A/N: OKAY. So, anyone who knows me knows this is so NOT my style of writing. This spawn from a joking challenge from Rednightmare about three-ish weeks ago while we were conversing about Holiday-themed fics. This was supposed to be released on Valentine' Day, but Mardi Gras is just as good! This story was a HUGE challenge for me because I'm not entirely comfortable with erotic-styles of writing...as in, I don't fancy writing them. But, it turned out to be a fun exercise that I hope you guys enjoy. Also, historically the concept of 'consent' probably didn't exist, but to capture a truer sense of certain sexual practices, I incorporated it.
Enjoy!
Remember when you were the center of attention? When there was as much admiration and lust in the eyes of your compatriots as there was fear? Remember that bygone age where a major European metropolis quivered from the secrets you coaxed or ripped from its nooks? That was a lovely time. An era where your gravitational pull outweighed the demands that tugged you back and forth, an epoch of peers circumnavigating your presence out of due respect and anxiety.
Yes…times were good. Back then.
When there were galas and reveling in sensational costumes that staggered the senses as much as they crippled the ones who made them. That time you bloomed into a butterfly because there is no more glorious creature in all of Creation than le Papillion.
Do you remember?
Mmmm. Yes. The night you felt an irritable sting on the back of your neck and turned to catch a pair of wild blue eyes. And when you connected – oh, when you connected – the trepidation that clenched that body tight was too great to be ignored…too precious to overlook.
Remember when a Ventrue neonate walked into your world shaking? Dressed in hues of blue, purple and green but shuddering from your mere presence? And you thought it adorable, like she was something to be grasped.
And you did! Touch, that is.
You took a bold step in her direction, reached out and stroked the cream-pale face as if it were your right to do so. And in your world, your world of gossip and secrets for currency, it was. It really was. Then you laughed and produced other arrogant sounds to make the tiny creature shudder again, because it was so…exquisite when she did.
But…
Neonates are notoriously grasping creatures. All claw and bite but little, legitimate bark. This one barked. She made a whole host a noises because her master made her do it. And she clawed her way into your world with an explosion of black gun powder and riled-up Catholics. She had a way of scrunching up her nose at you that made you taste her ridiculous disapproval of the way you operate – as if she really knew anything about you.
And then it happened.
You want to believe it was a fluke, a freak accident that happened because the people who worked for you are soft-shelled muscles of people and gave her an inch, so she took a mile. In truth, all good things come to an end and this is a story you know all too well.
She strode on you, naked and vulnerable, and discovered one of your hardest-kept secrets.
Migel Damian Cervantes ran a hand over his face, smudging the immaculate make-up that created Augustinia, and stared into the mirror. Behind her was a sweaty, grunting hog of a man struggling to roll himself up out of the bed and back into the mundane, grey-scale shade of life he led every Sunday to Sunday, except the one hour on Wednesday nights when he placed himself and his boarish physique in Cervantes' hands.
The stench of his work brought early memories back to Cervantes' mind. He dragged a feather across one cheek and moved into an anteroom to avoid further conversation with the boar as he lumbered to pull his clothes over his hulking form. Migel collapsed into a chair and poked at a quill inhabiting a dried out ink well.
He used to compose poetry, idolize the troubadors and trobairitzes that trooped into Seville. He closed his eyes. Migel could remember the Patio de Banderas with its perfect marriage of Roman, Moorish and Castilian architecture. He heard the clang of the bell in la Giralda as it marked the anniversary of Ferdinand III of Castille's capture of the city some fifty years earlier. Migel could still feel the sun on his skin and the scent of Arabian flowers as he wandered beneath the vaults of Patio de las Doncellas at la Reales Alcázares.Behind his eyelids, he saw the golden gleam of the Torre del Oro against the ripples of the Guadalquivir river.
Migel smiled and licked his lips at the reminiscent taste of bitter oranges. The smell of their blossoms always invaded his family's home each morning when they threw open their casements. His fingers remembered hard, long days beneath the hot sun, harvesting hard-peeled fruits from his family's orchards and watching his uncle's servants transform the remnants into perfume Augustinia continued to use into these long nights.
Before he came….
"Mademoiselle Cervantes, le petit merle is here to see you," the ghoul broke the flow of memories Migel had been enjoying.
French ghouls had never been as good the Spanish ones. Migel missed the sound of his native tongue. Missed the rolls of the 'r's and the Andalusian accent he'd grown up around. But, you make do with what you're given.
"Is he still in there?" Cervantes asked.
"No, Madame. He was sent out the back like always."
