Sigil Daze (MdG & meikle)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: meikle on 11-08-2013, 07:25:31</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Sigil Daze (MdG &amp; meikle)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>11-08-2013, 07:25:31</strong>
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				<em>Continued from here (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=170217.msg8526960#msg8526960)</em>...<br><br>"I drink it," Ihaana agreed.&nbsp; Some habits died hard, and though Ihaana had subjected herself on plenty of occasions to liquor that burnt when it hit the lips and burnt all the way down, she hadn't ever lost a taste for pleasant things, either.&nbsp; "It's nice.&nbsp; I like it."&nbsp; If Rysse had been watching Ihaana, she might have seen the way she flinched when the cork was unstoppered; she hadn't, though, and the moment passed and there was no sign that there'd ever been an issue at all.<br><br>Ihaana was settled comfortably enough on the couch by then, feet up on the table and her hands folded together over the waistline of her stolen pants.&nbsp; She was listening though.&nbsp; She loved the vulgarity of it when Rysse would start to talking about these things, the crude language she used and the way that when she talked, maybe she picked up on some awe for the act itself, but there was no <em>reverence</em>.&nbsp; Ihaana liked that.&nbsp; She wasn't quite so forthcoming herself, but that hadn't stopped her more than once before picking up some story -- sometimes stories Rysse had only mentioned in passing, like she had just then -- and asking to hear more.&nbsp; She thought maybe she <em>had</em> heard this one before -- or if not, maybe a story of some other aasimar lady-knight.&nbsp; <br><br>And then the story paused, and Ihaana nodded and her eyes cut down the way toward the bed room.&nbsp; "To bed," she agreed, and lingered a long quiet moment before she finally stood up from the couch and joined Rysse to the bedroom.&nbsp; That door hung half-open all the time; when had Ihaana last had company that demanded the door be closed?&nbsp; She didn't remember.&nbsp; Her room was less empty than the common room in front of it; there were clothes haphazardly strewn about here and there awaiting a trip to the laundry.&nbsp; The bed itself, not raised far off the ground, was made -- at least for a fairly loose definition of <em>made</em>.&nbsp; The bed itself was padded wool and nothing to write home about, but at least it had a couple of pillows and sheets enough to keep comfortable.&nbsp; On a nightstand nearby, a book was set open, pages-down to save the page. <br><br>Near as soon as they'd crossed the threshold into the room, Ihaana had made her way to sit at the edge of the bed.&nbsp; "To bed," she echoed.&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Temporarily Untitled (MdG &amp; meikle)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MdG</strong> on <strong>12-08-2013, 11:27:27</strong>
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				PCs: http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=170725.0 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=170725.0)<br><br>Rysse followed Ihaana into the bedchamber. A familiar scent - the aasimar's skin. Old wood soaked up with incense smoke. The pained creak of floorboards, the groaning of tired wood in the walls and ceilings. Better than <em>her</em> kip. That was for sure.<br><br>She undressed with a matter-of-fact nonchalance, pulling off her vest and stepping out of her breeches, leaving the sweat and rain slick garments discarded on the floor. Cool air on her skin. It felt refreshing, drying the moisture from her back and full bottom. Sauntering over to the bed, she threw herself onto the sheets, half-burying her face in a pillow. Again Ihaana's ineffable, celestial perfume. But the fabric was warm, moulding itself to her weight. Her tail gave a contented flick. Tieflings preferred to sleep on their bellies - or on their sides. Anything else cramped the tail and left the muscles at the base sore the next morning. <br><br>"You coming?" Rysse said, modulating the rich, smoky contralto timbre of her voice into a parody of a plaintive request, "Even tieflings need a cuddle." She couldn't resist an ironic snigger. Stretching out further on the bed, almost possessively, she was seized with a wicked thought - or one of very many, very wicked thoughts. It didn't matter. Lying like that was one of her favourite positions - good for the right kind of lover to tug on her tail or pull her head up by her horns. And when it was a strong lady-knight with thick biceps who had really started to get into the demonslayer scenario Rysse liked to set up for them...sublime. <br><br>She dispelled the thought. She knew it was the aftermath of the Gehenna Thistle. It made memories vivid, like sprays of colour and sensation from a dream felt by the dreamer only the moment she awakened - only the Thistle prolonged that sensation to an almost hallucinogenic level. <br><br>Rysse screwed her eyes shut for a moment and then opened them. Peering to her side, she spied the book left open on the bedside table. She couldn't read the lettering on the cover. She squinted, not wanting to rise and disturb the general feeling of weightlessness which was beginning to overtake her muscles. Even if she could see it, there was no guarantee she'd be able to read it. Anything aside from the simplified script used in mechanical and engineering notation was beyond her. <br><br>"Reading something interesting?" 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Temporarily Untitled (MdG &amp; meikle)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>20-08-2013, 09:19:23</strong>
