Work Text:
Sciel pants heavily against the gag placed securely in her mouth as she is put in the fourth pose of today. Clea granted her only a short moment of being on the ground before she was yanked up again, now held again at the perfect level for the paintress to admire. Instead of rope, however, the woman has forced the Chroma into another, albeit just as restricting shape.
Sciel squirms slightly as she feels more of the web-like threads, silvery and shining with energy- the only evidence that it is Chroma manipulated by the Dessendre heiress- wrap around and stick to her. Her arms are held up, restrained first. Her hips and upper thighs are next, forcing her up and supporting her body as she is suspended mid-air. She shivers, feeling more of it wrap around her ankles, whine webs spun between the strings. An artistic choice, no doubt. Clea is looking for inspiration for a painting, after all, she forces herself to remember. A difficult task, admittedly, given her body feels as though on fire after being denied her orgasm and being so close to it. Her inner thighs and pussy are both still warm and wet with slick, coated in a fine layer of her own juices.
More wrap around her stomach, now marked not only by the scar she calls her own but another, the large, signature C Clea has painted onto her. She moans into the gag as, lastly, the web-like strings wrap around her throat, tighter than necessarily, certainly. She watches as the woman toys with the windows and curtains, using both and nevrons standing idle in her workshop to block the sun when she does not need it and manipulate the light to her advantage. An artist during the process of perfecting her subject.
She shivers at the attention and, given her lips were not stretched apart by the gag Clea has not removed for her, would pout upon not receiving the same attention between her legs.
Green eyes watch the paintress with every move she makes, tracking her hands as they move her bound ones until she seems satisfied with her position. Her legs are spread a little more, knees bent slightly and ankles yanked up a little. She moans hotly against the plastic ball gag as she feels the light, teasing sensation of another web-like string between her legs, pressing against her clit and dragging through her wet folds.
She can only plead with her eyes, her words useless and incoherent even when she attempts to speak. The paintress does not bat an eye, regarding her as though she is a spider trapping the painted creature in her web. In a way she is, really, and Sciel now certainly looks the part. Given she was not naked, flushed and completely soaked the scene might have taken place under completely different circumstances.
She shakes the thought away quickly, not wanting to give her girlfriend ideas. She really does not need her to paint a gigantic, spider-like nevron to roam the continent. There are enough horrors to spook the children of Lumiere and creatures living on the continent already without such things.
With her arms and legs bound she can only stare hungrily as the paintress moves close to her, fingertips trailing first across her hip, then her upper waist, then shiver and whimper softly into her gag when the woman’s index fingertip traces the curve of her breast.
“Mghmm...hmmfnm!”
The paintress spares her no mind. The messy, muffled words are so incoherent she feels they deserve no acknowledgement. Still, her eyes meet gentler green ones. Sciel’s face is warm, her eyes still teary from before. It’s a breathtaking sight that momentarily has the artist pause and inspect her beautiful muse, lost in her beauty. Sciel hungrily pushes her face against the painter’s palm when it cups her cheek, a low whine coming from her as her only means to express her wish to move and touch, then only a choked, muffled gasp when her throat is squeezed by light, web-like strings that quite frankly have no right to be as forceful as they are, given how delicate they look. Then again, given they are enough to hold her up and in place without issue is proof enough that despite their fragile appearance, the Chroma holds firm for the paintress, as though the very power she commands is hesitant to deny her.
“Je t’ai attachée pour une raison. Restrain yourself”, Clea scolds, her voice cool and hot at the same time, stroking the heat already settled between Sciel’s thighs with mere words. She moans again as her face is released, briefly chasing the touch of Clea’s palm before submitting to the fact that she cannot lean forward enough to feel her, held tightly in place until Clea decides she is to be released.
Despite her efforts, however, her hips twitch and back arches slightly as her breasts are cupped next, thumbs grazing her sensitive, hard nipples.
“Putain...”
