Post by Andrei Shahrizai (I) on May 11, 2009 8:49:55 GMT -5
Gluttony. We all suffered from it, in one way or another. Take the girl straddling me, for example. Barely sixteen, this Jasmine adept. I wouldn't believe she was, save for the fact that she'd only debuted days after my arrival in the City. Tiny she was, and insufferably cute. My lip curled in a hint of distaste, though I realized mid-sneer that the girl couldn't see me, facing in the opposite direction. I was sprawled on my back atop the black and gold embroidered duvet that draped my bed, and the girl, I forget her name, and who cares really, was sitting on my abdomen. Weightless she was, and at any moment I could send her crashing to the floor. I considered it, just for a laugh, but I didn't want to startle the other inhabitants of the room just yet.
Back to my original point, though. Gluttony. If you could see the way her hands were moving up and down the length of my member, the way her lips circled just the tip as she bowed her head over me, so gracefully. She was hungry, ready to gorge on me as soon as I gave the command. I wouldn't, though. And she had specific instructions to use just her hands, and her lips. It was torturous for her, I know. I loved it. I folded my hands behind my head, admiring the golden tone of her skin, so taunt and flawless in its perfection. Maybe I'd have one done of this one later. Much later, as it wouldn't do to have anyone think I'd nude portaits of small children lying about, and that's just what she looked like. But I'd noticed a glint in her eye that made her stand out from the other girls when I was arranging for a Jasmine assignation, and so she was the one I'd chosen, this small parcel of exotica.
And her. The girl standing near the foot of the bed. Gluttony of a different sort. She stood in front of an easel, and from just around the small girl obstructing my view, I could make out the lines of concentration on her face. Her paintbrush moved over the canvas steadily, a slow rhythm that even I, with no artistic bones in my body, could appreciate. Her eyes devoured her subject for a moment, a pause in the movements of her arm, I could see the muscles twitching in her hands as she considered her next strokes. And then she was off again, each stroke revealing the scene in front of her on the canvas, rich, thick with color and emotion. A beautiful job, it was. She'd come recommended, I hadn't requested a line-up when I'd strode into Eglantine in search of an artist to add to this particular assignation. And the recommendation proved worthwhile, for soon I'd have yet another work of erotic beauty to hang on these walls. The townhouse belonged to my father, but to my knowledge he'd never stayed in it for any substantial amount of time, even when he did visit the City, so it was a bit drab, and I'd been charged with livening up the place.
I regarded the Eglantine again. She'd make a fine subject herself, actually, though she was hardly the shape that'd attract my attention physically. Stick thin with barely any curves whatsoever, and much too tall for my liking, nearly my own height, and I stood a bit over six feet tall. She'd never do. But there was something refined in the slopes and contours of her face, and briefly I wondered how she'd look if she screamed. I doubted I'd find out though, she wasn't my type, and we were on a schedule here.
The final inhabitant of the room made a noise somewhere between a squeal and a moan, and it brought a smile to my lips. That sound, so full of discomfort, has never failed to get a reaction from me. Ever. It was time. I brushed the Jasmine adept from my lap, adjusting myself back into the black breeches I wore. The girl kneeled on the bed, nonplussed, reaching out for a piece of the fruit we'd been eating while the Englantine had begun her work. See? Gluttony. Chuckling to myself, I rose from the bed, and in three slow movements I stood regarding the subject of the portrait at close-range. Beautiful, she was, as all D'Angelines were, and more. Honey-hued curls tumbled over her shoulders, down to her waist. Well, halfway to the floor, it seemed, due to the position she was in. I'd placed a collar and cuffs on the girl soon after she'd arrived, on both her hands and feet. The thin black leather bands held only one decoration, golden hoops, which I'd rather ingeniously suspended her from the ceiling by. She seemed to be floating on her back, one arm arched over her head, one leg draped downwards, just the tip of her toe grazing the floor. Her hair streamed out below her, a waterfall of sunshine, her lips plumped and reddened, stained by the fruits with which I'd teased her earlier. The position looked grueling, and I secretly commended her for not crying out until the painting was near through, she'd been suspended for quite some time this stretch, longer than either of the four sessions previous. I had, after all, remembered to give the girl breaks, the Eglantine had needed them as well, so why not.
I traced her lips with a fingertip, my eyes expressionless as she held them slack, though the strain that showed on her face made me sure the enchanting little Valerian probably wanted nothing more than to bite off my fingertip. Good. I liked a little fire in my toys. "How're you..holding up, dear?" I asked, all dripping sincerity and concern.
