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Omnisin Verse&Sesu

Verse

Verse

Star
Joined
May 8, 2011
Location
Come and play, I am the clouds, I am always away.
The city itself was a dark spectacle; ominous spears to the sky, shadow lacing into shadow. While structures might seem haphazard on first look, sewn together as they were by jagged parts, nothing was left to chance. Pretty plates and onyx - matte fences and onyx. The chaos had a design, had a purpose, followed an ideal. The streetlights, some with emerald in their cages and some with crystal, bathed stained cobblestone to the best of their abilities. Still the skeletal motorbikes and ivory umbrellas fought to be seen through blackness. Smoke from passers-by built up a promise of an uglier tomorrow - a promise the inhabitants always made sure to break. Even if their city was vile, unfriendly and hostile it had always been beautiful, this was a story reflected and corroborated in the puddles just before hard heels distorted that truth.

And to exist in Aivonstad you had to be just as full of sharp edges and just as fair.

The event of the night, a Tuesday - crowned by elevated lips to be the new day of recreation - was the launching minglette of Lark's recent line of clothing. The brand boasted most sales of last year, their revenue surpassing even that of advanced electronics and the energy source itself, Alfite. Planner of the party Yari Montegra had been given no choice but to promise the board a tasteful but resounding get-together for the finer lifeforms of Aivonstad. So the whole thing was held in Hotel SilkVerk, where the entire business had been rented so that the guests could haunt whichever nook they desired. The main room could be nothing but the main hall, rebuilt entirely for the occasion. Competing and winning over the detailed, dark wood walls and sizable chandeliers were the tall and narrow podiums that served to carry the concepts of the new line.

Forming this seasons fashion among the cockroaching crowd were experimental boots and intricate plates of jewelery, more fit to be shields than broaches. Lithe, black feathers sprung from stone incrusted nests, everything coated in that recently invented alloy Lark had dared name The Aivon Blend. It was obvious they didn't want to abandon a decade of decadence with this new direction, but rather control it, channel it into important pieces of the ensemble instead of letting everyone mix everything. In Aivonstad with so many lifetimes in front of the mirror, fashion was blood, and in this era Lark was the heart.

The demonically detailed subjects where there for the elite runt to drool and gossip over, while the elite elite had a chance to hear the latest deign genius speak about his little infant that would soon grow into a monster and obsession for the masses. Or so the plan was.

Leilan Veris was always alive, always filled to the brim. But that didn't mean he was the rosy-cheeked lad that swayed as he walked, giggling and waving to the nobler dames of lower classes. He was an engineer at heart, not a cloth illusionist, and as such he was more eager to see his deceitful articles do their work instead of being on display. The spear-like creature that he was, tall and sharp and thin, swirled the ember in his glass as his eyes were on a particular piece of his collection. The brown was deeply set in his eyes, long blades of black hair brushed to stab backward and up for the occasion. His face was therefor free in its bothered thoughtfulness. Dressed in black clothes and lace, these spindly shadows sometimes broken by cut, orange stones, he received more compliments on his attire than his creations. Of course. Who would suspect someone who makes gaudy things to have a subtle palled as well? "Did you hear of the designer? I hear he fused demonology with technology." "Have you heard about the new favorite on the Lark board? Leilan Veris, the alchemist."

The chatter made him laugh. Maybe it was magic to them, the science that he had doctored in. He reached out, penetrating the invisible field that protected his work. The computer recognized his signature and let him touch the fabric. Masterpieces that would let him take lives without ending them. And no one knew.

He retracted his gloved fingers before anyone caught on. The cackling crowd thinned, which only meant they opened the tables for food or the ones for samples. The art in the main hall was for shining a light that the mainstream clothes would strive for, cheaper clothing with a dream of something more divine, because even Lark couldn't mass-produce what he had put together. He brushed his chin against the soft lace of his collar when he looked down into his drink, smiling. Perhaps it was enough that his art existed. It was perfect, he knew. Maybe that was all it needed to be.
 
