Pavlina grimaced, fighting the urge to ask for more; she’d always admired his body from a distance, though he’d never raised a hand in her direction, and now she wanted nothing more than his touch. She squirmed, wishing she could at least rub her thighs together without losing her precarious footing, and Gavran obliged—but only to take the curves of her hips in hand and keep her still once he had her facing him again.
“Understand something,” he said quietly, mirth gone from his husky voice. “Amalja cares for you a great deal, and you shouldn’t think she regrets taking you in, but she’s about to lose her temper. You’re a stubborn conceited little thing, and stubborn’s useful sometimes, but not when it makes you foolish—and there’s been quite enough foolishness from you today.”
He tightened his hold on her. “You aren’t here just to be stubborn. You aren’t here just to preen and be pretty. You’re here to do what you’re told—and if you want to prove yourself trustworthy enough for teaching, it’s time you showed obedience.”
The cellar door thudded dully shut; Amalja walked in, and from the look on her face as she came closer, she’d been listening. “I didn’t ask you to lecture her, Gavran,” she tutted drily, walking around Pavlina, studying her. The witch had pinned up her own hair and shed her robe; her breasts were full and dusky-tipped, her hips invitingly ample, her legs long and muscular. She tapped the chain holding Pavlina on her toes. “Mmm. A little too much strain. I’d better do something about that.”
Let me down, Pavlina wanted to say, but it seemed the spell Gavran had cast to keep her from shifting had sealed her mouth as well. She watched Amalja kneel inside the circle; the witch put her palms to the floor and growled a string of syllables that might have been a wolf’s prayer, and the floor warped beneath Pavlina’s aching feet, fitting itself to her soles, becoming a surface she could stand on solidly. It didn’t change her stance, or take the slack out of the chain, but the peacock felt some of the tension go out of her calves as her weight was better supported. “She looks better already,” Amalja commented, stroking the backs of Pavlina’s thighs, then standing to rub briskly at the younger woman’s flanks and shoulders, sniffing at the place where Gavran had licked her. “Good. Thoughtful of you, Gavran, else she’d be gods know where by now.”
She sniffed again, sliding her fingers between Pavlina’s legs from behind; they skidded in wetness and Pavlina abruptly found her voice: “Oh—”
But Amalja had already drawn away, before Pavlina could move or even react properly. With slick fingers she traced the paths of the sigil Gavran had made, making the heat flare up again until Pavlina couldn’t hold back a moan. “Ahh—Mistress, Mistress, please—”
Amalja broke the contact. “You see? No control,” she decided, moving in front of Pavlina and stroking the young woman’s lips with two still-damp fingers, then shoving them into her mouth. “Suck,” she commanded, “and be quiet.”
Pavlina sucked obediently, cheeks hollowing as she tried not to whine, as Amalja caressed the flat of her belly with her free hand and reached between the peacock’s thighs again, sliding her labia apart, rubbing only a quick light circle around her clitoris before penetrating her slippery sex with ease, stroking, reaching, oh gods—
The moment Pavlina began to tense in approaching orgasm, Amalja pulled free again, stepping well back, smiling that wolf’s smile at the sight of her panting in dismay. “Stand still and say nothing,” she ordered. “Weren’t you listening to Gavran? You’re here to do what you’re told. You scrub the floor when I tell you. You do the shopping when I tell you. And for now ... you come when I tell you, too.”
Pavlina, still breathless with frustration, could say nothing.
It was going to be a very long evening.
Amalja leaned against the edge of the table for a moment, reaching up into her hair and working something free. “Lina? Does this look familiar?”
She straightened out the object, and Pavlina’s eyebrows went up. It was a peacock’s tail feather—it was one of her own, long and sinuous, the deep blue eye almost heart-shaped. She’d probably shed it in the oak tree; Pavlina started to speak, then remembered her order and bit her tongue, nodding silently, a strange expectancy knotting her stomach as the feather bent and swayed in Amalja’s fingers.
