Disclaimer: Mine with a little help.  Don’t like two women loving each other in the carnal sense, stay away.  Don’t like SM, stay away.  Hope you enjoy. PWP

Ash White
By Panther

 

I remember that night well, the night that I had first met her. 

Before that night, I had only known what gossip the maidservants and scullery maids exchanged with each other.   I had long since learned the art of listening without being seen and being in my thirteenth year, caught between the threshold of being of age and a child, there would times when even the adepts would pass a tidbit along to me as I tended to the most trivial of their niceties.   

No one had knew where she had come from or her lineage.  Everyone knew she was a Warrlorder, a title that disregarded her being a woman.  It was said that she was a D’Angelque, for her beauty was absolutely breathtaking.  There were rumors of her rare talent of war that rivaled the sellswords of the Sahttal Brotherhood.  All attested to the inhuman darkness that turned her eyes to shades of ash.

Little did I know how understated such gossip was. 

My name is simply Gizelle.  I know nothing of my mother or father, therefore I have no surname to call my own.  I am simply Gizelle.  

I was a foundling, taking in as a fosterling into Lianas House when my face had caught the Donimica’s eye.  The peasant who had picked me from the rancid gutter was paid a fair enough price in his eyes and thus was born my present life.

As all fosterlings are indebted to their House, I was trained in the art of serving of Dinah.  The Donimica of Lianas House had decided to keep my marque and I was shuttled into the training of the pleasure arts along with several other children.  It was because of this that I had the rare treat of finally attending the Midnight Masque. 

While every House of the thirteen in the Nocturne Court has their own Masque at some point in the year, the Midnight Masque is an event that is entirely different.  It’s roots are older than the coming of Yeuha, and it is a celebration of the passing of the old year.  Lianas House has the honor and privilege of being the host of the Midnight Masque for they are the First House.  The walls of all the other Houses empty and their doors shut as they all flock to Lianas House.  Being a Masque, all Houses attend with their adepts, guests, and Donimicas dressed in splendid costumes and some dressed in close to nothing at all.  

There is no exchange of coins or fulfillments of contracts on this night.  Any liaisons are arranged from pure fancy and taste.  Not being of age, I was, much to my dismay, exempt from such revelry.  No patrons are allowed, save for those that have been granted a token by a Donimica.  Such tokens are a rarity, given only to those of royal lineage or those who are deemed worthy of Dinah’s embrace. 

She was such. 

I had been circulating amongst those present with my tray of ritual joie, serving the guests, before the Donimica’s along with Tamarina, Lazarethe, Rabecca, and Fauber, when there was a commotion that drew a gathering crowd in the doorway of the Great Hall.    

“Torisie d’Belcrot.”

Murmurs erupted from those around me as I wormed my through the sea of bodies, my tray of potent joie tipping precariously, a few of the tiny crystal glasses nearly upsetting their precious contents.  When I first laid my eyes upon her, my legs turned to water, depositing me neatly into a kneeling position at her feet. 

She was tall, as tall, if not taller, than the tallest man I had ever seen.  While everyone else in attendance were dressed in white, silver, gold, and gossamer, she was dressed in black.  Her drake mask was the so black that it seemed to eat up all the light as a pair of horns sprouted from just above her slanted eyeholes and curled back over her head.  She wore black knee high boots with black leather trousers tucked into them.  Steel vambraces glinted from her forearms as her black gloves conformed to her long fingered hands.  A shirt of ebony silk shimmered with her every movement from underneath her black velvet cloak. 

Her skin, what little I could see, was a dusky shade that attested her time beneath the sun.  Her shoulders were broad, broader than some men that I knew, a clear statement of her strength.  Her walk was confident, sure and dominant.

And her eyes.

Her eyes were inhuman.  They were the palest of pale gray, cold and steely, like the finest of marble.  They were arresting and alluring, shocking and frightening.  Any who stood in her gaze would have surely trembled under her scrutiny. 

I knelt, the crystal chiming against the silver plate with my trembling, my head bowed.

Her boots stopped in front me, the toes inches from my skin.  The gossamer tunic that I wore did nothing to assuage the cold shiver that trickled down my spine.

“Joy.” I managed to breath out. 

I heard her pilfer a glass and swallow the joie before she deposited in back empty onto my tray.  Cool leather caressed my cheer, cupping my chin.  I shuddered as she raised my face to meet hers.  Her white gray eyes speared right through me and branded my soul.  She leaned down and tilted my face to grace me with a gentle kiss.  My eyes fluttered shut, my body singing as I tasted the cold spice of joie and the earthy fire of her lips.

“Joy.”

