Today’s prompt selection was: Oral sex, Punishment, CNC. Of those I have the first two – lots of the first, and some of the latter, but the best scene I have for the first is a good tie-in for a later (Semi-public) so I’m gonna go with number two.
This scene requires a few brief pieces of context. It’s part of the larger Party piece (big. Maybe for “Size Queen” I’ll just submit all 1.5 million words of it XD).
Bezzal is the Princess of Hell, the Deviless of Schemes and Plots, and a very uncommon figure to openly worship as one might expect. Nobody knows or cares to try to figure out the true limits of her power. Worship of her is generally considered not a thing to be open about in public, although it does vary culturally somewhat.
Martina (who also starred in Day 1: Masturbation) is a half-elven woman – light brown skin, upper-arm-length wavy reddish-brown hair, lightly pointed ears, upper-end-of-moderate curves – whose (human) father has pressed her into service at one of his temples: he runs two, in protest against what he thinks are absurd laws permitting people to worship Devils in their home city of Labsallidas – one temple, to the biggest devil, is run by himself, and the other devoted to Bezzal is run by Martina. Her dad thinks he is very clever and satirical, however, Bezzal took an interest in Martina and has made her into a genuine Chosen Priestess – something which she is still not very open about. Martina is generally very analytical, insightful, and cautiously precise. Can’t imagine why the Princess of Plots likes her…
Emmalyne is a Syllaean – a humanoid descended of Elementals. In her case, air: this means she is capable of floating with fair ease, and does not need to breathe in any given scenario. In her words, “the air is in me”. She’s also quite flighty, as a personality trait. She absolutely loves sexual roleplay. She has pale blue skin with white markings, long white hair commonly prone to her own personal winds, and a slender but muscular and athletic build (she is a professional grappler/wrestler in a local sport).
This story is set in Arellan, a fantasy world.
This scene involves sexual roleplay! It involves some banter, two women having sex, roleplaying, and one of them using improvised magic – in the role of a Priestess punishing a Blasphemer – to bind, suspend, and generally punish the other. Admittedly, the punishment doesn’t necessarily last that long… but I hope you’ll appreciate it anyway.
Or, if you’re uninterested in any of that, you could stop reading!
Below the break is some spicy non-roleplay, and then some spicy roleplay, with maybe a little bit of non-spicy roleplay in the middle.
Martina laughed as she took another drink, but as she set it down, she was briefly, slightly confused by the appearance of two hands on either side of her drink. On the table, planted solidify, in the sort of position that her own hands might’ve held save for the fact that her hands were holding the cup instead.
Save for that, and the fact that these new hands were light blue instead.
“I’m a reasonable woman on many days,” a fairly familiar voice breathed down the side of Martina’s neck, and she tipped her head to the side with a light laugh and a lighter shiver as Emmalyne growled softly. “Maybe. Somewhat reasonable. On some days. I’ve been known to be, from time to time, something akin to reasonable.”
“Far be it from me to imply otherwise,” Martina giggled.
Emmalyne sighed, her breath seeming to be alternately quite cold and far hotter than simple breath should’ve been; as if one lung was filled with ice and the other coals, one a wintry capsule and the other a furnace and the two streams of air twirled around each other rather than mixing to some intermediate temperature, or perhaps as if whatever controlled the temperature simply vacillated wildly back and forth.
“So I have the potential to be a reasonable woman,” Emmalyne reiterated, walking her position even further back from her confidently stated first position, and Martina let out another laugh.
“Would this proposed reasonability be related in any way to how white your knuckles are, gripping the table?” Martina raised an eyebrow, her gaze dwelling on Emmalyne’s hands.
“I think I’ve shown that I can be a reasonable woman,” Emmalyne insisted, but with every repetition her voice lost firmness and edge. Slowly, it turned from a hard growl to a soft, simpering, nearly begging whimper.
“I think it could be said that you’ve displayed a certain capacity for a degree of reasonability,” Martina agreed with a soft giggle, and she wasn’t an idiot – and she also wasn’t terrible at reading people, by and large. In fact, she was quite good at it. She knew what Emmalyne was getting at and was driving toward.
Of course, that didn’t mean she had to just give it immediately.
Emmalyne seemed fond of teasing, in both directions – of the drama of it, of playing the roles, and Martina had a fondness for it as well from time to time. She quite liked honesty and being who you were, but there was also something to be said for playing a part instead; they both had their time and place.
While Martina hadn’t started the night fully convinced as far as having sex with Emmalyne went, the night had progressed – and with it, her attraction had grown, and sitting there at the table with Emmalyne breathing down her neck after watching Chanel put on a very arousing show, Martna wanted little more than to throw Emmalyne down to the floor and show her that someone didn’t need to not need to breathe in order to make her shout at the ceiling.
If it weren’t for the fact that Emmalyne so thoroughly seemed to appreciate the roleplay aspect of it, Martina would’ve – but, as it was, she had a part to play, even if she wasn’t quite certain what it was.
That was the beauty of being good at puzzles. You didn’t need to know what they were in order to solve them, if you knew how to go about it.
“So we agree that I am, or can be, or have been, a sometimes somewhat reasonable woman, at times,” Emmalyne sighed down Martina’s neck in frustration, and Martina nodded with an affirmative hum.