“I thought it might,” Amalja said. “Now—” but Gavran drew close to her side and whispered something, something that Pavlina couldn't hear but that made Amalja turn and look back at him; then she nodded, giving Pavlina a sharp-eyed look, smiling craftily. “Of course you can.” She laid the feather down and stood straight. “There’s no reason for me to keep myself waiting.” Gavran tugged at his belt; for a moment Pavlina thought she was going to have to helplessly watch him undress, but he only adjusted his trousers before he slipped his hands around Amalja's shoulders and eased her back against his chest. They meshed well: black on black, pale on pale, her body rounded and flawless, his lean and scarred. He kissed the back of Amalja's neck and latched on, the sound of sucking faint but audible.
Finally, carefully, Gavran started to touch her, his fingertips skimming the curves of Amalja's shoulders, the length of her upper arms, dipping to her ribcage and the upper slopes of her hips—nothing terribly intimate, though her nipples tightened and a flush began to creep into her face. Amalja twisted round a little, let him kiss her mouth, and Gavran curled his arms around her waist, holding tight. Another murmur and she closed her eyes, leaned back on him, and tipped her pelvis forward. "...Yes."
He was still for a moment. Pavlina couldn't look away, even though her eyes were stinging from not blinking. She could feel herself seeping, the ache between her thighs flaring back to sharp hot life; she knew exactly what was about to happen.
When Gavran moved again, it was with that same deliberate slowness, keeping one hand on Amalja's stomach and reaching down with the other, making her shift and part her thighs. He slipped his hand between them and stilled there, cradling her, the possession suddenly the possessor: then delicately he began to stroke her open, slowly at first until Amalja bit her lip and nodded, breathing harder; the encouragement made him caress her more quickly, more firmly, the sound of it soft and wet as she started to move her hips against his touch.
Pavlina squirmed on her angled pedestal, slick with sheer anticipation, struggling to be silent. Amalja had reached back to take hold of Gavran's belt, bracing herself against him as he stroked her clit between his long fingers; abruptly her breath hitched and she strained against him, groaning quietly, clamping a hand down over his own to hold him in place and grinding against it, panting open-mouthed, shivering. But, finally, she let go of him and he pulled back, taking her fleshy hips in his hands to steady her, kissing her neck, petting her as she caught her breath.
Her quick shallow breathing didn't last long; Amalja straightened and pushed off him. "Thank you," she said, only a little winded. "Pavlina, darling, you’re staring. Now. The feather."
Her feather. Pavlina tensed involuntarily, even though it made her shoulders ache. Gavran picked it up, ran it through his fingers and handed it to Amalja, but he wasn’t blind to the way Pavlina fretted; he dropped to his knees in front of her and dragged her thighs apart. There was no resisting him, not when she was positioned like this, and she gnawed her lip, knowing he could see how wet she was, muscles protesting the stretch. He glanced up into her eyes with an expression of something like sympathy, then over his shoulder at Amalja. “... May I?”
Amalja looked over him, splayed a hand on Pavlina's belly and chuckled at the way the flesh immediately tightened. "Do it. Then take her down. I’ll need her in the garden tomorrow."
Do it? Take her down? Amalja was going to let him fuck her? Pavlina wriggled, trying to get closer, but there was surprising strength in his grip as he held her still. Gavran gazed up at her as he licked her navel, and the contact made her pussy clench on nothing; he spread her thighs a little more, then leaned in and licked her clit slowly, Pavlina's eyes snapping wide at the ha
rd ripple that wracked her whole frame. Another lick, slow drag of his tongue, vibration of the small pleased noise he made into her flesh; then Gavran eased his fingers into her, one then two, finding that spot high inside her that wanted pressure and stroking it, his reach longer than Amalja’s. Her internal muscles squeezed around his fingers and Pavlina whined through her nostrils, unable to hold back a small panicky noise at the mounting sense of urgency. Oh, gods, he had to stop, she was going to wet herself if—
"Easy." Gavran reached up with his free hand, rubbed at the tip of one breast; the roughness of his fingertips made her hips roll. "Easy. Breathe."
He shifted that hand back to her hip, holding her as he licked her again, still petting her inside. The urgency gave way to the sense of every muscle in her body tightening, and Pavlina wished she could hold onto him, wrap her legs around him, shove herself against him—but Amalja, watching, drew him away just in time. No, Pavlina wanted to scream, no, please, but she couldn’t make the words come out.
So she stood there, quivering, aching, feeling as though a river had spilled from between her thighs, unable to say a word. “See?” Amalja asked teasingly, tapping Pavlina’s nose with the feather. “You don’t want to be quiet, but you don’t want to give in and admit you can’t be. It’s as good as a muzzle. Gavran, get her down and get those cuffs off. Silk or velvet?”