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				Ihaana had, for at least a moment, distracted herself with the laces at the sides of her stolen pants -- even untied, the pants were snug.&nbsp; Maybe they'd belonged to someone very slim.&nbsp; At the edge of the bed, she fought to get them down, and eventually gave up on that and stood back up long enough to unlace those further.<br><br>While she fought her way out of the pants, she glanced over to the book.&nbsp; It was old and neatly bound; the title was set within brass filigree.&nbsp; Once she'd managed to get the pants moving, she answered:&nbsp; "It's a uhm..."&nbsp; She looked for the word as she settled back down onto the bed, tugging the just-a-little-tight down off her legs, one at a time.&nbsp; "An autobiography.&nbsp; Something to read on lonely nights, right?"<br><br>She finally escaped the confines of someone else's pants, and kicked them off, letting them sail out to land among the other discarded clothes in her room.&nbsp; She looked over the place, and a thought crossed her mind: <em>I need to straighten this place out.</em>&nbsp; A problem for another time, though; she didn't take a whole lot of visitors, right, so it wasn't a priority.&nbsp; Still, it didn't reflect positively with Rysse over, did it?<br><br>Ihaana peeked over her shoulder to find Rysse already sprawled out, staking her claim on so much of the bed.&nbsp; "Anyway," she said, and she picked up the book by its spine, letting it close as she pulled it up before setting back down, neatly closed.&nbsp; "It's not a lonely night tonight," she considered, and then laid herself at the edge of the bed, turned to face Rysse.&nbsp; She looked on quietly, those dark eyes beneath the golden halo, before wiggling her way in and closer to Rysse and snatching up the tiefling's arm to drape it over herself.&nbsp; It was not particularly subtle motion, but it served Ihaana's purpose.&nbsp; Whether Rysse was kidding or not, <em>Ihaana</em> liked a nice cuddle, and it <em>was</em> her bed, after all ...
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				Title: <strong>Re: Temporarily Untitled (MdG &amp; meikle)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MdG</strong> on <strong>21-08-2013, 13:04:19</strong>
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				Rysse hooked her arm round Ihaana's waist and drew her friend in closer. The sudden sensation of skin on skin was disorientating for an instant, her senses distorted and magnified by the last residue of the narcotic. The rich tapestry of tattoos on Ihaana's skin no longer danced, but they were magnificent against Rysse's dark red skin. She traced her nails down the curve of Ihaana's spine, feeling skin, flesh, bone. The aasimar's form was tight and athletic - her belly flat and her bottom taut, with none of Rysse's sensuous and indolent fleshiness. <br><br>Turning on her side to face Ihaana, she trailed her quick, agile fingers up the aasimar's back. She absentmindedly stroked the base of Ihaana's neck, her touch radiating over her friend's shoulders, feeling the tight musculature over the shoulderblades and tracing out the forms of the swirling, dancing ink. Rysse smiled - her insolent, devilish smile. It wasn't often, but she took pleasure in these moments of intimacy - neither frantically erotic or violent, but an oasis of calm in the raging pandemonium of her emotional life. Tieflings weren't <em>supposed</em> to depend on anyone, to need anyone else. Self-reliance was the creed of her kind, the strange sisterhood of complicity that bound the demon-blooded together where language, culture and occupation failed. But this was <em>nice</em>. Undeniably and irresistibly so. And Rysse wasn't above guilty pleasures. <br><br>She met Ihaana's gaze and she knew the effect it would have, her eyes a molten gold peering from the shadowy penumbra. <em>My little devil,</em> that's what a long past lover had called her and Rysse had only replied with her ironic, contemptuous smirk. It had sounded patronising then. But she'd been the first human ever to tell Rysse that her horns were lovely - that alone was worth a free pass. <br><br>"Once -" Rysse began, before trailing off, memories flickering in her mind like sputtering matches, "a long time ago when I was still peeling bubbers and addleheads in the Hive, I knew this woman...no, fuck, she was just a kid and so was I, and she said she was aasimar. 'Least, she looked aasimar to me - she had the most beautiful hands I've ever seen. Anyways, she was bitter like the waters of Cocytus and she'd always say tieflings were lucky. You're lucky, she'd tell me, because whatever you do, you can only improve on what's expected of you, but whatever I do, I'll always fall short. She liked feeling sorry for herself, but of all the things she ever told me, that's the one thing I always remember."<br><br>She brought Ihaana's head to rest on her full breasts, nuzzling the aasimar's hair. A distant scent of smoke and leather mingled with bright, mineral perfume. She kissed the crown of Ihaana's head, threading her fingers through strands of dark hair. The pointed tip of her tail skimmed the skin of the aasimar's ankle - a feather touch. "Yeah, I know, I ramble - whose autobiography is that anyway?"