All pretense of firmness dropped away as Emmalyne’s voice fell completely to a whine. “Then why aren’t we burying our heads between each other’s slender thighs yet? I- I don’t get it; I’m attracted to you, we don’t have sex; you’re attracted to me, we don’t have sex; we’re both attracted to each other, we don’t have sex-”
Martina timed her action carefully, letting go of her cup with one hand and raising a finger toward Emmalyne’s lips as she turned to face her, grinning briefly in the shocked moment of stillness before she leaned in to whisper into Emmalyne’s ear instead. One single word. “Yet.”
She watched as Emmalyne’s lips shifted and twisted behind her fingertip, either refusing to form words because as the silenced one it wasn’t her position to do so, or failing to form them because Emmalyne wasn’t quite certain what words would come next, but either way played right into Martina’s plan as she giggled and dodged past her own finger to press a kiss to Emmalyne’s cheek.
“I think that’s about to change, right about as soon as we can find a bed, though.” Martina raised an eyebrow, tipping her head to the side as her fingertip departed Emmalyne’s lips to caress back along her jaw instead. “Don’t you think we’ve put it off long enough?”
“Think we’ve put it off far too long and by we I mean you,” Emmalyne grumbled through a groan, and Martina laughed.
“Oh, come on now,” she grinned, “I just wanted you properly explosive by the time we got around to it. Now are you going to carry me off to the bedroom, or what? Go on, make use of those strong arms now-”
Martina yelped as Emmalyne suddenly shifted, yanking her up out of the chair and into an easy bridal carry; strength may not have been her go-to, but her training and practice in the wrestling ring had given her more than a decent amount of it, and plenty of bodily awareness to go with.
Her yelp faded smoothly into a laugh, and then a moan as Emmalyne’s mouth found hers and her fingers buried themselves as deep in Emmalyne’s hair as her tongue in Emmalyne’s mouth, and Martina really didn’t care where they ended up – bed or bath or the carpet in the hallway outside, she didn’t give half a damn about where and cared far more about what.
Although she was pretty certain what the latter question would entail, as far as answers went.
Emmalyne carried her out of the room and Martina gave no thought to it. She paid no attention to anything other than Emmalyne’s thin but strong arms wrapped around her, to the thumping of her own heart in her chest, to the taste of Emmalyne’s mouth and her neck and her earlobe as Martina’s lips and teeth explored.
“Been looking forward to this,” she growled softly into Emmalyne’s ear and then giggled. “Although probably not half as much as you have!”
“Not for half as long, for sure, although changing your mind is pretty hot,” Emmalyne grumbled through a sigh, and then didn’t drop Martina to the bed as much as sliding into bed along with her. Their hands slid immediately to skin with no reference or reverence for any clothing’s attempt to bar their passage.
Martina’s groan rumbled in her chest and reverberated in her throat, rippling through the whole of her body as Emmalyne wasted not even a handful of seconds on anything other than her pure lust, immediately sticking her hand under Martina’s waistband and stroking a fingertip back and forth across Martina’s clit, which prompted Martina to grab firm double-handfuls of Emmalyne’s shirt and pull her in for a lip-crushingly tight kiss as she nodded firmly.
Her hands tugged at clothing, peeling off layer after layer of Emmalyne’s seeming dozens as if she dressed in nothing more than scarves, and even as she removed them Martina couldn’t definitively say what it was that held them together – whether pins or knots or artful folds or something else, they seemed to simply free themselves as Martina gripped them in her fists and pulled, and each one revealed a new patch of pale blue toned skin for her fingers or lips to find.
“Practically rude how hot you are,” Martina moaned against Emmalyne’s neck, her sound’s pitch rising sharply at the end from Emmalyne’s skilled fingers.
“Gotta be kidding me with that,” Emmalyne growled, pulling at Martina’s shirt and definitely ripping off at least one button, but neither of them paused to give it any notice. “Can’t decide whether you’re more schoolgirl or headmistress but it’s whipping me into a whirlwind either way.”
Martina laughed, trailing into a moan as she grabbed a tight double handful of Emmalyne’s hair as teeth closed firmly but not roughly around one of her nipples and a tongue flicked across it; she undid her own skirt and pulled it off to give Emmalyne easier access, gasping a laugh of satisfied surprise as Emmalyne immediately slid two fingers deep into her and made her limbs lurch.
“Goddess- I want to taste you, please,” Martina begged lightly, her hands scrambling at Emmalyne’s hips as the other woman sighed roughly.
“Godsdamnit I was going to say say please but you already did that,” Emmalyne muttered.
Martina giggled sharply, clutching at one of Emmalyne’s breasts as her other hand slid between Emmalyne’s thighs to find slick skin awaiting. “Sorry, I’m a bitch like that. You can spank me for it if you want?”
“Yes, I want,” Emmalyne sighed, pulling her hand free from Martina and making her gasp sharply, and then let out an even sharper cry as Emmalyne’s hand fly swiftly and smoothly back to slap open-palmed against Martina’s ass, the sharp sensation rippling through her and dissolving into pleasantly trembling shivers.
Martina laughed briefly as Emmalyne grabbed her shoulders and rolled, twisting them both around head-to-tail, and a loud moan ripped from Martina’s throat as Emmalyne buried her head between Martina’s thighs.
