"I do hope you took some notes on how to kiss. That one happens to be one of my personal favorites." Fiona remained on her back, one arm lifted so she could trail a finger along the curve of Myrtle's rounded flesh of her rear to the back of her thigh, tickling her skin. "But my, my...I never had you pegged for such a deviant...masochist, dear Myrtle." The words dripped condescendingly from Fiona's lips as she rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. She leaned to one side and lifted an arm to deliver a sharp blow with her open palm to the woman's exposed derrière. A smirk toyed at her lips as Myrtle groaned. "Such a bad girl...pretending you want nothing to do with me. And how I see it, well, spanking is reserved as a reward for bad girls like you." Her voice was low and tinged with the threat of staying true to her word. Raising her arm about a foot higher in the air, Fiona's hand came crashing down in another stinging smack on Myrtle's rear end, the pale flesh taking on a ruddy appearance.
Wrists still ensnared by the metal cuffs as she laid on her stomach, Myrtle's arms stretched above her head. She clutched at the blankets to try and anchor herself, but couldn't control the fidgeting from her body after each slap on her naked flesh. It felt deliciously wonderful, to feel the harsh contrast of pain and pleasure, but she didn't dare let one word slip to Fiona. No, she would continue to battle the dominating Supreme, and allow her the disillusion that she was in control, when in fact, Myrtle had her doing everything she desired. "You can let me go now, you bitch." Myrtle's remark was muffled slightly by the blankets until she lifted her head. "Get these damn things off of me - I did what you wanted."
Fiona let out a full fledged laugh, momentarily dropping her head to the bed. "Oh, you amuse me. We're not even close to being done here." She pushed herself up and off of the bed to stand, steadying herself in her undoubtedly high-priced designer heels. "You're one naughty witch, Myrtle. One lesson simply won't do. The next one will be rather trying for you, I'm sure." Fiona crossed the room in her lace undergarments, glancing over her shoulder to see that Myrtle was watching her, her red hair even more untamed. Bending at the waist and ensuring Myrtle could catch a clear view of her actions, Fiona lingered longer than necessary to rustle through the dresser drawer. "Patience. It's a virtue, so they say." Shifting her weight from one side to the other, she cast another peek over to Myrtle who had yet to avert her eyes. "And I intend to show you why that's so true." Finally, she straightened, a somewhat slender black feather tickler in hand along with a night mask used for obscuring light from the occupant's eyes. Returning to the bed, Fiona stood on the side where Myrtle's head rested so she could set the items beside her. "Roll onto your back."
The redhead obliged, and rolled over with some effort given the awkward position of her arms above her head still entangled with her overbearing coat as well. Fiona bent forward and leaned over Myrtle, taking the time to purposefully brush her chest against the woman's face, lace material and cleavage skimming her glasses and her nose. She smirked as she felt Myrtle draw in a short breath. Grasping the hem of the black slip, she pulled it up completely until it was bunched under Myrtle's armpits, exposing the rest of her porcelain skin. Another teasing graze of her cleavage was smoothed over Myrtle's face as Fiona straightened so she could maneuver the cloak and the slip up Myrtle's arms so her clothing only covered her handcuffed hands now in a pile of fabric.
Myrtle's body shivered at the exposure of her skin, and she rolled her hips from side to side, drawing her knees up together on her side as if trying to curl up on the bed. "You're disgustingly evil, can't you just let me go already?"
"Not a chance. Stop talking." With a tone that bespoke finality, Fiona snatched the eyeglasses off of the woman's face and slipped the sleeping mask over her head to cover her eyes, caressing the redhead's wild tresses into some sort of controlled mess. She traced her manicured nails over Myrtle's mouth, pushing her bottom lip down with her index finger. Myrtle let out another short breath, not taking the bait to bite the bitch's finger, but instead let her tongue sneak out to lick at the offending digit. "That's a good kitten." With a satisfied smirk, Fiona climbed onto the bed, kneeling next to Myrtle's head. She dragged her fingertips down the woman's neck to the hollow of her collarbone before stopping right before the swell of her breasts. Settling into the kneeling position comfortably, Fiona picked up the feather tickler and dusted it over Myrtle's neck and collarbone, retracing her fingertips' path. "If you show me how patient you can be, I'll consider letting you go," she whispered while staring at the nude body in front of her. The black feathers paused at Myrtle's collarbone and were slowly dragged down over the top of her breasts without touching the hardening peaks of her nipples.
