All her life, for as long as she could remember, she'd craved the touch, presence, and acceptance of other people. Male, female, it didn't matter, as long as they were there.
Nothing that felt this good could be wrong.
A pat on her hand, a touch to her cheek, a friendly hug; touch was like air to her. She couldn't survive without it. And when she hit puberty, well a whole new world was opened to her.
Two sets of hands, one large, one smaller, one rough with calluses, one smooth and delicate, made their way over her body. They dipped, stroked, caressed, tweaked, aroused, and soothed. It was…heaven.
Being alone was bad. It left her feeling transparent and hollow, like she wasn't real, but she knew she couldn't have someone with her all the time. She knew that wasn't normal or acceptable, so she'd learned to cope. She found a way around it. She always left her windows open. That way, she could hear the sounds of life outside and she wasn't alone anymore.
A warm, wet mouth teased her nipple while the other settled between her thighs. The dual sensation was almost too good, but she wouldn't ask them to stop.
Tea and sweets were constants in her life, almost as much as touch. Her movements were always fluid and lithe, a combination of training and an innate grace. She always moved with grace, whether it was in her head or a walking. Rarely was a space she occupied quiet or still.
The three moved together fluidly, like an oft preformed and well-loved dance, but there was no real choreography involved. It was a freestyle dance broken down to its most primal elements. Their moans and the sounds of their lips on skin provided the music and the fleeting touches on hips and heads moved their bodies accordingly. The dance was wild and abandoned and chaotic. It was…perfect.
She knew what some people said about her, that she was a spoiled girl, a horrible girl, and sinner, but she didn't care. It's not a sin unless you're sorry and she was far from being sorry about anything. Her life was hers to live as she pleased, and she enjoyed every minute of it. She wasn't hurting anyone. What she did on her own time, and whom she chose to do it with, was no one else's business.
Softness and heat, slick and glistening with moisture, settled over her mouth and she lapped eagerly at the offering. A hard, solid length slid into her and she arched her back at the feeling of fullness, of completion. Her moans triggered a chorus of others and her hands clamped on the hips above her to still the frantic movements. This wasn't to be rushed. This was to be savored.
She was a noble, student of human nature, and was well aware that she wasn't like everyone else. She used her position to her advantage and, as such, learned a great deal about people just by asking. Or watching.
Faster now. The headlong rush to completion, the pull was becoming too strong to ignore. Bodies undulated, fingers scrambled for purchase, harsh gasps as they fought for breath. Moans and the occasional curse as one tried to hold onto fraying control. God, there was nothing better than this feeling, than the moment right before the world burst into flames.
There was someone new that she wanted to bring into her world, but she hadn't figured out how yet. He was unlike anyone she'd ever met before. It was obvious he craved unique and thrilling relationship, but he held himself away from everyone, not to be close or to distant, as though he was punishing himself. She knew he watched her; she made sure he would. She wanted him to see that she would accept his desire- that he didn't have to be afraid. She didn't care about his low noble ranking, or the fact that he was unsettling than anyone she'd ever met before. There was a gentleness in his words and in his hands when he parried her slash.
A tangled heap of sweaty limbs and gasping breaths, softened by murmured words of affection and tender kisses, is all that's left after the storm. The sensual lethargy is shattered by the breaking of the door and the loud, angry voices of those who would make them pay for loving as openly and unconventionally as they did. Their world turned into pain and tears and begging pleas for it all to stop. There was nothing but the sound of flesh hitting flesh, bones breaking, and cruel, obscene words meant to destroy her sense of worth. They wanted her to admit that she had sinned. They succeeded.
As Katarina sat on her bed, waiting to be exiled, she thought of Anne and Geran-sensei. She hadn't actually spoken to him that much, but she knew his favourite kink when they doing something... questionable. She had wanted so badly to heal whatever was hurting them, but now she wasn't sure if she could. Her greatest strength had been taken from her and she didn't know if she'd be able to get it back.
All her life, for as long as she could remember, she'd craved the touch, presence, and acceptance of other people. Now the thought of anyone touching her filled her with fear.
What am I going to do now?