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				Title: <strong>Re: Temporarily Untitled (MdG &amp; meikle)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>16-09-2013, 16:42:57</strong>
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				Ihaana thought of the ink on her palms while Rysse talked about another aasimar past; that fiery eye at the heart of each of her hands, a curse written into her skin.&nbsp; There had been a time when that had been the only ink on her body; that was a long time past.&nbsp; Trailing artwork entwined her fingers; and those scar patches on her fingertips.&nbsp; That put a thought into her head, and it made her grin, right then while she was eye-to-eye with her tiefling friend.<br><br>There was a question on her tongue, though, and it itched at the backs of her teeth as she turned it over in her head.&nbsp; Those thoughts were a distraction.&nbsp; She wanted to think about nothing; she wanted just to feel Rysse's hands, her nails when they traveled over her.&nbsp; Comfortable, but exciting, a little reminder of what those hands could do -- what the nails at the ends could do.&nbsp; It was a thought that she came back to often when she was Rysse.&nbsp; Exciting, but comfortable.<br><br>There was comfort resting atop Rysse's breast, too, a more temporal comfort, and Ihaana was especially fond of that sort.&nbsp; So she settled into that comfort, and it was a moment before she'd let herself distract herself to think about the book on the nightstand.&nbsp; "It was written by Disth," which was a name that Ihaana didn't tackle with grace, "And she was a poet, I guess ... ?&nbsp; She traveled all over, and wrote stories wherever she went, these story-poems about the things she saw and the people she met."&nbsp; Better not mentioned were the cruder of the poet's exploits: as much as Rysse might enjoy a night out with a self-righteous lady-knight, Ihaana could enjoy a night alone with Disth.<br><br>"But that's so much less interesting," she said, "Than your rambling.&nbsp; What did you think of your friend?&nbsp; Do you think you're lucky, was she right?"&nbsp; Maybe that was rude to ask, but her ankle stretched straight under the soft tickle of the tip of the tiefling's tail.&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Temporarily Untitled (MdG &amp; meikle)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MdG</strong> on <strong>17-09-2013, 00:44:10</strong>
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				Rysse drew Ihaana tighter in her embrace, cradling the aasimar's head in the undulating rise and fall of her breasts. The pulsing in her chest slowed with each passing instant. With it, the last lingering after-effects of the hallucinogen faded into a blurred sensation of contented and dazed exhaustion. She inhaled - a slow, deliberate intake of breath, hoping to clear her head. Memory was slippery. Especially in this state - an oily black serpent whispering truth and lies knowing full well that an indiscriminate mixture of both was most painful. <br><br>For an instant, and she didn't know why, Ihaana's form shifted, the ink spilling away, the blazing red eyes emblazoned on each palm became heavy-lidded and disappeared, revealing unblemished skin like burnished gold. Rysse exhaled and nuzzled Ihaana's cheek, feathering affectionate kisses along her friend's cheekbone. <br><br><em>Memory,</em> Rysse thought, <em>that pitiless muse.</em> She'd never wanted to see the girl again. Not after everything that had happened, the things that had been said and remained unsaid. But for a moment - drawn taut like an ephemeral canvas - Ihaana had become <em>her</em>. She blinked again and saw the comforting arabesque of ink restored against the deep crimson of her skin. <br><br>"My friend," she began, murmuring in Ihaana's ear, "she was always angry. She needed to hate herself and I guess she thought that was the best revenge she could've taken on the people who expected what she thought she couldn't deliver. Yeah, I'm lucky - machines speak to me in a way they won't to almost anyone else. I know their language, the way the cog sings, each lever, each strut humming its own song. Alone and together I hear them and I can tell them which tune to sing, what time to keep. All that makes me...