Her low voice rumbled over the silent gathering as she stood to her full height.  She gave me another small touch before she was swallowed up by the attendants of the Midnight Masque, leaving me kneeling on the cold polished stone floor.  

I gather what wits I had left and rose onto shaking legs.  My tray of crystal glasses was emptied of all joie, granting me the reprieve of slipping into the kitchens for a brief respite. 

Somehow I managed to secret her glass beneath one of the cabinets in the kitchens. 

I was sent back on my way with a fresh tray of full glasses all too soon.  Glass after glass was taken and drunk, some of the attendants gracious enough to return them to my tray while others simply allowed them to fall from their hands to shatter upon the floor.  Most paid little mind to me, other than to compliment on how I would look when my virgin-price was to be bid. 

She was another story entirely.

I was aware of her eyes constantly watching me, following my every move.  It was unnerving and exciting.  I snuck glances at her, trying to see if I could catch her at her game.  It was a foolish endeavor.  She was far too quick and cunning for me to best her at her game. 

The Donimica noticed this and a calculating smile curled the corners of her lips.  It would be this smile that sealed a large portion of my fate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

My fourteenth anniversary came far too slowly for me.  I had been impatient since the night that I had tasted Torisie on my lips.  The nights that I had spent underneath my covers with my fingers caressing her glass and my soundless mouth breathing her name had drawn out my misery.  I knew that she would not come, that she would not deign to bid on a fresh, inexperienced courtesan.  Still, I could not help but hope and pray to Dinah that she would be there to at least witness the bidding. 

Serria, one of the adepts that had me in her charge and the only one who had a measure of fondness in her heart for me, dressed me that night.  I was nervous and elated as I stood impatiently.  Serria shook her head and poked me in the side as she buttoned up the nape of my forrest green gown of crushed velvet.  I stared at myself in the viewing glass, trying to convince myself that the creature in the mirror was indeed me. 

“You will make your marque before your twentieth anniversary.”

I turned my head, pausing ever so slightly at the absence of hair brushing against my neck. “Truly?  You believe that it will be so?”

Serria traced my bared back, her lacquered nails brushing against the circular cutout edged with silver piping.  A small smile was reflected towards me from her twin in the viewing glass. 

“You are a D’Angelque.  It will not be your flawless alabaster skin or the beautiful features of your face.”

I blushed, irritated at the feeling of the heat that I was sure had spread to the very tips of my toes.

“No, my dear Gizelle, it will be your eyes that will attract the majority of your patrons.”

Her fingers were warm against my skin as she settled them on the curve of my neck. 

“You have eyes that would rival any gem and with depths that would rival any ocean.  They are azure, sapphire, cerulean, topaz, cerulean.  They are charming, captivating, full of something that can only be described as ethereal, otherworldly.” Serria patted the small of my back as she stepped back a pace. “Pure, innocent seduction.”

I stared at myself, trying to see in myself when she saw. 

I did not.

I had been raised in a court, a House were imperfection was none existent.  The adepts, the Donimica and her Scion were all beautiful, breathtaking in their own unique beauty.  I had not musical talents like Serria, nor did I posses any incredible, discernible features, like Rabecca’s ermine white hair.  I stared at the plain creature in the viewing glass, wishing that I possessed these talents.

A maidservant knocked upon the door and inquired upon my state of dress.  The Donimica’s guests had all arrived and were all waiting for my presence.

Serria embraced me for a brief moment before thrusting me towards the door.  I thanked the maidservant, drew in a deep breath, and strode to the Great Hall, towards my fate. 

All had been seated and silver plates and platters set before them.  The Donimica gave a shallow nod of approval from her seat at the very head of the immense table, her beautifully aged face unbreaking in it’s stoic seriousness.  I took my own seat at the very end of the table, very aware of the dozens of eyes that were on me. 

I sat upon pins and bobbins throughout the entire meal. 

Those closest to me attempted to draw me into their conversations, and while I was ever thankful for something to occupy the chaotic thoughts in my mind, I listened with only half an ear.  There were those who had the audacity to touch me upon the shoulder or the arm, something the Donimica tolerated with hidden irritation.  I did not reciprocate the gesture, only smiled up at their wanton faces and nodded.  Others, thoroughly inebriated,  spoke loudly of me, of wanting to discover my true assets.  These I swallowed with hardly a raised eyebrow.

What I sought, I did not find. 

She was not there.

I braved the merriment with a smile, abet a little forced.  While I was disappointed with her absence, I was still eager for my very first assignation. 

The Donimica concluded the meal and adjourned all her guests to the Grand Ballroom.  The House clock chimed the hour of middle night just as everyone was comfortably ensconced on their padded cushions and reclining divans.  Servants poured chilled wine into every chalice before retiring to the fringes of the room, silently waiting for the need of their service. 

