Pt 2

From Lavosbyssals

They ended up in Smoke's room (a room which he could barely afford, only by stealing), tumbling onto the bed, Sarien falling on her back with Smoke on top of her. The blue-haired man kissed her hungrily, lips rough and demanding on hers, hands roaming liberally and exploring her body, feeling her breasts and hips and ass, before fumbling at the sash of her robe. The translucent material was fragile beneath his hands, more a slim little ribbon then a sash.

With clever, deft hands, he undid the knot (it was not a difficult knot, barely knotted and held together, the sash tied in front in the style of a courtesan), and tossed the silken sash aside, Sarien's robe parting to practically fall off her slim, slim body. Smoke tossed aside the robe, not caring where it landed, though it likely landed on the floor in a crumpled heap, and even though he was aroused, left his clothes on for the moment.

He traced her body with fingers and lips, occasionally nipping harshly, as his tongue traced over her (teeth bit into a slim shoulder, caressed one pert nipple, bit gently into the curve of one small breast, one slender hip, just hard enough to leave a bruise behind), gradually tracing his way lower, slow and teasing. He could feel her quivering beneath him, delicate little shivers.

"Sweet little butterfly," he whispered huskily against her skin, gently nipping and licking as he slid down her body. He took his sweet time teasing her, licking at her inner thigh, the girl trembling beneath him, gently blowing on her, dragging it out and feeling her shiver beneath him. Finally, he took pity on her and gently gripped her hips and held them so that she couldn't move and bent his head and licked slowly, right where she was most sensitive, slowly dragging his tongue and listening closer to her soft pretty gasps and moans, to know where to apply just enough pressure with his tongue, flicking there, and there, and there. He listened to her gasp, and smiled against her skin, one last slow lick and he felt her tremble beneath him as he raised his head, seeing her wide green eyes staring up at him.

Smoke grinned, and ran a hand through her hair, finding the ribbons that bound it back and carefully pulling them free and dropping them somewhere (he had no idea where), the long, long strands of red hair falling loose around her, the deep red a clear contrast against porcelain-pale skin. Even though he was achingly hard, and it was almost painful right now, still wearing his pants, he took a moment to admire the view, before he fumbled for the catch on his trousers, kicking them off without really noticing and luckily he had already taken off his boots or he'd be in difficulty, tossed his pants and then his shirt somewhere in the direction of Sarien's robes but didn't really see where they had gone.

With fluid grace, Sarien shifted from lying on her back to kneeling, with her eyes lowered and hidden beneath her hair. One slim, small sword-callused hand reached out and gently wrapped around Smoke's hard cock, applying just the right amount of pressure to all the right places, as she deftly caressed him, those long delicate fingers skillful and nimble as she stroked him, stoking his arousal higher. Abruptly, her hand left him, just before she bent her head and took the head of his cock into her mouth, wrapping delicate lips around him and beginning to suck, achingly slowly. The girl sucked on him slowly and teasingly, her long fingers caressing the rest of his erection, stroking counterpoint (slow and slow and achingly slow). Smoke fairly groaned in frustration after several minutes of this slow, frustrating torture (she was so damn good at this, gods), wrapping a hand in her hair and unconsciously tugging a bit at the long locks.

Immediately, her hand dropped back to the bed, as she took the rest of him into her mouth, still sucking on him slow and deliberate, but gradually increasing pressure and suction as he tugged at her hair desperately, her clever and skillful tongue doing exactly the [i]right[/i] things at the right time and in the right place and oh gods he was so close, hips moving and thrusting erratically into her mouth, he wasn't really thinking right now, and her tongue flicked across one particular spot, with just the right amount of pressure, and Smoke thrust again into her mouth, one last time, yelling loudly in pleasure as he came.

Sarien swallowed as he spilled his seed into her mouth, far too experienced at this to choke, and licked Smoke's cock clean and slowly, slowly sucked him back to full arousal before Smoke finally regained enough sense (as his mind had also been throughly blown) to pull out of her mouth. He grinned down at her, and petted her hair, and felt heat flood his lower regions again as she continued to kneel, lowering her head submissively.

"Little doll, what do you want?" he asked her, gently stroking her hair.

