6 - Iona #3
“I have spoiled you, haven’t I?” Ariadne asks against her breast.
“No,” Iona says.
Ariadne takes the nipple between her teeth, and she gasps.
“Alright, fine,” Iona admits. “I suppose…”
“Your cunt sings for me,” Ariadne grins against her skin.
Iona blushes so violently that her chest heats and turns pink beneath Ariadne’s lips.
“But how will you learn if I so easily acquiesce the moment you ask?” Ariadne whispers.
She pulls Iona’s nipple so deep into her mouth that she cries out, then whimpers when Ariadne soothes the hurt with her tongue, drawing a shuddering breath from her constricting lungs.
“You’re torturing me,” she whines.
“Fight harder tomorrow and earn your reward,” Ariadne says. “Though by the looks of it, it would be just as much mine as yours.”
Ariadne gives her nipple one final kiss, then pulls away. She stares at Iona’s breasts and sighs contentedly.
“Perfect,” she says.
Despite her chagrin, Iona cannot withhold her shy smile at the praise, then in an effort to move things along, she reaches for the buttons of her trousers and shoves them down her legs and kicks off her boots, until she stands there naked and ready.
“What shall I do with you?” Ariadne murmurs.
Iona hugs her chest and attempts an air of indifference, but the light breeze against her bare skin, and the heat in Ariadne’s stare, makes it difficult not to squirm.
“Hmmm…” Ariadne taps her chin.
“Do not pretend to think,” Iona gripes. “You knew what you wished to do to me before even suggesting-”
“Such impatience.” Ariadne’s grin widens. “I have a great many wishes in mind. I am merely choosing which I’d like to try first.”
Iona sighs and puts her hands on her hips, glaring at her while she waits, and resisting the temptation to look through the bond. Entirely unfazed, Ariadne leans against her staff, drawing this out as long as she can, knowing the anticipation will only stoke Iona’s lust.
When she holds out her hand, Iona eyes it, then reaches out to take it. She lets Ariadne coax her down onto her knees, where she sits on her feet and looks up expectantly, but Ariadne does not join her. Instead, she circles Iona where she sits, her eyes roving over her from every angle.
Iona’s cheeks burn. “What are you-”
“Hush,” Ariadne says. “Don’t look. Or better yet, close your eyes.”
There’s a playful, carnal challenge in her gaze. She’s waiting for Iona to decide whether she’ll play along or beg to be touched. If she does ask for it in earnest, Ariadne will surely acquiesce, but she’ll tease her viciously all the while, and Iona doesn’t wish to give her the satisfaction.
She can easily turn the tables, have Ariadne splayed out in front of her instead, competition be damned. The pendant is still clasped around her neck and even if it weren’t, it would take one word, one thought from her to end this now...
Iona bites her lip, faces forward, and closes her eyes.
“Good,” Ariadne praises.
She keeps very still, her breath quickening as she waits for Ariadne to touch her, but she doesn’t approach, instead continuing her path through the grass until she stands directly behind her. Then she waits impatiently for Ariadne to speak, but the silence drags on, and on, and on…
She cannot fathom what is taking Ariadne so long. It must be part of her game. If that be so, then Iona can play along, too. She goes onto her hands and knees, arching her back, and putting on display what she knows will tempt Ariadne to distraction.
“Spread your legs more,” Ariadne rasps, and when Iona hesitates, she says, “Don’t be shy. I’ve memorized every part of you by now.”
Flushing even deeper, Iona obeys, dragging her knees against the grass to spread herself for her lover’s appreciation.
Then she waits again, her breath stuttering in her lungs.
Ariadne continues her languid steps around and around.
Sweat coats Iona’s skin as she bakes beneath the powerful rays of the summer sun.
It will undoubtedly turn her a shade or two darker, to Ariadne’s delight.
The silence drags on, briefly interrupted by the sweet breeze rustling through the wild grass that tickles Iona’s arms and legs.
Ariadne makes no move to touch her, but Iona is acutely aware of her gaze, knowing how much of her is exposed.
Her mind wanders, wondering what Ariadne means to do to her, knowing how marvelous it will feel when she does.
She arches her spine even more as a silent invitation.
Ariadne chuckles darkly, her voice coming from the right this time, and Iona shivers at the sound, and wonders why she waits so long. Does she mean to drive her mad with want? Or perhaps Ariadne has no intention of touching her, and this is all just an amusement for her at Iona’s expense.