"Good. Change the sheets. They stink," Cervantes ordered. "Show the Harpy in after that."
Cervantes waved his hand at the ghoul and stood, walking back into the bedroom after the rush of yanked sheets let him know the foul stench of swine was abating. He resumed his place before the mirror just before Louisé strode into the room.
"Good evening, Seneschal. Glad to see you are making a productive use of your time." The Harpy shot a scrutinizing look at Cervantes' bed.
"Good evening to you, as well, Louisé. I see you are off to your usual critiquing. How may I be of assistance to Dijon's Harpy?"
"Here to deliver a special request from our Prince. Seems this is something that needs your…unique touch," Louisé emphasized as she handed him an envelope with Devereux's handwriting scrawled across the front.
Cervantes accepted the envelope but held off opening it in lieu of observing Louisé's body language as she stood between him and his bed.
He saw her tongue roll in her mouth with a question her conservative Ventrue nature would never allow her to ask.
"Louisé, if you don-"
"Why do people do it?" she cut him off.
His brows went up. Interesting, he thought, since he honestly had expected that question. "Do what?"
"Do…whatever it is you offer to them" Her eyes were stuck on the ropes. They always were and Cervantes had a hard time deciphering if that was because of her painful history or budding curiosity.
"Different reasons. Mostly because they are tired from the burden of power and, for a fleeting hour or so, want to give it someone else."
"Do you have sex with them?"
Cervantes burst out laughing, a reaction which startled the little bird. "Of course not! They are pawns, informants and patrons. They are not lovers, Louisé."
He heard her whisper something, shoot another look at the ropes, the whip that laid idle across one of the strew pillows. Cervantes stood – ever so slowly so as not to frighten the little bird away – and gazed a hand along her shoulder, up to the crook of her neck before she darted to one side and shot him a glare.
"I didn't say you could touch me," Louisé hissed.
"You never said I couldn't either," Cervantes countered with a smirk. "Still interested in my ropes, Louisé? After all these years, I still haven't repaid you for bursting into my home and discovering my naughty little secret."
"Far from a little secret."
"Far from little anything," he teased.
Louisé stepped back. "Never mind. Forget I ever asked anything! Foolish of me," she jabbered, minimizing her curiosity before leaving the room.
Migel "Augustinia" Cervantes knew – at that moment – Louisé would be back.
Louisé sat, one knew unconsciously bobbing to the beat of her increasing anxiety. Her drink rippled in its glass and only when she became aware of some droplets threatening to plop onto her new gown, did she stop her knee.
Cervantes was taking longer than expected to wrap up his business and every second that tinked by was one more excuse for her to leave. Leave with her dignity intact. Leave before curiosity became her foul undoing.
What was she honestly doing here? Louisé wanted to believe it was the result of some lurid Toreador discipline drawing her back to this house of debauchery, but she would be kidding herself.
She rubbed her face and the back of her neck with a cool palm. The waiting was agony. Thousands of rational questions with somewhat messy, complicated answers came to mind. Louisé lost herself in all the considerations – so much so, that she failed to notice her garish host taking a seat adjacent to the chain she occupied.
"So! Here you are again," Cervantes' exclamation of the obvious drew Louisé away from her brain and onto a pain of sultry, Spanish eyes. "Twice in one week is beyond a rarity for you, so I can only assume this is pressing business – professional or…otherwise?"
His musing irritated her…made her anxious and continue to guess at an already second-guessed idea. Louisé groaned inside, swallowed the rest of her drink and stood. "Never mind. Forget it…foolish of me to come anyway!" She sliced a nervous hand through the air in an awful attempt to be collectedly dismissive.
"Either my ears are failing me or that is the exact line you said last evening before flouncing out of her life a ruffled up hen," Cervantes said. "We've known each other a decade plus now, Louisé. Surely by this day and age, you can summon a scrap of the desperate gumption you used to have, open your mouth and say what you like without wasting my precious time."
Louisé rocked from one foot to the other while considering his logic. "You wouldn't understand."
Cervantes humphed in his seat. "Of all the things I don't understand about you – this isn't one of them. I have had the distinct pleasure of watching you descend into a paranoid abyss ever since the night Raymond became Prince. This," he waved his hand up and down her form, "is nothing new. It's just usually not happening in my house."
"You wouldn't understand this!" Louisé hissed before beginning a neurotic pacing between the threshold of the room and her chair.
After about the fifth trip back, Cervantes stood up and grabbed her wrist. Louisé tugged it back, but Cervantes held tighter to her skin. With the force of the elder Augustinia was, he yanked Louisé closer and bent his noble head to her ear. He whispered, harsh but full of seduction inherit to his clan, "I told you to tell me. Tell me what's troubling you…ask me what you truly desire."