"It, it hurts, my Lord." The stammer in her voice, the tears in her eyes, threatening to spill, they all conspired to spill me in my pants that very instant. I'd already tented my breeches as soon as I'd adjusted them over my form, but I reached a new peak of arousal at her voice, and conspired to hear it again.
I reached between her legs, perfectly formed, curvaceous and yet slender at the same time. My fingers found her center and she jerked slightly, a low moan of pain escaping her as all the suspending chains yanked, digging the leather into her already sore flesh. I didn't move my fingers away though, instead probing and circling slowly, methodically, her breathing quickening as she forced herself still. My fingers slipped inside, a satin-smooth and fire hot sheath if there ever was one. She clenched around me once, and I growled inwardly, my already turgid rod flexing within my breeches, demanding an immediate release, which I steadfastly denied. Patience, is the name of the game we play. Instead I began to slowly move my fingers in and out, her silky wetness coating my fingers as they slipped to and fro, her breathing near ragged now. I reached into a pocket and drew out a small box, my initials emblazoned on the surface. The Valerian gasped slightly, and a cruel grin curled it's way upon my features. So she remembered the case. That's good. I deftly flicked it open, one hand still moving inside of her. Removing the flechette, I absently dropped the case to the ground and forgot about it that quickly. I could feel the girl tensing around my fingers, and I held up the instrument so that she could see it. "Do you want it?" I asked, my grin gone, my face expressionless as my gaze met her own.
"I-I do. Please." Again, that clenching inside of her that made me want to rip her from her binds and ravage her, here on the floor. Gluttony, we all suffered from it, it one way or another. Patience, I reminded myself. Fingers still moving slowly, slipping past the tight ring of her insides and along those mesmerizing walls of her desire, I angled the flechette along her side, and dragged it slowly downwards, only an inch or so. She gasped, clenching tightly, but her body remarkably still for it, lest she upset the chains. I could see the Eglantine from the corner of my eye, she was working frantically, brush flying, paint splattering my floor I noted with an inward sigh. The Jasmine girl had curled up on the bed and was watching the entire thing as though this were a show put on for her amusement, and I couldn't help but smile. Wicked little thing she would grow to be, that sensual kitten. I returned my attention to the cut I'd made, so fine that the blood hadn't yet spilled. But it would, soon enough. Slice. Slice. Slice. Slice. With precision and a surgeon's skill, I was done with the small design. Three keys, intertwined. And as I finished, the blood began to spill, dripping slowly down her side and splashing my fingertips first, then the floor.
"Be sure to capture this." I instructed the Eglantine, and she responded with merely a nod, lost as she was in her work. The Valerian bled, and moaned, and tightened around my fingers, for a minute, an hour, an eternity. Time lost all meaning, and just as I began to wonder if time had stopped altogether, a ragged gasp and spasm from the girl, jerking on all the chains at once, my fingers squeezed almost painfully inside of her as I reached, without much thought aside from the fact that if she kept moving like that, she'd rip off her arms, and tear down my ceiling besides. I caught her in my arms, her orgasm moving over her lithe and perfectly proportioned frame in waves, and I watched, fascinated as always, the way pain and pleasure affected the girl so. She was really an adept, in all meanings of the word.
The Eglantine, for the moment forgotten, whispered "Finished, my Lord," and I merely nodded, unfasting the chains from the girl hanging limp in my arms. I carried her over to the bed, and the Jasmine girl slid off and to the side. Laying her out atop the blanket, I rang a bell nearby and a serving girl appeared. "Have these two cleaned up, and send them home." I turned back to the girl on the bed, and didn't look back, the sounds of pattering feet and the door shutting behind me an affirmation that my orders were being carried out. I removed the collar first, and she moaned softly, though her eyes didn't open. The cuffs next, first from her wrists, then those delicate ankles. A cooling cream for each of those tender spots first, then a warm spongebath, prepared beforehand and left cooling near the bed, the steam from the water rising from her flushed skin with each stroke of the thick cloth. The water was stained pink as I finished, the design in her side slathered gently with ointment. Even I knew better than to permanently scar the girl, the last thing I needed was word sent back to my father that I'd been banned from the House he so often frequented when he visited the City.
Lifting the girl easily, I dragged the blanket from the bed, bloodstained and waterlogged in places as it was, letting it fall to the floor. I laid her back down, pulling a small black duvet over her form, then stood and slipped out of my own clothing, making my way under the new blanket as well. The moon was high in the sky now, and as I regarded the finished painting I smiled. Success.