She didn’t bother wasting any time returning the favour, muffling her moan against Emmalyne’s delicious flesh and wrapping her arms around to dig nails into Emmalyne’s firm butt cheeks. Martina kept her legs tense at first, holding herself up and away from Emmalyne’s face a little bit to let her get the occasional gasp of air, but as Emmalyne spanked her again and yanked down hard on her hips with a growl, Martina reminded herself of the repeated and frequent claims of breath being unnecessary and let her legs collapse limply, gravity weighing her down firmly against Emmalyne’s face and only aided by Emmalyne’s arms pulling her in tighter still.
Her body shivered and shuddered from the combination that assaulted it; Emmalyne’s head buried tightly between her thighs, her tongue flicking and plunging, her heavily muffled moans that Martina could feel sinking into her flesh as much as she could hear them enticingly in her ears, Emmalyne’s hands grasping at her back and her butt, their bodies writhing together, along with Emmalyne’s thighs clamped firmly against the sides of her head and the taste of her as Martina explored with her tongue, licking and flicking.
Much was said about sex in the Temple of Bellerrel, but it wasn’t Martina’s only experience – she’d learned from Criallto’s hall as well, and more recently some from Zlalga, with some mentions in Priyahzha and Alcaaria too. Along with, of course, some purely secular practice and explorations – albeit it with a bit less instruction on the latter, although many partners had something that could be learned from them. Many thought they were helping, and some even were.
She’d learned how to communicate her needs, and those of partners – as well as how to simply extract the same, not asking and requesting but simply feeling it out. What had begun as self-explorations, slowly probing at her own body and gauging her own reactions to determine her own desires, naturally evolved into the same thing but with another person.
In addition to caressing at her own body and feeling for shivers, for trembles, for little sparks in her heart or her gut, she could do the same with another; different feedback, to an extent, as far as the specifics went, but a similar process.
She mapped Emmalyne out, with half of her mind dedicated to the process while the other half ran bright hot flashes of pleasure throughout her body; Martina paid close attention to the way Emmalyne’s thighs tightened against the side of her head when she flicked her tongue as opposed to pressing firmly and licking slowly, she noticed how Emmalyne’s spine shifted when she clutched nails against cheeks or spanked, as she repositioned her body, her mouth, her tongue, her hands – as she shifted fingertips closer or further, here or there.
Not a single word was exchanged, and not a single one needed to be.
Martina couldn’t feel Emmalyne’s sensations, didn’t know which movements instilled particular thrill in that direct sense that she was able to apply to herself, but she knew it from shivers, from twitches, from noises loudly muffled between her own legs, from the way Emmalyne’s tongue would grow distracted from its own motions.
She didn’t need to know more than that. Didn’t need to feel or hear more than that; the way Emmalyne’s legs shifted beside her head was plenty as she stretched one arm a little further along, wrapping it tighter around the thigh to give enough leeway for a finger to slide into the hole near her tongue. The sound the vibrated deep into her from Emmalyne’s mouth sealed tight between Martina’s legs was more than was needed to tell her that another finger would be more than welcome to join the first, along with another for the other hole which Martina muffled a loud and sharp groan when Emmalyne mirrored.
The only shame – and it was only a slight one – was that there wasn’t a lot of voice to it. Emmalyne’s sounds were delicious, but soft, muffled both by Martina pressed tightly to her mouth and nose and also by her own legs wrapped around Martina’s ears, leaving her almost deafened, and that was a shame. Martina could shout out Emmalyne’s name – and did – but couldn’t imagine that Emmalyne actually heard her given that she could barely hear herself.
Could barely hear herself groan, barely hear herself moan, barely hear herself beg for more; could barely hear herself shout out praise and glory and ecstasy and passion, swears and directive and expletives and more. Could barely hear herself half-screeching how much she loved Emmalyne’s tongue on her clit, how good Emmalyne’s fingers felt buried inside her pussy and her asshole, could barely hear herself groaning a shout of brief warning such as it was before she lurched and convulsed wildly, plunging her own fingers deeper into Emmalyne’s holes as she flicked her tongue desperately in the way she’d experimentally determined to be best, and was rewarded when Emmalyne shivered sharply against her shortly thereafter.
Moments later, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, their tongues mixing lingering tastes of each other as they panted heavily into one another’s mouths.
“I thought you didn’t have to breathe,” Martina huffed a laugh, grinning and twisting her fingers experimentally in Emmalyne’s hair. “How come you’re panting?”
“Panting’s just fun,” Emmalyne insisted, arching her neck back as she groaned the words, “and so’s that. And so are you-”
“Thank you,” Martina interjected with a breathless giggle, “and right back at you!”
“-so I’m thinking- you’re a Priestess or something right? Or something?” Emmalyne studied her curiously from half an inch away. “I’m thinking maybe I could be- hmm, maybe a sinner who needs to pay some penance – sexually. Or maybe a nun who’s misbehaved and needs to be punished? Sexually. Or maybe- I don’t know, what are you thinking?”
“I think I can work with either of those,” Martina grinned, her breaths coming in long deep pulls, and she could tell that Emmalyne didn’t really need to breathe because the breath felt full even coming directly from her lungs. It didn’t feel spent the way someone else’s breath always did.