The sudden mixture of pain and relief as her arms were lowered, as the cuffs were removed, made Pavlina sag powerlessly against Gavran despite her acute awareness of how aroused he was; she just leaned into his shoulder, jaw clenched tight, eyes leaking. “Please...”
“Hush,” the raven answered softly; he nuzzled her hair, and then started to rub her trembling shoulders, working slowly down her arms and around her wrists, massaging her fingers. His hands grew warm—a simple cantrip, one Pavlina knew herself, to ease stiff muscles or carefully thaw frostbitten skin—and the pins-and-needles feeling began to abate. “Hush, pretty thing. I know it hurts.”
“Gavran, don’t coddle her.” Amalja plucked the sheets back from the table at the edges, baring metal rings set into the wood at the corners; now she sorted through a box she’d taken off a shelf, picking out cords. “Silk or velvet?”
“For her? Either,” he answered, “but the silk ties tighter.”
The word tighter made Pavlina’s stomach lurch. Amalja voiced a little wickedly pleased growl. The peacock feather, not forgotten, was tucked back into her hair; another reach into the box and she brought out a red velvet-covered wedge-shaped cushion, centering it about two-thirds of the way down the table. The silk cords came out last, long and inky, tipped with silver crimps. "Good. Bring her here."
Pavlina took a tentative step, the stone floor sinking flat again as she moved, and her calf muscles twinged, making her legs nearly buckle. But Gavran was there to catch her; he just scooped her up as though she weighed nothing at all, and carried her to the table, laying her down at Amalja's direction with the wedge cushion under her hips to lift them. He leaned on the table for a moment, studying Pavlina, then uncoiled her braid and pulled her hair back out of the way, tying it with one of those silver-tipped cords. “She’ll want something under her neck.”
“She’ll be too busy squirming to care.” Amalja's smile was a white gleam; she ran her hands over Pavlina's limbs and began to stretch them toward the corners of the table. Gavran bent forward to help, and when they finished, Pavlina was spread-eagled with her hips canted up, bound to the table's rings with those silk cords. Pavlina twisted as much as she could, testing them, but Gavran was right; she wasn’t getting away any time soon. “Let her simmer a bit, Gavran, let me take care of you.”
Gavran moved to where Pavlina had been fastened, reaching up to grasp the hook, rolling his hips forward as Amalja sat between his feet and loosened his belt. Pavlina exhaled through her nostrils, forcefully, angrily, and closed her eyes tight for a moment. She wasn’t watching this—she wouldn’t frustrate herself further or give Amalja the satisfaction—but she heard leather creak, heard Gavran make a low excited noise, and lust snapped her eyes open.
Amalja didn’t have him bare, not yet; she was kissing him through the leather, rubbing her cheek against the ridge of his erection. Her amber eyes locked onto Pavlina’s violet ones, and she smiled lazily as the younger woman blushed and tried to look away. Then the witch dragged the heavy material aside, and Gavran sighed, little twitches jerking his hips as she eased his cock free, the head already flared and wet. Amalja licked up his length slowly, kissing the head of his cock, cradling him with her tongue, never shifting her gaze from Pavlina’s.
“You see.” Amalja enunciated carefully as she disengaged from her lover, making the raven voice a quiet, raspy groan. “Such patience. Such devotion. Such obedience.” She paused, turning back to Gavran and taking him in her mouth, knowing Pavlina wouldn’t look away; Gavran had a hand around the back of her neck, fingers threaded in her hair, but his grip was lax and gentle, and when Amalja spoke again, it was only a little breathlessly. “Control, Pavlina.” She rolled the words around in her mouth, making them a caress, smiling as Pavlina shivered helplessly. “Knowing how to hold back when you don’t want to. When you don’t have to. That is what you still have to learn.”
The words were almost hypnotically quiet, before Amalja took hold of Gavran’s hips and pulled him fluidly into her mouth. His answering cry was low and grateful, but Pavlina's attention had focused on Amalja, the way she bent into Gavran as she suckled him and then pulled away to tease, and the peacock realized her hips were twitching to that same rhythm. Gavran was still doing his best to hold back, his breathing a deep slow pant as he tried to rein himself in; but Amalja growled encouragingly, raking her nails down his thighs, and he gave in at last, straining into her mouth and then going still all at once, moaning through his orgasm in breathy, gravelly sounds.
