Logs:Predatory Domination
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 2 September, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, Jo |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Irianke shows Jo just how angry she is at K'del's near death. |
| Where: Weyrwoman's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: NSFW |
  |
| Irianke's first day as Weyrwoman was spent seeing her Weyrleader safely esconced at Southern Weyr. She's back before dinner, showing her face publicly in the living cavern on Mielline's arm. The Weyr staff is efficient, having unpacked and transferred many of her things from the smaller junior goldrider's weyr to the massive Weyrwoman's one: her clothes are in the wardrobe, her sheets are now on the bed tucked into that recessed alcove, and the furniture has been rearranged to her liking, or what the staff perceives will be her liking. Everything is spotless and dust free finally. The Weyrwoman is in, standing in the middle of it all, deciding on where to hang her decorative swords it would seem. Unless she's suddenly taken to holding a sword in the middle of the night for no reason while looking at the empty wall spaces in the cavern. That's probably the perfect time for Jo to walk on into the Senior Weyrwoman's weyr - with one holding a sword. There's just the touch of warning that she's coming from Tacuseth, the blue's swirl of desert shadows a brief presence in Niahvth's mind before she pauses on the threshold between weyr and ledge. And then she sees the sword and stops. Warning given doesn't change Irianke's hold of the sword, nor does it change her posture, to the point it's questionable Niahvth even passed it on. Maybe she heard the footsteps, or she was actually warned, for shortly after Jo appears and stops, the new Weyrwoman inquires of her visitor, "This wall or that one? I was thinking that one because it's a little less prominent, but would it be so bad to have it on display for anyone who visits to see?" At the last, she finally turns to flash the bluerider an enigmatic smile. Eyeing the sword more than the Weyrwoman, Jo takes haltin steps into the weyr as she answers her with, "I'd put it where most folks would see it'n get the message," she states, her dark gaze now transferring over to the walls in question. "Showin' a lil' intimidation won' hurt. 'Least that's my opinion," but now it's Irianke that gets her attention, now close enough to her to study her face with just a glimmer of concern showing. Turning away from Jo, Irianke looks back at the more prominent wall and nods, agreeable. "I'll have someone put it up tomorrow then." The wooden sword is hefted gently in between two hands before being set onto the chaise that's moved from there to here. She looks over her shoulder at the bluerider and slowly straightens herself, a hand to her hip. "Congratulate me," says the goldrider simply. Watching her heft that sword with open curiosity, "Where did'ja get it from?" Jo asks now, straightening up her black leather jacket. "Don' think I've seen one like that before." As for that last, the bluerider can't help the rake of her gaze down those hips before meeting her eyes and those challenging words. With the silence settling between them, she slowly closes the distance between them, almost hip to hip before a long finger lifts to curl over the top of her clothing where any cleavage can be seen. "Congrats, Weyrwoman," she says it low, a touch amused - a touch suggestive. "I have a bottle of Benden if that'll suit," she says it lightly, playing with her shirt with a little tug. "My pa traded for it. It was one of his prized possessions." How it got into her possession, Irianke does not explain, filling in that space with a shrug. But then Jo is there and she's so close the smell of her intoxicating and the goldrider takes in a deep, visible and audible breath, that chest of hers heaving up and then lowering slowly. "No. No drinking. No playing," though her hand curves to slide into Jo's hair to hold there, still. "He almost died." It's barely above a whisper. That Jo is interested in the sword's origins is plain, but with Irianke close, further questioning has gone out the window. Instead, her lips draw close and brush into her hair as she says, "No playin'." She lets her hold her there, meeting her eyes on that whisper before she whispers back, "He didn'. Man's tough. How is he?" An arm moves to circle her waist. "Were you counting on that when your man decided to almost kill him?" Irianke's body is pliable, responsive, but only just. There's a part of her that holds back, that doesn't quite fall into that arm about her waist or the lips in her own hair. What does strengthen is the grip in Jo's hair, keeping the bluerider there, just there. "Were you counting on K'del being tough? Another inch and..." "Wasn' aimin' on fatal," comes from Jo, watching Irianke still. "I trust he knew what he was doin'. What the plan was. Killin' him wasn' in it. He will recover, darlin'." Perhaps she can feel that tension, that tightening of that hand in her black mass of hair. Her dark eyes bore into Irianke's not backing away. Not backing down. "Another inch," she agrees low, "but it wasn'. We did as ya asked. He will live." There's emphasis, her voice staying low as if such words shouldn't go beyond the weyr walls. Or intimate. Slate blue eyes pin to brown ones. "Letter of the law, Lee. Letter of the fucking law." Agreement and warning in a cool, reserved voice, the hand in Jo's hair pulls, bringing the bluerider's face to hers. "Tell your men to not fuck with me again. Not to toe that line between what I say and what I mean again." Irianke makes no addition to her threats, punctuating it with a forceful kiss lip to lip, her free hand coming up to match the other, fingers all entangled in the bluerider's hair. Jo, versed in the subtleties of tones, takes that tone with a dark study in her eyes as her hair is pulled and her face is close to hers. With the barest lift of her brow, it looks like she wants to say something, but her lips press together with that curious line in her gaze that's shows a mark of defiance. However, "Understood," is pronunciated in clipped tones before her mouth is taken forcefully. She doesn't pull away or fight. Rather, with Irianke's hands in her hair, the convict rider returns that kiss with defiant aggression, the growl heard deep within her throat