She walked into the room as though it were empty, and somehow everyone managed to clear out of her path. It was difficult to gawk when one stood too close, and gawk they did. Her name was whispered and hummed. Rene Sounkin, daughter of Chancellor Sounkin. She moved with the dignified arrogance that her breeding had trained into her. After twenty-four years of staring eyes, camera lenses, and fierce tongued governesses, Rene couldn’t slouch even if she wanted to.

Impossibly high stilettos tried to make up for her lack of physical height and attitude compensated for any inches missed. As much as she herself might have drawn attention, it was her dress that caught the rest. The slippery silver fabric looked darker against her ivory pale skin, falling narrow at her knees though it bustled in the back. The key piece was the corset, an article of Lark’s latest designer. When it was delivered this morning the woman said it was a masterpiece, her lips pulled high with delight. Rene had shrugged and waited until the girl left to even look at it.

Not until she put it on did she realize what a masterpiece it was. The fibers tightened of their own accord once the laces were pulled and tied, fitting to her curves perfectly and squeezing just the right amount to have her breasts straining upward. It was a tease, just the way everything else she did was, because it was common gossip that Rene was a prude the likes of which society hadn’t known in centuries.

She turned silver eyes, colored to fit her dress, up to skim the artworks the room had to offer. Her lashes were long and black like the lines around her eyes and her hair at first glance, but when the light hit the intricately wild updo, strands shone with a hue of emerald green.

The crowd was moving, one of her entourage moving quickly to her side to whisper that the dining hall had been opened. She flicked a few fingers at her side and the girl skittered back to the rest that flowed around and behind her. She hadn’t intended to attend at all, but the corset was so perfect and the fabric so luscious that she couldn’t resist paying some homage to the creators, though she would never admit to it.
 
Leilan tipped his glass back to swallowed the last of the fire. He had felt it enter before everyone else turned their heads for her. The team had liked when he made small talk with Chancellor Sounkin back when most of the pieces of his lineup weren't done yet. All for this. He stared, of course, because she didn't know him. Even at this distance was his stare enough to attract her attention? She had been gawked at her entire life. Could he move her ego?

That's what made her perfect; fighter for nothing, owner of everything.

Upon making the first seam he had known there was a good chance a perfect time to unleash his secret onto the world would never come, but that didn't mean he could enjoy some games behind the curtains. It looked right on her. Rene was the only one in the world wearing one of his creations, the first. The Chancellor had probably received more love than usual when he brought the gift to his daughter.

She stopped by the sister of the corset she wore, an almost equal piece in design and possibility. He took a step closer, shoulder brushing hers when he nodded for the display, as if that had been his object of attention all along.

"Pretty, isn't it? It's almost as if it breathes." he suggested with a clear voice, no thanks to his drink. It wasn't an optical illusion, the garment and material did move slightly in the presence of its master and maker. She should notice, but it should be vague enough to be doubtful. The people who wouldn't visit the dining area were still browsing all around them, a scattered gaggle of enthusiasts. He changed hand for his glass and extended the freed palm for her, smiling in a friendly manner. Leather for the lady. Could he seem friendly with all those dark patches on his face, put there by Ms Montegra's lighting. Rene looked edible, her bare arms, her rare hair - almost beckoning him to sink his teeth into her exposed skin. It was hard not to oblige. The piece that she wore would help him on his way to seem familiar, shrinking very softly to emulate a fond reaction to his proximity and then inject it into her subconscious.

In an instant a plethora of images bled itself into the balls of his eyes, spreading like liquid does in more liquid, presenting a world of outcomes to what he was about to do. Her lips, ripped to a color so much brighter than the one she wore, her eyes bloodshot and wide, her throat pumping to supply oxygen he might not let her have. Her salt on his lips, on his kiss. Anything he wanted. He swallowed and continued to keep the hand he'd given extended. She had been a political insurance at first, because her father had enough chords to pull down the world if he was played right, but she just had to go and be beautiful with equal vanity, didn't she?

