[b]Mirror![/b]

Smokeless Jade Fires keeps her head lifted high, and Smokeless Jade Fires refuses to stop complaining, even though both of these choices work against her and betray her. If she lowered her head, you would less clearly see how her eyes dilate and her ears flick, her body-of-dreams betraying her with every caress, every drag of your claws through her fur, and with every swat on her tight little rump when she, predictably, refuses to cooperate.

It is a simple cycle. You give her an instruction. She refuses, haughty, burbling, tails tugging at their chains, wet chin lifted in the air. You smack a cheek beneath a tail, or reach around and methodically twist, informing her that she is in breach of contract, and she submits with a drooling squeal and a series of furious garbled half-words, feet flexing as she tries vainly to stamp them. By the time she finishes with the console (rebelliously, to her own color scheme, with her own textures) you have discovered that combining the two is the most efficient method; nipping an ear, smacking a thigh, or tugging hard on her base elicits immediate, unconscious obedience, her lower thoughts rushing to please while her higher thoughts are howling in indignity and sensation.

You are reminding her that she is bodied. You are gifting her sensations, and consequences, and allowing her to pretend that she is doing your bidding because she has no other choice, even as she lets her holy spittle drip down her front, puddle at her feet, spray out when she screams something very unbecoming of a good girl mid-instruction, while her hands writhe and clench above her head.

Then you sit down in your seat, and you run your hands over the controls, and she [i]shivers.[/i]

You take manual control, easing your speed, sending out a pulse, hands drifting in familiar patterns, and next to you (close enough to touch) her arched feet wobble. You thumb a joystick and her hips begin an unconscious and familiar squirming, trying to find something that isn’t there. You kick-pedal thrusters into life and her haughty, high-pitched, whining complaint drops an octave into a purr that echoes around the cockpit. Smokeless Jade Fires is not her idol, but she inhabits it, and your commands are bypassing her higher thoughts now.

She has piloted many times. She has always been in control, demanding the obedience of the world to bend to her. What you are gifting to her, Whispered Promise, is freedom. Freedom from having to worry about Dolly, freedom from the guilt of not being there for her, freedom from expectations. It is just the two of you, after all, and any future where you tell the world of her shame is too well-hidden in the brush for a silly little brat like her to think about. Every flick of the joystick makes her sweat higher-pitched, tongue-pinned whining, makes her hips buck, makes her fiery eyes dim with, well, [i]smoke.[/i]

[i]”Dhhlleeeeeee… Dhllllleeeeeeee…”[/i]

She is in love, and love is her weakness. She is in love, and would do anything— [i]anything—[/i] to get her Dolly back. She is in love, and she can only express it now, when she cannot mistake control for admission. Raw, messy emotion-sensation thrums through the memory weave: want, hopeless adoration, a petlike need to please, an impossible desire for a real body to share with her, the imagined taste of her body. Overwhelmed with pleasure, she reaches out blindly for the girl she loves, only able to communicate so clearly when she cannot speak.

How good are you at piloting like this, Whispie? Can you fly while dealing with second-hand infatuation, with the bliss of a unsatisfied goddess thrumming through you?

[hr]

[b]Dolly![/b]

The brief flashes of distant connection with Jade are [i]very clear[/i] about what she should be doing with Valynia. Not that anything else is clear, but it’s impossible to mistake (not that she would have any vested interest in interpretation, n-no, not at all). Jade might as well be in the room, one hand between her shoulder blades, trying to push her body up against Valynia. Which is. Which is certainly. Jade’s always been so jealous, so “only for me,” so “I want everyone and you want me,” and this is confusing and exciting and her stomach does the occasional flip as Valynia does not let her, in any way, shape or form, fling herself onto Valynia and beg for the holy honor of sleeping with her.

(What’s next? Letting Dolly do that with, to, for, [i]with[/i] Angela? After she tries and fails to come save her? Hahahahahahahaha. Haha. Ha. Hahaha. Haaaaa.)

At least she can’t focus on that. She keeps being distracted by the feeling of being small and safe and a good girl who gets touched there and there and right there on the back of the neck, uhhuh, uhhuh, the melty spot. She can’t even hear her own purrs, just feel them, because they’re all soaked up by the fact that she’s [i]gagged[/i]. The very tip of her tail uselessly twitches and she couldn’t do a defiant headbutt right now if Jade ordered her to.

When this started, she was scared, angry, embarrassed, ready to fight. And now she’s slumping bonelessly into her bonds, face burning up, wishing Valynia would ravish her senseless, or even let her try her very very best to be slinky and seductive and use her hips and her purrful voice like Heaven’s Touch in [i]Seven Years in Reed Marsh[/i] to convert Valynia to a new faith of hunting and star-chasing and subservience, but if you obey the holy goddess you get [i]me[/i] as a rewarrrrrdddd~

right there right behind her ear right above her gags yes yes yes uhhuh all she can do is vibrate her skull and even that might be the sway of the ropes but you’ve got to know that’s the right spot, just like running your thumb down each vertebrae, just like pinching the back of her neck, just like licking the back of her ear and getting a little more pirate stink on her, and [i]Jade, please, she is TRYING[/i]—

Who allowed you to be soft, Valynia? Who let you be more than just a handsy pirate daring to blaspheme? And why are you very obviously so important to Jade’s plans that she would keep [i]insisting[/i] you be seduced by her… her… her temple bride and that is the only title sweet Dolly can use for herself right now, because if she uses one of the names for a promiscuous bride she will implode. Messily.