image on twitter. I said, like an idiot, “Gee, I’d like to write a story ’bout that. She said, “do”.
I mean it’s Diana Prince. I had to. Some people you don’t say no to.
So. I did this in 15 min and took an hour to get into WordPress.
It’s fast, please bear with me.

“This must be the last lesson.” Grant said as Lyia stretched.

“Why? Are you sick of me already?” She reached up on her toes and kissed the giant. Metalic hands touched her lightly and the all-white eyes scanned her face as though he could touch her soul. He probably could.

“It’s dangerous. If you’re found, you could be punished.”

She smiled. “And you could be killed.” She reminded him. “I wouldn’t allow that to happen.”

“You think too highly of your position. Or maybe of mine.”

“So, you teach me how to fight, how to defend myself. There’s nothing wrong with that. Lots of girls learn self-defense.”

He slid a finger under her chin. It was strong enough to crush rock, it was designed for that very reason. He was meant to grasp and destroy stone. And yet, his touch was tender and soft. But the cold metal and the restrained power made her feel deliciously vulnerable.

“That’s not all you’re learning from me.” He growled, but the smile on his face belayed his gruffness. She reached down and wrapped a hand around his cock.

“It’s about time I learned that too, don’t you think? You’ve been teaching me to fight for a long time. Fight, fuck, drink. Isn’t that the way?”

“The wars are ended, I just work clearing new caverens now, expanding the domes.”

“Don’t you miss it?” she said, wrapping a leg around him. “The feel of the blaster, the thrill of the hunt?”

“Death and mud?” He smiled. “No. I like this.” He pushed her back and ran his fingers through the seam on her shirt. It fell to the floor. “Look at you.” He said the back of a finger flicking a nipple. “You’ve been working out. A lot.”

“I have to keep up with my teacher, don’t I?”

In moments, all pretext of “training” was lost. Their clothing tore, rent, slipped away and when she put her leg back around his hips, she held him and slid over him. Fight, Fuck, Drink. It was the motto of his old life. It was becoming hers.

She slammed herself over him, taking him. She’d once tried to push him down and mount him, but discovered that his bioimplants made that as possible as pushing over a dome.

He lay her down roughly, though he must have been using little of his enhanced strength and took her there in the semidarkness of the forgotten shafts.

For years, the empty pit had rung to the yells and grunts of their training. Recently it sang to sweeter music and when she screamed it was in the delighted agony of release. He came soon after and held her, massive hands on her hips. She waited again for him to forget his strength in the moment, to crush her as he came, but he held as he would a baby and emptied himself into her.

He sat and pulled her to his lap. She snuggled in. She opened her mouth to speak, but whatever would have been said was lost forever.

The guard had found them.

Her father had found them.

The archaic spears were electrified, whereas a blaster could pierce the dome, a spear could only pierce a man. Or a woman.

He would be killed. Her station would let her live, but forever disgraced and sent away.

They had no choice.

They fought.

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