She doesn’t have more than a second to realize her error, her eyes widening briefly before pain greets her. She whines and, to her shame, moans loudly into the gag as the paintress drags her fingertips across her breasts and another, even smaller string appears. Silvery, this one, as it circles her nipples and pulls sharply, wrapped tightly around one, then the other. She moans again as Clea gives the middle part, taut between her breasts, a small yank as if to test how durable it is. It holds, even as the touch makes Sciel cry out and arch her back again, desperate to follow as her nipples are toyed with. The paintress only hums, approving of the accessory she shall include in her painting after. She releases the string and allows it to rest again, silvery-sweet against Sciel’s skin. Her nipples ache from one pull already, overly sensitive and hard, squeezed by their delicate restraints.
The woman steps behind her and Sciel shivers at the hands sliding to her hips, fingertips caressing her restraints. Lips brush against her cheek now, though when she attempts to turn her head to look at the paintress she instead hisses and groans into the gag, one hand lifted from her hip to grasp her hair tightly and force her head to keep facing forward. Given the state of absolute need and wetness between her legs, she even takes the pain, moaning as she fights against the restraints and grind backwards, knowing it means punishment.
As such, Sciel only moans again when her throat is squeezed until breathing becomes difficult, her eyes slipping shut as Clea’s fingers curl tighter in her hair and her other hand comes down against her ass with a smack that sends her body jolting forwards for a moment. Another. She moans and cries out, her pleas muffled, but tears hot against her cheeks. This one hurt.
A third one and she feels how her ass is beginning to throb, her skin responding to every powerful blow. She’s sure Clea is not trying to be gentle or hold back- and while she knows the woman doesn’t quite do so normally, she does appreciate the fact that Clea rarely allows her true strength to shrine through.
Now it seems her silly idea of using bad manners to receive what she wants has gotten on the woman’s nerves.
Another slap to her ass. She moans and screams into the gag, the sound muffled. She feels the pain and pleasure course through her, certain this time Clea not only slapped her behind but also allowed some of her hand to dip into the paint that makes up her skin.
“Tu veux que j’arrête?”, the paintress coos, then laughs. She knows Sciel is no brat, generally, though that the woman is very well capable of turning to one. Another muffled scream and moan is dragged from the restrained woman as her other cheek is slapped this time. She can’t spot the light bruises that have started to form and the way her skin starts to break out into ripples, naturally responding to the woman as though silently begging to be painted. Clea does not do so, now. She leans closer, her lips brushing a warm ear. “Non- tu veux que je continue. Did I not tell you to help me with my work?”, she scolds, fingers digging into the juicy flesh of Sciel’s behind as she gropes the now burning hot flesh. The bound and gagged woman can only moan and whimper, thick tears rolling down her cheeks that she knows the sadistic paintress appreciates. Clea has never one to stop her tears. On the contrary- the woman loves pulling them from her, whether from pain or pleasure.
“MghnmnMHm! M’ea! Mggnmm!”
The paintress only makes a small “tsk”ing sound, clicking her tongue before she allows it to loll out and drag against Sciel’s hot cheek, practically tasting the need the woman feels against her skin and feeling the tremble of even her Chroma below.
Sciel squeals as her upper body is suddenly released, eyes wide and arms flailing to catch herself for a moment as the hand by the back of her head pushes her forwards.
Alas, she’s caught again quickly, webs spun around her arms and restraining them behind her back, more against her stomach to help distribute her weight in the bindings and lessen the pain on her already so sore muscles. A small mercy, and one Clea is not so sure her beloved girlfriend even deserves in this particular moment. Alas, she is beginning to feel impatient, her own panties clinging to her so tight it borders on uncomfortable and filthy. Even Clea has her limits.
Perfectly bent over in the air and suspended just slightly above the ground now, Sciel immediately notes she is perfectly on eye level with Clea’s crotch when the woman steps in front of her, sending her a hungry look that makes her shiver and try to press her thighs together. Again, this earns her nothing but a swirl of the woman’s fingertips, web-like strings forcing her knees apart and tightening around her throat for a moment. Neither woman doubts that there are marks left behind by now that would send Gustave into a worried frenzy, would he spot them on her friend. Sciel briefly squirms at the thought as she follows it and realizes; both Sophie and Lune would merely send her a knowing look, both likely allowing a moment to think of what exactly would have caused them.