She was beautiful, and would remain so on canvas for an eternity. And for the moment, she'd rest, and when she awoke, I'd remind her that what I gave in pain, I could match in pleasure. She'd pleasured me today, in ways only a Valerian can, that stoic gluttony for walking the edge of someone else's madness.
Back to my original point, though. Gluttony. If you could see the way her hands were moving up and down the length of my member, the way her lips circled just the tip as she bowed her head over me, so gracefully. She was hungry, ready to gorge on me as soon as I gave the command. I wouldn't, though. And she had specific instructions to use just her hands, and her lips. It was torturous for her, I know. I loved it. I folded my hands behind my head, admiring the golden tone of her skin, so taunt and flawless in its perfection. Maybe I'd have one done of this one later. Much later, as it wouldn't do to have anyone think I'd nude portaits of small children lying about, and that's just what she looked like. But I'd noticed a glint in her eye that made her stand out from the other girls when I was arranging for a Jasmine assignation, and so she was the one I'd chosen, this small parcel of exotica.
And her. The girl standing near the foot of the bed. Gluttony of a different sort. She stood in front of an easel, and from just around the small girl obstructing my view, I could make out the lines of concentration on her face. Her paintbrush moved over the canvas steadily, a slow rhythm that even I, with no artistic bones in my body, could appreciate. Her eyes devoured her subject for a moment, a pause in the movements of her arm, I could see the muscles twitching in her hands as she considered her next strokes. And then she was off again, each stroke revealing the scene in front of her on the canvas, rich, thick with color and emotion. A beautiful job, it was. She'd come recommended, I hadn't requested a line-up when I'd strode into Eglantine in search of an artist to add to this particular assignation. And the recommendation proved worthwhile, for soon I'd have yet another work of erotic beauty to hang on these walls. The townhouse belonged to my father, but to my knowledge he'd never stayed in it for any substantial amount of time, even when he did visit the City, so it was a bit drab, and I'd been charged with livening up the place.
I regarded the Eglantine again. She'd make a fine subject herself, actually, though she was hardly the shape that'd attract my attention physically. Stick thin with barely any curves whatsoever, and much too tall for my liking, nearly my own height, and I stood a bit over six feet tall. She'd never do. But there was something refined in the slopes and contours of her face, and briefly I wondered how she'd look if she screamed. I doubted I'd find out though, she wasn't my type, and we were on a schedule here.
The final inhabitant of the room made a noise somewhere between a squeal and a moan, and it brought a smile to my lips. That sound, so full of discomfort, has never failed to get a reaction from me. Ever. It was time. I brushed the Jasmine adept from my lap, adjusting myself back into the black breeches I wore. The girl kneeled on the bed, nonplussed, reaching out for a piece of the fruit we'd been eating while the Englantine had begun her work. See? Gluttony. Chuckling to myself, I rose from the bed, and in three slow movements I stood regarding the subject of the portrait at close-range. Beautiful, she was, as all D'Angelines were, and more. Honey-hued curls tumbled over her shoulders, down to her waist. Well, halfway to the floor, it seemed, due to the position she was in. I'd placed a collar and cuffs on the girl soon after she'd arrived, on both her hands and feet. The thin black leather bands held only one decoration, golden hoops, which I'd rather ingeniously suspended her from the ceiling by. She seemed to be floating on her back, one arm arched over her head, one leg draped downwards, just the tip of her toe grazing the floor. Her hair streamed out below her, a waterfall of sunshine, her lips plumped and reddened, stained by the fruits with which I'd teased her earlier. The position looked grueling, and I secretly commended her for not crying out until the painting was near through, she'd been suspended for quite some time this stretch, longer than either of the four sessions previous. I had, after all, remembered to give the girl breaks, the Eglantine had needed them as well, so why not.
I traced her lips with a fingertip, my eyes expressionless as she held them slack, though the strain that showed on her face made me sure the enchanting little Valerian probably wanted nothing more than to bite off my fingertip. Good. I liked a little fire in my toys. "How're you..holding up, dear?" I asked, all dripping sincerity and concern.
"It, it hurts, my Lord." The stammer in her voice, the tears in her eyes, threatening to spill, they all conspired to spill me in my pants that very instant. I'd already tented my breeches as soon as I'd adjusted them over my form, but I reached a new peak of arousal at her voice, and conspired to hear it again.