Louisé felt her eyelids droop a little. She remained conscious enough to murmur back, "Not out here."
Cervantes, keeping hold of the little bird's wrist, led her back to the bedroom they had stood in the night before. He never used the same room two nights in a row. It prevented strain on his nostrils. Now the room smelled of lavender and Seville oranges. The perfect balance of intensity and allure. Soft and biting.
Cervantes locked the door behind them and only then did he release Louisé's wrist. The Harpy took a few steps away from him, borderline cowering from him. Cervantes watched with a sweet taste invading his mouth. He took a step toward her, the hems of their respective skirts touching each other.
"I am not going to hurt you, Louisé," he cooed.
She looked him in the eyes with a suspicion innate to their kind. She took a step back. "I'm sorry if I misled you, but-"
"Stop it!" he hissed. "I loathe people lying to cover up their curiosities."
"Easy for you to say! I am not supposed to have these kind of curiosities, as you call them. I am Ventrue! I am methodical, precise -"
"Boring," he cut off her rant. He took another step forward, forcing her back toward the bed. Cervantes kept it up until her knees hit the edge of the mattress and buckled her backward. She made a helpless, mewling noise as he placed a hand on either side of her hips and leaned down. "You are frustrated. You are exhausted. Louisé, you fight very hard to be in control of everything, so naturally you would wonder what it's like not to be for a little while."
She narrowed her eyes. "I know precisely what it is like to have no control, to have someone ordering you about like a slave. I have worked too hard to -"
Cervantes pressed a finger against her lips to keep them from moving. "My point exactly. You work too hard for something that drives you loco. I am offering you a chance to let it go. For a short time."
"I have experienced that before, thank you," she grumbled against his skin, sending a child up his spine.
What it would feel like to be bitten by her, he wondered.
"You've had it taken before, if you ever had it to begin with," Cervantes said.
Louisé turned her face from him, but with a grasp to her chin, he made her look at him. "Ramon used you because you were his to use. That was the nature of your relationship. And that man – Javier? – he tortured you," Cervantes emphasized. Louisé winced. He continued, "I don't torture people, Louisé. I don't do anything my clientele don't want me to. I do nothing without consent from them."
How does that work when you tie them up and beat them?"
He smirked. "They want me to tie them up. They choose the whips or belts I use, not me. They request the tool they want me to use to bring them to their places of sensual release," he explained. "In the end, they want someone else to control them because they feel out of control."
"Is that what you would do to me if…" she paused to suck in a deep breath, "If…"
"If you became my client for a night?" Cervantes finished for her. "Is that what you would want me to do?"
Louisé relaxed into the bed, laid her cheek against the covers and looked into the distance of the tapestried walls. Her eyes slid closed. "I don't know what I want. Ropes…when I think of twine, it makes me think of how Javier tied to me to a chair and…" She couldn't continue.
"I told you, Louisé. He tortured you. There's nothing enjoyable about being tortured. I believe in a connection between pleasure and pain, but torture is just pain. The only pleasure is in the one torturing. I am not going to torture you." Then he added, "And my ropes are made of silk."
"Then," she started without looking at him. "What would you do to me?"
Cervantes smirked and turned Louisé's chin again. "First, I would take off all these unnecessary clothes." Even though she would cringe, flinch, Cervantes trailed his hands down the length of her body to her hips. "Shall we start there?"
It took her a long minute, the longest of her life perhaps, before nodding.
Migel remembered how it was first done to him. When the man who, ultimately, became his Sire, stripped him down, tied him up and taught him what it was like to climax from more than a stiff hand or a tight space. It became a part of Migel's repertoire, a cornerstone that facilitated the transformation into Augustinia the less flattered with his male appearance his Siree became.
Cervantes cared nothing for the gender of those that occupied his bedrooms. Male. Female. Didn't matter. What mattered was the reaction. What counted was the way their bodies writhed and mouths contorted with agonizing pleasure. What Cervantes enjoyed the most was having absolute authority over the vulnerable. He had paid his dues. Now it was someone else's turn. And ever since she wandered into his line of sight, Cervantes had hoped for the chance to have it over Louisé.
Just as he said, Cervantes started by having Louisé remove her clothing. Her movements were stiff. It was the nerves. And a life of having people dress you. Too excited and impatient to wait, Cervantes took hold of the dress and yanked it off. Louisé clutched at her chemise to keep it on. Cervantes allowed her to keep it on.
