I look up to the Fae, chin tilted upward, sword point resting underneath my chin. She wears a sensual smirk. Her eyes meet mine and narrow, not out of any sense of animosity, and my cheeks flush in response.

Slowly, she shifts her grip. Her blade’s tip tracing away from my chin. Down my neck. It reaches my collar, where she leaves it for a time. A mischievous, inquisitive look on her brow.

Her tip still gently scrawling upon my soft skin. Present but never cutting. It steals away my breath.

She whispers intimately into the wind, inaudible if not for the breeze to bring it from her lips to my ear.

There is power in finding fault in a Fae’s speech. It’s not to be done lightly, Amarantha.

I nod slightly, shivering at the whispered sound of my name, mind tracing the route of her voice through the air. It kisses at my neck, my cheek and behind my ear in a circuitous path before tickling the inner hairs with its softly spoken words.

We play such games, risking so much in the interest of finding something novel. Disguising our words to mask desire and uncomfortable truths.

I nod again. My body shifts, slightly at first, then more when I realize that her sword will move, up to a point, to allow me to adjust. It stays near the nape of my neck, using its flat to play with the collar of my ruined shirt, shifting perfectly in tune with my movements to allow me to raise my head and torso, just a little, under arms reaching back. I have the sense that I could stand and the blade would allow it, still pressed to my throat as I go through the motions to do so.

I stay sprawled on the ground.

Perhaps it is time to let go of such things. To have our desires, Amarantha, exposed and secrets bare.

She slowly traces my body with her eyes, starting from my brow and slowly, slowly dragging her gaze down towards my boots. When her eyes return once more to mine, they hold a questioning look. Confident, perhaps, but not certain. My breath hitches once more.

Do you agree?

I nod.

Her face relaxes. Her grin returns, accompanied by something hinted at before. Perhaps the spectre of a flush to her cheeks?

With one steady, drawn out movement, the blade at my collar flips from flat to point. It traces a line down the center of my torso, tickling skin as it cuts away the fabric which covers me. I looked down my body, pale skin exposed down to my belly button, fabric pooling at my sides in a way that only barely still covered my breasts.

From this angle they seem larger than I had thought they were before. mounds that swell to either side of a valley of skin, pulled back and slightly down by gravity due to my posture, their peaks only narrowly holding on to the fabric of my shirt.

The flat of the Fae’s blade now plays with the belt of my trousers, but after a moment it is withdrawn. I look up, expecting nothing and everything. I see Lily, looking down with flushed cheeks, lidded eyes, and biting her lower lip in a lazy, sexy smile. Her hands are empty, but only for a moment. 

Her eyes lock onto mine. Slowly, her arms shift. Daring me to copy. Her hands reaching up. Mine tracing the skin of my belly. Hers reaching higher. A finger tickles above my diaphragm. She traces a line underneath her breasts. The tip of a thumb, nail downward, finding the space between mine.

She gropes herself, working fingers on her tender flesh through clothing.

I do the same. The remaining threads of my shirt fall away. My fingers kneed my mounds, first roughly, then more finesse, looking for the movements that felt best, repeating those, and trying small variations to find what could be improved.

My breathing picks up, the heat within my core washing through my whole body as it swells with fresh fuel, and concentrating on the peaks of these two mounds, my nipples flush and hot and almost painfully hard, begging to be played with. I oblige.

Lily’s own movements escalate. Discontent to work through the thicker fabrics of her clothes, she tosses away her gambeson and, too impatient to unfasten the buttons of her blouse underneath, simply tears them apart, exposing smallclothes underneath. Lacy things, nearly shear, which seem more to entice than to provide modesty or support, encasing perk breasts, smaller than mine, but so, so beautiful and sensuous and, once more, thoroughly massaged by their owner.

More whispers caress my skin, sending tantalizing shivers along my spine. The burning ache in my nipples, and elsewhere, only grows as I worked pliable flesh. Drawing one breast up, stretching the skin with sweet discomfort. Taking my own nipple in my mouth and working it over with tongue and nipping teeth.

Lily pressed a clasp between her breasts, separating the small shirt in half, letting it and her blouse both fall to the ground. Then pressing her fingers into her mouth. Her hand glistens when it comes away, pressing into the exposed flesh of her belly once more. Pressing upward. Where her wet hand passes, it leaves glistening residue behind. Up to her rib cage and then to the side to work her right breast, her opposite hand reaching up for a mouthy treat of its own.