Her hands stroked over Emmalyne’s body, caressing at curves and stroking across soft skin. “Guess it might depend on which Temple you want me to be from,” Martina murmured with an eyebrow raised, and Emmalyne scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“Oh I hardly care,” she waved a hand dismissively before returning it to Martina’s but to squeeze and hold. “Whichever one you want, I don’t know, I’m no Priestess- either way I can just start out startled and worried and pick up whatever you start laying down, if… you think you can handle that?”
“Oh I can handle it,” Martina murmured, a thoughtful grin growing on her lips. “After all, improvisation is an important skill in my temple.”
Emmalyne withdrew slightly with a raised eyebrow. “And which temple’s that?”
Martina let out a brief laugh, stretching forward to kiss her deeply and murmur against her lips, “I thought you didn’t care?”
“Hardly care,” Emmalyne corrected softly, “and I just want to know so I can yell the right name out, that’s all.”
Martina froze for a brief moment, but an easy solution presented itself, if it was only roleplay anyway. Floating ideas wasn’t any different than mapping out a body; you didn’t just ram your finger into a hole and hope, you caressed and gently prodded and gradually pressed and felt for feedback, and she could do the exact same in less explicitly physical circumstances.
“Well,” one shoulder rolled in a shrug as Martina tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, her breath coming somewhat under control even though it was still fairly heavy. “If we’re playing with the whole penance and punishment thing, that’s gotta be better for taboos, right?”
“Oh isn’t everything?” Emmalyne gushed, grinning wide, her sapphire eyes sparkling from inches away.
Martina laughed lightly, cupping her cheek with a wide grin and a curious eye. “Well, if that’s the case – I mean it’s tempting to go for someone stuck-up, because that’s a bit of a taboo… but why not go hard, huh? Go really far with it.”
“Best way to go,” Emmalyne agreed swiftly in a heated murmur, her eyes flicking rapidly back and forth between Martina’s eyes and her lips.
“So why not like- like-” Martina rolled her eyes as if in thought, as if in some sort of extension to the limits of comprehension or reason as opposed to simply circling around the truth, “why not – if we’re gonna go big – why not like, Bezzal? Can’t go bigger than Her, right?”
Emmalyne’s eyes widened, but not in shock or horror; they widened in surprise, but excited surprise, thrill and wonder and lust, they filled and overbrimmed with them all as they flitted between Martina’s eyes and her lips and her body.
“I think you’re a genius,” Emmalyne whispered forcefully, “and a sexy one too, and I’ll tell you I am going to love screaming out the Princess’ name as you make me come.”
“Maybe not half as much as I’ll love it,” Martina shivered, giggling sharply and then pushing away, gesturing to the opening. “Okay, okay go- go out and come back in again, and say you’ve been sent in to see me. I’ve got ideas. And um, let’s say ‘ham sandwich’ if we’ve gotta pause and break character.”
“I’m so excited for your ideas,” Emmalyne squealed, leaping up out of bed and prancing delightedly out of the small room for a moment – just a moment, before she would surely return.
Martina took the opportunity to push herself upright to sit on the edge of the bed and school her expression, pulling together disparate threads of possibility and trying to weave them into something more tangible in nothing more than a moment, whilst interleaving fact and fiction to hide the truth from reality.
It was thrilling.
When Emmalyne stepped back around the corner, it was with clear vacuity; a deliberately moderate gait and way of holding herself, something that didn’t imply much of anything. Martina’d said she had ideas and Emmalyne clearly didn’t want to interfere with them, instead putting forth a characterization which could’ve been anything; she could have just as easily been a forgiveness-seeking follower as a punishment-deserving priestess.
Martina decided to go for a different option.
“I hear that you have been blaspheming,” Martina tipped her head back to look down her nose, sitting as imperiously and straight-backed as she could, and she saw Emmalyne’s posture immediately shift to fit her newly-provided role; her back slouching, one shoulder drooping, her eyes softly rolling as her lips tugged into a soft smirk.
“Taking the name of my Lady and my Temple in vain, as if they are some joke,” Martina raised a hand, extending a single finger on it and twitching it left and right with a gentle but cutting laugh. “You should know better than this. Everyone should know better than this.”
“Only thing everyone knows is that this is barely even a temple and your ‘Lady’,” Emmalyne made air quotes with her hands, letting out a laugh to punctuate the sarcasm as she shook her head, “isn’t exactly active is she? I mean look around. There aren’t exactly a lot of other temples to Bezzal… in fact,” Emmalyne tipped her head to the side, “I can’t think of a single one.”
“A rarified profession,” Martina murmured swiftly, holding her position on the edge of the bed, both of them surely pretending to be in clothing – some costume, surely, which neither of them felt the need to take the time to actually don. “So your argument is commonality? I daresay there are few tornadoes, all things considered,” Martina inspected her fingernails with a smirk, “but few would argue they don’t exist. Fewer still would suggest that just because they’re rare, they are powerless, or in some other way deserving of taunting.”
“Well, if tornadoes were stuck-up prats in big houses maybe I’d taunt them too,” Emmalyne sighed distractedly, glancing around as if she had no care in the world.
There were two ways to react to a thing like that, a tactic like that: immediate, sharp and decisive reaction, or to take the opposite tactic – to seem like nothing bothered you, like the teasing had no effect.