Do you know when you shake hands with your demon?
 
She shivered. It wasn't intentional or caused by the cold. Her eyes slid down to look at her own body, at the sleeve of material that she could have sworn had shivered around her, flexing against her skin to make her shudder. When she looked up again there was a man brushing past her shoulder to stand her side. She had seen the move before. Touch but pretend to have interest elsewhere. He spoke before she could decide to walk away and his words kept her heels grounded. Her gaze flickered back up to the clothing on display. A corset that breathes. It almost made her smile.

Rene turned her eyes to look up at him. "Have we been introduced?"

Her hand slid down the front of her corset before moving to rest against her hip. It looked cocky, but really she just wanted to touch the fabric again.
 
invitation, dear

He could pick out a pleasurable caress when he saw one. She touched just as he had in its early stages. At least she knew a good thing when she wore one. The silver pools offered him a drown as they blared a challenge his way. Was he worth her while or not? Locking his hands behind his back along with a much upset vial of liquid he stood tall without suggesting with his posture that he was a proud person. A step closer to further invoke on her personal sphere before he gave another nod for the thing they both admired.

"I am Leilan Veris. I made that." His voice changed as a flick of his shoulder and then wrist left a soft, finger-drawn line over her stomach. She'd feel warm there from his magic. He even allowed it to hug her a little more. "And this."

A lone spear of his hair slid to fall from its intended, frozen state, touching his ear and framing his features like so as he looked into her, his darkness pressing on to her mercury. If he was mad, some of it might have been visible then.

"I looks good on you." The glass came up again, submitting another swallow to his smirk. "I have more, you know, things unfit for display, political princess." Boldly, or maybe rudely, he placed the drink on the mount upon which the art was held. "It's in the wine cellar."
 
She tensed at his boldness, her nose wanting to wrinkle and her body keen on turning away. But even she knew better than to snub the creator of desirable art. Even if money and power could force a man to paint or sew, it could never compel the same greatness in their works. Her mind moved quickly and decided that she could tolerate boldness on occasion if his work remained as exquisite.

Stepping to the side and she gave what was almost a smile and more than most every got. "Lead the way."
 
He examined the change of her expressions carefully, saved them for another occasion. The bend of her nose and the tightening of her skin; miniscule but detectable. Hah. Delicious. Anger, restrain, uneasy forgiveness. He supposed a woman of her standing couldn't very well grow up in the public eye without some kind of thick skin. It was risky to extract too much of what she'd call mercy while they were still among so many eyes, but that was the allure, wasn't it? She distanced herself with a step, he followed with the same, hand on her back to deliver another order, this one to the parts of the corset that touched her spine. Electricity, barely noticeable, and more heat. It was a way to continue fooling her that she had some kind of inclination for him, and to direct her physically toward where he wanted them to go.

"Of course, dear." he promised as he started taking them away from the room.

The corridor outside wasn't void of other bodies, but it was probably as empty as anything would be in this building for the entire night. Their walk and clothes and attitude granted them the staff's cooperation so they could go wherever they wanted. His hand didn't leave her back, scratching the cloth there every once in a while. Their eyes met on occasion as he guided them. It was hard not to try something then; bleed her on place, taste her.

"Ah." he announced and opened the wooden door. Leave it to SilkVerk to have falling apart boards kept together with rusted, painted over bars of iron to keep the feeling right for their refreshment cellar. They had to walk closer together now, since the path was narrow and steep, and he made sure she had enough heat through that one article of clothing. Before they reached the spaces with racks of bottles he had shed his gloves with his teeth, reluctantly leaving the hold on her back to do so.

"What's your liquid?" he asked as he looked around, trying to delay her realization that there were no other pieces of his collection here. If it didn't work, he had prepared a predatory curl on his lips for her. In the event of her leaving, she wouldn't take many steps until she would feel a slight ache in her stomach and a pressure building in her lunges.
 