I knelt on a cushion at the Doniminca’s feet, my dress pooling around me in a verdant halo. 

“The time for bidding is at hand.  Who shall start open this gift this servant of Dinah is offering?” Her voice was powerful without volume, silencing all conversations in the room.

“Three hundred.” A deep voice intoned from the back from Lord Decampo, a man with a ponderous middle and muddy brown eyes. 

“Four hundred.” Another aristocrat motioned lazily.  

“Pah, a insult, surely.” Lady Selethe smiled warmly at me, a wink ghosting across her eyes. “Six hundred.”

“Six fifty.”

Lady Selethe did not seemed place that her adversary, Ducess Relquina, was bidding against her.

“Seven hundred.” A man in crimson silk and an eyepiece stared at me, his eagerness apparent in his trousers.

“Eight hundred.”

The bidding bounced from sophisticate to sophisticate, the price higher and higher with each bidding.  I could scarcely believe that my virgin-price would amount to this much, as I gazed wide-eyed at all of the Donimica’s guests. 

“Seven thousand five hundred.”

I had long since ceased to trace the bid to it’s issuer, my eyes and my neck aching from attempting the task.  The Donimica seemed pleased that at my price, as her eyes had lightened.  Her face itself was still cold, without emotion. 

I glanced at my bidder, a gentleman with a thin, pinched look about him.  He was tall, if the length of his body was any indication, and his eyes were hard chips of flint, razor sharp.  He swung his calfskin boots off of the divan he was reclining on, the anticipation glowing from his narrow shoulder when no one contested his bid. 

The Donimica waved her Scion over, a contract already scribed for the occasion.  My bidder stepped forth, his eager movements giving him the appearance of a bird, a stork or a crane.  He took the pen and was about to ink his name upon the bottom of the vellum when a low cough rang throughout the hush that had fallen.

“Ten thousand.”

The Donimica discreetly withdrew the contract, turning her eyes to the shadowed form in the doorway of the Grand Ballroom.

A tall woman in dull armor made of steel and black leather stepped forth, white gray eyes glaring at the birdlike aristocrat that was simpering before her.  She strode up to the Donimica’s elevated chair, stripping her long fingered hands of their leather coverings.  Steel mail chimed softly as she bowed slightly to the Donimica, her eyes dismissing the guests that were whispering amongst themselves. 

“Do you issue a counter-bid?” Her voice was hard, laced with a hint of intimidation.

He shook his head, retiring to his chair, glaring at her broad back safely from behind her. 

The Donimica handed her my contract, watching intently as her Scion recorded Torisie d’Belcrot’s neat signature.  She sealed it with her signet, taken from the chain around her neck.  Fine sand was poured over the ink and thus, my virgin-price had been paid. 

I rose from my kneeling cushion, hardly daring to believe that my angel, my dark seraph had come.  I trembled, unable to look her in the eye.  My weak knees bent in a deep curtsey, the temperature in the room chilling me to my soul. 

Images of a vision becoming reality filtered through my mind’s eye.  Terrors of mistakes and mishaps shook my courage to the very quick.  My chest felt heavy as I eager awaited her word.  Tonight would be the night of my liberation, of my freedom at the hands of my dark seraph.

Alas, it was not to be.

Torisie passed a bit of parchment to the Donimica and left just as quickly as she had come, leaving me adrift in my sea of confusion.  She had paid ten thousand markks, surely she was going to collect upon it.  Despair raced through me, bringing the unfamiliar sting of tears to my eyes.

The celebration was ended and I was left standing alone with the Donimica as all the guests filtered out.  She stared at me, her hand reaching up to cup my chin.

“No tears, now.  The Warrlorder does not mean to pay and leave without collecting your virgin-price.” She passed to me the fragment of parchment that Torisie had handed her. “It would appear that Torisie wished for you to attend a masque with her on the eve after next.  She will collect then.  Is that acceptable to you, Gizelle?”

I nodded, cradling the paper as if it were a bird.  I curtsied low and hurriedly dismissed myself from an inwardly Donimica, eager to secret away my new treasure from prying and public eyes.  My crushed spirit has once again been graced with mended wings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

True to her word, Torisie sent a carriage for me on the night after the next of my bidding.  I sat on the velveteen, shaking from both the irregularities in the road and from my own anticipation.  The streets and avenues seemed to pass far too slowly as the handsome pair of bays made their way towards Torisie’s abode. 