"I'm going to tie you up now, Louisé," he said as he led her to the top of the bed. "If this is not what you want, you need to say so now."
"I…will it hurt?" she asked, her fear all too apparent.
"No." His fingers trailed down her back, all the way to her rump. She stiffened, but that only made him grasp the soft flesh of her behind and push her onto the bed. "I will tie it tight, but it won't hurt." Cervantes crawled up behind her. His hands ran up her back, over her shoulders and down her arms. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I'm going to tie the ropes around your wrists, then pull the ropes until your arms are above your head."
Cervantes wrapped the silk rope around and around, creating intricate knots. He tightened them until her hands wriggled only a little. Then, as promised, he slid off the bed and pulled until her hands were above her head, until she was comfortably on her knees.
"If, at any time, you don't like what I'm doing, you need to let me know by tugging three times on the rope. Do you understand?" He asked as he began to remove his own clothing.
"No," panic gathered in her voice. "Why can't I just tell you?"
"Because I'm going to gag you. One thing I never really fancied about you was the fact that you talk too much. You Ventrue are so wordy, so I'm going to take your words from you."
"I don't like the thought of you stuffing something into my mouth," Louisé admitted.
Cervantes laughed, "Acknowledged, though I have a feeling that might change with time. You gave me control, Louisé. I'm not going to force you, but I can say I dislike the idea of allowing you to use your words to keep you from enjoying this." He let the dress fall from his body and reached to grasp a pile of cloths from her chest of drawers.
The Harpy's eyes were full of skepticism and potential anger.
Migel climbed back into the bed, standing on his knees in front of the nearly naked girl. Louisé clenched her mouth shut and he grinned. Cervantes cupped her face with one hand then slowly, slowly, slowly wedged his thumb into her mouth and began forcing her teeth apart. The more she fought for control, the more Cervantes forced until he had an opening wide enough to stuff some of the cloths in. Hopefully she enjoyed the taste of citrus. Louisé jerked and tugged on the rope. He grabbed her hands and still them.
"Enough, Louisé!" he hissed. "I am not going to hurt you…" She stared into his eyes. They remained that way for several minutes until Louisé gave up her grip on the rope and silently ceded to Cervantes' regime. Only then did he tie the last cloth behind her mouth, tight enough to keep the others secure.
Let the games begin…
"You deserve this…" Cervantes rasped into her left ear. There was a grit in his voice – the tightness of a hunter holding back his hounds. The only thing missing was a layer of froth bubbling out the corners of his mouth.
His fingers wove into her hair, tightened and yanked until her chin pointed at the ceiling. "You deserve to be punished."
She objected with a muffled squawk. The gag he had tied was saturated with saliva, forcing two streams of drool down both sides of her chin. At the angle he currently held her head, the liquid was beginning to loll down toward her neck.
The sight of such bodily functions was refreshing. As if it added humanity back into the dead bones of their kind.
For Cervantes, it was just another tool at his disposal. One thumb pressed into her skin and wiped one trail of spit away. "Honestly, Louisé. This is so disgraceful, so inelegant of you," he chastised her while rubbing the slick solution between his fingers. "This is why you ought to be disciplined."
There was another displeased grunt – this time with a thrash of her head, an attempt to regain a sense of control she had handed to Cervantes, who fully intended on maintaining until everything was said and done. He had explained derogatory speech, how he was going to humiliate her, treat her like a child by pointing out her insecurities and inadequacies. She had narrowed her eyes, but since Louisé was too stubborn for her own good, she had yet to yank on the ropes to let him know if he was going too far. Oh, well…more fun for him.
"Someone like you needs to learn the boundaries you cannot cross without repercussions. That you can't barge into people's homes and threaten their secrets against them." Cervantes used an old grudge to emanate the authority he had been given over her.
Cervantes released her hair and Louisé immediately relaxed her chin down to her chest. The stain blindfold had her head moving from side to side in an effort to grasp her surroundings.
Thrill fluttered around the bottom of his gut while he watched her sightless and helpless. This was different than the others. There was a throbbing in his groin he rarely – if ever – felt when delivering the blows to his patrons, for lack of better label.
Cervantes slid away from Louisé and opened a chest at the foot of the bed. "I am going to remind you of your place, Louisé. I am going to punish you for the embarrassment you dealt me. Do you understand?"
She made no sound, though he did see her hands clench against the ropes that bound them. Still, she did not tug. Cervantes pulled a riding crop and belt from the chest. Nothing too extreme. A safe start for someone as mentally fragile as Dijon's Harpy.