Myrtle squirmed, compiling a list of every derogatory insult toward Fiona she could think of silently in her mind. This was pure torture, but thankfully it was the kind of torture that she could endure. As the feathers circled the soft flesh of her breasts, now coming down the side of her ribs to dust beneath the two swells of flesh, Myrtle choked back a whimper. Not being able to see Fiona or what she was doing made it all the more enticing, but also began to drive her crazy. Recalling the vision of the shapely blonde bending over by the dresser to give quite a display of her rear end covered only in black lace underwear, Myrtle groaned inwardly. She wanted so terribly to touch Fiona. If not with her bound hands, then her eyes, and now both had been taken away. The feathers began to travel lower, tickling the expanse of her slack abdomen, and then the width of her hips.
Knowing all too well that patience was something Myrtle excelled at in other areas of her life, Fiona only allowed the feathers to travel between the two points Myrtle wanted sated the most. She brushed the feathers lightly on the woman's pelvic bone for a moment and then began the trail back up to slide the toy between her breasts. "I'm surprised, really. Not one peep so far..." With a chuckle, Fiona traced the sides of Myrtle's body from just under her arms, along her ribcage, waist, hips, and the tops of her thighs, always making sure to keep the feathers just barely touching the area of her pelvic region. Using her free hand, Fiona couldn't help but brush her fingertips over her own collarbone and just below it, eyes closing briefly at the pleasant tickle.
Her breathing became labored, intensifying with each minute that passed with the damned feathers taunting her senses, but Myrtle remained quiet. She would squirm from time to time, hips involuntary rolling upward as the feathers came close to the one spot she most craved attention. In an attempt to center herself, Myrtle focused on the sensation of the toy making its course on her naked flesh, seeming to light a fire wherever it went. Somehow managing to get her breathing more under control, she turned her head to the side and let out a soft moan. To hell with being patient and stubbornly hiding her true feelings. To hell with the Supreme who thought she ruled over all. Myrtle may have been a loyal subject, but the bitch was now answering to her body's needs, and in a twisted way that aroused her even more. "Oh, Fiona..." The words left her mouth unexpectedly, and for a moment she half-wished that she had been gagged instead of blinded.
Letting out a quiet noise that indicated she was pleased with the mention of her name, Fiona slid her hand down her own chest, giving her breast a squeeze before gliding lower. As a reward, Fiona finally flicked the feathery toy over the hardened pebbles of Myrtle's chest, eliciting a whimper from the woman. Hearing Myrtle speak her name in such a manner did little to relax her needs, if anything it fueled her desire, and so her free hand continued downward to rest between her thighs.
"More, please," Myrtle gasped, pressing her face into the soft flesh of her own arm.
All too happy to oblige, Fiona stroked the feathers back and forth over Myrtle's chest, watching the woman's nude form writhe on the bed. Timing it perfectly, she skimmed her fingers around the edges of her lace undergarments and inserted her index finger into herself to mimic the same stroking inside her damp center. "Say my name again," she ordered, her voice rasping with the effort of trying to catch her own breath now.
Defiance reappeared again and Myrtle was silent for a moment, only focused on the tantalizing touch of the barely existent feathers on the taut skin of her breasts. She felt as though if she concentrated hard enough she could induce the release she was craving with just the feel of the tickling on her chest. With a heavy breath, she gave in, though, and whimpered the woman's name. "Fiona, baby, please."
Coming undone with the plea, Fiona rocked her hips methodically against her palm, using her thumb to circle the small bundle of nerves that would shoot pleasure through her body. Unfortunately, Myrtle wasn't so lucky for direct contact. The feather toy was swept across the fully erect nipples and then downward to her spread legs, dusting between her thighs. Fiona dragged the feathers up and down between Myrtle's legs, tickling the folds of her womanhood.
While Myrtle craved a more direct contact, she knew that wouldn't happen as suggested with the motion she felt next to her on the bed, so she continued to concentrate on the touch of the feathers against her wet folds, drawing in deep shuddering breaths as she bucked her hips upward. The promise of release was so close, but she needed something else. "What exactly are you doing to yourself, Fiona?" she asked breathlessly.
"Touching myself," she said quietly. "Sliding my finger inside of me where it's nice and wet, and rubbing on my clit. Pretend those feathers are my fingers." Gasping from her endeavor, Fiona closed her eyes for a moment, rotating her thumb furiously against herself.
The words from the woman's sultry voice along with the image invoked in her mind served to guide Myrtle over the roadblock to achieving complete bliss. She thrust her hips against the feather tickler with an indulgent cry, and Fiona let her do so, rubbing the toy firmly against her center.
Fiona paused in her quest to finish herself, withdrawing her hand from between her legs, and waited for Myrtle's hips to cease movement as she slowly traced the woman's body upward to her breasts again with the toy. Her own breathing had yet to steady as she leaned forward. "'Baby'? That's not what you'd say to someone you can't stand. You're a terrible liar, Myrtle. One that should be punished some more." Flicking the feathers over Myrtle's pale breasts, Fiona then set the item next to her. "Now, what should that punishment be?"