I could barely contain my anxiety as we passed through a pair of orate, wrought iron gate and approached a large, stone manor.  A butler was waiting at the larger double doors  to escort me to my guests chambers.  He bowed and ushered me in, passing my vermilion  cloak to a maidservant.  I climbed up a set of stairs after in, thanking him softly as he held open the first door in the torch-lit hallway. 

Two personal servants were awaiting me, a large, steaming bath settled between them.  They took my dress and bodice, placing them on the neatly made bed.  I was scrubbed twice over with soft soap, dried off and massaged with fragrant, exotic oils.  I floated in my lassitude, my anxiety placated just a bit, as they brushed my hair until it shone like a rook’s wing. 

“My Lady, it is time.”

I blinked and nodded, turning on my back to sit up as one of the maidservants held out my evening garment.  She held it out for my inspection, her eyes darting between it and me. 

To say that I was shocking is entirely inadequate. 

It was a rope harness that certainly left nothing to the imagination.  Deftly, artfully placed knots gave it it’s shape, creating white triangles that glimmered with the gold threading interweaved in the soft linen.  It would have left me naked before all the attendants of the masque. 

The servant took no mind of my protests and helped me into the contraption, tugging here and there to ensure that the fit was snug.  I stood there, in all my mostly naked glory, trying to find a calm to my clamoring trepidation.  The other servant slipped a half-mask over my face, sweeping my long, fair hair to settle about my shoulders.

I stared at myself in the viewing glass, a naked creature with naught but a white phoenix mask and rope triangles for covering. 

“Exquisite.”

I whirled around, nearly upsetting myself and the two personal servants.

Torisie stood, leaning against the door, dressed as always in her black attire.  She stalked towards me, her eyes caressing my exposed frame.  A frown marred her perfect face, drawing her black brows in a deep furrow.

“However, your dress seems to be missing something….”

She motioned for her butler to enter, plucking a velvet bag from his hand.  A quick pull and it’s contents were emptied into her hand. 

She encircled me in her arms, my skin burning with the cold collar that she clasped around my neck.  Torisie held me at arm’s length, studying the effect.  She seemed satisfied, for she slipped on her drake mask and motioned for me to come.

Obediently, I followed.

We took the same carriage that had transported me to her manor, Torisie staring intently during the entirety of the journey.  Her ash gray eyes burned me from within, sending my own eyes skittering everywhere but at her.  My actions did not go unnoticed, for she reached over to take my hand in hers.  I managed not to sigh too loudly, my exhalation masked by the whine of the carriage wheels against stone.

We arrived at the masque all too soon, the slowing of the carriage taking her hand with it.  We disembarked in the courtyard of an opulent manor that was brightly lit within and without.  She offered her assistance in aiding me in my decent.  I was surprised to have her throw a cloak of sheer gossamer about my shoulders, clasping it with diamond bespeckled pendant of a hawk.  A doorman ushered us in, guiding us through a pair of glass doors and out into the inner courtyard. 

A marquee had been erected within the inner courtyard, sheltering the masked attendants from the night sky.  We were met by the noble who was gracious enough to host the masque at his manor.  Torisie inclined her head, her greeting as silent as creeping death.  He returned the gesture, abet deeper. 

“How wonderful it is for you to grace us with your presence.” The red fox gave a bit of a start as his eyes met my body. “Might I have the pleasure of knowing this striking creature accompanying you?”

She motioned me over, her motions lazy while her body was thrumming with tension. 

“This is Gizelle.  She is my consort for the night.  Gizelle, might I introduce you to Marrus de Enviers, Lord of the de Enviers manor in which we are situated at the present moment.”

I curtsied, murmuring my well wishes. 

A loud commotion at the doorway caused him to look past us.  Torisie seized the opportunity and excused us from his graces.  She seated herself on a cluster of padded cushions, motioning for me to do so as well.  I knelt obediently, my eyes taking in her resplendent confidence.  She reached her hand out to me, her head tilted just the slightest in a silent question.  I took it, allowing myself to be pulled towards her. 

The entertainment for the night was arranged in the middle of the semi circle of cushions and reclining forms.  Bards and troubadour plied their arts, as did a performer, gladly accepting the treats and trinkets that inebriated aristocrats passed off to them.  Torisie and myself were the only ones who had restrained themselves to a minute amount of alcohol. 

The masque wound down rather quickly as the night passed the middle mark, leaving the nobles alone in their shadowed seductions and wine induced slumber.  We watched them, interested, her with her hand stoking my hair and myself with my cheek pressed against the smooth leather of her boots.  Torisie endured this inactivity for all that she could before she stood and reached a hand down to me. 