She descended those few rustic steps into the quaint yet roomy cellar. Her heels sounded harsh against the stone floor. Her lips parted to answer her question, it was such a usually one for her to hear that it came naturally, but her eyes sharpened as her mind caught up quickly. She hadn't come for wine. Her eyes found his when he turned to await her answer, narrowing to glint silvers at him. There were no other outfits here. Of course not. It was a wine cellar. Rene would have rolled her eyes at herself had she not been glaring at him. Why had she followed him to begin with?

"Nicely played." She hissed before turning her back on him, arrogance having her fearless even in a dark room with a man she'd never met. As she turned she caught the beginnings of a grin on his face. He looked darker than she had expected, more sinister than she had anticipated. It wasn't like her to misread a person, but perhaps she'd never met one like him before.

She had taken two steps toward the now closed cellar door when it happened. Her ribs strained and her breath hitched as it came in short. Her hand pressed to her stomach, the soft fabric of her corset impossibly strong as it tightened around her like a snake. Her legs wobbled and her other arm shot out, palm grabbing at the nearest wall to keep her from falling. She sucked a breath and looked down at her dress with large matching eyes. Impossible.
 
"Not a drinker, then?"

He could see the low of her back shrink in its width, giving that part of her body more curve. It was a small aesthetic change that caused much pain. Her sounds, a testament to his genius and a shiver to reach his center, made themselves known through the crevices stuffed with aged glass. It was such a compliment to see her bend and catch herself, realization plastered over her back. He caressed the ass she had turned him with his gaze for a few moments, letting her be in the new misery in silence. Then he started browsing the wines of the closest rack. Alcoholless? Perfect. The sound of his soles kept her company until he decided to speak, pulling out a black bottle as he unbuttoned his collar.

"You see, Rene, I don't really like wine, but I appreciate the work that goes into making the finer brands." He looked at the label. Of course. The better things would be deeper in. He reached over to cruelly snatch the wrist of her supporting arm and spin her to him, discarding her form, robbed of balance, to collapse on the floor. It was a beautiful woman below him as he started to release the bottle from its cork. "But I think I know your problem." He assured her as he got down on one knee to grab her chin. The weapon would only get tighter around her the more time that passed. He was sure the crushing point was coming up soon. "Now I'm going to tell you to drink this lesser kind of liquid so that you'll be able to appreciate what's good and what isn't in the future, and you're going to humor me." His recently undressed fingers dug into her cheeks to part her teeth, tipping the bottle into her mouth, into her throat. "Aren't you, Rene?"

He let the corset back to it's original fit, creating a suction in her so that she would receive what he was forcing onto her better.
 
She had only vaguely heard his words, too calm and melodic for the sudden chaos of her body. She couldn't breathe and found herself on the floor, her face held up by his fingers, stretching her neck. Her lips were parted to gasp at air even as her lungs had no place for it. Glass was shoved into her mouth, clicking against her teeth and as soon as the liquid hit her tongue the corset expanded, releasing her lungs to have her sucking the red in. Wine swelled inside her lungs, burning as she coughed and choked, spitting red while more poured in. It splashed on the stone floor and flowing in fast rivulets down her throat and over her breasts, both practically spilt from the top of the corset, pink nipples partially exposed to the stone floor and wine dribble.
 
He held it there to fill her, lavishing in the sight of her struggle to breathe through the liquid. His cock awoke sluggishly at the same level as her head was, trying the already close fabric before his zipper. Holding the round bottom of the glass cylinder hard and her face harder, he stuck it deeper, shaking it slightly to supply more, probably upsetting her violated throat more in the process. It painted her beautifully. Chaotic, just like she never had been. It was rapture to see her fight it, it was rapture to see her loose. In the end there was nothing left to funnel into her unwilling hole.

"Next time you try a good vintage," he said as he pulled the neck of the bottle out of the neck of the girl, a sound of suction and flesh-to-glass friction following. "you might remember this and enjoy it like I do, daughter of Chancellor." He rose as he let go of her, wiping his hand against his chest as he left her there so he could place the empty vessel back where he'd found it. Leilan soon returned to her, pulling her up on her feet again, a beautiful winefall finding its way over her cleaved torso and down her already distressed dress.