as she roughly tightens her hold on her waist against her wiry body. Even if she didn't see that look of defiance, she certainly feels it from that growl and the way Jo's own hold turns rough. It evokes something base, flawed, and dangerous in the once trader girl, that person buried beneath turns and turns of a refinement Eliza Doolittle would be wary of. Irianke's own voice turns throaty and guttural, her hands going beyond just rough into demanding, controlling, and possessive, ultimately ending with the two of them on the cold stone floor of her new weyr, her curves pressing their weight into Jo's wire frame. Her hands are finally free of the bluerider's hair, instead pinning her wrists to the ground. Her knees are in between Jo's legs, spreading them just so. "He's off limits now. You, me, your people. He's off limits to us all. Understand?" Perhaps it's something in Irianke that draws out the primal side of Jo, something that is usually caged and in control within Weyr limits. Those demanding hands - possessive - she fights back with that heady demand of predatory dominance. Once on the floor, the bluerider on her back with her wrists taken so, thrusting against those knees while her eyes hold a promise of retaliation. It's a dark, a sexual one - and she arches her back with a press of strength against the hold on her wrists without deliberately breaking. It's as though she shows that she could, and she chooses not to despite the fact that she says with a soft hiss, "Careful, love." It's the only hint of warning, her hips taking on a sensual lean against Irianke rather than a dangerous one despite those two words. Then, at the end, "He's off limits. We don' want a dead Weyrleader." When Jo arches and those legs of hers retaliates, Irianke's body moves with it, showing that her weight isn't immovable, as much by choice as Jo's lack of taking control. Choices. Like how she can choose to drop a wrist so her hand is at Jo's hip, fingers predatorily working at the bluerider's pants, and then shifting quickly to unbutton her own shirt aiming to control the events and the pace of the rest of the night now that the subject of K'del is decided. Her aim tonight? Take Jo to the edge and then pull back and then rinse repeat. Hopefully no one decides to drop in on the new Weyrwoman tonight! Jo keeps a demanding pace, worked up between anger and lust. That she doesn't take control tonight from Irianke seems to be calculating one, for each possessive move the other makes, she puts up a deliberately brief fight. Her own hands once release shows her own control from the bottom, pulling at her clothes as she bruises her lips with her own. Yeah, she lets herself get taken to that edge and back, her voice raw and her frustrations released more than once when it continues hot and heavy on the floor. One better believe the convict rider will exact her revenge sometime later when the tables get turned. Irianke is kind enough not to leave it as an unfulfilled night, ultimately giving in and taking Jo all the way with deft flicks of her tongue and an expert knowledge of just how to use her fingers. She rides her own high of power and control, of being dominating. It would be a lie if the idea of tables being turned wasn't its own high, if it even would occur to the goldrider at this point as she sinks back, a hand remaining on the other woman, still against her belly. When Jo is satisfied and spent, any challenges and disagreements seem to fall by the wayside. Those tables turning showed a no-holds-barred woman where being that aggressive lover was her true nature. It was pure dominance in retaliation, wrists held above her head and all while she ravaged Irianke's body with a mixture of pleasure and pain. She wouldn't have let up until the other woman was spent, was done, and she could hardly move there on the floor with the Weyrwoman against her. After a long moment, that she could speak at all, "I'm usually a lot gentler with women than that," she murmurs as she works to settle her breath. There might be bite marks. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. I'm still riding it out. Shut up." It's barely above a whisper, wracked with trembles and tremors in her body until....... There, just there, her body continues to ride out the storm that's long ended until finally there's that exquisite, drawn out release. Sweaty. Exhausted. Spent. Satisfied. And yes, pain. Irianke lies there, prone on the cold floor, breathing heavily towards the ceiling, her fingers flutter to find Jo, some part of Jo's body to touch. There's a snort, a snicker, but Jo quiets to ride out the rest of her own with her eyes half-shut. She has released Irianke's wrists through those tremors, one good peripheral study of the Weyrwoman in the throes of her release. She has no shame in watching, really. Once prone, the convict rider draws her head head to the other's while her own fingers draw across breasts towards hips to rest there. If they were in bed, it'd be an easy thing to just fall asleep. But now it's awkward, on this floor. Irianke's fingers reach and then pull back, retreating to her own breast and then hip, chasing after Jo's fingers and when they catch up, she draws them into her hand and slowly, with a twitch as she hurts something more than it was already hurt, slowly, gets to her feet and brings Jo up with her to lead her, silently, to the bed. Whereas the last hour (two? How long was it?) was about dominance, the next is about gentle touches, running hands over those pains across skin, reaquainting herself with all of Jo in a different way, in the cushion of pillows and mattresses with furs and blankets until sleep claims Irianke at least. Sated in different ways, Irianke will find Jo more pliant in taking to bed. Where before it was focused on power and control, this time her touch is gentler and her tongue and mouth is far less punishing. It's the rare sliver of femininity that comes to the fore before the bluerider settles against the Weyrwoman, watching her sleep for moments after before she allows herself to finally follow suit. |
Comments
Squishy (00:42, 3 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
Irianke continues to be absolutely terrifying.
But I loved this, especially Irianke's warning, and the way she included herself in the list of people K'del was off limits to, and did more to convey her remorse.
Leave A Comment