Martina opted for the latter. She tossed her head back, laughing full and loud and then tipped her head to one side, grinning wide, and she saw uncertainty filter into Emmalyne’s eyes and posture; she’d expected to provoke a reaction, a sharp one, not laughter.
“Do you know what is dangerous about my Lady – and by extension, about all of Her Temple? Blasphemers of Kel’Ki may call a storm upon themselves, those of Zlalga may find their ambitions eternally out of reach, those of Criallto may find themselves snubbed and excluded by community or even the target of a mob’s anger; all depend on their purview, and exact justice by the same. Can you guess, then, what is the true, terrifying danger of my Lady and Her followers, such as myself?” Martina slid forward smoothly off of the bed, not pushing herself up sharply but opting for fluid motions instead as if everything had been planned beforehand and everything was going according to plan.
She had something of a role model, after all.
Emmalyne quirked an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest and staunchly standing her ground – refusing to step back or stand down and admit defeat easily, because of course, blasphemy was a blatant offence and unlikely to be openly undertaken by anyone who would then wilt at the first sign of what they thought of as threat.
Just as Martina had hoped. Or maybe expected.
“Is it that you can monologue anyone to death?” Emmalyne sighed a single laugh. “Honestly I’m growing bored with this conversation already, so-”
“It’s that we don’t give up,” Martina cut her off, not by shouting overtop of her but the opposite, by keeping her voice soft but deliberate as she slowly advanced, and it forced Emmalyne to silence herself in order to hear. “Where others see problems, we only see puzzles to solve; someone else might see you as a thorn to be removed, but I? I see an errant, who can be taught.”
Emmalyne blurted out an explosive laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, taught? Please – ask literally anyone who’s ever tried to teach me, I can’t. I can learn, but you can’t make me learn.”
“I can make you anything,” Martina promised firmly, holding Emmalyne’s gaze.
Nothing forced her eyes to return the gesture and seem similarly fixed, and they promptly refused to, rolling instead as Emmalyne let out another soft laugh. “Please. You can’t even make me stay.”
She turned to walk away, and Martina reached out a hand, but it didn’t grab at Emmalyne’s elbow; it swept a gesture through the air, beginning to glow as it traced shapes – lights that echoed her fingertips danced around Emmalyne as if mirroring, and where they traced lingered phantasmal and softly-glowing ropes.
Martina wasted no time weaving them into tight bindings, Emmalyne exclaiming as her knees were pulled tightly together and she toppled, but Martina raised her hand and – like a puppeteer with a puppet – easily lifted Emmalyne into the air, floating and swinging gently back and forth. Her arms were bound tight to her side, ropes crossing both behind her back and over her belly and chest, with her legs lashed together from her hips down to her ankles.
“Well,” Martina purred softly, smiling as she stepped close and held Emmalyne aloft with a glowing hand. “Hard to deny the power in that, don’t you think?”
“What the- fuck,” Emmalyne gasped, her head whipping around to stare alternately between the ropes which wrapped her up and the person who’d done the wrapping. “How the fuck did you do that?”
“Bezzal doesn’t just punish Her enemies… She also rewards Her faithful,” Martina murmured through a grin, although the truer answer was that she didn’t know how she’d done it.
It wasn’t a spell she had ever cast before. Wasn’t one she knew or had learned, or even heard of exactly – but at the same time, she knew that what she’d said was the truth.
“Well I- still think-” Emmalyne struggled, grunting and pulling hard at the glowing ropes, but they failed to slip or snap and she let out a frustrated growl. “I still think she’s shit is what I think!”
“I think that by the time we’re done here, you’ll be calling out her name in praise,” Martina murmured softly. “As well as mine. After all, punishment is one way to correct behaviour… but I find positive reinforcement equally helpful. The combination of the two?”
She chuckled in lieu of explaining further.
Emmalyne, however, had taken to her role of impudence well – she forced out a defiant laugh. “So a couple fancy strings are supposed to convince me that you’re not a joke? Well if it’s not a joke, why’s it making me laugh?”
With a flick of her wrist, Martina lifted her higher up into the air, swinging gently in her bindings like a puppet in its strings. She tipped her head to the side, studying the struggling and softly swaying suspended Emmalyne. “I think if you’re going to continue to act like a child, perhaps I should punish you like one?”
All it took was another wrist twist, the coils of the spell flipping Emmalyne over onto her belly, dangling with her butt protruding up into the air, and as one hand remained carefully still wreathed as it was with ropey strings of magic, Martina brought her other one down in a sharp swatting spank.
Emmalyne spat out a laugh, but it trailed off to a very slight hint of a whimper; a tiny repositioning of her spine, a little shift that spoke of a shiver, and Martina knew it quite well. She knew the names of the sounds even if she didn’t always think their names – knew what they meant. Knew the difference between pulling your hands at ropes trying to get out, and just tugging to remind yourself they were there.
Knew the difference between shifting because you were uncomfortable, and shifting because you were turned on.
“Thought I’d- break that easily?” Emmalyne breathed a noticeably softer laugh that strove to be just as defiant as its forebears, but fell far short of that target.
Martina stepped closer, grinning, letting her hand fall with only slight force onto Emmalyne’s butt again, landing in the same place or thereabouts and then stroking up her back, through rising goosebumps to grip a firm fistful of hair and pull Emmalyne’s head back as it let out a soft, needy cry.