<em>me</em>. I made myself Rysse the machinist."<br><br>She paused, her caress winding down Ihaana's arm. She took the aasimar's hand in her own, and brought it to rest on the ample curve of her hip. It was exquisite. The familiar, textured touch of old scars on her skin. She needed to be touched. Feel Ihaana close and breathe her in and surround her, suspended in darkness like twins yet to be born.<br><br>"She...she was never anything other than the person others made her. And - fuck it was so long ago - but we were lying like this, naked and damp and happy, the taste of her cunt still on my tongue and that's when she said I was lucky. Back then I didn't feel lucky and it made me angry. Maybe it's because I was fresh out of the Gatehouse and she'd always lived in a house that looked like it was bigger than the sodding Lady's Mazes. So I got up and left."<br><br>Rysse swallowed, keenly aware of the odd feeling of unease welling in the pit of her belly. <em>Must be the Gehenna Thistle.</em><br><br>It was then, when she realised she didn't know how to end it, that it occurred to her that it was the first time she'd ever told that story. <br><br>"If I could go back...I guess I'd have stayed."<br><br>She wrapped her tail around Ihaana's ankle, tugging the aasimar's foot closer to her calf.&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Temporarily Untitled (MdG &amp; meikle)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>06-10-2013, 16:27:29</strong>
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				"Would you?"&nbsp; Ihaana wondered at that world -- one where she'd never met Rysse.&nbsp; How different would that be?&nbsp; <em>You'd have a lonelier bed</em>, she thought to herself.&nbsp; That was probably the shallowest result, though, wasn't it?&nbsp; Ihaana didn't have a lot of friends, no, more like <em>associates</em>, employers, contacts -- a criminal's friends, maybe.&nbsp; No, not just a lonelier bed -- a lonelier life.&nbsp; She didn't like that thought.<br><br>She closed her eyes.&nbsp; Even her eyelids were tattooed.&nbsp; The artist had put a brass spoon under the skin so that the needle wouldn't cut run through and blind her.&nbsp; <em>You shouldn't pry</em>, some part of her told herself as she found herself thinking about Rysse's story, turning it over.&nbsp; Why not pry?&nbsp; How much of Ihaana's livelihood was just in bringing things to light?&nbsp; <em>This is different</em>, she thought, and she rose and fell with Rysse's breath.&nbsp; She felt her leg moving, that tail coiling around it.&nbsp; There was a word she was looking for, tip of her tongue, couldn't find it.&nbsp; <br><br>Her fingertips crawled -- not slid, but crawled, like the curious legs of a spider inching along, curious and cautious both one step at a time, along Rysse's hip.&nbsp; <em>Maybe you're selfish</em>, she told herself silently while those fingertips of hers moved, on and on, until they came to rest not far from where they'd started, further along and then really holding onto Rysse, pressing those scars against her skin.<br><br><em>Of course I'm selfish</em>, she replied in that little internal dialogue.&nbsp; <em>We're all selfish.</em>&nbsp; She found the word she'd been looking for, though: <em>substitute</em>.&nbsp; Part of her begged to ask -- confront, demand.&nbsp; <em>Insecure</em>, yes, but she'd had security once and she'd left that behind to find a life that would kill her instead.&nbsp; So she swallowed that worry, made it part of herself, like another of the million ink-stained pin-pricks that marked her body, like another wound that would someday heal into another beautiful scar.&nbsp; A scar hidden out of sight.<br><br>Her fingers gripped harder, now, not just textured scars but the hard fingertips as well finding their way to Rysse's skin, and she opened her eyes, looked back up at Rysse.&nbsp; "We are our regrets," she said.&nbsp; "But I'm glad hers wasn't the only aasimar cunt to grace your tongue."
