#smuts!

What if you tied me up?

For a brief instant, Jinana can only stare at her in naked astonishment. Then s/he smiles, assuming hir ​​rôle like a cloak, covering over hir surprise even as hir hindsight tallies a hundred little clues previously dismissed.

“If that is what you want.”

Vissenta takes a deep breath (appealingly dangerous in this gown) and nods firmly. “I do. Call it… a new experience.”

“Then I would be most honored. Come with me.” Already hir voice has slipped into the mode of velvet command, extending hir ringed, hennaed hand. Vis takes it, and Jinana leads her back through the gardens. The change in their manner alone draws eyes from the other guests as they pass; in this crowd, the exchange of personal power is a palpable thing.

S/he seeks out Evander, resplendent yet restrained in his costume. His mask is fashioned after a carved marble statue, primeval with mosses and cracked with age, the face of a forgotten god. His skin has been painted to continue the illusion; the powerful build of his upper body and even the truncation of his lower limbs only adds to the statuary effect.

The metaphor, s/he is sure, is lost on no-one.

He evinces no surprise, but s/he can tell that hir request pleases him, that his eyes will be upon them for this scene. A wave of his hand summons some of the small army of aides whose sole task is to ensure that every player has what is needed.

As the setting is prepared, Jinana converses with Vissenta in low tones, setting the boundaries of this scene. Practiced, s/he knows how to make this negotiation part of the anticipation, rather than a delay, like the selection of choice morsels from a feast. Shall I do this, or this? Speak your wants, your desires, that I may grant them… if you are good. Hir fingertips trace lightly and decorously over Vissenta’s hands as they speak, maintaining that critical contact, the connection.

The flush on Vissenta’s face and bosom deepens just a little with each choice she makes, each admission of a want. Jinana gives a small nod and smile of approval with each, underscoring that this is a place where it is not only safe, but expected to air such things. These wants exist only within this careful container of fantasy and beauty, like a dream, without consequence.

All the same, she has the power to exit this world at any moment, simply by speaking a word of her choosing.

“Roulette,” Vissenta says, with the inflection of her homeland and a curving of her lips. Taking her meaning, Jinana smiles.

The special bench Jinana has requested is both sturdy and beautiful, adorned with elegant gilded scrollwork and immaculate white leather cushioning, clearly purpose-built. It rests upon a sort of marble dais, backed by lush flowering plants and a spray of gleaming peacock feathers arranged in a tall vase.

“Only the best,” Jinana murmurs into Vissenta’s ear, leading her up onto the dais. Witnessing this, a number of interested parties have begun to assemble, curious. Jinana recognizes some of them, regular observers of hir work.

These avid faces are the last thing that Vissenta sees as Jinana ties the silk blindfold over her eyes, then places hir hands on her shoulders.

“Let us begin,” s/he says softly, defining the threshold. An aide hands hir a bundle of fresh silk cording, then respectfully withdraws.

Jinana measures the cording against Vissenta’s body, noting where to create the magically-infused knots. S/he knows that Vis can hear hir speaking the words, that she can no doubt feel the slight change in the magical currents as the energy is imbued… and the alteration that s/he has made to the spell. Will she know what it means?

“It would be such a shame to damage this,” s/he adds, moving to unfasten the bodice, freeing Vissenta’s body from the gown.

Vis is not shy, and bathing is so routinely a shared activity in Vesuvia. Jinana can’t say that s/he’s never looked. But here and now, it is a different matter - the body as something to be shown, an altar of interpersonal sorcery. Her posture is very straight, as proud as ever, her chin still with that slight imperious lift to it, even blindfolded. 

The cords wind around and around, assisted by Jinana's own magic, well-practiced. There is an undeniable thrill in the way that Vis responds so readily to hir instructions to lift her arms, to place them together before her, to stand with her legs apart.

Soon, a harness of shimmering jewel-hued silk wraps around Vissenta’s curves, framing her breasts, with charged knots snugged just beneath the perked nipples with their golden jewelry. The cording winds over her hips and between her ample buttocks, pressing aesthetically into the soft flesh, leading in turn to another strategically placed and magically-charged knot. 

Vissenta quietly sucks in her breath when Jinana activates the magic stored in the cording - then gives an equally-quiet ‘oh’ when she realizes what has been done to it.

The knots situated against her nipples and over her clit grow chill, then warm, then thrum gently for a few moments, before starting the process all over again.

“Do you like that?” Jinana asks, though s/he knows the answer.

“Oh, yes.”

“Good. Let us continue.”

S/he leads Vissenta the short steps to the ornate bench, telling her to lean forward. But here she balks - perhaps understandable, given her lack of sight, and the vulnerability of being bent over a piece of furniture.

“I’ve got you,” Jinana says, shading hir voice with warmth beneath the air of command. “Follow my hands.” The pressure of hir palms guides Vissenta’s body, firm but not overly forceful, and she relents, letting herself be eased into place.

Jinana ensures that she settles comfortably against the padded cushions, securing her bound wrists to the frame, spreading her legs just a little more before securing her ankles in turn. S/he then runs hir hand down Vissenta’s spine, over the bonds. “Good girl.” Though Vis’ face remains impassive, Jinana is surprised to feel a light shiver go through her body, and makes a mental note of it. The caress continues down over Vissenta’s backside, ending in a light, playful slap. The impact makes for a delightful jiggling ripple, and s/he repeats it for the other side.

Vis turns her head, as if trying to sense the next move. “Ah ah,” Jinana admonishes. “Stay turned toward your admirers, let them see your pretty face.” Once again, Vissenta complies.

Slowly, Jinana builds up a rhythm - it’s not enough to truly cause pain, just enough to tingle, to tease, to bring the blood to the area. Vissenta has a very fine set of buttocks, and the way they bounce and pinken as they’re spanked makes for quite a show. (Indeed, while some patrons are focused on her face and breasts, others have discreetly moved to get a better view of her backside during these ministrations. At least one produces a lorgnette.)