She excused herself from the masque, stopping to bid Marrus de Enviers a good eve.  He grunted something at her, too intent on his tryst with a maidservant.  We climbed into our carriage, Torisie again helping me into the coach.  Our return to her manor was just as silent as our departure, her hand cradling mine in a light grasp. 

Once we had been deposited in her our courtyard, she waved off her doorman.  Instead, she hooked a finger underneath my collar, pulling her towards me.  I fell against her, a willing captive.  Her eyes searched mine, her hands cradling my head in hers. 

“Tonight, you are mine.”

I weakly nodded, swallowing hard against the heat that burned through me. 

She released me, turning neatly on her heel.

“Come.”

I followed her through the doors, past the stairs and into a dimly lit corridor.  She ushered me through a plain door, closing and locking it behind her. 

It was a plain room with no ornate or gilded things that are usually found in wealthy manors.  The bed was plain, stuffed with plucked feathers and sheeted with black silk.  The frame, headboard, and footboard was plain oak, sanded and lacquered to a fine, glossy finish.  A cabinet stood beside it, devoid of any carvings.  There was a fireplace on one wall, a pair of crossed swords being the only ornamentation in the room. Thick tapestries lined to stone floors, leeching away the chill that would have pervaded otherwise.

 Pair of hand unclasping my cloak startled me, making me turn swiftly around to face Torisie.  She lifted it from my shoulders, settling it on a chair in a corner that I had missed. 

“Would you like something to drink?”

I shook my head, my throat too dry for a verbal answer. 

She divested me and herself of the masks, setting them with my gossamer cloak.  I watched her as she made her way to a small table that had a decanter and a glass set upon it.  She poured a measure of pure water into the glass, bringing it to her lips.  My eyes followed the undulating lines of her swallows, tracing the path of an errant drop of water that had escaped. 

Torisie approached to me until our bodies were mere breaths apart, holding the glass up to my dry lips. 

“Drink.”

I did as she bade, sipping on the sweet water.  A smile curled her lips, catching the corner of my eye.  I nearly coughed, upsetting a bit of water.  I reached a hand to wipe away the accidental moisture, a flush coloring my cheeks, making my embarrassment rather apparent.  She stilled my hand, her eyes focused the trickle that meandered down my chin. 

I gasped as her lips brushed against my skin, tracing the droplets’ journey back to my mouth.  Her kiss was a whisper, a bare caress that was light enough to make me think I was dreaming of her again.  Her fingers teased the interrupted planes of my bared skin, her nails drawing out shivers that shook me like an autumn leaf.              

I let out a cry as she deftly twisted one of the knots in my rope dress, just so that knot perched on my nether lips tightened, biting into me with sweet, painful pleasure.  My body fairly thrummed as I pressed my face into her neck, trying to regain some sense of composure.  She wrapped me in her strong embrace, filling me with a sense of warmth and safety that I had never felt. 

“Do you wish to continue?” Her low voice brought forth another shiver.

I nodded, extracting my face from her neck.  She smiled and kissed me again, gentle parting my lips with her silken tongue.  I entangled my hands in her hair, drinking in the intoxicating taste of her.  While I had had many long arduous hours of study in my art, her kisses were infinitely more sensual then the instructional demonstrations that I had received.  It felt as if she was she had ignited a fire in me, her sweet skin burning me, her breaths branding my own name upon me, her lips searing all the fantasies that I had built of her.

She pulled away, her eyes holding me bound and captive before her.

“Are you mine?”

I nodded, incapable of speech.

A small smile brushed the fringe of cold ash, making them glitter in the flickering candlelight. 

“You are aware what a signaling is, yes?”

I nodded once more. 

“Then you are aware of what I am asking you.” Torisie leaned her forehead against mine, a interesting feat as I was considerably more diminutive in stature. 

“Yes, My Lady.” My voice was mangled, hoarse and raw. 

“No, I want no titles between us.” Her thumbs brushed the corners of my lips, making them quiver against my will. “What will by your word?”

A title surged forth, poring forth from my tongue.

“Seraph.”   

She nodded, gracing my forehead with a chaste kiss.

“Undress me, Gizelle.”

I did as she bade, sliding her heavy cloak of black from her broad shoulders.  Her silk shirt pooled like liquid ebony, slipping from my fingers.  My hands trembled as I knelt before her, trying to extract her feet from her boots.  My body shook as I gazed up at her, my unsteady hands attempting to unlace the draws in her trousers. 

“No.” She stopped me, pulling away just enough to allow the air to settle between us. “Later.”

I was led to the bed, her body guiding mine in reverse.  She gave my shoulder a gentle shove when I could go o further, sending me onto my back.  Her long frame loomed above me, a predator staring down at her prey.  Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, curtaining her actions as she bent to feast upon the skin of me neck. 