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sigil Daze (MdG &amp; meikle)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MdG</strong> on <strong>06-10-2013, 22:09:17</strong>
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				<em>Memories</em>. Rysse savoured each breath. Tasted the darkness she saw as a shadow-world of fine, textured shades of grey. A washed-out dreamworld suspended between day and night smelling of smoke, and leather, and sweat, and Ihaana. Her real scent - the one lingering beneath the smell of her clothes and her piercings. Before her Rysse could see eyes - the aasimar's real eyes, dark and noble like aged and polished brass, then the false-eyes tattooed above, swirls of ink like disembodied irises. <em>Good job she's here to keep me from falling back into them - that place's deeper than the fucking Abyss</em>.<br><br>She exhaled slowly, rocking Ihaana's against the rise and fall of her heavy breasts. She felt the tingling, textured touch of her friend's fingers on her hip, feathering her skin and then pressing into the full, soft flesh.&nbsp; <br><br>Rysse shivered involuntarily. The sensation stirred in her a secret electricity, a quickening pulse from deep within her belly. An answer to Ihaana's question was on the tip of her tongue. A thought so deeply felt she feared words might never do it justice. Something best left said unsaid and just understood. But she'd say it anyway - if only because she knew Ihaana would understand what she meant. <br><br>"Yeah, I'd go back. She wasn't a bad sort. Just wounded in a way I never was. All she wanted to do was compare scars and I took it personally. Fucking stupid, I know."<br><br>Then she waited, felt Ihaana hold her closer, grip tighter. Rysse smiled. Memory and desire always went so well together, Ihaana's touch stirring muscles still sore and tight from the previous night's revelry. <br><br>When Ihaana spoke again, Rysse could only reply with a breathy, satisfied sigh, "I am too, angel - my demonic tongue defiling a goddess's sanctuary. Now <em>that's</em> poetic. Didn't you you know I thrive on corruption?" Of course, there was never any shortage of sanctimonious types ready to indulge in a little defiling behind drawn curtains. <br><br>Her tail coiled tighter round Ihaana's ankle, drawing the aasimar's leg between hers. Lean, athletic muscle sliding on the sweat-damp fullness of her thighs. She craned her neck, leaving a trail of smoke-sweet kisses on Ihaana's inked cheek, lips parted, the moist tip of her tongue flickering for an instant, catching one of the myriad rings adorning the aasimar's ear. It was cool, rich with the metallic tang of silver.<br><br>Rysse reached for Ihaana's hand and brought it to the hard, smooth surface of her curved horns.&nbsp; "I bet you wish you had a pair of these," she murmured, "you know they come in useful in a brawl." Rysse brought her lips to Ihaana's mouth, her breath hot and damp. A light, almost chaste kiss - then she lunged, her teeth catching the aasimar's lower lip. She bit down, a sharp, constant, but not violent pressure, feeling the soft flesh yield under her incisors. Taste of Ihaana's mouth. Iron from the lip-ring, or the tongue-stud, perhaps. <em>Nine Hells the things she can do with that when she licks me out</em>. Or the faintest whiff of blood. <em>These things happen when you fuck a tiefling</em>.&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sigil Daze (MdG &amp; meikle)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>23-10-2013, 13:40:50</strong>
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				<em>Corruption</em>, Ihaana thought.&nbsp; Selfish, even while she was so close to Rysse, her thoughts centered on herself; what else could be expected of someone so dressed in art, punctuated and punctured so thoroughly in the name of self definition.&nbsp; <em>Am I corrupt?</em> she wondered, <em>Her sort of corrupt?&nbsp; Maybe just soiled, self-desecrated, the wrong kind of temple and the wrong kind of goddess</em>, those thoughts came.&nbsp; They excited her.&nbsp; <em>Good</em>, she thought as she felt teeth on her lip.&nbsp; Not just the hint of blood in her saliva; there was more.&nbsp; Those little hints that Ihaana was not human, not totally mortal, just a hint of cinnamon on her lips and tongue.&nbsp; Divine blessings that nothing about her, really, was quite as it ought to be; everything just a little better, a little sweeter, than her mortal heritage.