A complex dance takes shape, Jinana’s hands moving over Vissenta’s body to play her like an instrument. S/he notes what draws a reaction, and where; s/he magically modulates the intensity of the sensations that the imbued knots provide, moves them with little tugs of the cording. S/he allows Vis’ backside a brief respite from the spanking, only to return.

For her part, Vissenta puts up a good front, a stoic air - but to someone of Jinana’s experience, every little twitch and tensed muscle and nuance of the flush under her skin speaks to hir.

“Tell me, lovely, how are you feeling?” s/he purrs, more to engage Vis' mind into the scene than because s/he truly needs such feedback.

“I can take more,” Vissenta says, her voice exaggeratedly calm, at odds with the growing tension in her body. Jinana laughs lightly.

“Oh, I’m certain you can. But I’m not done here just yet.”

Bent over, thighs apart, the dark curls of her groin cannot conceal the response of her body. The cording frames her vulva, too, plump and rosy with arousal, vulnerable to the tugging of the cords as well as the sensations of the charged knot. 

Vissenta’s breathing, however, remains controlled, slow, deep and steady, an interesting form of resistance. But Jinana does not expect her to go under tonight, to that place where the mind lets go of its restless chatter, subsumed by the body and set free. (Or so s/he is told; it is a place s/he hirself simply cannot go.)

Even so, Jinana always gives of hir best.

S/he excites and s/he soothes, bringing Vissenta closer and closer to release with each wave, before drawing her back once more. Vissenta finally gives a slight groan of deprivation, her thighs beginning to tremble, bowing her head as if to hide her need. Jinana takes a firm grip on her coiled braid, tipping her head back to the view of their audience, while the other hand administers more of those quick, light slaps that set her ass to bouncing so appealingly. But before the accumulated strikes can tip over into more than a light stinging, s/he once again runs hir hand up and down Vis’ spine in a slow, soothing motion. “You’re doing so good for me, lovely. Are you sure it’s your first time? You take it so well.” S/he punctuates this with more playful slaps and a low chuckle. “My good, good girl.”

S/he once again feels that shiver travel down Vissenta’s body, more strongly this time - then she relaxes under Jinana’s hands in a subtle, curious, but unmistakable way.

Surrender.

Unexpected or not, Jinana knows just what to do. S/he continues the dance, building it up again, and now Vis’ energy is purely feeling - no longer analyzing, no longer resisting at all. Her body undulates gently against the padded bench, her lips parted on her sighs and little sounds of pleasure as the magic-wrought cords and Jinana’s own magician’s fingertips do their work. Tingling sparks of energy add an additional thrill when s/he tweaks Vissenta’s nipples or caresses her swollen clit, in between more smart little slaps to her buttocks. Vis doesn’t strain or try to press herself to the touch; she simply takes what is being given, more and more, a chalice poured full to brimming.

This time, when it all threatens to overspill, Jinana does not draw it back, but bends to speak low into Vissenta’s ear: “Now, beautiful. Be a good girl and come for me.” The shiver becomes stronger, her back arching, quickly cresting over into ecstatic, shuddering climax. Her hands clench convulsively where they are bound, her hips pressing into the bench, half-formed words spilling nonsensically from her lips.

But that is not the end of it. Jinana increases the sensations s/he is providing, with no respite, and in this receptive state it doesn’t take long for a second orgasm to follow on the heels of the first… and then a third, wrenching in its strength, forcing guttural cries from her throat as her body twists helplessly in long spasms of agonized pleasure.

Only then does Jinana allow her to start returning to earth, running light and soothing hands over Vissenta’s flushed and sweat-sheened body. She is slack against the bench, breathing harshly and deeply, like a runner.

“Come back, sweet girl,” Jinana murmurs, slowly beginning to undo the bonds - s/he could cause them all to fall away in a single snap of hir fingers, but s/he senses that the little ritual of patiently unknotting the cords will do more to help ground Vissenta after this experience.

The blindfold is removed last, just as it was placed first. Vis’ makeup is hopelessly smudged, her eyes the yellow-green of a cat’s as they slowly open under the moody magical illumination.

“I’ll help you rise, when you’re ready,” Jinana says quietly. “Take your time.” S/he pushes a few tendrils of loose hair back from Vissenta’s face with a smile. “You did wonderfully well.”

An attendant brings a plush robe, and Jinana assists Vis to get into it and rise from the bench. Her legs are a little unsteady, but she isn’t much taller than Jinana hirself; s/he can support her the short distance to the little aftercare pavilion that has been set up to receive them.

Every detail of this small retreat has been chosen to create a pleasant, inviting atmosphere in which to recover - private, cozy, dimly lit and faintly scented with incense. There are carafes of iced water and cold juices to hand, a selection of cut fruits and finger foods. Jinana eases Vis down to recline against the welcoming pile of cushions. She gives a faint protest, attempting to rise as Jinana pours water for them both.

“Ah.” Jinana holds up an admonishing finger. “I want you to relax.” Hir voice retains its authoritative tone, and Vis immediately acquiesces, accepting the goblet. She takes a sip, then thirstily drains the cup. Jinana follows it with a restorative serving of sweet fruit juice, the essence of berries and pomegranates.

“You are still one foot in the place of dreams,” s/he says, smiling. “Take all the time you need. I will watch over you.” S/he seats hirself close by, and Vissenta allows hir to draw her down, pillowing her head in Jinana’s lap. S/he takes a rosewater-scented cloth from the thoughtfully-provided tray, gently wiping the ruined makeup from Vis’ face.

Alexander kneels before hir on the bed, as is only correct. He is bound in the cords his own magic has caused to knot about his upper body, restraining him quite effectively. It is a fascinating display; Jinana circles slowly, slipping hir fingers under the knots here and there, testing.

“Very good,” s/he purrs, admiring. “I’m not sure I could have done better myself.”