To give her an idea of what he was planning, Cervantes smacked the crop against the palm of her hand. Louisé jolted, stiffened as soon as she heard the crack. He smirked and moved back to her. He reached out and ran a finger up her stomach, from navel to the center of her chest. He watched her body quiver. His smirk broadened to a smile as he maneuvered behind her. Cervantes cared nothing for decency in moments like this. He curled both sets of fingers into the thin material covering her body and tore in either direction.
Louisé shrieked into the gag as the chemise fell limply in a broken pool at her knees, exposing the pale, smooth skin of her back and the heart-shaped curves of her bottom. Cervantes slid his hand down to her fleshy rump and popped it gently with his palm. She bucked her hips forward, pulling her backside out of his clutches.
Cervantes gripped the handle of the crop in one hand and the flat head in the fingers of the other. He pulled back on the leather of the head until it created a bow, then he released and listened to it smack against the skin of her behind. She cried out and he smiled.
"You will never barge into my home without my permission again, Louisé…do you understand?" Cervantes asked as if she were some toddler before smacking the crop against her behind again. When she didn't give him any type of answer, he smacked her again, "When I ask you a question, I demand an answer, Louisé. Now…do you understand?"
Louisé nodded her head.
"Good girl," he said, flicking the leather whip back and forth over her skin. "Now I'm going to punish you for when that egregious, disrespectful decision you chose to make all those years ago."
Cervantes had switched to the belt after about ten minutes of using the crop on her back. Once it was patterned with markings enough to satisfy his hunger, he moved to the front. Louisé was groaning, panting into the gag and gripping the rope as her backside twitched back and forth. Cervantes knew she was halfway stimulated and could smell a sweet scent rising from her. From between her legs and the pits of her arms.
Her hips were narrow. An unfortunate result of being embraced too early in life. But they had enough width to give her even curves. A thatch of dark hair decorated the space above her sex. Perfectionist as she was, part of him wanted to be more surprised by how well groomed it was. He trailed his eyes upward to the two breasts whose nipples were perked and pointing forward. More evidence of how aroused the little bird had become since first tying her up.
Cervantes cupped one breast and flicked a thumb over the erect nipple, causing Louisé to writhe. Her groan was muffled by the gag. He removed his hand from her skin and slid a finger beneath tied cloth. He tugged it down, away from her mouth and began to slowly, systematically remove each cloth he had used to silence her. Each was soaking wet with saliva. Cervantes dropped them onto the floor like the soiled rags they were.
"I think it's time to tease this supple body into proper submission. You're so desperate for climax, Louisé. I bet you've never even experienced it before. Have you?"
She clenched her mouth, obviously embarrassed. Cervantes smirked and smacked the whip into the triangle of pubic hair, causing Louisé to spasm. "Remember what I told you about answering my questions?"
"Yes," she groaned. Music to his ears.
"Yes…what?" he demanded.
"Yes," she hesitated and he smacked her again, slightly lower than before which produced a cry from her. "Sir!"
"Good girl," Cervantes purred and drew the whip away. "Have you ever come, Louisé?"
"N-no…" she answered with a quivering bottom lip.
"You poor thing," Cervantes stroked her cheek, feel her fight not to yank away from his touch. "You're going to do so for me." He then removed the blindfold.
Her eyes were wide and full of fear. He grinned at her.
"I…no! I can't!" And she tugged on the rope three times. "Let me go!"
Cervantes gripped her wrists still. "You gave me control, Louisé and I am more than willing to give it back, but I think you would be making a grave mistake. There is nothing more relaxing than the body reaching a grand, physical apex. You want to refresh yourself? Give me what I ask for."
The little bird hung there and he watched the mechanisms of her brain whir in her eyes. He didn't give her much more time to think before sliding the leather head of the crop between her legs. She jerked upward and bit down on her bottom lip, suppressing a groan and breaking the skin. Blood dribbled toward the corner of her mouth. Cervantes leaned in, stuck out his tongue and licked the blood.
"No, no, little bird. I want to hear the sounds you make," he cooed. Cervantes moved his free hand behind her and gripped one butt cheek. He used the leverage to push her body forward while his other palm urged the whip upward. The result would be a blissfully painful grind of Louisé's sex against the shaft of the whip.
She cried out, tried to buck her hips forward. Cervantes smacked her behind. The result was a natural jump back; a grind in the opposite direction. Another moan came from Louisé. Soft and virginal. It was a beautiful sound to Cervantes' ear. He inched closer, pressing the hard throb between his legs against her thigh.