<br><br>The taste of her lips was one thing she couldn't tattoo over; the dark ink that marked them certainly did nothing.&nbsp; It was always there, not like sugar-cinnamon, not even quite like cinnamon on the tongue; more like a memory of cinnamon, one shared with those who tasted her lips.&nbsp; A curse, to Ihaana, a fact of herself that she couldn't cut away or hide.&nbsp; The gleaming iron in her lips stood out bright against the deep mahogany of her tattooed lips, though, and for that little aesthetic flair the pain of having her lips needled again and again had been worth it.<br><br>There had been a sibilant S on her tongue, "S--," a word unfinished, hardly started, that had been cut short by Rysse's mouth.&nbsp; Her thumb traced along the horn, that hard extrusion.&nbsp; She supposed Rysse couldn't feel it.&nbsp; That was too bad, but Ihaana felt it.&nbsp; Like a protruding bone, but not the same, she guessed.&nbsp; <em>I wonder what that's like</em>, her thoughts idled as her tongue found its way to Rysse's lip, above the teeth on her own.&nbsp; Ihaana'd never gotten into a fight with Rysse -- not <em>that</em> kind of fight, anyway, but her mind wandered.&nbsp; In her head she saw Rysse's horn smashing into her jaw.<br><br>The faint taste of blood felt all the more full when that image entered her head, and she saw herself falling.&nbsp; That's how it would go, she imagined.&nbsp; Teeth knocked loose, maybe shattered jaw.&nbsp; She'd spit the teeth as she fell, but Rysse would be after her.&nbsp; A fighter to Ihaana's flighthiness.&nbsp; She imagined Rysse falling down on top of her.&nbsp; So <em>red</em>, the woman and the blood and the taste on her lips and even while Rysse was there, <em>biting</em>, her mind was off -- with Rysse.&nbsp; Her fingers closed around the horn they'd been led to, and she exhaled, hot breath on Rysse's mouth.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sigil Daze (MdG &amp; meikle)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MdG</strong> on <strong>30-10-2013, 12:51:45</strong>
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				<em>Silence</em>. Just Ihaana's breathing. The taste taste of spice mingling with the iron on her lips - spreading on her tongue. An ember of need crackled in Rysse's belly. It was a slow burn - all enveloping, feeding off the heat from Ihaana's body, the flow of the breath from the rise and fall of her breasts to the warm, humid air from her lips. They were one - two halves split apart at the moment of creation and now joined. Skin on skin, the sound of breathing, the rustling of sheets. All together, moving as one. <br><br>She kissed Ihaana's lips again, drawing in the aasimar's breath. A damp heat, and then the ornate, textured metal stud that pierced Ihaana's tongue on her lips, in her mouth. <em>As one</em>. Rysse's eyes met Ihaana's gaze and never left it. She took her friend's inked hand from her horns and guided it down the curve of her arm, the ample swell of her heavy breasts, her hips, the full softness of her belly - lower. <br><br>Rysse's kiss deepened. She only felt Ihaana - a form in the darkness. Reassuring and sensual all at the same time. And still all she could hear was the thundering of blood in veins, the hissing whisper of breaths suffocated by her lips. <em>My angel</em>. It wasn't like Rysse to be possessive. Tieflings couldn't afford to be. But no, Ihaana was hers to corrupt. Like the first fallen angel taken by her demon temptress.<br><br>She accompanied Ihaana's hand lower still, fingers grazing her navel, until the nest of tattoos coiling like serpents around metallic rings rested on the wild thatch of dark red hair between Rysse's thighs. The colour of old carnelian. <br><br>Rysse shifted, her free hand draped over Ihaana's neck, holding her close. She knew she was wet - she felt the dampness compressed between her thighs, too slick and rich to be sweat. Then she could smell herself - heady salt and musk, and a whiff of dark spice. There was the old Hive joke - <em>eating a tiefling's cunt is as close to the Abyss as you'll get without being damned</em>. Like so many things said of her kind, it wasn't true. Or at least it was <em>part</em> true. In her scent there was something forbidden - an earthy, narcotic resin, perhaps, aromatic, but with no hint of sweetness. <br><br>Her tail coiled tighter round Ihaana's ankle. <br><br>"Feel