faderift | [Open] in the merry summer months

[It's almost enough to make a person laugh. Teren doesn't even know her name, just enough to be aware she's seen her around before and is part of Riftwatch.

A very small part of her is flustered, even, at being propositioned so; she's never been a pretty woman, as far as she's concerned, so it must be something else that caught the girl's attention.

Well. No matter.

She takes her sweet time, arriving a good five minutes after midnight, where she's almost alarmed to find the woman doing exactly as she instructed.]

Well. Someone's eager to please.

[Her walking stick taps on the ground as she approaches.]

[ Poesia had been perfectly comfortable with waiting as long as is required of her, but it's still lovely when that patience is rewarded. ]

I like being pleasing. The most delightful things seem to happen when I am.

Good.

[The voice is clipped, and the stick roams experimentally along the hems of Poesia's dress.]

Pretty.

[She clicks it back to the ground.]

The word is 'arrow'. If you say it, it's over. If you do not say it and should have, it's over. We do not speak of this elsewhere. You do not touch me.

Am I understood.

Edited 2020-07-28 05:27 (UTC)

[ The word is a bit puzzling, but if she is right about her ser, the woman has no intention of being gentle with her. The precaution is both flattering and thrilling, if unnecessary. However Poesia is nothing if not obedient and she does not hesitate. ]

Yes, Ser.

[Feeling a thrill at how easily the woman complies, Teren keeps it under wraps.]

You were very forward. That's most unbecoming.

[She paces slowly back and forth behind her.]

You strike me as a glutton for punishment. Is that true?

[ It's a little difficult not to shift, not to wriggle from the wonderful anticipation. ]

Forgive me, ser. [ Her voice is a sultry purr, which perhaps does not invoke any particular air of repentance. ] I am wanton, but does it not please you?

[ A test of her own. A gentle tug at the hand holding her collar, as it were. ]

[Teren can't help but smile. But then, her stick cracks across Poesia's backside.]

Answer me.

[ Perfect. The blow doesn't do any particular damage, but the sting of it still shocks a gasp out of her. ]

Yes!

Come here.

[Though she swats the stick against the same target, this time it's meant to direct Poesia away from the wall and toward an empty crate.]

Hands on it. [She taps the stick expectantly.]

Tell me why I shouldn't thrash your pretty hide within an inch of your life.

[She tugs a flask out of her jacket and takes a pull from it.]

Or, if you please, tell me why I should.

[ Another gasp, this more of a moan as she does as she's told. She has to bend to put her hands on the crate and it's a wonderfully vulnerable position. ]

Because I have behaved unbecomingly? [ She curves her back prettily, offering herself up. ] I was most desperate for your attentions and behaved horribly. [ She rocks a little on the balls of her feet. ] Won't you teach me how to behave, ser?

[It's... cute. Teren isn't quite sure how to deal with it.
Except by giving her what she wants, which is, apparently, the same thing they both want, but Teren never would have described such a thing as cute.

She gives her another whallop-- two, three more-- then pauses to run the stick along her handiwork, bright red welts rising atop Poesia's creamy skin. Teren flicks the tip of the cane to bare her completely, enjoying the view.]

Legs apart, [she says, far more sternly than she feels.]

[ The blows are wonderful. She lets them move her as they will and gasps, sweet high noises escaping her. The feel of the cane running over her stinging skin, lifting her skirt. Goodness, it's certainly affecting. She moans for it and the order she's given. ]

Yes, ser. [ And she does as she's told, spreading her legs. ]

Hm.

[Using the stick to urge her legs apart a little further, Teren comes to stand over her, reaching down to feel for what she knows she'll find.]

You're enjoying this, [she remarks, trying to keep the smile out of her voice,] you little slut.

[She swishes the cane through the air, just for the sound.]

[ The sound she makes is high and breathy. She moves into the touch, of course. ]

Yes, ser. [ The sound of the cane doesn't make her flinch, but she does shiver for it. ] Won't you forgive me?

Perhaps in time.

[Crack, crack-- against one upper thigh, then the other. Then, because it just seems like what one should do in this situation, Teren's free hand comes down to grip at Poesia's (lovely) hair, twisting in it to wrench her head up.