Finally, she delves into Ariadne’s mind, no longer willing to wait for her to reveal her intentions. There she finds a vacillating discordance of cravings nearly enough to finish her without a single touch.
At first there are thoughts of rapt admiration for the curve of her bottom, the fullness of her spread thighs, the sway of her breasts when she shifts her weight, the honeyed tan of her skin, and the particular pink color of her sex that glistens with her arousal, though her folds darken more to red with every passing second as her blood rushes there, swollen and throbbing in time with her quickening pulse.
Iona blushes furiously at the image of herself through Ariadne’s eyes, knowing if their roles were reversed, she would not have the restraint to wait this long before reaching out to touch, or lick, or…
Ariadne’s musings shift to lecherous possessiveness that has Iona biting the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning.
Ariadne revels in knowing that no one else will have her, touch her, taste her.
She wants to brand her handprints on Iona’s hips, her breasts, the planes of her back, marking her any way she can so everyone will know who she belongs to, and for Iona to do the very same to her.
Then her thoughts turn to fierce desire, with a sudden need to bury her face in Iona’s cunt and drink every drop of her arousal until she drowns in it.
She wants to delve her fingers so deep, that Iona’s eyes roll back into her skull as her cries echo through the valley.
A small whimper slips from Iona’s lips unbidden.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ariadne teases.
Her thoughts turn mocking as she wonders if maybe this woman of hers has it far, far too easy.
Spoiled rotten. That won’t do. She should draw out Iona’s pleasure, make her mad with desire, pleading for release, reminding her that she is the only one who can give her exactly what she wants, what she so desperately needs.
Ariadne will never tire of that sound, the frenzied rasp of Iona’s voice as she surrenders and begs for her pleasure despite her pride, like the good little nymph she is.
Iona pants heavily as she leaves Ariadne’s mind, deciding that she doesn’t care what Ariadne decides, so long as she does it now.
She wants it, needs it so badly that she may combust. Her fingernails dig into the dirt beneath her, her every muscle clenching with anticipation, her core constricting with insatiable need.
A single finger traces a gentle line down her neck, making her flinch in surprise, then sigh with frustration when Ariadne withdraws her touch again. Even so, she doesn’t dare open her eyes.
“Having trouble, nymph?” Ariadne asks.
“No…” she whispers.
Iona hadn’t heard her approach, perhaps because her blood is rushing in her ears. She tries to listen intently, to gauge their proximity by attuning to their magnetism, their mysterious fated tether.
“It is exhilarating, is it not? The strength of your mind… The ability it has to drive you mad with endless possibilities,” Ariadne muses, her voice coming from a different direction now, but still close.
“I suppose,” Iona’s voice trembles.
“Without a single touch, your cunt already weeps for me.” Ariadne’s voice reflects her exulting grin. “It seems I needn’t exert myself as I have been, if this is all it takes.”
“Ari…” It’s a question, a plea, imploring her to end this now.
She startles again when Ariadne ghosts a finger along the curve of her spine, over her backside, before her fingertip slips through her wetness where it’s pooled between her legs, tracing her entrance, circling the swollen nub at the top with not nearly enough pressure. Iona lets out a strangled moan.
“Do you see just how powerful your thoughts are?” Ariadne asks in a moment of solemnity.
“Your fear is just as potent, just as effecting. If you let it, you will be reduced to nothing but a quivering, pitiful creature.” Ariadne slips a finger into her and slowly, tantalizingly runs it along her inner wall.
“Let’s only allow your desire to accomplish that, shall we? ”
“Ariadne,” Iona says, this time with exasperation.
“Yes, love?” Ariadne asks.
“How much longer do you intend to torment me?” She cannot keep the impatient whine from her voice. Surely, she won’t subject her to this for the entire hour. The thought simultaneously horrifies and excites her.
Ariadne chuckles almost adoringly, but there is still the teasing lilt that gives Iona pause. “I suppose you’ve waited long enough. Though next time, I swear, I shan’t be so obliging. This is my prize, after all. You’re only lucky I enjoy pleasing you so very much.”
But instead of stroking her in earnest as she hopes, Ariadne removes her finger, and Iona whimpers with disappointment. She almost doesn’t hear Ariadne’s whispered spell and cannot quite decipher it.
“We’ve never tried this before,” she says. “If you need to stop, you must tell me.”
Iona’s muscles tense in anticipation. “I understand.”
“Relax,” Ariadne instructs, and Iona obeys, willing her inner muscles to retract just as Ariadne inserts a foreign, smooth, slightly curved object inside of her. It slips right in without any resistance; such is the abundance of her arousal.