"I am going to call you tonight, later," He kissed her swollen, soaked lips softly, tenderly, before his affection advanced over to her cheek and jaw, down her neck. At last he could kiss each hardened, chilled bud of her breasts before he straightened and buttoned his collar back to how it had been. Quite a few strands of hair had fallen from their original structure on his head but there was no need for that anymore. She knew he was dangerous. "And you are going to answer."

With expert hands he grabbed what she wore and he had made, pulling it up to at least conceal her mounds of flesh before he shrugged out of his coat, encasing her in it over her shoulders. "You should go first. You can say I spilled it on you if someone notices. Excuse yourself and go home." The parts of his stare that invited her to challenge him on this were the same parts that assure her she would be sorry if she did.

Another light-storm of images, all stressing her continued agony and torture returned to his mind. He smiled kindly at her, waving at the door above.
 
It was a haze after that. A sluggish walk that quickly had her found by those of her employ and then rushed away before others could see her covered in wine and tousled. The full scope of the encounter hadn't fully hit her until she was home in her penthouse- until she tried to take the wretched garment off. The skirt came free and like her shoes were tossed in the trash, but the corset wouldn't be moved. It had really happened. He had nearly suffocated her with the fabric somehow. In a near violent rage she had tried everything to get it off. She had pulled, tugged, and even cut at the corset, but the fabric would not even be worn or tattered. At one point she had prepared herself firmly to burn it off. She had the money to repair the damages it would do to her body, she might even come out looking better by the end and the pain killers might help her forget the complete humiliation of her encounter. She had filled the tub with cool water and taken a lighter to the corset as she stood beside it, ready to cast herself in once it had been burned away- but the fabric wouldn't lite.

Of course not. Rene had screamed wrathfully but when the energy was spent she found herself without options. She could always pick up the phone and call someone, tell them what had happened and order them to fix it. But she didn't. She showered in her corset, the wine rinsing away clean like the water itself that never quite soaked in. Even then, she couldn't help but marvel at the perfect of the garment, as much as she hated it.

When her phone rang that night she was sitting in her living room in a silk robe, panties, and a demonic corset. She lifted the receiver to her ear and spoke before he could. "Get it off of me, or I'll have you killed."
 
He had been reclined into his leather for a while now, enjoying another glass of what he had left on the stand to talk to her, educate her. They had not particularly liked that he opted to duck out of the party early, but they knew better than to upset him by now. Perhaps he couldn't threaten the highest of them with violence yet, but that didn't mean they weren't under his thumb. He could still procrastinate, or 'fail' to produce the results they wanted.

The phone in his hand knew its destination when he pressed the green square. She didn't let it ring many times. She had healed somewhat, he could hear. What had she done when she realized she couldn't get it off? Her anger was enticing, challenging.

"You've had a lot of expensive education, Rene, and still you don't know when to be sweet." He noted as the lowered the window on his side, peering up at the building that housed her. The very top. Didn't matter. She could be on the other side of the world and it would still obey his smallest suggestion. "But since you're the daughter of a friend I am going to teach you one more time." Silence after termination of the call. Silence in the elevator.

Her prison of cloth would constrict again, stiffening and bending to push at a very critical point. Did she still harbor all that wine? He knocked at the door softly. Somehow he imagined she'd hear. Black eyes served up to greet her.
 
She had only just hung up the phone, standing to pace when the corset squeezed her again. Rene parted her lips to scream but the air cut off too quickly, hitching in her throat as her knees buckled. She grabbed at the arm of the couch with one hand and with the other clawed at her belly. It seemed tighter against her abdomen this time, pressing her stomach. Her thighs trembled, her knees pressing into the carpet. "No." She wheezed miserably. The corset squeezed her middle until finally something had to give. Her eyes widened in shock as warmth spread down the inside of her thighs, her own piss soaking her panties.
 