For a moment, she was silent, shoulders trembling a bit, before she spoke, her eyes still lowered and her entire posture gracefully, perfectly, submissive (and oh gods, did she know how much that turned him on), her voice soft and sweet and breathy. "Whatever you wish~"

Smoke blinked for a moment. "Are you absolutely sure, butterfly? You must have some preference."

A little shake of her head, her earrings chiming gently. "No~Whatever you wish~"

Smoke swallowed. She must get off on that sort of thing, because he couldn't really imagine anyone (without getting into some nasty, nasty possibilities that he didn't want to think about) willingly doing that otherwise, and he knew that he would have to be really, really careful not to hurt her.

He pushed her onto her back for a moment, just to look at her again, trying to decide how he wanted to have her, (he liked seeing her spread beneath him, such a pretty picture), and the girl spread her legs, drawing her knees up slightly almost as if to give him even more access to that tight little hidden place between her legs, arching her back a bit, as if inviting him to ravish her throughly, fuck her until she passed out. Such a beautiful picture she made, pale and delicate and spread lewdly, looking up at him through veiled green eyes in her too-youthful face, somehow a strange alluring mix of innocence and vulnerability combined with knowing, wanton invitation and temptation, and he was so very, very aroused looking at her. Smoke was strongly tempted to take her right then and there, pin those delicate wrists above her head and ravish the fair maiden, and would have, except that he had a sudden flash of inspiration. He fumbled through the drawer of the bedside table, finding the bunch of silk scarves he stored there for whenever he brought a girl to the room (like now), and tossing them onto the bed, somehow managing not to spill the drawer and its contents to the ground.

Smoke rested his hand on one of Sarien's slim, delicate shoulders. "Turn over, little doll." he whispered into Sarien's ear, his voice low like the smoke his title had come from: obediently, the redhead turned with fluid grace, her shoulders a little tense, to lie face-first on the narrow bed. "Hands behind your back."

Immediately, Sarien brought her hands up and behind her back, holding them in the correct way to allow him to bind her hands there. Silk brushed her skin, as Smoke expertly slipped what felt like a scarf around her small wrists, winding the cloth around and around, before knotting it.

She held herself submissively, perfectly still, as he slid another scarf over her eyes-this one was dark, she noticed, a dark gray-and knotted it. Callused fingers slid down her spine, slowly, and without sight, she could feel every touch, feel him as he held himself over her. Sarien managed to hold herself perfectly still and silent, though she wanted to tremble, fear tightly coiling inside her, echoing inside her head.

"Spread your legs." he whispered into her ear, and she obeyed him, spreading her legs wide. Smoke wrapped silk around each slim, pale ankle, knotting the two scarves, before tying one to each of the bedposts.

He did not give her much time to be afraid, or to anticipate, settling carefully over her: she could feel his weight pressing into her back, pressing her down into the bed, and she gritted her teeth, biting into the sheets, to suppress a shriek of instinctive terror.

The head of Smoke's hard cock pressed insistently against her entrance: she was damp down there, to her surprise (maybe her body's reactions hadn't been entirely killed yet, maybe there was something in her that could still feel), but not damp enough, she could tell as soon as he started to thrust into her. Sarien bit down more on the sheets, it [i]hurt[/i] (but was nothing compared to what her brother did), she could feel that he was having a hard time getting into her: he wasn't even anywhere near halfway in yet.

Abruptly, the pressure and pain ceased, as he stopped, and then withdrew. Sarien blinked behind the blindfold, hearing him fumble around for something, and then felt slick (oil, she realized) fingers press into her.

"You're a tiny thing, butterfly." Smoke whispered in her ear huskily, his fingers working inside her, stretching her open. "This should help."

Sarien moaned a bit-part unconsciously, part because it would have been expected-as Smoke's fingers moved inside her, opening her up for him, oil making things slick and easier.

After a few long moments of this, Smoke slid his fingers out, resting his hand on one slim hip. Swiftly, he positioned himself again (Sarien could feel that his cock was slick with oil, too), lining himself up, before he pushed into her again. It was easier this time, less painful: Sarien could feel her body stretching, yielding to him, as he took her.

She closed her eyes, and let herself drift, tried to force her mind away from the sharp-edged memories that were being dredged up, and let her body do what it had to.