I bared it to her, my eyes shuttering shut as her lips traveled lower and lower, her smooth tongue soothing the painful nips that her teeth extracted upon me.  She took my wrists in one of her hands and pinned them to the mattress, my upstretched arms baring my breasts to her pleasure.  The other was cupped around the breast that was not occupied by her mouth, caressing it lightly, bidding the fine hair on my skin to raise. 

I arched and cried out as her hand wandered lower, her fingers combing through the trimmed hair between my legs.  She released my wrists, motioning for me sit up against my silent protests.

“On your knees.”

I knelt on the edge of her bed, my mouth drier than the sands of the Shalhal Desert.  The whisper of drawn steel echoed off the walls, drawing my attention to the blade that she held up for my perusal.  She placed it against my cheek, the cold searing against the heat that suffused my body.  The keen blade traced the outline of my face, her eyes following its path with focused intent.  It slid off the end of my chin to settle in the valley between my breasts, rasping against the my harness. 

A swift flick of Torisie’s wrist and a slip of her hand and the blade was buried to the hilt in the mattress between my legs.  She cocked her head to the side, pulling me towards her by the nape of the neck.  Her hands traced the dips and hills of my hands, curling around my wrists and up my arms.  Her fingers slipped underneath the bonds on my chest and swept up, taking my arms with them as she twisted the rope once and hung me from a hook embedded in the overhanging rafter.  Somehow, she had managed to divest and bind me in one movement. 

She bade to me come off the bed, helping me in the endeavor.  I was hung, suspended by my arms, on the tips of my toes.    

Torisie eased behind me and removed the blade from the bed, running the point between my shoulders and down my back. 

“Remember your signal, Gizelle.”

I nodded. 

Her blade was sharp, exceedingly so, as was the pain when she parted my flesh.  I grew breathless as her blade marked a sigil upon my back with excruciating slowness.  A curtain of crimson washed over my eyes, making my vision blur.  Her hands caressed me, perversely gentle as my body grew as taut as a drawn bowstring. The thin line of my own hot blood trickled down my back, down the crease between my cheeks and down my legs.  I felt Torisie’s tongue on my back, tasting the path that my blood had taken. 

She ceased cutting and emerged from behind me, her lips stained crimson.  Her eyes were luminous and full of something that desire could not touch upon.  She bent to her to kiss me, to give me a taste of myself on her lips.  I leaned into the kiss, unmindful of the rope that was cutting into my skin.  Torisie took pity on me and placed herself before me, her free hand cupping my chin. 

A sharp point against the hollow in my neck pulled me away from her.  She smiled down at me, her teeth white and even.  I swallowed as it trailed up to my chin, forcing me to tilt my head up.  I felt it prick my skin, a tiny star of pain that wrapped itself around my face like a tender lover. 

“You wear my mark, Gizelle, and my collar.” Torisie murmured into my ear as her arms encircled me, her blade’s touch light enough to draw an angry red line down my spine. “Yet, I desire to claim you completely.  Will you allow me that pleasure?”

I nodded earnestly. 

She released me, catching me as I swayed unsteadily on me feet.  I felt lightheaded and inebriated, like I had drunk a flagon of the most potent of wines.  She swept me up in her arms, cradling me like a little child.  I curled in her embrace, my hands clutching at the unforgiving strength she so easily displayed.  I closed my eyes, drinking in the feel of her skin, the heady scent that was uniquely hers, the heat that radiated from her muscular frame.  I felt her seat herself on the bed, settling me in her lap.

“Gizelle?”

The worry in her voice touched me to the very quick.  My tongue had ceased to function, so I assured her that I was quite well in a different manner.  She groaned and tightened the circle of her arms as I suckled on the vein on her neck.  Emboldened by her response to my touch, I allowed my mouth to travel lower and lower, my lips and tongue mapping each small, pale scar that marred her beautiful chest. 

A low growl rose from the depths of her chest, vibrating through the both of us.  She twisted and laid me out on my back, her body pinning mine against the cool sheets.  I pressed my hips against her taut stomach, my head thrown back in pure pleasure as she ground down against me. 

I whimpered when she shifted, a small part of myself fearing that I had disappointed her, that I had been inadequate.  She breathed reassurances into my skin, her blunt nails grounding me to the welcome reality of her solid presence.  Her hair brushed over my breasts, trailing like silken midnight over my stomach as she laid her head against my thigh.  Her breaths ghosted across the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, drawing out shudders that shook my entire being. 