Amalja kept her hold on him till he was reasonably steady; then she drew free with a swallow and a satisfied lick of her lips. Even once she fastened up his trousers and his breathing evened out, she hung on a few seconds longer, kissing him, fussing over him, before she snapped upright and removed Pavlina’s tailfeather from her hair.
“Now,” she said, “it’s your turn.”
The witch’s voice was brisk now, businesslike, and just the sight of that bright feather made Pavlina tense. Amalja flicked it against the tip of her nose, grinning to watch her fight a sneeze, then trailed the thing down Pavlina's neck and over her collarbones, watching the flesh prickle. Gavran, at the head of the table, merely observed. "Be still," Amalja murmured. "Very still."
There could be no mistaking the command in the soft words. Pavlina tried to steel herself and be motionless, but she couldn't keep from jerking a little at the brush of the feather's tip into her navel, the tickle raising a fresh tingle between her slick thighs that only intensified when Amalja dragged the feather up the slope of her right breast to tease the taut nipple, earning an outright shiver. Interested by the reaction, Amalja repeated the motion, circling the peak gently before leaning over the table and fastening her plush lips around it. Pavlina gritted her teeth till she thought they’d squeak, but at the first brush of Amalja’s tongue, she finally couldn’t hold back a shuddery gasp. “Ah, ahh—”
Amalja’s response was to bite down with exquisite gentleness, drawing circles around the other nipple with a fingernail before flicking into its tip with the feather. Pavlina whined through her teeth, hips lifting helplessly, a spasm of pleasure tensing her aching calves and making her toes curl. “Oh, gods, please, Mistress, I’ll do what you want, I swear I’ll be good, just—”
“Hush,” Amalja said. She straightened up to brush the feather up Pavlina’s belly, watching the taxed muscles tense beneath the peacock’s perfect skin, then bent again to lick her way down in long sleek sweeps, tasting salt, feeling the younger woman’s body tremble like a plucked string. She dropped a kiss onto Pavlina’s damp mound, savoring the scent of her need and the heat pract
ically boiling off her, and whispered wickedly, “Anything I want?”
“Yes.” Pavlina writhed in her glossy bonds, not caring that Gavran was watching, not caring if the whole village was watching, she just needed, needed— “Anything.”
Amalja pushed Pavlina’s thighs further apart and licked into her once, making her cry out raggedly; then she replaced her tongue with two fingers, caressing, stroking, until the peacock's hips were moving helplessly against her hand and Pavlina panted into Gavran’s proffered kiss. Amalja spread her fingers, stroking deeper, pressing in softly with her nails. Just a little more, now...
She leaned into her work and licked a delicate line alongside the younger woman’s clit, feeling the pulse in the flesh, then began to suck instead, hard, in rhythm with that internal caress. Pavlina came all at once, screaming into empty air, flesh clutching at Amalja’s fingers almost painfully; Amalja just kept sucking her, drawing it out, making her leak wetness. The careful scrape of a fingernail just there and Pavlina shrieked, a second orgasm crashing in on the heels of the first. She quivered and howled, her dripping sex squeezing down hard in a long, wracking climax that shook her till she went utterly limp.
“Come on, girl, breathe.” Gavran patted at Pavlina’s face as she roused, wide-eyed, and gulped air. “Good girl. That’s it.” He untied her wrists and sat her up carefully; she was red-faced and wet-eyed, and the feel of Amalja’s fingers slipping free made her whine as a smaller spasm racked her. “Ama, I think you overdid it.”
“No. No, I’m fine. That was ...” Pavlina blinked up at him; her voice was small and dreamy. “Worth it.”
Amalja laughed, untying the last of the cords and rubbing the peacock’s ankles. “All of it?”
Pavlina nodded. Speaking was an effort when everything felt so good, in a strange fuzzy way. “All of it.”
“You’re a good girl.” Amalja smoothed her fingers over Pavlina's lips, and rubbed the cord marks at her wrists and ankles. “You did well. Very well.”
Peacock Tails #1: A Lesson in Pleasure Page 2