“Not in the slightest,” Martina whispered into Emmalyne’s ear, stroking a fingertip along the curve of her pulled-taught throat and grinning at the soft vibration it felt of a tiny groan. “In fact, I was quite hoping you wouldn’t break as easily as that. After all, I’ve hardly had any fun with you at all.”
Martina shivered lightly at the small whimper which flew from Emmalyne’s nose when she let go – released her hold on fine white hair and stepped back, and Emmalyne either couldn’t or at least failed to hold back her own disappointment from fleeing her audibly, which made it Martina’s turn to laugh.
“Oh!” She tossed her head back for a half-giggle, half-cackle of delighted derision. “Oh what’s that? Despite all her protests, I think-”
“Shut up,” Emmalyne insisted softly, wriggling in her suspension.
“Oh it’s far too late for that,” Martina purred, and the tone and all were easy; they always had been, adopting roles, especially if they were roles she didn’t find disagreeable. “We both know how you’re feeling. You keep insisting that it’s to me to prove some power here, when the simple fact is that the power’s hold on you is already clear…”
Emmalyne thrashed, nearly flipping herself over – probably would have, if she’d been an actual puppet, hanging in ropes through nothing more than gravity, but of course they weren’t real ropes at all and with a slight shift of her hand Martina tugged them down as tightly as she’d been holding them up.
It didn’t immobilize Emmalyne entirely. The spell itself was gently malleable, as if Emmalyne was held by ropes of thick rubber; possible to stretch, slightly, somewhat, but they would pull firmly back toward place – and where they wrapped around her joints and limbs there was no stretch at all.
“I think I’m going to make you beg me,” Martina murmured, gradually letting her voice drop, softer and softer as she stepped closer. Quieter and quieter until it was just a whisper, until she leaned in to Emmalyne’s ear and barely breathed the words. “That’s how I’ll prove Her power; when you beg me, you will not be able to deny it any more.”
“That-” Emmalyne struggled, twisting but to no avail, and she cut herself off with swiftly hushed words under her breath as she did; “fuck that’s strong.” Shaking her head, she forced her neck to twist around enough to catch Martina’s gaze with one eye, although she couldn’t twist it enough to line up the other. “No way that’ll work – if your little spell here didn’t convince me-”
“My little spell here,” Martina purred gently, “wasn’t to convince. It’s not some sledgehammer, some shock and awe tactic to strike you with grief and horror – to force your fealty through fear. Why, if I wanted to force you to your knees, I could do so as easily as this.”
A flick of her hand and Emmalyne flipped over onto her back, held suspended at about chest height, and Martina grinned as she reached out her free hand and stroked at the air just above Emmalyne’s body. Caressed at the mirror of her curves an inch away from her skin, trailed fingertips along the ghostly edge of the phantasmal ropes wrapped around Emmalyne’s arms and torso, and her grin only widened at the way Emmalyne whimpered and shifted.
Shifted toward her hand, not away from it; not shying from the touch, but seeking it.
“Puppets are good, but only for so much,” Martina whispered close enough to Emmalyne’s neck that as the fine hairs on the back of it rose up, Martina felt them on her lips. “I don’t want a puppet here…”
She traced a fingertip in a slow circle half an inch above one of Emmalyne’s nipples, breathing a laugh as Emmalyne stifled a groan in her throat, her eyes forced that way through no spell but the simple compulsion of movement. Martina’s laugh increased slightly as Emmalyne’s nipple started to firm and swell as they did, and she withdrew her finger just slightly to keep them from touching.
It proved to be the last straw, and with a sharp convulsion Emmalyne stopped stifling the groan in her throat and let it out in a shout instead. “Ugh, please! Please!”
“Please…” Martina teased the air above Emmalyne with her fingers, and given Emmalyne’s elemental lineage, she was suspecting – and hoping, and even counting on the hope – that Emmalyne could actually feel it as much as see it.
“Please,” Emmalyne repeated swiftly, firmly but breathlessly.
“Please what?” Martina stroked her hand more swiftly over Emmalyne’s belly, quickly enough to feel a soft breeze even though it was immediately swallowed up somehow, and Emmalyne groaned roughly and writhed in her bindings. Martina leaned closer, fuelling her words with far more breath than they needed but keeping them soft and letting the excess air rush across Emmalyne’s skin. “Please… what?”
“Please make me shout her praises,” Emmalyne shivered, “please, I swear I will, just-” She cut off with a rough and firmly affirmative shout of a groan as Martina moved her hand, shifting the spell and severing ropes and reattaching them all at once, replacing the all-along-the-leg bindings with individual ties at the ankles and knees which pulled promptly apart.
Martina stepped around to stand between Emmalyne’s shivering knees, playfully adjusting the ropes with subtle shifts of her hand – tipping Emmalyne’s body up, pulling her shoulders back to present her chest more proudly, and she had little power over Emmalyne’s head but it still did just what she wanted and tipped forward to stare in her direction in lust and hunger.
That was part of the joy of puzzles. As long as you got a few pieces in the right spots, the rest of them fell right into place on their own.