All of my training could not have prepared me for the shock of her mouth on my nether lips.  I fair sprang out of the bed when she pressed a gentle kiss there.  My heart thundered against the confines of my chest as her tongue parted my folds.  Her hands cupped my cheeks, lifting me up as she tasted the desire that painted the inside of my thighs.  I buried my hands in her hair, holding her as close as I could. 

She traced my lips with her fingers, teasing me relentlessly.  I cried out as she slid them into my wetness, filling me. She slowly thrust one, then two of her long fingers inside, her tongue stoking my nub in tandem.  I rocked against her, trying to draw her deeper.  She refused me, insistent on her slow rhythm.  I settled my hands on her shoulders, fearful that I would tear out her hair as my fingers clenched. 

Torisie brought her lips back to mine, sharing the taste of my own desire with me.  I wrapped my arms around her shoulder, ravishing her lips with pure carnal need.  She allowed my transgression, permitting the invasion of her mouth.  Her fingers stroked me still, making my body strain against hers.

She swallowed my cry as she suddenly pushed past my veil.  I tore myself away from her, burying me face in her shoulder, the throbbing pain leaving spots of black beneath my eyelids.  She held me, her fingers still inside me. 

“Gizelle?”

I detached my face from her shoulder long enough to whisper hoarsely into her ear.

“Please.”

I felt her cheek rub against mine as she slowly pulled back.  Her eyes were soft and gentle, a warm gray as she kissed me sweetly. 

The pad of her thumb softly stroked my nub, making me push up against her hand once more.  I groaned, my eyes shutting on their own accord as she dusted my eyelids, my cheeks, and my lips with light kisses.  I stopped her, cradling her head in my hands.  She stilled, staring at me with unblinking desire. 

I kissed her again, teasing her lips to allow her tongue to come out a play.  She welcomed the invitation and explored my mouth with infinite slowness.  I wrapped my legs around her, opening myself fully to her fingers, pressing myself harder onto her.  She acquiesced and stroked her thumb harder against me, bringing me higher than I had ever been before. 

A strangled cry issued forth from my lips as my climax ripped through me.  I felt as if I had been stuck my a wave of heated water, like I had detached myself from my own body.  I felt myself contracting around her fingers, as if I was trying to anchor her to that spot.  Torisie swallowed my cry, her fingers slowing as her palm curled to cup my sex. 

When the wondrous tremors finally ceased, I forced my eyes to open.  She was staring down at me, concern and need warring with each other in her eyes.  I brought my nails down over her chest, raking them over he nipples, and down her stomach.  Her breathing stilled for a long moment as she bowed her head, her gray eyes shut tight.  I retraced the path that my fingers had taken, outlining the tendons that stood out in her neck. 

I felt hot leather against my skin, reminding me of her state of dress.  I reached down to unlace her trousers, only to stop at the sudden surprise encased in them. 

A smile turned up the corners of my lips as I pressed against hardness in them.  She clenched her jaw tight and pushed down against me, her arms braced on  either side of my head.  I slowly unlaced her trousers, dragging them off the perfect slope of her buttocks.  She wore no undergarments beneath her pants, leaving her phallus unrestrained.  I took it in my hand, wrapping my fingers around it.

She gasped as I pushed against it, gliding my hand from the tip to the base in long easy strokes.  Her body quivered as my other hand slipped between her nether lips, her desire white hot against my fingers.  I brought it up to taste her, to burn the essence of her into my mind.  She tasted of earth and fire, of spices and sun, simply divine. 

I reached for one of her hands, cupping it in my own, bringing it down between our bodies.  I curled it around her phallus, cupping my hand over hers, guiding her movements.  Her chest heaved in pants as she rested her forehead against mine. 

Slowly, I led both our hands to guide the head of her phallus towards my opening.  I tilted my hips towards her, my legs wrapped around her hips.  She let out a tremendous groan as she sank completely into me, her teeth pressed against my neck.  She halted briefly for a moment, the blood visibly pounding in her temples. 

Her eyes opened slowly, dark gray and stormy.  She curled her hands under my back, grasping my shoulders as she began to thrust into me.  Her phallus filled me, rubbing against my sex with each drive of her hips.  Her eyes remained on mine, drawing me into their depths, stoking the embers that my first climax had left behind. 

Torisie bared her teeth as she quickened the pace of her hips, thrusting harder and faster.  I felt the welcome rush of an orgasm burn through me once more and clutched at her buttocks, pulling her closer.  Her eyes shut tight once more as she arched into me, the muscles in her arms shaking against mine.  Our cries joined together, echoing off the stone walls of the room, falling back on our deaf ears. 

Torisie was far from through. 