Though his face is as set in its angles as ever, the praise causes Alexander’s flush to visibly deepen under his pale skin. His eyes, somewhat dilated, follow hir as best they can.

(Surely this must dissolve the tension between them. Brought into the open, these things lose their power, become ordinary. A friendship can survive a detour into the physical; it is the tension unrelieved that is a threat.)

He is forbidden to touch hir of his own - not that he can, with his arms bound behind his back. S/he corrects his posture with light touches of hir fingertips. “Chin lifted, back arched, chest out - that’s what I want to see. Lovely.” S/he graces him with a smile, then gently combs back his quantity of scarlet hair with hir fingers, letting it flow over one shoulder. S/he presses a brief kiss to the other, ending with a playful bite, measuring his reaction. He sucks in his breath a little, his back briefly stiffening.

“I think I will call you Laal,” s/he murmurs into his ear, “for your hair. It means the color of a ruby.” It also sounds like a term of endearment for little ones, and this duality pleases hir.

There really is something special about the first time with a new partner; even if one otherwise knows them well, the context is novel. There is a sense of discovery, the sheer pleasure of exploration. He has presented himself to hir like an offering, tied up with a bow; what might s/he not do? 

Very little, it turns out. This is by his own choice, given by his own word.

The tattoo that sprawls across his back is new to hir, partially obscured by the cords; s/he makes a mental note of a configuration that might frame it aesthetically for hir view, or that of others. “Now, Laal… how shall I mark you? You like to wear your shirts open, but I wonder - will you conceal these marks, or show them?” Jinana laughs lightly, reaching around and under his chin to tip his head back.

S/he brushes hir lips over the side of his throat, feeling the strength and speed of the pulse beneath the skin. His body tenses briefly against hirs as s/he delivers another sharp little bite, his ribcage expanding with his intake of breath. Jinana creates a leisurely trail of these kisses and bites, bringing hir hands down over his shoulders, his back, and around his sides. S/he absorbs hirself in the sensation of his skin, the fluid architecture of the muscles beneath. Alighting upon his chest, hir hands learn the texture of the hairs that grow there, feel the slightly-raised lines of the constellation tattooed over his breast.

Hir nails drag lightly over that skin, down his flinching belly and over his narrow hips. They travel down his upper thighs, the muscles there quivering ever so slightly. S/he skims back up his inner thighs, near to where his cock is steadily rising - but not touching him there, not yet. Goosebumps arise in the wake of hir touch, the fine red hairs of his thighs standing up.

Moving back up his body with hir hennaed fingertips, s/he encounters the little twin hardnesses of his nipples, and the golden jewelry that pierces them. Jinana knows that they will be exquisitely sensitive, and so it is with a delicate touch that s/he begins to toy with them.

Alexander whispers something under his breath, in a language s/he does not know. The tension of his body is hir guide, his breathing, the sounds he begins to make as s/he increases the sensation. (Idly, s/he wonders if s/he could make him climax through this alone… another time, maybe.) S/he takes hir time with it, until his back is arching against his bonds, his hips moving of their own accord. Only then does s/he comes round to face him again.

Hir role well established, there is now no hesitancy at all, no embarrassment. It is only natural for him to be bound before hir, entirely nude but for the cords, roused to full.

“Now,” s/he says, “let’s add a little something, shall we?” S/he takes up another length of cord, wrapping and knotting it deftly from the base of his shaft to just below the head, where another ring of gleaming golden jewelry crowns him. This bondage is more decorative than anything else, only somewhat restricting. Still, it does add its own sensation, and by the time s/he completes it, he is trembling, just a little.

S/he smiles, rising up to hir knees so that s/he can tip his chin with hir fingers, bestowing another languorous kiss. His mouth moves under hirs with a sort of muffled desperation, the only way he can touch hir. Jinana reaches down to tug lightly at the cording around his cock, and he moans against hir lips.

This is what s/he truly enjoys - the dance of perception and control, punctuated with sharp bites and bruising kisses along his throat, his collarbone, his chest. It will be rather daring of him to wear his shirts open for a few days after this.

S/he must be conservative with how far s/he pushes him, how close to the edge; s/he does not know his body well enough to take him to the very precipice without letting him fall over it. (Not yet.) Still, some tells are universal - the flush spreading over his chest and neck, the harshness of his breathing, the way he squirms in his bonds. Hir attentions wander elsewhere on his body each time the wave threatens to crest, drawing back to lightly dragging hir nails over his skin, soothing with kisses.

And then it begins anew, the building of tension to a fever pitch. S/he can’t understand half of what he says now, but it hardly matters; it is merely an outlet. His body itself tells hir what s/he needs to know.

S/he tangles one of hir hands into the thickness of his hair, bending to tease at his pink nipples with the tip of hir tongue. “Come for me,” s/he says, against his sweat-damp skin, then redoubles what s/he is doing, moving hir other hand more quickly .

Amidst the incoherent sounds and unknown words, there is a perfectly clear “Ahhhhhhhhh fuck” as Alexander’s hips begin to buck, shudders wracking his frame as the orgasm finally takes him. Jinana attends him throughout, gentle tweaks of the bonds around his cock and flicks of the very tip of hir tongue to his nipples wringing every last shiver of pleasure from him, until he ceases to groan and to strain against the cording.

Jinana kisses hir way back to his lips as he begins to calm, murmuring soothing words. A magically-charged snap of hir fingers loosens the cords, falling around him. Hir summoned helping hand takes them away, and s/he eases him down to the bed to recover, stretching out his long limbs, massaging them gently. There are a few reddened marks where he strained especially hard against the cording, but nothing that won’t clear overnight.

The other marks will, of course, take more time.

“What about you?” Alexander asks, when he is capable of speech. His brows draw together as he looks up at hir, heavy-lidded in a post-orgasmic haze.