that," she hissed, half-breaking the kiss, before hungrily resuming it. She pressed Ihaana's hand hard between her thighs, wet folds sliding apart. <br><br><em>Fuck,</em> the ember crackled and the dry brush was set alight. It would soon be time for Ihaana to put her tongue stud to good use. <br><br>She drew her lips back from Ihaana's mouth, eyes ablaze, fingers digging deep in the skin of the aasimar's scalp. "Show me what you can do, angel," she said, her voice throaty with need. It felt odd putting herself in Ihaana's hands - the aasimar was no wiry, hard-muscled lady-knight, but there was something subversively delicious in forcing the divine to <em>want</em> the demonic. <em>It's when the angel doesn't need to be persuaded that she wants her she-devil. That's when she falls.</em>&nbsp; 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sigil Daze (MdG &amp; meikle)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>meikle</strong> on <strong>07-11-2013, 11:50:14</strong>
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				<em>When she falls</em> was something for Rysse to consider; for Ihaana, that question came in layers: When did she fall?&nbsp; What was the <em>longest</em> fall?&nbsp; The <em>hardest</em>?&nbsp; The first time she'd felt blood spill over her dagger, onto her finger?&nbsp; When she'd slipped out of her room, clad in her just her night-gown, to leave the palace forever?&nbsp; When she'd inked her palms with heresy just to say, <em>no, I won't</em> to the people who worshiped her as a heavenly messiah?<br><br>She would fall deeper and deeper for Rysse, if she had to.&nbsp; She knew that much, had never questioned it.&nbsp; Everything about that devil-born woman made her desire -- it made her <em>want</em>, the way that others wanted wealth and health and life and happiness.&nbsp; Ihaana wanted devil-skin and smoky breath and heat and damnation.<br><br>She wanted to fall so hard that she'd break.<br><br>There was reluctance in her hand, when Rysse took it and moved it away.&nbsp; She had fantasies caught up in those horns, fantasies of conquest, violence, blood.&nbsp; Not the fantasies that were due that night; not the kind Rysse wanted, probably.&nbsp; <em>Someday</em>, though, Ihaana thought.&nbsp; <em>Someday I'll hurt her, and I'll mean it,</em>, she knew.&nbsp; <em>And maybe, Gods, she'll hurt me back.</em>&nbsp; It drove her.&nbsp; Underneath, where she felt but didn't <em>think</em> it: <em>She'll kill me.</em>&nbsp; The closer they were now, as her hand travelled, guided by Rysse, taking that opportunity to <em>feel</em> her partner for the night -- some people used the word <em>lover</em>, but Ihaana never did, not for anyone -- feel her as best she could with those scarred fingertips of hers.&nbsp; Those little slashes that made her touch so memorable to others -- others like Rysse -- and numbed her to the world at once.<br><br>She inhaled, hard, sharp, swallowing some part of Rysse's breath when her fingers felt that heat.&nbsp; "I feel it," she agreed, and then her mouth was Rysse's again, flesh and iron on flesh.&nbsp; Always iron: the only precious things she carried on her were other people's precious things.&nbsp; All the metal she put into herself, iron, iron, iron.<br><br>She felt the tail on her ankle.&nbsp; What an amazing thing.&nbsp; Ihaana earned cinnamon lips and vanilla cum from gods and angels, she earned a temple-city and a million fawning worshipers.&nbsp; Rysse had horns for smashing teeth and a tail for -- for anything.&nbsp; Everything.&nbsp; When that slender, muscular appendage gripped her ankle like that, all she thought was, <em>want to trade?</em>&nbsp; Maybe Rysse would like to be waited on.&nbsp; Pretty girls and pretty houses and pretty everything.&nbsp; And celibacy.&nbsp; Ceremony.<br><br>She felt it, yes she did.<br><br>And if Rysse thought she was putting herself in Ihaana's hands, the aasimar saw it different: She wasn't taking charge as her lips slipped away from Rysse's, trailing down to her chin, her neck, her chest.&nbsp; Gods, those breasts, whose weight and image kept Ihaana warm on lonely nights in that same sheets-frayed bed.&nbsp; Lower, as she writhed down the bed, down Rysse.&nbsp; Ihaana wasn't taking charge, she was taking <em>orders</em>, but they were so <em>easy</em> to follow.