[Though it was surprising, the warm scent of rain-damp pine and soil in the monument to artificial wealth that was the Golden Peacock casino… Kiritsubo enjoys being surprised. After hundreds of years of living, she came upon them less and less, and in turn… they became more valuable. And… it is not far from reminiscent of her own home, that she can still recall no matter the centuries and the miles apart. The sharp scent of northern fur and spruce… the warm rot of layer and layer of leaves upon the ground, crunching under her paws.
She likes it.
At first, she just watches him. Where he will choose to stand, how he will move. He sends the suspenders tumbling off of broad, muscular shoulders, and she admires them openly, shamelessly. Listens, just as intently as she watches, as she idly lifts a pale leg to brush her foot along the side seam of his trousers, tracing the shape of a sturdy leg beneath with painted toes as she leans back on the mattress, supporting her slight weight with one hand, the other toying at the belt of her robe.]
You are free to restrain yourself as little or as much as you like… I may look dainty, but… it’s no trouble for me to make myself sturdier where need be.
[She’s had some gentlemen here express concern for hurting her, because of their own strength or the shape she wore that day, and sure, she preferred pleasure to pain herself. That’s why she assures him it isn’t a matter of masochism or sacrifice, that she’d be willing to suffer for a stranger if he needed it… but instead, that she could make it so that she did not suffer, no matter how tight his grip, how sharp the bites, or how forceful his thrusts became if he wished to give in to aggression. (Well… a little suffering could be fun play, but. Tonight, she was in the mood for satisfaction.]
Besides, I’m the same way… I just can’t stand the pressure. Building, and building, just waiting for an excuse to be let out…
[Her foot traces up and down his leg along with her words, her gaze heavy as she carves out the shape of just chest and arms, watching him begin to strip down. And if he was…]
Do you like tattoos, Concord… ? The unicorns I am acquainted with saw it as a soiling of the flesh, but…
[Just because they were all the same species did not mean there were not surely differences across worlds and cultures. A tug of the belt around her waist as she asks undoes the knot of her robe. Another tug, slower, sets the fabric to gaping at the chest, revealing hints of generous cleavage on (as of yet?) unspoiled, milk-white skin.]
no subject
She likes it.
At first, she just watches him. Where he will choose to stand, how he will move. He sends the suspenders tumbling off of broad, muscular shoulders, and she admires them openly, shamelessly. Listens, just as intently as she watches, as she idly lifts a pale leg to brush her foot along the side seam of his trousers, tracing the shape of a sturdy leg beneath with painted toes as she leans back on the mattress, supporting her slight weight with one hand, the other toying at the belt of her robe.]
You are free to restrain yourself as little or as much as you like… I may look dainty, but… it’s no trouble for me to make myself sturdier where need be.
[She’s had some gentlemen here express concern for hurting her, because of their own strength or the shape she wore that day, and sure, she preferred pleasure to pain herself. That’s why she assures him it isn’t a matter of masochism or sacrifice, that she’d be willing to suffer for a stranger if he needed it… but instead, that she could make it so that she did not suffer, no matter how tight his grip, how sharp the bites, or how forceful his thrusts became if he wished to give in to aggression. (Well… a little suffering could be fun play, but. Tonight, she was in the mood for satisfaction.]
Besides, I’m the same way… I just can’t stand the pressure. Building, and building, just waiting for an excuse to be let out…
[Her foot traces up and down his leg along with her words, her gaze heavy as she carves out the shape of just chest and arms, watching him begin to strip down. And if he was…]
Do you like tattoos, Concord… ? The unicorns I am acquainted with saw it as a soiling of the flesh, but…
[Just because they were all the same species did not mean there were not surely differences across worlds and cultures. A tug of the belt around her waist as she asks undoes the knot of her robe. Another tug, slower, sets the fabric to gaping at the chest, revealing hints of generous cleavage on (as of yet?) unspoiled, milk-white skin.]