Jinana smiles, pushing a strand of hair from his face. “Don’t concern yourself. Trust me, I am satisfied.” S/he is, in fact, still entirely clothed. But the first time - even the first several times - s/he is unconcerned with hir own physical pleasure.

Julian’s eyes fly open, locking onto hirs as hir hand grips his chin, tipping his head back slightly. The rest of him is firmly bound in a complex series of knots, keeping him helpless on his knees, his wrists bound to his ankles. Jinana is seated directly before him, one leg crossed over the other, riding crop in hand. S/he traces it idly over the ropes that crisscross his thighs.

“Ah, look at you. What a filthy little slut you are. You’ll bend over for anyone, won’t you? You just can’t help yourself.” S/he smiles, and he gives a little whine as the riding crop runs along the inside of his thigh, stopping just short of where his engorged cock - also bound - stands at attention. “Why do you think you deserve for me to touch you?”

He licks his lips. “Let me between your legs again, darling," he says, his voice husky. "Let me please you some more. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Oh sweetling, this isn’t a negotiation. I want you to beg. Grovel, my dear. Abase yourself sufficiently, and I might just let you come. Or I may not.” This last is punctuated with a smart little rap of the riding crop against his thigh, and he groans. “Tell me what you want… and how much you want it, like the desperate little whore you are.”

He shudders, but he does not dare to look away. “So much, so fucking much. Fuck me, hurt me, use me, I don’t care, just please, please touch me. I’m your slut, I’m your whore, I’m trash, I’m nothing. Come all over my face again, step on me, throw me away, but oh god, please touch me. Please let me come.”

This flood of words is punctuated by light slaps of the riding crop, urging him on. More words spill out of him, a torrent of pleading and self-debasement. He contorts himself to lavish kisses on the upper surface of hir foot where it rests against hir leg, still holding hir unrelenting gaze, still mouthing his litany against hir skin, becoming more and more disjointed as these very acts increase his desperation for release.

Finally, Jinana leans forward, seizing the thick curls at the back of his head in one hand, the other wrapping around the slick head of his cock. Julian sucks in his breath, his face flushing even more deeply as s/he drags his head back, and still he does not dare to look away, or to close his eyes for more than the instant of a blink.

S/he watches him closely as s/he moves hir hand on him, jerking him off roughly, and he can’t help trying to wriggle in his bonds, a sort of undulation. “Writhing like the worm you are, darling,” s/he laughs, dipping hir head to take his lower lip between hir teeth. Then, against his mouth, s/he speaks the words that push him over the edge: “Oh, Ilya… come for me. Right now.”

His eyes go wide, his body rigid as the spasm quickly takes him, and he gives a series of loud, frantic cries, partially muffled by hir mouth.

As he starts to calm, s/he embraces him, winding hir arms around his shoulders. He is shaking, sweating, breathing harshly. S/he murmurs into his ear: “Good boy, Ilya. You did so well for me.” S/he runs hir fingers into his hair, massaging at his scalp, and he begins to relax against hir. A few quiet words of magic, and his bonds slip away from him, allowing him to embrace hir in turn, both of them heedless of the sweat or the fluids that spatter his chest and belly. He holds hir tightly to him, his reality in the wake of the fiction. It is a sort of mortification, a voluptuous purging of the pain and the self-loathing; for a time, it brings him peace. For a time, he can feel that he has earned the love that others have to give, and the care that s/he lavishes on him now.

S/he has many implements of sensation at hir disposal, from the physical to the magical, and tonight s/he is using them all. Some are ticklish, others cool and smooth. Some rake delicately at his skin, leaving fine reddened lines in their wake. (Hir nails leave wider ones, and little crescent impressions.) Hir fingertips may be chill, or heated, or tingle with crackling sparks. Hir lips and tongue may trace patterns over his body, sorcerous sigils of their own, punctuated with the marks of hir teeth, and he never knows which it is going to be next.

The only constant, besides Jinana hirself, is the throbbing ache in him, desperate for release, insistent upon it… and consistently denied, sweetly but without mercy. S/he is an artist, he the canvas, the instrument. He is created and destroyed by hir in each moment, then created anew, to begin again.

Each time, s/he brings him close to fulfillment, so achingly close - then leaves him to fall back, shuddering, gasping, sweating. His own voice fills the space between them, groaning, babbling, begging. Hir touch is a torment, one he wants more than anything else in the world.

Presently, it returns again, and Julian’s back arches involuntarily as hir magically-icy fingers trail along the underside of his cock, tracing teasingly along the head of him.

“Does that feel good, darling?” s/he asks, hir voice low and honeyed. S/he laughs, not needing his answer.

“Please let me come, oh god Jinana I can’t take it anymore, I’ll do anything, just please -”

“Oh, beloved, no. You aren’t nearly where I want you, not yet.”

He groans aloud, tears of frustration beginning to gather in his eyes, struggling vainly against his bonds. He knows that s/he is correct. S/he has taken him much further before, and s/he will again. He asks for this, the frustration and the catharsis. He wants to yield control, to have hir send his very ego flying out to the place where his identity falls away into fragments, where his mind is blank of everything except for that which is between them.

When it is done, he will feel emptied out, a husk. For a short, precious time, he will be devoid of the doubts and fears and anxieties that plague him. S/he will tend to him and hold him in hir arms, and his sleep will be deep and dreamless.

On hir bed, Calum strains feverishly against his silken restraints, dark curls splayed against hir pillows, his lips reddened by his biting down on them to keep himself from crying out. Jinana's hands, and those of hir magic, play over his flushed body with a certain virtuosity, unencumbered by any needs of hir own. For the moment, hir pleasure lies in pushing his to its limits, in finding the place where all charm and all pretense fall away.

S/he watches the way his energy shifts and surges as his body shudders and trembles, both of these guiding hir as s/he brings him higher, and higher yet. Despite his efforts, a harsh groan tears itself from his throat, heralding the impending bursting of the dam. S/he instantly conjures another spectral hand to slap over his mouth, muffling him - and it vanishes into nothingness.