“What is that?” Iona asks as she adjusts to its size.
“Only a crystal,” Ariadne says. “I thought quartz would be best.”
Iona waits for elaboration, but Ariadne provides none.
“But why…” Iona’s words are caught in her throat when Ariadne runs a thumb down her cheek, then along her bottom lip.
“Frémir,” Ariadne whispers.
Iona cries out when the crystal pulsates inside of her, an unfamiliar vibration pressing relentlessly against her most sensitive spot inside, where Ariadne’s magic fixes it in place.
“Oh!” Iona’s arms and legs give out at the delicious rush of pleasure.
“Up you get,” Ariadne says.
With great effort, Iona pushes herself back up onto her hands and knees.
Her limbs tremble as she accustoms herself to the luxuriant sensations that are almost too potent to bear, while Ariadne cradles her chin in her outstretched hand, holding up her face so she might admire her euphoric expression.
Iona squints her eyes to keep them shut.
“Do you like it?” Ariadne asks.
“I- Mmmm….” Iona loses the ability to speak when a sudden jolt of pleasure stuns her. “Yes…. I…. I like it.”
“Good,” Ariadne says, releasing her jaw and stepping away to admire her again from afar.
Iona’s arms begin to ache from keeping her torso aloft, a much more difficult task now that the stone wreaks its havoc deep within her constricting channel.
She thinks she must be close, with how perfectly the vibrations stimulate her in ways she hadn’t thought possible, but she cannot quite reach her precipice.
Her hips roll of their own accord, trying to reposition herself to find a better angle.
“You look positively sinful with your back arched like that,” Ariadne says, and Iona’s blush deepens at the praise. “I think…”
Iona waits for her to finish, then goes tense when she doesn’t. Her eyes still closed, she listens as Ariadne steps closer.
“Open your eyes,” she says softly.
When Iona does, she finds Ariadne sitting cross-legged in front of her, their noses nearly touching.
She leans in further, as if she means to take a kiss, but she only hovers her mouth so close to Iona’s that their breaths mingle together.
Iona tries to close the distance, but Ariadne pulls away just enough to evade her.
“You beast,” she groans.
“Quite clever indeed to insult the only one who can give you what you want most.” Ariadne peppers her cheeks and neck with soft, unhurried kisses.
“Quite unwise to torment one with the power to unleash this upon you tenfold,” Iona threatens.
“Oh, darling,” Ariadne grins. “Do not make empty promises.”
But before Iona can make good on her threat, the crystal’s vibrations are doubly amplified, and her every muscle goes rigid.
“Oh!” Iona cries out. “Oh… Ari, please!”
“Shhh…” Ariadne pulls her onto her lap.
Iona silences her with a ravenous kiss, wrapping her arms round her neck so she cannot pull away.
Ariadne kneads the swell of her bottom, caressing the heated skin of her back, then lacing fingers into her hair to pull her head back so she might lick a path up her neck to nibble at the tender place just behind her ear.
A devastating wave of pleasure has Iona crying out, her inner walls constricting around the steadily vibrating crystal, and Ariadne shivers from the residual pleasure seeping through their bond.
She grasps Ariadne’s wrist and shoves her hand between her trembling thighs. Ariadne doesn’t deny her, stroking and circling her swollen flesh with insistent fingers. It takes only seconds before she’s crying out in ecstasy, grinding against Ariadne’s hand as one climax blends into another.
“Mmm…” Iona squirms as the vibrations become suddenly painful.
But Ariadne is already pulling the stone out and Iona slumps against her with relief.
“Damn,” Ariadne murmurs, marveling at how saturated the crystal has become, the wetness nearly causing it to slip from her grip.
“Did you…” Iona asks, panting.
Ariadne shakes her head. “I was too distracted by your-”
She hasn’t even finished her sentence before Iona pushes her onto her back and rips her trousers down her legs.
“You needn’t…” Ariadne starts to say but her words trail off when Iona snatches the crystal.
She puts it in her mouth to suck it clean, and Ariadne’s eyes glaze over at the sight, so she takes her time drawing it from her mouth. Then she slips the crystal into Ariadne’s cunt, her arousal rivaling Iona’s own, and she incants the same spell to make it vibrate.
Ariadne’s thighs tense at the sudden onslaught, trying to press them closed, but Iona shoves them apart to lie between them, laving and suckling at her pulsing bud until Ariadne lets out something between a moan and a laugh, and says, “I think I rather enjoy teaching.