Cervantes continued this back and forth. Gripping her bottom, pushing her forward, pressing against her vagina then spanking her when she tried to lift her body away. He rubbed himself against her thigh, pressing hard into the soft skin. He pulled the whip back, looked down at the wet residue left behind by her arousal.
He pressed his lips against her ear, his voice huskier than normal, "Come for me, Louisé. Lose control just a bit more." Then he spanked her hard. Once. Twice. A third time before pulling back from her. As she reeled from the sting, her body arched and left her vulnerable. He cracked the whip against the sensitive space between her thighs.
Louisé cried out. She was drawing nearer. A little longer and he would have her.
Cervantes loosened the ropes that held Louisé's arms above her head. They flopped down like dead fish before their owner. He gave her muscles a moment to relax. Migel pressed his palm against her shoulder and eased her back against the pillows. Louisé lulled a groan as he tied her wrists to the wood of his headboard, much like she had done ten years prior when first spotting the cock between his legs.
He allowed her this respite as he left the bed and poured himself a glass of refreshment. He was running low and knew she would be too. He drank his fill before carrying the bottle to his prone prey.
Louisé was exhausted, but her body felt on fire. She prided herself on dignitas, but the sensation in the crux of her legs shredded that to piece. Her thighs squirmed together in an effort to calm herself down. Her cunny throbbed from Cervantes cruelty but she couldn't deny it felt good. Louisé closed her eyes and arched her hips, tightening her thighs.
"Now, now," she heard Augustinia murmur before pressing against her lower abdomen with a cold hand, "Relax. I won't leave you in distress. Trust me and drink this."
She felt the lip of a bottle against her skin and opened her eyes before drinking ravenously from what Cervantes had to offer. The blood slid down her throat and fed her body, her nerves with excitement and renewed energy. She kept drinking until the bottle was tipped on its end and there wasn't a single drop left to suck out.
"Good girl," Cervantes said as he pulled the bottle away. "Shall we resume?"
He really didn't wait for an answer before gripping each knee in a palm and shoving them apart to gape wide her thighs and expose her arousal to world of Augustinia Cervantes. When she tried to clamp them back together, Cervantes smacked the side of her thigh hard with an open palm.
"Are you going to comply or should I compel you?"
"I'm not comfortable with this…" Louisé said.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You shouldn't lie," Cervantes scolded as he slid a lewd finger between wet lips and pressed. "You're all but throbbing, Louisé. This tells me your body is awfully comfortable."
Louisé moaned. She didn't bother refuting his claim. The Harpy's body was entirely against her. A small, levelheaded portion of her brain had already assumed a LaCroix-like dictatorial tirade of her "poor" decision making. The combination of blood and sensual stimulation created a haze that blocked out any ability for those words to have the remotest effect on her.
Blood pumped in her body, but not to the places she really needed. Her refreshment seemed to intensify the stimulation of each and every erogenous zone, ones she didn't even know existed. Like her ears. Whose ears caused sexual reaction?! Her rear end was sore, but she liked it. Louisé didn't want to say it out loud, but she liked it when her hands were bound and her body stung as a result of her own decision to temporarily give up her free will. While she wanted clarity of mind and determination to regain her professional determination, what she received was lurid, exponential desire.
She could have stopped it at any moment. Any blip in time between the door locking and down, Louisé could have yanked the rope three times as instructed and ended everything. She didn't. She chose to see this through the end – another two-edged Ventrue trait. It wasn't so much the paddling, pinching or berating that embarrassed her. The fact that Cervantes had become privy to her mental instability, was. That this debase form of eroticism was working – she hadn't thought about Devereux's needs, reports that needed writing, lessons unlearned – was worse. So, Louisé watched Cervantes draw up the slack of the rope and loop them beneath her knees.
He tied and pulled until her unwilling legs spread. A draft of air against the exposed sensitivity sent a ripple up her navel. Louisé wasn't resolute enough to continue looking Cervantes in the face as he gave her cunny a delight, albeit, thorough look. Maybe that stack of reports and potential boons were worth concentrating on…
Cervantes had never had anyone this physically young in one of his beds. It was terribly exciting. The way they twitched and quivered. How their teeth sunk into the thin skin of their bottom lips. The naiveté and adolescent swirling in their eyes. They looked at Migel like he was some perverse parent spanking them for bad behavior. And, in a way, he was.
His fingers grabbed one of the soft, leather belts. He folded it in half and snapped it once to get Louisé's attention back on him. She was anything but slow with the response.
Cervantes leaned forward, propping himself on both elbows as his upper body straddled Louisé's bare chest. He toyed with the belt, stroking her cheek with the metal buckle in slow, back and forth motions as he spoke.