Calum's body arches as the crisis takes him, beyond any attempt to hold back the sounds he makes. Jinana must set hir astonishment aside to carry him through it, not allowing any of the other ways s/he has him to lapse, until finally he collapses back against the bed, panting.

While he recovers, a puzzled Jinana gently unties his physical bonds. Save the few times s/he has intentionally pitted hir magic against that of another, equally powerful magician, s/he has never seen one of hir spells fail like that. But as far as s/he can tell, Calum is not a trained magician… or a magician at all.

His jewelry eyes flutter open, dark in the low light. "I didn't pass out this time," he croaks, and s/he laughs.

"Disappointed?" s/he asks, lifting a brow.

The low growl of the bike announces his arrival as he pulls up to the chain-link gate at the rear of the building. He lifts the visor of his helmet, peering up at the windows above, seeing a curtain move briefly aside. After a few moments, the back door opens, the motion light pouring its illumination over a small figure.

Just seeing hir is enough to make his blood run hotter; he’s been able to think of little else since he got hir text earlier today. (Thank god the rest of his day was just consults, no surgeries.) S/he opens the gate, and he rolls the bike into the cramped parking lot before killing the engine and removing his helmet, shaking out hair that is still slightly damp from a shower, hoping it hasn’t been flattened too badly.

He doesn’t ask himself what it is that they have together; it’s enough that they have it.

Jinana draws close and lifts hir chin, an invitation. Julian leans in to kiss hir, to breathe in the sweet scent that graces hir hair and skin. He is gripped by the impulse to seize hir slim shoulders and pull hir against him, to shove his way into hir mouth here and now. But such greed will be punished, just as patience is rewarded, and he behaves himself.

Barely.

S/he leads him up the stairwell to the living space above hir shop, where he sets aside the helmet and removes his gear, straightening his clothing… though he does not expect it to stay on for long.

“Can I see it?” he asks, his voice trembling the tiniest bit.

“Eager, are you?” Jinana laughs, and he feels himself flush. But s/he takes him by the hand and leads him up to the bedroom.

There, he finds three foiled gift boxes resting upon the bed. One contains a lace-trimmed camisole of wine-colored silk, with coordinating garter belt and stockings. The next box contains a pair of perilously high-heeled platform pumps of shiny black patent leather. The last holds an item of a translucent purple color nestled in velvet, and his eyes widen.

“It’s… bigger than I expected,” he says, and Jinana laughs.

“You’re the one who chose it, sweetling. Feeling intimidated?”

“...maybe a little bit.”

“I promise I’ll be gentle.”

“Oh, darling, you know that’s the last thing I want from you.” He grins, and they both laugh. “Shall I, um, get ready?”

Jinana smiles indulgently. “You may.” S/he sits on the edge of the bed, watching him as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. It’s a little bit embarrassing, and at first his fingers fumble, but then he decides to play it up. He performs a little strip-tease for hir, pulling his shirt dramatically off of his shoulders and then tossing the whole thing aside with a flourish. He shimmies out of his pants, kicking his feet up behind him one at a time to remove his socks, which causes hir to giggle. He places the garter belt around his waist, then grins and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underpants, turning round to flash his ass to hir... such as it is. S/he responds by reaching out to slap the nearest cheek, and he gives a comically shocked gasp, putting a hand to his face, but he can't keep up the act for long before he starts snickering, too.

Julian takes the camisole from the box, putting it over his head and letting the silky thing fall from his shoulders in a wave, the lace edging reaching his mid-thighs. Only then does he remove the underwear entirely, coyly hiding himself from hir view. He perches on the edge of the bed himself to pull on the sheer stockings, clipping them into place. He then steps into the stiletto-heeled shoes and rises, their height making him tower even more.

He does a slow turn, then a catwalk strut across hir floor. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think you walk in heels a lot better than I do,” Jinana says, laughing.

“You can thank multiple college productions of Rocky Horror for that.” He grins. “When you can run screaming down a ramp in six-inch platform heels without breaking your ankles, walking is easy.” He balances on one foot, striking a pinup pose and winking at hir.

“Bravo.” Jinana laughs and gets up from the bed, holding out a distinctive striped bag. “Shall I do the honors, sitting on your lap?”

He feels his face warm. “Uh, I’m pretty decent with makeup, I mean… theater kid and all that.” He grins at hir. “But you’re more than welcome to come sit on my lap and hold the mirror.”

For a response, s/he pulls over a chair and then pushes him down into it. Hir center of gravity is much lower than his; Julian has little choice but to sit. S/he stands over him, then seats hirself atop his thighs, pulling a shiny black palette from the bag.

“Here, then.” S/he hands him a brush, then opens the palette, holding the mirrored top steady against hir own chest. Hir dark eyes watch him over it as he takes up the smoke-colored eyeshadow, starts applying it over his lids.

All the while, he’s trying to ignore the feeling of hir warm little weight on him - s/he’s taken him in this way before, tying him down to the chair and riding him mercilessly for hir own pleasure, and the memory threatens to bring him hard all by itself, to make his hands shake with desire.

But the little ritual of cosmetics calms him somewhat. He works a darker shade into the crease of his lids, a lighter one at the inner corners of his eyes and over the browbone. His hands are steady as he runs the liner pencil along the roots of his lashes, finishing them off with coats of soot-black mascara. Soon he’s applying the plum lipstick, a gentle dusting of blusher to bring some color into his cheeks, a bit of highlighter for drama.

“How’s that?” he asks hir, and s/he smiles lazily.

“Lovely,” s/he says, getting up and crossing over to hir dresser, opening a jewelry box. “I have just the thing to add.”

Jinana brings him a set of sparkling jewelry, blood-red and colorless stones set in white gold. S/he places the drops in his pierced earlobes, fastens the necklace around his throat. Producing a tiny atomizer, s/he spritzes him delicately with scent - one he knows, one that reminds him of the times he’s found himself lightly anointed with hir perfume after one of their encounters.