She drags her back with her nose to the wall and holds her there, glad she's behind the woman so she won't be caught out for how amused and un-severe she looks.
Fortunately, it's all in the voice.]

Wait. And if this drops, you'll regret it.

[She taps the hem of the dress, currently bunched up on Poesia's hips, and releases her hair with her other hand.
And then she turns to go for a little while, because she needs to strategize.]

[ The hand in her hair is a surprise, but, as has been the theme for the encounter, a delightful one. Poesia's hands stay where they are as her back bows and she cries out for each stroke.

She's actually panting now, more from excitement than the actual pain. ]

Yes- Yes, ser. [ She could ask if she's allowed to use her hands to keep the dress hem in place. She doesn't. Far more thrilling to wriggle and shift with her legs spread, the soft fabric barely grazing the fading welts on her ass. ]

[The door shuts behind Teren and she just stands there for a moment, blowing a breath out in what would be a whistle if she weren't trying to be quiet.

Wow. All right. She wasn't prepared for this, but feels stirred by it in a way she hasn't for a long time-- not that she doesn't enjoy this sort of interaction, but Maker, the enthusiasm.

She's got a hunch, and it leads her to return briefly to her quarters, retrieve something, and come back. She takes her time, of course, strolling back in all cool and collected as she had at first.

Instead of speaking right away, she takes a moment to admire her handiwork.]

[ Again, Poesia waits. Though with less perfect patience this time. This particular trick had always vexed her horribly from previous lovers. She was, by nature, enthusiastic and had somehow grown to channel much of that enthusiasm into sex. To be still when things were already well underway was rather maddening.

She squirms and thinks a great deal about letting the hem of her dress fall. But her inclination towards obedience wins out, particularly when the person demanding it is someone who's hand is so firm.

She torments herself instead with all the many possibilities of Teren's return, such that if anything, she's more aroused by the time Teren gets back. She whines at the prolonged silence. ]

[It's impossible not to grin.]

Be silent, [Teren commands, and almost can't pull it off. She comes forward, her cane clicking as before, and seats herself on the crate Poesia was using.]

Kneel. Here.

[She points to the spot on the floor in front of her, and only now is it possible to see the warmth that she can't prevent from imbuing her otherwise severe expression.]

[ She pouts a little, but doesn't even try to hide the way her face lights up when Teren tells her to kneel.

She does, with a reasonable amount of grace, considering her rather dire situation. She looks up at her sweetly, tipping her head up and leaning forward just a little. Not nearly enough to touch, but enough to make it clear that she is very much available. ]

[Next comes the hunch; measuredly, from a cloth Teren draws a very attractive knife. Its hilt is a dark bluish metal, its blade quite nasty-looking but at the same time, not too skinny or too long.]

I've brought you something, [she says, holding it out for Poesia to see, watching her face carefully for her reaction.]

Do you like it?

[ Oh she likes it. Though perhaps not in the way Teren might have expected. There's no fear. Behind her gaze, something large and predatory lifts its head and regards the knife with lazy interest. ]

It's lovely, ser. [ Earnestly and honestly meant. Poesia tips her head, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulder as she exposes her neck. ] Do you intend to mark me?

[ How permanent is the unasked question. ]

[The gaze isn't that unlike her own, Teren realizes, though there's something unfamiliar behind it that she can't quite place.]

Is that what you want?

[The persona isn't dropped, per se, but it allows some leeway; the woman isn't going to be shouted down or bullied into a game they both know is not played lightly.]

[ A funny question, but one she's been faced with often enough since the death of her Beloved that she doesn't scoff quite as much at it. It's an interesting question. She considers the knife and then Teren for a long moment. ]

The only ones who may mark me are the ones who intend to keep me, ser. [ Neither of them is playing for keeps tonight, they both know that. She smiles up at Teren, shifts a little, letting the loose bodice of her dress move suggestively. ] But... You did tell me to wear something I wouldn't mind being ruined.

[The clarity is refreshing. Teren's expression warms.]

I've no intention of keeping you or anyone else.

[It seems right to say it, anyway. ]

Should a mark be made by accident, as is always possible, know that there is no intent in it. Shall we proceed?

[Open] in the merry summer months

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