She imagines Lune’s look, cold and analytical to hide the hunger beneath. Sometimes the facade slips for but a moment and reveals a gaze so hungry and wanting it has Sciel shiver, shocked to find such lust in her friend’s gaze.
Sophie, much bolder and playful than Lune tends to be, she knows would laugh upon seeing the mark, fingers raising to tap her throat teasingly as she would comment on whether or not she’s had her fun with the paintress. More than once has her best friend cooed at her, joking she is doing a wonderful job at keeping the lethal paintress happy and her bloodlust sated. Upon trying to explain that Clea is not the bloodthirsty killer she is often made out to be- and who can blame her, really. Sciel has seen the woman Gommage people on the spot for showing a lack of respect before, after all- Sophie only ever brushes her off, her eyes adapting a curious look that Sciel understands typically means her best friend is trying to think of Clea’s personality in the bedroom. Not a topic she has shared in much detail with the woman.
She watches hungrily now as the paintress grasps her jaw, her icy eyes piercing hers.
“Behave. I am not above leaving you here until dinner”, Clea growls, the threat immediately making the submissive woman nod quickly. She already feels like Clea’s earlier denial of her orgasm was too much. She could not stand being forced to stay here for hours longer, toyed and teased, not given released or allowed to touch. With a swirl of the woman’s fingers and a forceful yank both Clea’s skirt and the gag fade into nothing but particles of light Chroma- not that Sciel can pay attention, her eyes immediately fixed on the smooth, pale skin revealed to her.
Her nose is smudged against Clea’s clit as the woman steps closer, fingers fisting in brown hair to tug the woman close and keep her there, head thrown back the moment a hungry tongue lashes out and assaults first her clit with hungry strokes and flicks, then drags through her wet folds with hungry precision.
Sciel’s mouth is wet and warm after the gag, lips hungrily latching onto pale skin. Her fingers twitch with the desire to touch, too, though her restraints hold firm. There’s little she can do in her position except what Clea has commanded wordlessly: to use her mouth, and to use it well.
The auburn-haired woman moans hotly beneath her breath, hand darting out to grasp the restraints keeping the woman hanging from the many hooks at the wall, normally used to display and allow her unfinished sculptures of nevrons to dry. Her chest rises and falls hotly with every sharp breath, lips parting and head tipping back a little as her girlfriend’s hot tongue darts inside of her.
She eats messily, though knows how to work her tongue and face to their advantage, the bridge of her nose rubbing against her girlfriend as she drinks her in, her tongue sliding deep and rubbing against her sensitive walls while licking more and more wetness from her.
Clea sucks in a sharp breath as the woman pulls back as much as she can given the hand in her hair, lips instead wrapping around her and sucking her in, tongue lapping at her clit quickly and hungrily. Sciel moans at the feeling of slick smearing against her lips and chin, the sound vibrating against the other woman’s clit and core. She feels the woman’s head bob slightly as she sucks and drinks from her, each hum and moan dragging a soft one from Clea’s lips in return. She swears below her breath, Chroma swirling by her fingertips briefly before she snarls, pulling herself together again. She doesn’t miss the small, self-satisfied smile she feels against her pussy, though is in no mood to correct the woman. By all means, Sciel is being very good for her again, after all.
The woman works hungrily, whining and moaning occasionally when her own clit throbs in need. Ordinarily, she might beg for Clea’s touch or plead to let her touch herself. Now she cannot move her hand down to where she needs it and does not dare interrupt her given task to plead greedily, not wanting to risk the paintress plopping the gag back between her soft, wet lips.
Releasing the flesh again, she allows her teeth to scrape it gently, eyes wide and hot breath hitting Clea’s privates as Sciel takes in her work. Her girlfriend’s clit is pink and glistening wet, her folds equally drenched in her own slick and Sciel’s spit. Her skin has adapted a pink colour and a few marks from being bitten lightly and sucked sharply. She drags her tongue across the pearly clit again, allowing a gleeful chuckle to pass her lips as it drags a moan from the paintress and earns her a delicious tug of her hair- a reward and warning not to tease at the same time. Clea is not nearly feeling patient enough to allow her beloved songbird to take her time with her, now.