“And now for the finishing touch,” s/he says, pulling a bottle of nail lacquer from the bag. “Give me your hands.”

Obediently, Julian extends them, looking very long and pale in hir small hennaed fingers. Jinana quickly and neatly polishes each nail in a coordinating plum shade, finishing them off with a flash-dry topcoat. “I don’t want to make you wait too long,” s/he says, with a devilish little smile.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day, darling,” he groans, and s/he laughs.

“It will be worth it when I leave it all in ruins for you.”

Heat rushes through him with startling suddenness, and he can’t help making a low sound in his throat. Jinana gives a soft chuckle, then seats hirself on his lap once more, threading hir fingers through his hair. “No touching… not until your nails are dry,” s/he says, then places a kiss at his jawline, another at the side of his neck. S/he moves one of the straps of the camisole aside to leave a lovebite near his shoulder.

Julian tilts his head back and closes his eyes, just letting himself feel this - the whisper of hir breath against his skin, the soft sensation of hir lips, the sharpness of hir teeth. The silky fabric of the camisole caresses his body, the high heels and Jinana’s weight on him creating tension in his calves and thighs. He’s definitely getting hard now, with hir nails digging lightly into his shoulders and hir mouth marking its way across his throat and collarbones. He wants very much to kiss hir… but he mustn't smudge his lipstick.

Not yet.

Instead he waits, trembling slightly, holding himself still under hir attentions. Finally, s/he bids him stand, circling his waist with hir arms. S/he laughs at the way the top of hir head now only comes up to the level of his heart… and the way his burgeoning erection presses directly between hir breasts, through the fabric of the camisole and hir own top. S/he tugs the lacy hem of the cami up, baring him to hir. Bending only a little, s/he is able to touch hir lips to him. S/he takes the very tip of him into hir mouth, teasing him gently with hir tongue.

“Oh.” Julian’s legs go weak, mildly hazardous in these heels.

“Careful,” s/he says, lifting hir head. “I don’t think I could catch you from that height.” S/he laughs and releases him, letting the camisole cover him once more - as much as it can, now that he has an absolutely raging hard-on.

Jinana removes hir own clothing, totally unselfconscious, something he admires about hir. In truth, hir body is fairly ordinary - little and skinny, with small breasts and wide hips. S/he often feels so fragile under his hands, at odds with hir dominant air. But in the end, it’s hir manner that makes hir so attractive to him, the absolute confidence with which s/he now leads him onto hir bed, reclining against the piled pillows at the head. Julian follows, crawling up onto the bed with hir, looming over hir body.

“Beautiful,” s/he says, smiling up at him. “Such a shame to wreck all your work, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” he answers. “I want you to wreck it for me. I want you to wreck me.”

S/he laughs lightly. “Oh, I will, darling.” S/he lifts hir chin, and taking his cue, he bends down to kiss hir, heedless now of the lipstick. When he pulls back, hir lips, too, are plum-colored. Julian works his way down hir throat, leaving smudged lipstick prints on hir skin - the only marks he dares to leave. He prints a trail of fading purplish-red kisses down hir chest, until he comes to one of hir breasts. He plucks at the hardened nipple with the tip of his tongue, and is rewarded when Jinana arches slightly under him, giving a sigh of pleasure.

He temporarily forgets his own wants, becoming absorbed in hir - the smoothness of hir skin, the sounds s/he makes, the way s/he feels under his hands and mouth. He tongues and suckles at hir nipples until hir hips are rocking slowly, hir fingers tangling in his hair.

“Are you ready?” s/he asks him, and Julian lifts his head to nod his enthusiastic agreement.

“Oh yes, darling, do you want me to…?” He doesn’t have to finish this, as s/he reaches into the last box and withdraws the item inside, the silicone shaft slapping solidly into his hand. S/he proffers a bottle of lubricant, as well, dispensing a bit onto the part that goes inside of hir and rests against hir body.

Julian bites down on his own lip a bit as he eases it into hir; s/he makes a soft sound as it slips inside, hir inner muscles holding it in place. A sleek, translucent purple shaft now juts from between hir legs, ready for him to ride.

He sits up, taking the lubricant from hir and dispensing it generously. He’s going to need it; the thing is sizable. He applies some to himself, as well, before kneeling over hir body, careful of the stiletto heels. S/he holds the base of the shaft steady for him, watching him as he positions himself, then starts to take it in.

He has to move slowly at first, letting his body relax enough to allow this. He moans out loud as the head of it pops into him with a little shock of sensation. He pushes himself further down onto it by stages, filling him slowly and incredibly.

“Do you like it, sweetheart?” Jinana asks him, hir voice a low purr.

“Oh, god yes,” he answers, lifting himself slightly, only to bring himself down even further onto the shaft, as far as he can go. He pauses here, his hair hanging down into his face, just breathing, feeling Jinana’s warm little hands move in slow, soothing caresses over his upper thighs. When his body has relaxed enough around it, he rocks himself back and forth, the shaft moving into and out of him.

Jinana rakes hir nails lightly over his thighs, moving hir own hips in time with his. Knowing that his movements are bringing hir pleasure as well, the purpose-shaped base of the phallus rubbing against hir clit, only adds to the thrill.

He grips the scrollwork of the bed frame, raising himself up so that he has more room to move. Jinana’s short, strong nails dig into the flesh of his thighs, his flanks, his lower back, sending him higher with sweet little dashes of pain. His cock slaps lightly against hir belly with every movement, rubbing against hir skin, and this too brings him closer to the edge… but he mustn’t come yet, as badly as he wants to.

Jinana reaches beneath them with one hand, activating the bullet vibrator seated in the base of the toy. S/he makes a pleased little sound, and Julian sucks in his own breath as the vibrations travel up the shaft. S/he moves her hips in a steady rhythm, watching him carefully - just when he feels like he’s about to go over the edge, s/he brings him back from the precipice, sometimes even pressing gently but firmly at the base of his cock to stop him coming when his control threatens to slip.