Gods, she was tight. Smoke finally sheathed himself all the way inside the slight redhead, sliding one hand down to cup the curve of one small breast. She was so tight, and warm, around his cock, so tight and small that he could already tell that he would have a hard time moving inside her, even with oil and working her with his fingers. He paused for a minute or two, letting himself enjoy the feel of her around him, before slowly withdrawing and thrusting back into her.

His fingers dug a bit into one delicate hip, into her left breast, not too hard, just enough pressure to leave a mark, as he took her, setting a fast, somewhat rough pace: not hard enough to tear her, or to hurt her, but just enough to leave her dancing on the knife's edge between pleasure and pain. It was a careful balance, especially with a girl built so small and tight that she could barely take him (and a little voice in the back of his head wondered whether she had even done this before, Cynis or no: she had been rather unspecific when he'd asked her before, and she was usually a boy, too), if he wasn't *careful* he could hurt her badly. But from her trembling, and her pretty moans, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

Sarien trembled and made pretty breathy noises, her inner muscles clamping down rhythmically on his cock as he worked inside her tight heat, thrusting in and out of her with that same careful roughness. Smoke groaned: she was so beautiful, especially in her submission (burned behind his eyelids was the image-memory of her nude and on her knees, her head bowed and her eyes hidden beneath the curtain of long, long red hair, whispering 'Whatever you wish'), and felt so good, that he wasn't sure how much longer he could last.

"Pretty doll..." he whispered in her ear, caressing her pale body, feeling the silky softness of her skin beneath his fingers, before sliding his hand down, callused fingers at first seeking her clit, before finding what he sought, toying with it, stroking it, and listened for her to gasp sweetly, adjusting pressure of his fingers and how he touched her there with her sweet little moans. "Sweet, tight little butterfly..."

Gods, so close...

Her inner muscles clamped down on him, even harder then before, as she wailed wordlessly, he thrust into her again, and once more, before he tensed and (god, he was loud, even louder then her) spilled his seed inside her, biting into the pale curve of her neck as he came, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark. Smoke lay there, on top of her, trying to catch his breath, before he carefully, carefully withdrew, and rolled off her, sated. He had enough energy, and sense, left to untie her hands and legs, dropping the scarves to the floor.

He was a typical man: it didn't take him long after that to fall asleep.

Once she was sure that Smoke was asleep (she could hear him snoring), Sarien slid out from the bed and limped to the adjoining room to draw herself a bath. The redhead sank into the water gratefully: she was sore (though not as sore as she could have been), and wanted to wash away the trickle of semen that dripped out of her, running down her thighs and the inside of her legs. It was a familiar feeling, to be sure, and she had done this so many times as both a boy and a girl, soaking soreness away and washing at least her body clean.

She would have bruises tomorrow, Sarien knew. Not as deep as the usual, or as enduring, but she would have bruises nonetheless.

She rested her head on the side of the tub, and closed her eyes. She could already feel the tears she was trying not to cry, forming in her eyes. Not yet. It hadn't been so bad. Not really. It hadn't felt quite good (nowhere near as good as Gan Ning had made her feel) and oh gods, just thinking of him made her want to cry more, and she shoved the memories away, all of them, good, bad, Gan Ning, Jalide (she had almost heard his voice, instead of Smoke's, when the names he called her echoed Jalide's, almost screamed when Smoke's body had pressed her down into the bed, had almost felt Jalide on top of her instead of Lingering Smoke), but it hadn't felt really, really bad either, it had almost felt okay, it hadn't been so hard this time to fake the pleasure that she did not quite feel. Sometimes, even, she had felt something that could have been the faint ghost of pleasure, a faint faint ghost that was dying away, faint flickers of something that had faded away as quickly as she had felt it, leaving only numbness and pain and the false pleasure she used to convince Smoke that all was well, that he didn't need to stop, didn't need to worry about her. It had hurt, but it was okay, she was used to it. It didn't matter if it hurt: she had, at least, pleased Smoke, made him feel good, at least one of them had felt good. It didn't matter that something in her ached so fiercely, it didn't matter that she just couldn't seem to feel pleasure, it didn't matter that half the time she didn't really want it (because she was good for only this) it didn't matter that she had never had sex without pain, because she was used to it and it made her sick how much she craved, how much she needed, sex when she couldn't feel pleasure in it, but that was okay, she didn't need to feel good.

Everything in her ached, and she could feel herself crying, without making a sound.