faderift | [Open] in the merry summer months

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?

[ That's more than enough and the predatory thing behind her eyes settles back down. She is all sweetness again, playing at coyness. ]

At your whim, ser.

Then put out your hands.

[The ice is back in her tone again, and from a pouch she withdraws a small amount of cord, nothing too thin like wire or rough like rope, but not especially intended to be comfortable either.

Assuming Poesia complies, she binds her wrists with lightning efficiency.]

[ She complies, most happily. And doesn't even tug to test the knots, the rope and all the possibilities of it and the knife making her squirm a little again. ]

[The squirming is so charming it's almost unbearable, but Teren is a pro at not smiling when she wants to. She stands again, using the cane to tip Poesia forward to rest on her elbows and knees, tracing the end of it around the existing welts.]

Very good. Very patient.

[She prods gently at her head, encouraging her to rest it on the floor, while at the same time nudging her thighs with a toe to encourage the opposite.]

[ She follows where she's nudged, legs spreading wider as she turns she face to rest her cheek on the floor, casting a heavy lidded glance at Teren. The touch of the cane just makes her squirm more, which encourages her to present herself all the more. ]

Thank you, ser.

Good girl.

[Another crack of the cane against Poesia's thighs, just to keep her alert. Then, it's set aside, and another crate is dragged over for Teren to sit on it, behind her.

She can't expect much of her knees, these days.

Methodically, the tip of the knife begins to trace over the existing welts: never enough to break the skin, but perhaps enough to scratch, trailing always from outside in and stopping just short of her opening.]

Be still, [Teren purrs.]

[ The sting of the cane actually pushes a soft cry out of her, it trailed off into a growling little whine as the tip of the knife traced her skin. Now here was a delight. The knowing that she could snap this woman's neck in a moment, but giving over to obedience was it's own thrill that sweetened the faint scratch of the knife blade.

She stays as still as she can, but it's clearly a struggle. She's a wiggler. ]

[It may be true these days, even if it wasn't always. Teren has slowed down; first the full-body injury, then the grippe. This entire year has been a recovery period for her, even if she might've, in her youth, given Poesia a run for her money.

But on some instinctive level, she knows it, and it makes this moment all the sweeter.

A finger slips in, then two. The knife's blade comes to rest where left thigh meets buttock, pressing lightly, ready to sink its point into flesh that might relax back into her touch.

And her touch is clearly one of experience, fingers long and bony and driven by intent.]

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