<br><br>Soon -- maybe not as soon as Rysse would like -- her mouth would join her hand, there below that red hair, in the wet warmth of a demon-borne cunt: not too quickly, not so quickly that she couldn't savor and appreciate every bit of Rysse -- dear Rysse, who was born into the life Ihaana deserved -- not so quickly that those fingers, pressing past Rysse's lips, the folds of her slick flesh, those fingers forgoing Rysse's guidance to find their way deeper, wouldn't have their say.<br><br>This angel, if that's what she ever was, needed no persuading at all.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sigil Daze (MdG &amp; meikle)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MdG</strong> on <strong>07-11-2013, 14:55:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Good girl,</em> Rysse's breathing quickened. She felt Ihaana's lips, soft flesh and hard metal, trail down her throat. Close to the primal pulse of heartbeat. Skimming her breasts, the fat, swollen nipples dark garnet like forbidden fruit. Just the passage of Ihaana's breath sent hot, needling little sparks down Rysse's spine. Her tail reflexively curled tighter round Ihaana's ankle and then let go, freeing the aasimar to explore her body. <br><br><em>Her descent into the underworld,</em> Rysse half-chuckled between her heavy breaths. She let her tail slide over Ihaana's taut, athletic torso, its tip skimming the arch of the aasimar's spine. <em>My angel is falling.</em><br><br>Rysse trailed her hands over her own breasts, following the damp path of Ihaana's kisses. Over the peaks of her nipples for a fleeting, teasing caress, then the swell of her belly and lower still. She cradled Ihaana's head, fingers threading through dark hair, her thumb grazing the curve of an earlobe pierced many times over. <em>If only they could see her now. Their demigoddess worshiping hellspawn.</em><br><br>She felt Ihaana's fingers, the texture on each fingertip unmistakable, on her fevered flesh, slipping between the wild curls between her thighs, spreading the slick, swollen folds of her cunt.<br><br>A choked gasp. Rysse propped herself up on her elbow, fleshy thighs parted, her sodden sex exposed to the cool air, to Ihaana's breath. She burned for that touch. The moment she felt Ihaana's fingertips open her, spread her, enter her, was wrought in her mind and in her loins like a burning iron. It was beyond sublime. She felt the scarred texture, the expert touch on her flesh sent little jolts through her hips and in her belly. She tensed, holding herself in position, keeping herself spread open and welcoming for Ihaana's caress. <br><br>Then she felt Ihaana's fingers inside her, but&nbsp; not quite fucking her. Not yet. Her lust loosened her. There was no resistance. There could never be for Ihaana. She wanted to envelop the aasimar, feel that insolent touch press deeper, find her sweet spot. Take her. <br><br>Her scent lay thick in the air. A rich, demonic musk, so different from the perfume of Ihaana's own lust. She curled her toes, pointed nails crumpling the fabric, gripping tight. An involuntary betrayal of her need. <br><br>"That's it, angel, fuck me." Rysse's voice, already hoarse from the smoke, was now choked with her passion. She saw a flash of images. Ihaana had white, feathery wings and she, more demonic than ever, lay with her thighs parted, reclining on the desecrated altar of some crusader goddess, the victorious (or defeated?) celestial wrist deep inside her. That was the fantasy. Then the tall, blonde paladin with the powerful shoulders and the gleaming armour, who was all to happy to spend a grey Sigil afternoon with her tongue up a tiefling's ass. That had been real. <br><br>Rysse undulated her hips, easing herself into her need. <em>Slowly. No need to hurry.</em> She edged Ihaana's head closer to the dark red folds of her cunt, distended and fragrant like an overripe Abyssal fruit. <br><br>"Don't you want to taste me?" Rysse said, a little plaintive even if she very badly didn't want to sound like she was asking for anything. <br><br>She cleared her throat, "Either fuck me or eat me or both, but don't sit there tickling like a nervous girl," she snarled, using her best mock-demonic voice and pulling, hard, on two ornate rings adorning Ihaana's earlobe, just to get the flesh to redden and remind the aasimar, if she needed reminding at all, that it was tiefling she had before her, and not some simpering angel-spawn.&nbsp; &nbsp; 
			</dd>
		</dl>
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