“Not yet,” s/he tells him, a wicked smile on hir lips, and s/he starts pumping hir hips again.

“Oh, goddddddd….” he whines, clinging to his control even as Jinana moves hir hips faster, hir eyes closing, pursuing hir peak. He can’t quite reach to use his mouth on hir, so he braces his legs to hold himself just above hir, letting hir fuck him with the toy while his hands caress hir skin. His fingertips play over hir nipples - carefully, he knows how sensitive they can be. Jinana gives him breathless encouragement, until hir hips suddenly lift up in orgasm, driving the shaft deeply into him, hir fingers convulsively gripping his hips.

He loves that hard, bruising grasp, and the marks it leaves behind on his skin.

S/he releases him as the climax fades, hir movements slowing, hir body relaxing.

“Please, darling,” he whispers. “Please let me come.”

“Oh, sweetling, I’m not done with you yet.” Jinana urges him up and off of the shaft, so that s/he can seat hirself upright against the pillows. Then s/he coaxes him back, applying fresh lubricant to the toy. It slides in easily now, sending a galvanic pulse of sensation through his entire body. Jinana’s teeth lightly graze his nipples through the thin silk of the camisole, and hir small hand wraps around his cock, stroking him in time with his movements.

The haze of pleasure takes him over, building and building until s/he backs him away from the precipice, again and again. Each time, he gets a little more desperate, pleading with hir to let him come. Each time, s/he denies him, knowing that he isn’t chasing the orgasm itself so much as throwing himself into the crucible of feeling. Tears of frustration begin to spill down his cheeks as he begs hir to take him all the way, to grant him release.

But s/he plays him like a finely-tuned instrument, until he’s well and truly delirious with it. He grovels and babbles incoherently, a self-debasement that is an ecstasy all its own, his legs shaking with fatigue and the need in him.

Somewhere within all of this, hir voice brings him back. “Now, Ilya,” s/he tells him. “Come for me.” Julian gives a guttural groan and moves himself faster, impaling himself on the vibrating toy, rubbing his cock against hir hand, until it all boils up his spine in a tremendous rush, filling him with a great, bright nothingness that feels like it must burn him out from the inside, flinging him free from his own body. He doesn’t care how loud his climactic wails are, or how the carefully-applied makeup runs down his face with the tears.

When he’s able to open his eyes again, they sting slightly with melted mascara. He sees that black tears have dripped onto his own chest, dotting Jinana’s breasts and belly alongside the marks of lipstick and the spatters of his own ejaculate.

“I’m sorry,” he says, still catching his breath. “I really made a mess, didn’t I?”

“That was the point, wasn’t it?” S/he laughs and reaches to turn off the vibrator, then hir hands come back up to massage his shaking thighs, soothing him.

He gives a breathless little chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that was the point.”

Jinana slides hir arms around him and pulls him down to hir, heedless of the mess. Julian pushes his own arms between hir and the pillows, burying his face in hir neck and shoulder. They stay like this in a comfortable silence as he recovers, waiting for his legs to be able to hold him up again, and Jinana idly runs hir fingers through his hair.

Presently, s/he murmurs, “Are you as hungry as I am? Let’s call in some takeout to Sneha’s, it’ll be ready by the time we clean up.”

“That sounds fantastic, I’m starving.” He lifts his head to kiss hir softly, then grins. “Can we do it all over again later?” he asks, and s/he chuckles.

S/he is always the one in control when it comes to matters of the bedroom, and he would not have it any other way. S/he enjoys it when he is uninhibited; where others have admonished him for being too loud or too demonstrative, too needy afterward (too much), s/he encourages him and comforts him. Though s/he is quiet by comparison, he loves to hear the soft little pleasure-sounds that s/he makes, the low throaty cries that herald hir climax.

But what Julian loves most of all are the times when he can cause that control to break, ever so briefly; when the spasms of pleasure shake Jinana’s body so strongly that hir sounds become wrenching, or even disappear entirely, hir head thrown back and hir mouth open on long, silent cries of ecstasy.

The game they are playing tonight is one of denial. He is not allowed to touch himself, or to rub himself against hir or the bedding. Sometimes when they do this, Jinana will simply pleasure hirself and make him watch, his mouth gone dry and his cock aching with frustrated desire as he stands bound to the bedframe. Only occasionally will s/he grace him with a touch or a kiss, until finally s/he deigns to take him to an explosive completion. Other times, like tonight, s/he will command him to please hir in various ways, while his own pleasure must wait.

Jinana wants him to have the use of his hands, so he is not bound tonight… but he is wearing a leather collar (and nothing else), attached to a little leash s/he holds in hir hand as s/he reclines comfortably on the pillows. A light tug on it summons him to hir, and s/he wraps the leash around hir hand as he advances, crawling up over hir nude body so that s/he can kiss him. S/he sinks hir teeth into his lower lip with a sharp, sweet little bloom of pain.

S/he is lenient tonight, relaxing hir hold on the leash, giving him free rein over hir body - at least with his hands and mouth. He presses soft kisses to the side of hir neck, hir shoulder, while one of his hands skims over the curve of hir hip, the indent of hir waist. He cups a small breast in his palm, lets his fingertips find the nipple so that he can gently roll it between them, pinching lightly at its tip, the same way he has seen hir do it. Jinana arches slightly under him, and the leash tightens a little, guiding him to use his mouth here, too. Obligingly, he takes the other nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly at it, working his tongue over it, until hir body is undulating slowly against the bed.

He lifts his head, finding hir dark eyes upon him, and s/he smiles. Hir cheeks are lightly flushed with hir arousal, and s/he slackens the lead in hir hand to allow him to move down hir body. Julian places a kiss between hir breasts, over hir heart, continuing all the way down to hir navel. He follows the little trail of hairs that begins just beneath, to where it flowers out and hides hir sex from his view.