Slowly, holding Emmalyne’s gaze, Martina leaned forward, and as her lips met Emmalyne’s skin the soft growl which had been rumbling in the other woman’s chest resolved into a name, soft but warm and thoroughly intense; “Bezzal, thank you.”
A sharp shiver shot through Martina’s spine at the sound of it, her free hand clutching nails promptly and firmly at Emmalyne’s back as her lips and tongue began to make use of all they’d learned before; Martina twisted her head to the side, sucking one of Emmalyne’s lips halfway into her mouth and running her tongue up and down along the inside edge of it, and Emmalyne made her approval clear, voicing it loudly to the room.
“Devilless yes like that, yes!” Emmalyne shouted and groaned, seeming to take to her role as easily as Martina had taken to hers, coming up with a running stream of praise for a deity who she’d likely never praised before, and every word of it made Martina shiver doubly – not just for the pleasure she was bringing to her partner which had always been a thrilling, exciting, and thoroughly arousing concept, but for the praise of a quite taboo but also personally important and close figure.
Martina could feel stirrings in the back of her mind, in the spell that she was using – a gift, she knew, and one which had been tailored to her and her likes, a gentle shiver racing along her spine at the thought, and she knew that she would be experimenting on using it on herself, and doubted she would be alone when she did.
While the telltale and recognizable chuckle might not have been in her mind, she was sure she would be able to feel its presence as she writhed against phantasmal bindings and experimented as she always had, gradually and thoroughly – as she was sure she could feel its presence as she plunged her tongue into Emmalyne and then flicked it up across her clit.
“Fucking shit Priestess please yes, oh m- fuck, Bezzal, praise Lady Bezzal please yes-” Emmalyne convulsed frantically in her bindings and Martina shuddered, glad that she had control of Emmalyne’s positioning and could shift her toward the bed and take a seat on the edge, suspending Emmalyne at her shoulders still, because if not for that she suspected weak knees would’ve sent her crumpling to the ground.
Martina kept flicking the tip of her tongue until Emmalyne’s shaking reached a peak and then began to subside, at which point she climbed further onto the bed and swept her hand through the air, repositioning and gently depositing Emmalyne onto the bed kneeling with her knees spread, and Martina grabbed at Emmalyne’s head with one hand as the other plunged between her legs. “Pray with me now. Bezzal’s name, I love when a plan comes to fruition,” Martina groaned as Emmalyne slid two fingers into her and sucked a mark into her neck.
“I’m gonna come to fruition all over again on your fucking fingers Priestess,” Emmalyne spat swiftly against Martina’s collarbone, clutching at her breasts with a free hand and letting out a loud groan. “Praise Bezzal, let my pleasure feed her.”
An intense shiver ran up Martina’s spine to linger in the short hairs at the base of her neck, tingling and making her shoulderblades shift, and she wasn’t aware of any particular ties between Bezzal and sex – or really between Bezzal and much of anything at all, but sex had power. Love had power. Lust and emotion had power, generally, Gods or Devils besides – shamans and witches and all sorts of ritualists had recognized as much for thousands of years.
Yes, there were a few deities who laid particular claim to the concepts, but it wasn’t as if only the Temples of deities linked to currency took coins in offering. It wasn’t as if only the deities linked to harvest took offerings of food.
“Bezzal take our lust in offering,” Martina gushed, her hips rolling and the shiver in her spine singing triumphantly like a violin string being drawn at by the bow; she pulled Emmalyne’s mouth to hers deeply, their lips and tongues twisting as their fingers drove deeply into each other and inspired shivering shocks of pleasure with every plunging thrust.
They panted into each other’s mouths, Martina once more sparing a brief moment of gratefulness for the added vitality that the air seemed to have for Emmalyne’s proximity, because it made her lungs burn less – and gave her that much more fuel for shouting out Bezzal’s name, as Emmalyne did the same, both of them keeping up with it as their more elaborately ritualistic phrasings devolved into simpler swears and shouts of Her name.
“Fucking Devillessblessit just like that,” Martina hissed, gripping hard at Emmalyne’s hair.
Emmalyne, meanwhile – potentially because she didn’t know the verbiage – opted for even more simple shouts. “Fuck! Bezzal! Shit! Martina! Bezzal fuck me finger me Bezzal I’m coming Bezzal yes harder harder YES!”
Martina shuddered, biting at Emmalyne’s shoulder and stifling a shout even as it made Emmalyne’s own shout turn into a brief scream, but it was clear that she liked it rough – perhaps less than Fatima, but only perhaps – and Martina’s hips jerked as she threw back her head to add her voice in as well, the two of them shouting Bezzal’s praise together before they collapsed into a sweaty heap of stroking hands, kissing lips, giggling laughter, and panting.
“That was fun,” Emmalyne hummed, running her fingers through Martina’s hair and kissing at her jawline. “That- actually I think that was a first for me, that’s- that’s rare, that’s big, wow.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” Martina joked, bursting into a laugh as Emmalyne poked at her ribs and then flopping to face her, wrapping arms behind her neck. “Mm, definitely fun though, yeah!”
“I mean I’m not usually one to repeat much,” Emmalyne rolled one shoulder in an easy shrug, gesturing dismissively with the same hand as she did, “but I feel like I could probably run through that a good number of times before it got boring, you know? First time and all – would that be weird? For me to take your idea?”