She turned me ever so gently onto my back before she covered me with her body.  Her phallus pressed against the small of my back, her forefinger tracing the rim of my aperture.  I was helpless as she slipped into another part of me, then back out to tease me once more.  My mind conjured images of her pushing into me there, with her fingers, with her phallus.  My sex tightened, my body singing once more for her. 

She seemed to sense my arousal, her smile brushing against the skin behind my ear.

“May I, Gizelle?”

I nodded eagerly, anything to ease the pleasant ache that twisted in the pit of my stomach. 

She pushed a single finger inside me, thrusting as she had when she had entered me before.  Slowly, she acquainted me to the feel of the invasion. 

One soon became two and I felt like I was a winged creature, taking flight for the first time.  Torisie removed her fingers, much to my dismay, and splayed her hands on my hips.  She pulled me towards her, positioning me with my head pillowed on my arms.  Her knee nudged mine further apart, allowing the rush of air to cool my burning skin. 

I felt the head of her phallus circling my aperture as her finger had.  I tensed, knowing full well that her fingers had not been as larger as her shaft was.  Torisie leaned against my back once more, caressing away my fears with her powerful hands. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, she eased her phallus into me, careful to move as slowly as my clenched muscles would allow.  It hurt, it burned and burned like nothing I had ever experienced before, leaving me in a dazed stupor.  I felt as if she were stretching me, her shaft hard and deep within me.  Every small motion of her hips sent a jolt through me that made me moan. 

The sweet, sweet pain slowly blossomed into pleasure as she slowly increased the depths of her thrusts.  I shuddered as I felt her phallus inside me, her fingers teasing my nub.  She bent her head, her hair tickling as it swept across my back, her mouth tracing her brand on my skin.  The cuts stung as the salt on her tongue melded with my blood, driving me closer and closer to climax. 

She shifted, bearing down from another angle.  The pressure inside me altered, sending the thrill of ecstasy through me. Her groin rasped gently against my buttocks, tingling my already sensitized skin.  I heard her grunt and pushed back against her hips, delighting in the thankful groan that vibrated from her chest. 

She thrust harder against me, playing me like a minstrel does his lyre, taking me higher and higher with her phallus and her fingers.  My cry was muffled by my knuckles, the tang of blood barely registering in my mind as the heavens flashed before my eyes.

Torisie refused to stop.

She pushed me, guiding me with the hardness of her fingers and her teeth on my shoulder.  She drove her phallus harder, riding me through another wave of intense pleasure.  I felt her follow me, the muscles in her buttocks tensing against the hand that I had moved to pull her closer.  She came with a strangled shout, her sweat slick against my skin. 

She collapsed atop me, her greater weight laying me out on the bed fully, the sudden pressure from her phallus wringing a shudder from my exhausted body.  We stayed together for a long time, her phallus inside me, my hands entwined with hers, both of us languishing in the heat of our spent passion.

I whimpered when she finally did move.  She wearily propped herself on an elbow, her hand reaching down to gently extract her phallus from my aperture.  I jerked was I felt the hardness of it being pulled out.  She unbuckled the clasps that held the phallus to her, dropping it negligently onto the floor. 

The sting of tears blurred my eyes.  I felt so cherished and loved, yet I knew it was never to happen again.  She had paid for my virgin-price and she had take what she had paid for, nothing more and nothing less.  The night that she had me would be but a bittersweet memory to the fantasies that I had conjured of her.  A part of me feared that I had fated myself to a lifetime of servitude, for I swore there would be no other that would arouse a minute portion of passion that she had instilled upon me. 

A touch of cool fingers on my cheek brought me face around.  I bowed my head, unable to look her in the eye. 

She did not allow me that grace. 

She tilted my head up to look her full in the face, her stormy gray eyes tinged with ash white. 

“Gizelle?”

I said nothing and stared at her face, burning her image into my mind. 

Something settled in her eyes, bringing a smile to her lips. 

“Gizelle.”

Her voice brought another bout of tears that I was helpless to stop. 

She leaned her head against me, her teeth bared in a smile. 

“You are mine.  Only mine.  I share with no one.” Her eyes grew dangerous, as hard and cold as the first time she had set eyes upon me at the Midnight Masque. “I own you, your body, your soul, your heart.  I own your everything.”

I cursed Dinah for being so cruel, for allowing my one desire in the world to burn up like a stuttering candle. 

“I own your marque, my Gizelle.” She kissed me sweetly. “You are entirely mine, truly.”

I had no way of knowing whether her word held true.  I didn’t want to.  I trusted her word and curled up in her arms, clutched to her like a drowning person. 

Slowly, fitfully, I released myself to fall into the land of restless dreams, the heat of her body and the strength of  her embrace soothing me into calm oblivion.   

 

 

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