Jinana permits him to ease hir legs apart, and he kisses his way up hir inner thighs, using his hands to spread hir open for him. He dips his head to brush his lips over hir, running his tongue out to caress hir in slow, lazy strokes. His fingertips find hir to be quite ready, the petals of hir swollen and slick with hir own need.

Julian glances up at hir, over the landscape of hir body. “May I use my fingers, darling?” he asks, and s/he nods.

“You may.”

He always asks before penetrating hir, if s/he has not urged him to do so hirself. He wets two of his fingers in his mouth, pushing them inside of hir with care. At first, he simply keeps them there, filling hir while he flicks his tongue lightly over hir clit, sucking very gently at it. But as hir body starts to demand more, hir inner muscles gripping his fingers, he starts moving them in time.

When s/he starts making those familiar little sounds of hir enjoyment, he pushes just a little deeper - his fingers are very long, after all, and s/he is not large. He knows he’s found his target when he curls his fingers slightly and Jinana goes briefly rigid under him, gasping in hir breath.

“Oh! Yes, darling, right there, just like that -” S/he cuts hirself off with a little cry as he increases the movement of his fingers, his tongue working more firmly at hir clit. “Oh, fuck… Ilya!”

Julian groans, the trigger of his given name making heat race through him with startling intensity. But he keeps at what he’s doing, resisting the urge to rub his almost painfully-hard cock against hir or the bed.

Jinana’s hands are barely holding on to the leash at all now, grasping at the air, clawing at the sheets as he redoubles his efforts. It seems to take the power of speech from hir entirely, reducing hir to incoherent noises as hir hips raise themselves to him over and over. Julian slips his free arm beneath hir, steadying hir as he continues on. He could hold hir down, and easily at that... but he does not dare.

But he’s got hir panting now, hir body trembling as s/he makes a mewling sound he’s never heard from hir before - and then the orgasm takes hir, hir inner muscles first fluttering, then clamping down hard on his fingers. The sounds s/he makes are like harsh little sobs, music to his ears.

He takes hir as far as he possibly can, not letting up until hir body starts to calm, the tenor of hir cries changing to something softer, slowing. He eases hir down though a few small aftershocks of pleasure, until s/he is utterly relaxed against the bed. Then, and only then, does he slip his fingers from hir, raining more kisses over hir sex and hir inner thighs, working his way back up hir belly.

Jinana’s fingers fumble after the leash, finding and tightening it again, bringing him up for long, lazy kisses.

“Was it good?” he asks, though he doesn’t really need to.

“Mmmm, very good.” S/he chuckles. “Give me a moment to be able to feel my legs again, and you can have a little treat. I think you’ve earned it.”

The praise kindles a warmth in him, as it always does, less urgent but more satisfying than his lust. Julian rests his head against hir chest while s/he recovers, until hir breathing slows once more, and s/he stirs beneath him.

“Here, darling.” Jinana releases the leash from the collar, setting it aside. “Sit up for me.” He obeys, as he always obeys. S/he, too, sits up from hir relaxed pose, bending to wet his cock down with hir mouth. Again he must hold himself back, trembling, refraining from trying to push into hir mouth or rub against hir lips.

Jinana rises up, turning hir back to him, and excitement leaps through him. Will s/he really let him have hir like this?

S/he looks back at him over hir shoulder, arching a brow. “Move carefully, sweetheart,” s/he tells him, lifting hirself up so that he can reach hir, and he takes hold of hir hips, lifting hir further.

“Of course, my love.” He is always careful, but penetrating hir from behind lets him go deeply enough to hurt hir if he is incautious, and that is the last thing he wants to do.

Jinana moans softly as he starts to push into hir, and he answers with a whispered curse as the tight, slick heat of hir encloses him. He wraps his arms around hir, shuddering as he reaches the limit inside of hir.

“Let me do it for you again, darling. I love feeling you come on my cock.” It won’t be easy to hold back… but it will be worth it. At hir assent, he slides one of his hands down hir belly, fingers seeking hir out again, massaging hir just above where they are joined. The other hand teases at hir nipples, and the way s/he squeezes down on him makes him groan in hir ear.

It’s a delicate balance, moving with slow and shallow strokes, just enough for hir pleasure, while keeping himself back from the edge. While his hands are busy, his lips deliver kisses to hir neck and shoulder, and low murmurs to hir ear. This is the only time he can say what he feels, in the passion of the moment, without immediately mortifying or frightening himself. There’s no elegance to it, no poetry or drama, just mumbled breathless words that seek to convey the chest-aching, overwhelming emotion that grips him at these times, their bodies striving to be one thing, however temporarily.

He sits back on his heels, bringing hir with him so that hir head rests back against his shoulder, continuing to touch hir. S/he turns to meet him as he moves to kiss hir, his tongue pushing into hir mouth as if to fill hir with as much of himself as he can.

Primed by the first orgasm, the second is not far behind. As soon as he hears the tenor of hir sounds change, the tension suddenly increasing in hir body, he lets himself thrust into hir quickly, as deeply as he can without hurting hir. Their voices rise together, but Jinana gets there first, hir back arching, hir nails digging into his thighs as it takes hir over again. He can’t hold out long, not with hir inner muscles contracting so strongly around his cock. He follows hir into oblivion, muffling his own cries and groans against hir skin as he clutches hir fervently to his own body.

When he has his wits back, he finds Jinana slumped against his chest like a loose-limbed doll, their skin mutually sweaty where they touch, the both of them catching their breath. Julian carefully rolls them both onto one side, still joined, and curls himself around hir. S/he allows this because s/he knows that he needs it, that it helps alleviate the curious low that so often comes for him after the high of orgasm. He kisses the back of hir neck tenderly, and s/he cradles his hands to hir chest, over hir heart, so that he can feel the rapid beats gradually slowing as they rest.