“What, to praise Bezzal during sex?” Martina snickered, shaking her head as a crawling shiver crept up her spine and brought warm pleasure seeping out alongside it. “Nah, wouldn’t be weird at all I think – go for it.”
“Mm, good, ‘cause I was gonna no matter what you said, full disclosure,” Emmalyne murmured swiftly before giggling, propping herself up on one elbow and looking down at Martina with a girlishly excited expression. “Do- okay, no judgement when I ask this. Okay?”
Martina smirked back at her, panting still and grinning. “I think no judgement for anything, we’ve had our fingers inside each other’s assholes.”
“Do you think there’s maybe-” Emmalyne rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she did. “I mean, crazy idea maybe, but- do you think that somewhere out there – I mean there probably is because it’s a big world and there’s like, everything out there somewhere – but do you think there’s maybe an actual Priestess of Bezzal somewhere? There’s gotta be, right?”
A laugh flew from Martina’s lips, for a fair while before it trailed off to a grin. She let it linger as she gazed into Emmalyne’s eyes, and then caught her lower lip between her teeth as she glanced off to the side. “Actually, now that you mention it… you know, there’s totally a Temple to Bezzal back home in Labsallidas? Like it’s pretty new, but-”
Emmalyne’s hand gripped at her shoulder tightly, sapphire eyes widening in excitement and seeming to flash, as if they weren’t sapphire but verdant blue stormclouds struck through with lightning. “Really? I- okay I was not planning on visiting Labsallidas, but- well, the wind blows through everywhere sooner or later,” Emmalyne shrugged with a grin, letting herself fall back to the bedspread, “and I would appreciate the chance to see you again, along with a few others – not to mention maybe getting railed by a real Priestess of Bezzal!”
“Yeah, imagine that,” Martina muttered amusedly through a grin. “Well, I bet if you go to the temple-”
“Oh I will,” Emmalyne assured her, “I’ll go and tell them I’ve been a naughty girl and I deserve a spanking, and if that doesn’t work I suppose I’ll just have to get creative!”
Martina pushed herself up with a laugh, rolling over to press a long lingering kiss to Emmalyne’s mouth, grinning against her lips as she gradually withdrew to meet her eyes. “You know,” she murmured, “I have a good feeling about your chances. I bet that once you see that Priestess – and once she sees you – it won’t take long at all for you to get down.”
Emmalyne launched into a long string of giggles, wriggling her shoulders back into the bed and grinning, and Martina joined in with laughter of her own. It would be a surprise, she was sure; one she was very much looking forward to.
The idea of the look on Emmalyne’s face when she burst in, demanding to see the Priestess, only to find her grinning emerging from the wings – it made Martina smile just to think about, and made a familiar sort of laugh seem to echo in her head.
…and if Emmalyne would be running around praising Bezzal and spreading Her name positively, even if it was without genuine faith, that was an upside. Even without genuine faith Emmalyne had genuine emotion, genuine excitement, and at the end of the day, that was what Martina’s father had actually lacked. That was what had made his temples nothing more than empty structures of stone.
He’d refused to support businesses in town that were willing to deal with Devils’ Temples, because he knew that coin was coin, whether given with faith or in protest. The same was true to the temples themselves – an offering dropped into the box with sarcasm was just as spendable as one deposited with reverence, and Martina wasn’t sure about all the other Temples, but she herself wasn’t particularly concerned with material donations.
Praise, though, that was powerful and she knew that. Emotion had a force to it which was nearly palpable, which was tangible to everyone albeit not to their hands or their eyes but their hearts could feel it. It had strength, and so did faith, but the two could exist together or independently.
At the end of the day, a donation was a donation; at the end of the day, praise was praise.
“D’you think she can actually like… hear it or anything?” Martina giggled softly, nuzzling into Emmalyne’s neck, and getting a snort and a wave in immediate response.
“Who cares?” Emmalyne laughed, letting her head flop back and forth in a loose shake. “I can hear it, and I think it’s fun, so who cares about anything else? If you start worrying about all of that there’s no end to it – anyone could be listening, could decide they have an issue with it, could try to enact some vengeance or stop me or whatever but you can’t stop the wind, Martina, and the wind doesn’t care what you think about it… it just…”
“…blows?” Martina raised an eyebrow, giggling as Emmalyne rolled her eyes.
“Well I can’t try to claim that I don’t,” she muttered with an evasive glance to the side and a broadly smirking grin before her eyes settled on Martina’s again. “Speaking of, I think I may run off in search of something along those lines – although I’m not going to lie, the prospect of just lying here with you is surprisingly pleasant…”
“Maybe later?” Martina suggested with a shrug. “I feel like I’ve got some more party to enjoy too, definitely – but let’s meet up later maybe. Think I’m spending the night here.”
“We’ll see,” Emmalyne shrugged softly, “I’m not exactly big on-”
“-plans?” Martina interrupted with a laugh. “Yeah, I kinda figured – but that’s fun. I’m flexible.” She twisted over to give Emmalyne a swift kiss with an accompanying giggle. “And I can also deal with changes in plans, or no plans at all – have a good party though, huh?”
“You too,” Emmalyne caught her hair and pulled her in for a deep, moaning, passionate kiss before they slipped out of bed and back into their clothing, and then off into the party once more.
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