Leaning in and closing her lips around the woman’s clit she continues on again, humming and moaning this time, a sigh escaping her lips when she’s rewarded with a light pat on the head in return and the light scratch of trimmed nails against her scalp. Her hips buck momentarily, her pussy clenching around nothingness, and briefly she allows one or two whines to pass her lips.
The paintress chuckles above her, the sound powerful even as it comes out breathy. The fingers curl tighter in her hair again, forcing her flush against her.
“Be good, and...”- a moan, “...I might let your earlier act slip my mind”, the paintress gasps out, voice coming out slightly raspier from groaning and gasping. She widens her stance slightly, allowing the brunette easier access that she immediately takes advantage of.
She works even harder, desperate to earn what Clea teases. Really, Sciel knows better than to believe the woman allows brattiness to slip that easily. Clea is harsh with little to no tolerance for misbehaviour and slip-ups, her punishments usually harsh enough to really make the brunette second-guess herself when she’s about to act out of line. She can’t think of that now, however, left utterly desperate and in need of her girlfriend’s touch, the urge to cum so grand she can barely stand it. Her body feels entirely too warm, flushed and burning with want and the urge to get the orgasms the woman edged her to, then ripped from her cruelly.
Another few minutes. It doesn’t take long for her to push Clea over the edge, her eyes wide and hazy with desire as she tilts her head up as far as she can, desperately searching the woman’s face for her eyes and a flicker of satisfaction and mercy.
Satisfaction, she spots the second Clea meets her gaze, icy eyes shining with hunger, satisfaction, and humour.
Mercy? Not so much.
Sciel gasps, a shriek pulled from her sore, marked throat as the web-like strings fade away from around her and she drops down, her sore body screaming with protest as she’s yanked up into a sitting position by her hair again. Her eyes are wide, lips parted. She knows better than to beg without being prompted to, now. She doesn’t want the gag back between her lips. Her eyes find Clea’s lips at the thought and she licks her own, desperate to taste her girlfriend’s tongue with hers.
Unfortunately for her, she is not so lucky.
She gasps as the paintress moves her free hand again, Chroma swirling around her fingertips, then tickling her skin when the woman moves her hand down to her shoulder. Her wrists are snapped together first, green eyes widening as they take in the thick, red satin that wraps around them a few times and yanks them to her front, held tight against her breasts. Another wraps around her, squeezing her arms to her sides and securing her in place.
“Clea...! You- Mghmmnph!-“
Not a gag, this time, at the very least. Instead her lips automatically wrap around the taller woman’s fingers when they’re pushed in her mouth, eyes slipping shut as her tongue instinctively swirls around them and she sucks. She moans, feeling the Chroma still swirl around them, an odd thrum of power against her tongue and the inside of her mouth.
Her waist receives the satin next, a bow fixed at her back with a twitch of the woman’s fingers. While she would prefer to tie it herself, Clea knows her girlfriend will make a fuss, given she receives the chance to.
She makes a small sound at the back of her throat, a whimper, as her eyes meet icy ones. Almost as if to claim;
But you said!-
Her thighs are yanked together, the deep red band wrapping around them a few times until she kneels wrapped, snug like a present addressed to the talented paintress. Sciel tries to chase after the fingers when they begin to slip from her, then tries to pull her head back when those fingers suddenly grasp another ball gag- red, to match of course. Naturally, it is of no use. She can barely get out a “Clea-!” before the artist has the gag secured between her lips again, cooing and laughing at the pitiful, helpless expression she receives in return.
“Don’t give me that look. I told you, you’re going to pose...-“, Clea tugs her head up, light catching her face now, as if proving her point and perfecting the already beautiful pose. “And if you have been behaved by the time we’re done, then we’ll see about what comes after”, the woman cruelly teases.
Sciel can do nothing but stare and whine when the paintress steps away, at last turning to the blank Canvas nearby.
With a fierce blush and a helpless shift of her thighs, she straightens up again, posing as the woman expects.
She knows nothing but perfect obedience will get her anywhere.