"Your body is at an exquisite place of excitement, my little black bird. This shall be the very last thing I do for you, but I cannot deny it won't be painful."
"And the rest of it hasn't been?" Her question wasn't unreasonable.
"This is different. I'm going to strike you quite…" he paused until the right word floated to his lips, "specifically."
Her eyes widened a hair. Her nose contorted with a characteristic crinkle.
Cervantes lowered his head and impulsively nipped the end of her nose, causing her head to dart back. He licked his lips. "I'll do something special for you, Louisé. If you consent to going ahead, I will do something for you I don't do for my others."
"And why would you do that?" The Harpy's rational state of mind was beginning to resurface. If he didn't wrap this dialogue up, he was going to lose her for sure.
Unfortunately, he had no good answer to that question. Mostly because he didn't know himself why he would be willing to give such an honor. All Cervantes did know was that he wanted to do it. And everyone knows how reckless Toreador can be when they want something.
"Because you've been such a good, good girl Louisé," he responded with no lack of condescension. He slid the cool of the buckle down to her breasts and flicked it over each nipple in a drowsy figure-eight. She squirmed, biting her lip to withhold a moan. "What do you say, Louisé?" He slid one knee between her legs and pressed the cap down, rocking it back and forth. A chorus of carnal notes slid from his little bird. "Well? Your answer is…?"
"Yes," she groaned in a hush.
"What was that? I barely heard you?" Migel pressed he knee down harder.
Louisé cried – a shrill, bawdy sound. "Yes!"
Cervantes removed his knee, but lunged and bit his front teeth down on her right ear lobe. "Yes, what?" he demanded.
She pulled on the ropes, giving herself leverage as she arched her upper body against his. A new and tantalizing reaction Cervantes hadn't suspected. He would have to remember to flick her ears from time to time in public…just to see what would happen.
"Yes, sir," she answered in a voice tattering around the edges.
He released her ear and pulled his chest away from her body. Straight, he tightened his grip on the belt and hefted the leather into the air. In a strike, Cervantes brought it back down against one breast, then the other. Louisé shrieked so loudly. He was forced to pause and re-gag her with a singular piece of cloth. She took it without fighting, since it seemed her reaction took her by surprise as well.
Appropriately muted, Cervantes resumed his controlled assault against the sensitive places of her body. Every precise strike released a convulsion from la petite merle. Louisé's neck arched, writhed and thrashed her head about. Her pull against the ropes threatened to break Cervantes' heirloom headboard. But he didn't let up. They were both so close.
A few more strikes….
He dropped the belt and swept up the riding whip before slapping the blooming flower between yawning thighs. Not even the cloth withheld the scream Louisé unleashed. A spasm jerked her hips up and back while her shredded conscious tried desperately to draw her knees back together. Cervantes shook his head, feeling his will slipping the more desperate and impassioned her responses became.
Their mutual aromas mingled in the air, driving him slowly insane. His hand tightened on the whip, fighting to remain controlled with each strike against tender lips. She was crying. Not a horrible, heart-broken sob or frightening sniffling. It was a prurient melody. The sound of climbing ecstasy. Cervantes slapped five more times.
He couldn't take it anymore!
Sliding his belly against the cool of the sheets, he pressed his open mouth against the soft skin of her inner thigh. His lips decorated her skin with lascivious, desperate kisses. His tongue licked along a hidden treasure, pumping it closer to the surface. His hand trailed up, reaching to jerk the cloth free from her mouth.
Something frantic and feral had overtaken them both. While sucked on the tender flesh, Louisé flicked her tongue against his fingers and ever-so-gently pressed her teeth against his digits. Electricity ran straight down his arm to the already agitated groin. Cervantes growled. He snuggled his face into her pubic cradle and bit.
Louisé didn't scream. No shriek or cry. Her whole upper body came off the bed while her jaw opened and a sultry gasp escaped. That was it. That was all she was capable of. The rest of her sensed her dumb. Her mind was clouded. She couldn't think if she tried. All she could do was feel.
His lips.
His tongue.
His fangs.
Buried deep with her. Louisé moaned, ignoring the hands that scraped and squeezed at breasts that mattered far less than the artery Cervantes was suckling on. He pulled back, his mouth smeared with red and a desperate hunger in his eyes. They just stared at each other for the briefest second that felt like a small eternity before he penetrated her again.
And again.
And again.
Her legs. Her wrists. Her breasts.
