[See?, Hayame almost wants to say. See, I can do it, too. Akua's body was flawless, her beauty beguiling, her desires so shameless and open, and in comparison, Hayame... No. Even though she was still nowhere near the level of the other, she was not the same repressed, bitter, jealous thing that the Praesi had come across on that balcony at the World's Edge nearly a year ago, the one who had spit that no kiss could be sacred, who had bristled in indignation when she had been called out all too accurately with the simple question of or is it that you see what others have, that you do not? The woman that had snapped that she felt more desire than anyone there, and yet was cursed to be a woman most others would see as a beast before they could see a lover.
And in the wake of her failures at that masked ball to be rid of the "flower price" her master would reap from the years he had kept her untouched, the shame of one panicked retreat and the sting of one instinctive recoil the second her mask had slipped and revealed to her prospective partner that she was not a human with two legs... Akua had been the one to prove her wrong.
And she had... so much now. What felt like so much. She had learned a desperate lesson in how to take without losing from two of the best. She'd taken that lesson and shared a kiss that might just have been sacred, with someone who had understood her needs and for month after month weathered every unreasonable demand, passed every test, kept every secret as she asked, and eventually forced her to accept that maybe... Maybe he really did love her. And the fact that she had even let him try to prove it, that she had not turned him away, that she had given him her trust (her body) without a single excuse of heat or discord meant that maybe... maybe she-
"Perfect". She has heard it before. Even if she couldn't fully believe it when that man had said it, still could not fully believe it now... It has a similar affect. Her hearts tighten and her breath comes quick, longing to be half worthy of the word and desperate enough to wish to prove it the only way she knew how. She had always been better at action than with words... even as words still slip out.]
I shouldn't...
[The same line, completely unconvincing when delivered with a needy whine and her breath hot and shallow along the line of Akua's throat. She keeps trying to say why, but she can never seem to get out the actual reason, because the actual reason... would be an end to all this, and she doesn't... Not now, not yet, not while the hunger of this room has such a hold on her. She remembers why she has to leave this place, she knows they cannot stay long, she refuses to be beaten in that way, but... just a taste? Just... just a little...]
Akua... I should... n'....
[So why is she forgetting to finish the word, kissing down Akua's throat to the new flesh that has been bared in invitation for her, teeth practiced in pricking but not breaking skin leaving little indents where she begins to trace the line of a well-shaped collarbone with tongue and fangs? Perhaps because she always bound them away so tightly, perhaps just because of the womanhood they represented, Hayame was so very aware of the slightest touch at her breasts. Her nipples tighten to sensitive points at the gentle graze of fingertips and she all but pleads for more teasing if she cannot yet have satisfaction by pressing the unbound swell into the other woman's hands, auxiliary heart pounding beneath.
And she wonders if that flimsy lace felt good, dampening with arousal and the scent of sex that her sensitive nose could pick up a mile away. Was it more rousing than just Set's lips, just Hayame's fingers, just whatever Akua's other lovers she does not want to think about do? She has to pull the garment to the side in order to slip inside, two middle fingers with nails clipped to the quick easing in to the wet clutch slow and purposeful, curling and winnowing in deeper in search of that place she'd once watched make the other woman cry out. But the lace... she doesn't pull it all the way aside. She keeps the other woman half covered in it, so that the delicate texture of its artfully woven threads can catch and slide against Akua's clit with each wanton circle that she rubs.]
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And in the wake of her failures at that masked ball to be rid of the "flower price" her master would reap from the years he had kept her untouched, the shame of one panicked retreat and the sting of one instinctive recoil the second her mask had slipped and revealed to her prospective partner that she was not a human with two legs... Akua had been the one to prove her wrong.
And she had... so much now. What felt like so much. She had learned a desperate lesson in how to take without losing from two of the best. She'd taken that lesson and shared a kiss that might just have been sacred, with someone who had understood her needs and for month after month weathered every unreasonable demand, passed every test, kept every secret as she asked, and eventually forced her to accept that maybe... Maybe he really did love her. And the fact that she had even let him try to prove it, that she had not turned him away, that she had given him her trust (her body) without a single excuse of heat or discord meant that maybe... maybe she-
"Perfect". She has heard it before. Even if she couldn't fully believe it when that man had said it, still could not fully believe it now... It has a similar affect. Her hearts tighten and her breath comes quick, longing to be half worthy of the word and desperate enough to wish to prove it the only way she knew how. She had always been better at action than with words... even as words still slip out.]
I shouldn't...
[The same line, completely unconvincing when delivered with a needy whine and her breath hot and shallow along the line of Akua's throat. She keeps trying to say why, but she can never seem to get out the actual reason, because the actual reason... would be an end to all this, and she doesn't... Not now, not yet, not while the hunger of this room has such a hold on her. She remembers why she has to leave this place, she knows they cannot stay long, she refuses to be beaten in that way, but... just a taste? Just... just a little...]
Akua... I should... n'....
[So why is she forgetting to finish the word, kissing down Akua's throat to the new flesh that has been bared in invitation for her, teeth practiced in pricking but not breaking skin leaving little indents where she begins to trace the line of a well-shaped collarbone with tongue and fangs? Perhaps because she always bound them away so tightly, perhaps just because of the womanhood they represented, Hayame was so very aware of the slightest touch at her breasts. Her nipples tighten to sensitive points at the gentle graze of fingertips and she all but pleads for more teasing if she cannot yet have satisfaction by pressing the unbound swell into the other woman's hands, auxiliary heart pounding beneath.
And she wonders if that flimsy lace felt good, dampening with arousal and the scent of sex that her sensitive nose could pick up a mile away. Was it more rousing than just Set's lips, just Hayame's fingers, just whatever Akua's other lovers she does not want to think about do? She has to pull the garment to the side in order to slip inside, two middle fingers with nails clipped to the quick easing in to the wet clutch slow and purposeful, curling and winnowing in deeper in search of that place she'd once watched make the other woman cry out. But the lace... she doesn't pull it all the way aside. She keeps the other woman half covered in it, so that the delicate texture of its artfully woven threads can catch and slide against Akua's clit with each wanton circle that she rubs.]