I release my nipple from my mouth, letting it snap back to my chest and settle with a jiggle of flesh. My own fingers come to my lips, not pressing inside, but slowly, sensually stroking the sensitive skin. The movements send sparks of energy down my spine, into my breasts and pelvis and thighs. My other hand tries to trace the feelings as they race about my body, mostly failing, but still creating yet more pleasure with the faint scratches of my fingertips across my naked skin.

Her whole torso glistens now, whether with oil or glamour I can’t say. Whatever the substance it seems only to make Lily’s movements more frantic. Her skin all the more ready to flush. Her moans more intent to titillate.

My own ministrations respond in kind.

My mind is light with heat, heavy with lust, my focus solely on this play between us two. My hands roam wider. They find my spine. My buttox. My thighs. All unsatisfyingly covered, muting the softest and most satisfying of touches. I shift in place, attempting to expose more skin, rational thought too far abandoned to simply stop my ministrations for the moment required to unclasp and strip my trousers.

Lily, for all her own frantic heat, suffers no such handicap. She plays with her own belt with one hand while the other continues to roam across her oiled torso. Slowly, she slides down. 

Lower. 

Closer.

Closer to the ground. And to me.

She mounts my hips. Lets her hand drop from her belt to my own. Careful never to let her finger slip. Always touching only fabric and not my needy, naked flesh.

She looks me in the eye, eyebrow raised with a questioning smirk, despite a face just as flushed as mine must be.

Words escape me. I moan and nod in response.

Her smirk grows into a full grin and, slowly, far too slowly, she undoes my belt.

And pulls off my boots.

And slips down my trousers from underneath herself.

All without so much as a glancing touch of her skin on mine.

The avoidance is as maddening as the teasing slowness with which she strips me.

I find a new pleasurable sensation. The rubbing of my thighs against one another. And begin it with slow, then fast, then slow again enthusiasm. My hands roam my whole body now. Stroking breast and thigh. Stomach and bum. Collar and chin. Only one place was left untouched. By now the hottest and neediest of all. But something compels my hand to avoid it, even as I stroke my way to greater heat still, burning in that spot.

Lily is quick to give me space to continue my explorations, floating up and above me. Now parallel to myself, feet pointing to my feet and nose pointing to my nose, only up in the air facing downward.

She begins once more working on her own trousers. Her belt secured with a simple bow which, once pulled, slips away in the wind. Her leggings working down, one small movement at a time. Half of those movements seem generated by the Fae’s captivating dance, motivated not by her hands but with gyration of hips and position of the legs. And she is determined to examine with her fingers every inch as it is exposed, spreading yet more glistening oil along her limbs as she reaches lower still.

Her own pubic mound is covered by more lacy smallclothes, these only a little more modest than those which had covered her breasts. For now, at least, they stay in place. The last bit of clothing that either of us wears.

It is becoming harder and harder to resist the pull of that one, sweet place. Allowing my hands to venture close to it. Exploring the crease of where inner thigh meet my core. The short, curly hairs which decorate above it, containing heat so great underneath them. My fingers once again find my mouth, this time plunging in of their own accord, and withdrawing with a trail of moisture that traces a path from my mouth down, across my chest. Down, past my belly. Down, to the very edge of those hairs, beyond which is only that forbidden place.

I look up at Lily expectantly. Or perhaps desperately. A look which she returns with a heady smile, a giggle, and yet more whispers to stroke my over-stimulated skin.

Whatever the case, it seems, she has decided the teasing had gone on long enough. Her last piece of cloth is not removed so much as it dissolves from her body into flower petals on the wind.

Whatever rational fragments of my mind remain make note that she is hairless, there. Then even those fragments fall away when she begins to work her lower mound. And I do the same to my own. And pleasure overtakes us both.

So hot. So wet. SO GOOD.

I no longer have any idea what my fingers are doing. I don’t care. Am I copying Lily? Is she daring me to go further? Am I blazing my own trail?

It doesn’t matter. Only the sensations matter. And they are building.

And building.

AND BUILDING!

AND…!

Release.