His mouth hovered over her sex. Louisé felt the dribble of her own blood against herself as her euphoria teetered over the edge. There was a pounding between her legs she hadn't felt ever. It reminded of her of the same sense of desperation she'd had when first waking into the night and being unable to sate herself on what she'd always fed. It was an intense pounding against a door. A frantic attempt to escape.
His tongue slid out and slither up between wet lips. A singular, long, hard lick before he nuzzled into the opposite crux between hip and thigh and bit again.
Then the door broke up. The euphoria didn't slip over the edge – it jumped! It went flying and Louisé's body exploded with a gunpowder rush of bliss to every inch, every muscle, tender and pump of blood.
Her body rhythmically contracted for a length of time she didn't pay attention to. She was drowsy and weak. Her toes curled into the sheets while her fingers spread languidly. She must have been moaning because she could feel the reverberations against her throat, but couldn't focus enough on the sound. The only thing that was clear was Cervantes pulling out of her and straightening up with a bear of a growl.
Migel was holding on by a thread. Biting her had helped but he was about to explode. None of his clients had been remotely this pleasing. The boar from the other never got a rise out of Cervantes. The sensitive skin of mortals would never withstand the ferocity of his fangs when he became like this. It was the ingenue's fault. She was someone he had wanted to wrap his hands around since the first time she'd cringed from his touch.
"Good girl, Louisé," he grunted while running like a hand along her stomach. "You came for me."
She groaned in response, eyes blinking closed. He gripped her chin and slapped her cheek gently. "You can sleep at your house, mon petit merle. You can rest when your job is done."
Louisé didn't say anything, just blinked her eyes back open. Cervantes moved, crawling up her body. He moved a palm beneath her head and raised it up toward his pelvis. Migel supported himself on the headboard as he pushed her mouth toward the same intersection and artery. Decency was a bygone ideal. He cared nothing for whether his erection bother her sensibilities. He wanted the same released he had worked so hard to provide for her.
"Bite me, Louisé," he ordered.
She made a mewling noise. A tired sound. He yanked her hair hard, causing her to whine. "Bite me!" Cervantes demanded.
Only then did she oblige.
Only then did he massage her scalp borderline lovingly. She didn't drink. For whatever reason, she didn't. She sucked and he felt the trickle of blood down as she pushed it from her mouth. He could've cared less. He moved her head further up his thigh and she bit again. If she wouldn't drink, she could at least continue biting him with her petite, ivory fangs. They had an enticing curve to them. The tiniest of hooks at the very end that sent an extra wave of pleasure through his body as she pulled them out.
Pretty soon, she didn't need his hand to guide her. He used the extra palm for more leverage as she grazed to the other side and continued. Whether on accident, or purpose, she grazed the base of his erection and he bit hard against a cry. He reached and smacked some part of her, scratched her with his nails as she sunk in hard.
He gripped the wood and felt himself come.
Fifteen minutes and another bottle later, Cervantes and Louisé were wiping themselves down with moistened clothes of lavender water. Migel would take a proper bath after she left and suspected Louisé would do the same when she arrived home. The Harpy didn't look at him as she pulled on a chemise he had offered to replace the one he ripped apart. He watched her pull on her dress and approached to help tie her into it.
Still, she avoided his eyes.
Cervantes smirked, laughed a little. "You may hate it, but you did well, Louisé."
She didn't response right away. Instead, she walked to his water basin, cupped some liquid into her hand and sucked it into her mouth. He grimaced as the sound of swishing water echoed around the room. She spat ruddy water into a separate basin. Louisé did this twice more before turning to him.
"I didn't hate it," she said as she walked closer to him. "I won't deny there were moments of obvious discomfort. But," she paused as she struggled to say something, "I will admit you are right. I feel much more relaxed."
"Mmm…music to my ears," Cervantes joked.
Louisé looked into the mirror, fixing her hair. "I can trust no one will know about this?"
"My dear, that would hurt both our reputations."
She gave a curt nod and headed for the door, leaving Cervantes in nothing more but a silk robe and curious smile on his face.
"Same time next week, mon petit merle?"
Louisé shot her ocean blue eyes back at him. She didn't answer, only smirked and slid out of the room.
A/N Part 2: *writhes* Uhg...I dunno how I feel about this. I hope you guys enjoyed it. This is a very imperfect reflection of the relationship within the BDSM or "kink" community, and it's even harder to capture when you think of what it might have looked like centuries ago. However, stories that make us uncomfortable can be a very growing experience! Let's see how long it lasts on FF before some moderator yanks it away. Also, before anyone REMOTELY assumes (and Red can 100% back me up on this)...this is NOT in response to a certain movie coming out this weekend. This was an explorative and stretching activity of my authorial skills.