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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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.

Up higher and higher Josie floats, above the girl's hands even, it seems, pushing and straining to feel the bite of her nails on her skin, anything to ground her, keep her from floating up and away into the girl's mouth, warm and wet and harsh, and Josiane can't keep herself quiet.

Right now Miho's entire world is her lips and hot flesh and nails and skin and bright red half-moon cuts. And screaming is all she wanted to hear, and until screams die away into whimpers she's not going anywhere. Thse handcuffs are so useful, she would reflect if she had the mind to do so.

All Josie knows is the hot wet flesh against her and the cold hard bite of metal on on her skin and the dig of nails into her flesh. She'd stop to reflect that her throat will be sore later, along with the rest of her, but all she can think is hot white fire flesh and the handcuffs chafe her wrists and she arches up into mouth and teeth scrape and she gives one last scream before she comes crashing back down to the bed, rushing back into her body.

And no she is not kind and no she is not gentle and no she is not stopping. Until there is a please or a begging voice she is staying just where she is, doing just what she's doing, and her timing is perfect.

Pleasure turns to pain turns to heatpainlovedesire and there are light tears dampening the cloth over Josiane's eyes as her body goes on overload. She opens her mouth and a moan comes out, unintelligable words whispering their way across her tongue and her traitorous body moves, keeps moving.

Well, now, and that isn't a request for her to stop, so Miho doesn't. Perhaps the girl will pass out before she manages to say anything coherent. Which would be a pity, it occurs to her, so she lets the girl down slowly, reeling her back in wit soft carresses, and eventually, carefully, slinks back up the quivering body to nestle at her side.

One hand soothes gently, long slow stroking movements. She kisses the pale shoulder she rests her head on, and reaches up, gently unfastening the handcuffs.

Josiane brings her hands back to her side and lets the fabric stay over her eyes, leaving it for the girl to move, and darts her light pink tongue out between her lips. Her body is shaking and shuttering and her breath comes in short gasps as she tries to relax, her hands tingling and reaching out for skin skin body skin.

And Miho is sweet and Miho is kind and Miho needs contact just as much, and she swarms over onto the woman, lips gentle now, if insistent. She cranes her head up to kis eyelids gently through silk, smiling a little at finding it wet with tears.

One little hand removes the fabric, and she smiles down at wet blue eyes.

"Hello, princess."

Josie leans up, arches up, kisses and wraps her arm around the girl.

"Sweet thing."

There is a wriggle and a moan and a gasp that greets this movement, and the girl will find she has a boneless Miho melting in her arms. Not entirely limp, though, for her hands are curled into messy blonde hair, and her lips are still insistent.

Josiane meets her lips kiss for kiss, and her hand moves up to card through the girl's hair, soft and sweet and Josie turns to the side, pouring the girl onto the sheets. She grins wickedly and leans down for a kiss, finding and tasting skin and sweat and blood and pulling the girl up into her arms.

Now that she's not concentrating with her whole mind on someone else, she's finding it hard to concentrate with even a shred of her mind on anything. Her body knows what it wants, though, and she wraps arms and legs around the other woman, pressing up into her, all contact is what she needs.

All contact with a hand between, feeling and tickling and moving and touching until she can feel the girl moving and writhing under her the way she had.

Of course there is a whimper and a moan and a gasp all rolled into one and all stifled into the woman's neck, and her teeth sink in of their own accord, helpless. Her hands, equally helpless, rake up the damaged back before her, setting off bleeding a fresh and the hotness on her hands makes her moan again and bite harder.

A corresponding moan, then, from Josiane and she hangs her head, moving her mouth down, pulling skin and sensitive nipples into her mouth, soft and salty and moving harder and faster and hotter, teeth scratching the lovely skin beneath her.

And it's all she can do to keep breathing, and her moan isn'ta scream. Not yet. But her hands tangle in the sheets and head and neck and back arch so she is bowed up from the bed. There are some advantages to daily yoga practise and intensive training. Flexibility being one.

Her moan isn't a scream, and Josie takes that personally. She shifts, her body, her hand, the girl, and she's there and she's there.

No, not a scream, never a scream, but she does bite through her lip, and a thin line of blood runs across her face. And she's stretched taut like a bowstring and something has to give, and something does. It's almost audible when the tension breaks, and she sags back to the matress, shaking. Crying again, in fact, but not in the heartbroken way she was earlier.

With a whimper that's a command she tangles trembling hands in blonde curs and pulls gently.

(never scream)

Moving up up up and back to her body into her body holding the girl's body Josiane layers her face with kisses, smearing blood and tears all together with her lips and laughs as she pulls her close.

Yes, tears and laughter and whispered thanks and sweat-slick bruised limbs tangling together. Miho licks salty lips and smiles, eyes bright.

"I never did get your neame, princess. Who are you?"

Miho's Room

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