The phantom hands vanished after Loki came. Poor husband thought you were done. That was his first mistake. The second you caught your breath, you flipped you both. Loki was caught off guard and landed on his back with an 'oof'. He was equally caught off guard when his fine Asgardian leather had vanished off of him mid flip. That was his second mistake. Your magic had improved quite a lot since you had first met and you could do things like that now.
His third mistake was thinking you were done with him just because you had had one orgasm. That didn't mean you were nearly done with him. Luckily for him, he was a god and had basically no refractory period.
"Witchling?" He asked, as if he didn't know exactly what you were up to. He was still buried deep inside you. He knew exactly what you were up to and what was coming next. At least the general gist of it. He also knew exactly how to stop it if he didn't want it.
He showed absolutely no signs of stopping you.
"Mine," you informed him in a possessive growled that seemed to make him all the harder inside you. That had seemed impossible, and yet.
Loki always needed reassurances that he was yours, no matter how long you were together, no matter how much you had been through together. There was always a part of him that felt unworthy, that thought he was going to lose you. You were always happy to take opportunities like this one to reassure him that he was yours completely.
With a gesture from you, green ropes appeared from the bed posts and wrapped around his wrists and ankles and pulled them tight. Loki gave a little whimper as they pulled just this side of painful. "Mine," you repeated. "Fetterer, remember?" The ropes were made of magic. They wouldn't break. Nor would they truly hurt him.
"Yours," Loki mewled, submitting to you in a way he would never submit to anyone else. He sagged in his bonds, then gasped when you spread your wings to give him the image that must've appeared to him only in his wildest dreams from his youth: being ridden by a valkyrie.
"Enough of that," you scolded and shoved a ball of cloth in his still wide open mouth. He made a protest. You could tell, but his silvertongue was silenced by love this time to forcibly enjoy his pleasure.
Oh, you both knew that if he really wanted, he could escape with magic. This was all a game between you.
There was no universe where he wanted to escape.
He was enjoying every moment of his torment as you rode him to the brink. He moaned behind the gag and protested when you didn't let him cum, when you gave him the taste of the same medicine he had given you. When you brought him up again and again.
He thought he was done after the first orgasm.
He thought you had made your point.
He wasn't expecting that his need for reassurance meant that you were going to reassure him until he was too incoherent to think of anything else except the pleasure.
So you brought him orgasm after orgasm.
Some you gave him fast.
Some agonizingly slow for him.
He never knew which.
All he knew was the buildup and haze of pleasure.
You finally removed the bonds and used magic to clean the mess when he could take no more. The last thing you did was remove the gag. All he could manage was one murmured word "Yours"
