twiststheblade | Miho's Room

Miho's Room

(OOC: from here)

Miho pushes open the door, and backs into the room, smiling, eyes dark. There is a tiny drop of blood on her lower lip, and she licks it off, red tongue flickering briefly.

The room is sparse, the main piece of furniture being a huge futon in the middle of the room, low posts at it's corners. The window is open, but the room is only pleasantly cool. There's an ashtray and a crumpled soft-pack on the windowsill, but those are the only signs of clutter.

"Coming in?"

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Miho scoops the knife up and returns it to it's home, even as she follows the body before her down onto the bed. Wouldn't do to roll over on it, now. The other knife goes away also, and she returns to lips teeth hands to work on delicate white skin.

Delicate the skin is, bruising and blushing under the girl's lips. Josiane leans up, fighting not to be let go, just for the feel of the fight.

There is a throaty giggle, and Miho fights back, fingers bruising skin, jeans clad legs tangling in abandoned skirts. She rises, pins the woman's hips bwteen her knees and twists them, so that she is now half-buried under fabric, and looking up at the blonde, half-smiling.

Josie tries to lift her legs, skirt falling back and bare skin scratching against rough fabric. Her head arches back, thin skin of her neck showing.

"What sort of game is this?"

With another throaty chuckle, Miho fairly unceremoniously slings the blonde across her lap, and tugs off the skirts. She might even stoop so low as to administer a stinging slap to the buttocks thus bared, especially as they are positioned so temptingly, covered only by the sheerest cotton. Then the cotton undergarments are smoothly removed as well, and the now-naked blonde is rolled back onto her back.

"The kind of game that gets you naked," she laughs.

Swinging one leg, she straddles the woman's hips again, one black-clad leg snugly either side, fabric seeming even darker against pale skin. She takes one wrist in either of her own small hands, and quite slowly and deliberately handcuffs her to the head of the bed.

You didn't honestly think she didn't still have those somewhere handy, now?

Then, reaching sideways, she brings out a large square of white silk, which she slowly and deliberately folds into a long rectangle. Dark brown eyes fastened on blue ones, she leans forward, and silently covers those beautiful blue eyes.

-snk-

The silk falls over her eyes, smooth as skin, and she grins, biting her lower lip, letting her teeth sink into it, delighting at the pain. She pulls at the cuffs just a little, just for show, moving into an exaggerated pout while her legs squirm for just a little more contact.

And of course, those white teeth sinking into that red lip spur her to capture those lips with her own, even as the blades in her hands trail teasigly down the blonde's arms.

"So, princess," she says, voice light and conversational even as those featherlight points of blood-warm steel dance across the vulnerable points where blood passes so close the surface that it's very flow is visible, "do you have a name?"

"I do."

She says it, laughter on her tongue and light in her eyes while the blood pumps pumps pumps her heart thumping, and she can feel the metal like it's already there, like it's already inside. Her legs flit, playing up and down the girl's clad legs, the feel all the fabric all the more real for the fact that she can't see it.

"How nice."

The tip of one knife presses gently under the point of her chin this time.

"And what do I have to do to you to find out what it is?"

Suddenly, the kinife is gone, and the girl is gone, lithely twisting off the bed and landing noiselessly on the floor.

"Hmm?"

Her tone is still light, teasing, but viciously cruel for all that. It's an unusual combination, but it happens.

There's a gasp and a moan with the pressure and the pleasure gone, and Josiane looks around, trying to see what she can't. The swollen lips form a tight pout, for princesses always get what they want, and don't much care for toys taken away. "All one has to do is ask."

She is answered only by silence.

A long silence.

And then there is a chuckle from the direction of the window, low and throaty, and somehow very loud in the quiet. A soft exhalation, followed by another chuckle.

Then silence for a while.

The next time the chuckle sounds, it's closer, much closer, and the unfortunate scent of burning tobacco permeates the air.

Josie runs her pink tongue over her swollen lips, her head turning to every sound, every imagined sound. "Sweet thing," she calls out, soft and sweet and quiet. "Why don't you put that away and come back?"

"But I am here," and she is so close that her lips stroke the girl's ear, and her breath is hot across her cheek.

"Besides, no ashtray and," consideringly, and there is a spot of near-burning heat above the blonde's heart, "I wouldn't want to put it out on you. Such ugly scars."

Such scars wouldn't do, not at all, and Josiane goes deathly still under the cigarette, the only hint that she's still aware her rushing breath and the bite of her teeth into her lip. She keeps from turning her head to get at the girl's mouth, but only just barely.

So there's a chuckle, of feline glee, and a swift movement as the still-burning cigarette is flicked neatly across the room and into the ashtry. If the blonde had been able to see, she might well have been impressed.

Soft lips soothe the slightly reddened spot where the burning ember had not-quite rested, and a teasing light and gentle hand plays over gently defined muscles.

"And it would be such a shame to spoil such beauty."

Josiane smiles shyly, as a princess does when complimented, though there's nothing shy about her. There's a light gasp and a giggle ass the light touches on her skin -- light touches that are perhaps more tormenting than the rough ones.

Well, that was perhaps the idea, and as the light touches are interspersed with harder ones that become harder and more frequent, the butterfly carresses start to seem even more tender and ghostly for the contrast.

Once again the hands and lips disappear, but before the girl can react to their disappearance, another lithe movement brings the tiny dark-hared form atop her again. This time, there is no barrier between skin and skin, as Miho had obviously taken the time to do more than smoke a cigarette.

Josiane's smile grows less shy and less innocent and becomes less of a smile as her skin comes alive under the girl's nimble hands and mouth. She squirms, unable to keep still under the sensual onslaught, and when the girl returns, there's a hiss of pleasure and Josie brings her leg up to wrap around the girl's waist.

And there's a press and a wriggle and Miho is spread along her, legs neatly entwined with the longer limbs of the woman beneath her. She buries her mouth in the tender shadowed spot beneath her jawline, and closes her eyes, breath coming fast and shallow.

Two heartbeats thunder almost in time, seperated only by thin walls of bone and blood. Miho stretches her arms up, laying them along the blondes, fingers curling over the black steel of the cuffs.

At the touch of skin at her wrist where metal meets flesh, Josie's fingers search out the others, trying to get a hold of something. Short and shallow comes her own breath, her heart pounding up in her throat, and she moves as she can, where she can, reaching out blindly with her mouth.

At the grasping fingers, Miho takes pity and slides up, further, tangling her own fingers with the blindly searching ones. And if this has the effect of nestling one firm thigh neatly in between the girl's legs, what of it? And if well-trained muscles in that thigh should happen to clench and soften, surely that is an accident.

An accident that has Josie writing on the sheets. She squeezes the girl's hands with her own, turning her head to let out a sigh, and is greeted by warm, soft flesh. She sucks a bit into her mouth, working it between her lips and her teeth.

There is a barely stifled moan, and Miho's nails bite into the soft palms of the hands she holds. She bows her head for a moment, then drags herself back down, nails raking their path. Her lips capture briefly bereft ones, and her hands continue down between them, pinching and smoothing and writhing.

Josie's moan isn't stifled at all; nor is her wimper when her toy is taken away. She writhes, arching up into the places where bruises will soon form against her pale white skin.

The kiss is vicious and hard as they have all been, and her hands are dancing between them but soon kisses aren't enough, and she slides down again, trailing stinging punishing kisses as she goes, until she can replace her fingers with her lips and her tongue.

Fingers bite into white flesh once again, although whether it is to pin the girl down or to hold herself in this place she could not have told you.

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