I reached between her legs, perfectly formed, curvaceous and yet slender at the same time. My fingers found her center and she jerked slightly, a low moan of pain escaping her as all the suspending chains yanked, digging the leather into her already sore flesh. I didn't move my fingers away though, instead probing and circling slowly, methodically, her breathing quickening as she forced herself still. My fingers slipped inside, a satin-smooth and fire hot sheath if there ever was one. She clenched around me once, and I growled inwardly, my already turgid rod flexing within my breeches, demanding an immediate release, which I steadfastly denied. Patience, is the name of the game we play. Instead I began to slowly move my fingers in and out, her silky wetness coating my fingers as they slipped to and fro, her breathing near ragged now. I reached into a pocket and drew out a small box, my initials emblazoned on the surface. The Valerian gasped slightly, and a cruel grin curled it's way upon my features. So she remembered the case. That's good. I deftly flicked it open, one hand still moving inside of her. Removing the flechette, I absently dropped the case to the ground and forgot about it that quickly. I could feel the girl tensing around my fingers, and I held up the instrument so that she could see it. "Do you want it?" I asked, my grin gone, my face expressionless as my gaze met her own.
"I-I do. Please." Again, that clenching inside of her that made me want to rip her from her binds and ravage her, here on the floor. Gluttony, we all suffered from it, it one way or another. Patience, I reminded myself. Fingers still moving slowly, slipping past the tight ring of her insides and along those mesmerizing walls of her desire, I angled the flechette along her side, and dragged it slowly downwards, only an inch or so. She gasped, clenching tightly, but her body remarkably still for it, lest she upset the chains. I could see the Eglantine from the corner of my eye, she was working frantically, brush flying, paint splattering my floor I noted with an inward sigh. The Jasmine girl had curled up on the bed and was watching the entire thing as though this were a show put on for her amusement, and I couldn't help but smile. Wicked little thing she would grow to be, that sensual kitten. I returned my attention to the cut I'd made, so fine that the blood hadn't yet spilled. But it would, soon enough. Slice. Slice. Slice. Slice. With precision and a surgeon's skill, I was done with the small design. Three keys, intertwined. And as I finished, the blood began to spill, dripping slowly down her side and splashing my fingertips first, then the floor.
"Be sure to capture this." I instructed the Eglantine, and she responded with merely a nod, lost as she was in her work. The Valerian bled, and moaned, and tightened around my fingers, for a minute, an hour, an eternity. Time lost all meaning, and just as I began to wonder if time had stopped altogether, a ragged gasp and spasm from the girl, jerking on all the chains at once, my fingers squeezed almost painfully inside of her as I reached, without much thought aside from the fact that if she kept moving like that, she'd rip off her arms, and tear down my ceiling besides. I caught her in my arms, her orgasm moving over her lithe and perfectly proportioned frame in waves, and I watched, fascinated as always, the way pain and pleasure affected the girl so. She was really an adept, in all meanings of the word.
The Eglantine, for the moment forgotten, whispered "Finished, my Lord," and I merely nodded, unfasting the chains from the girl hanging limp in my arms. I carried her over to the bed, and the Jasmine girl slid off and to the side. Laying her out atop the blanket, I rang a bell nearby and a serving girl appeared. "Have these two cleaned up, and send them home." I turned back to the girl on the bed, and didn't look back, the sounds of pattering feet and the door shutting behind me an affirmation that my orders were being carried out. I removed the collar first, and she moaned softly, though her eyes didn't open. The cuffs next, first from her wrists, then those delicate ankles. A cooling cream for each of those tender spots first, then a warm spongebath, prepared beforehand and left cooling near the bed, the steam from the water rising from her flushed skin with each stroke of the thick cloth. The water was stained pink as I finished, the design in her side slathered gently with ointment. Even I knew better than to permanently scar the girl, the last thing I needed was word sent back to my father that I'd been banned from the House he so often frequented when he visited the City.
Lifting the girl easily, I dragged the blanket from the bed, bloodstained and waterlogged in places as it was, letting it fall to the floor. I laid her back down, pulling a small black duvet over her form, then stood and slipped out of my own clothing, making my way under the new blanket as well. The moon was high in the sky now, and as I regarded the finished painting I smiled. Success.
She was beautiful, and would remain so on canvas for an eternity. And for the moment, she'd rest, and when she awoke, I'd remind her that what I gave in pain, I could match in pleasure. She'd pleasured me today, in ways only a Valerian can, that stoic gluttony for walking the edge of someone else's madness.