He opened the door after having realized she wouldn't be coming. Her lock was state of the art, which meant it took him a few moments extra. The light was pretty in here, as if it was still daylight outside. The open spaces soon lead him to where she was, distressful and thrown on the floor, again wet with what he had done to her. His lips parted when his jaw lowered. Getting closer, button after button relented it's hold on his jacket. It lay in his wake when he stood by her and her small puddle.

He could have lived off her expression, the sharpness of his features eternal as he declared his position simply by standing while she sat. While being beautiful in her defeat she also signified another one of his victories. His weapon had worked. The pants he wore were feeling so much like a restrain he was sure either the seams or his cock itself would break. Shirt to the floor, black eyes draping her body. She wore it under her robe.

His skin took on the lighting of her home well. He'd spent very few hours outside as a child, and even fewer when he made his war inside laboratories as a grown man. She was his fruit.

A particularly cruel command and the thing around her hardened, pushed more against her flesh, compressing her inner where she sat. He could make it cleave her; parts of him wanted it, to see her in two halves, bathed in blood and piss.

A hand extended down, waving upward. He could make it worse for her, if she disobeyed.
 
She gasped at pitifully shallow swallows of air, looking up at the movement of his fingers directing her to rise from where she sat slumped on the floor. She shook but reached with arms to claw at the arm the couch beside her in order to pull herself to her knees again. Her eyes were turning red and her cheeks the same. She couldn't breathe and her ribs were straining against the corset, bruising with every shift and stretch she made to obey his random will.
 
He let it be as it had been on the floor, deciding against increasing the punishment. With effort of her body, nearly breaking now, she found herself erected eventually. The robe came untied by a swift pull she stood there, never allowing for the thought that she might say anything to stop him. Parting the moist rope and then the sides of her garment he let her cover slide off her shoulders. Her darkened panties accentuated and revealed her small slit and the firm bulges that it consisted of.

He was ready to slap her hands away if they'd come up to cover her breasts. Beautiful. Marks were starting to form on the skin above the corsets lining. Marvelous. But he enjoyed the deep curves inward just above where her hipbone should be the most. If he wanted to he could make her waist so small those curves met at the middle of her body. Still, he didn't tell the garment to do what. This would be her knew shape, her everyday form.

"I could squeeze your insides out your mouth." he said, mesmerized by his own power as he slid a finger over her throat and collarbone, watching her trembling breast perk as his fingerprint cut over the nipple. "But I won't."

His hand slid down her stomach, where her new shackles covered her skin. That cloth always reacted fondly to his touch, the warmth transferring onto her own nerves. Descending further, the belly of his longest finger pressed her wet underwear up the cleave of her cunt, rubbing against the clit.

"Instead I'll reshape you, mind and body." He stated darkly, nodding for the hill jutting out from his hips under his pants. "You're beautiful. But I'll make you perfect." He promised, as if it was the greatest honor anyone could receive.
 
Between the labor to breathe and now the gasps and mewling excitement at his touch, it seemed her lips never had the chance to close. Her fingers coiled in the front of his shirt, wanting to push him away but found herself using him as a means to stay standing. Her body shuddered, her hips involuntarily rocking against his hand. She wanted desperately to tell herself that it was in the attempt to get away, but it would have been a pitiful lie. Her body leaned into his, breasts rubbing against his chest and she could have sworn that even through the cruel corset she could feel the fabric of his shirt rubbing against her tight nipples. She hated him, even as she rubbed herself against him and mewled.
 
His expression softened slightly when her hands touched his chest to keep herself up. The attention of his fingers lured her closer into him. How lovely it was that she could enjoy his touch even through the agony she must be feeling. He rewarded the honest sounds of her lips by kissing them firmly, feeding her his tongue deeply, parting her mouth to lick at the back of her tongue with the tip of his as he slid her panties to the side, stabbing her slickening cunt with two fingers, immediately pumping eagerly while his thumb pushed at her clit. Through her pain and distraction and pleasure he still made sure she heard him

"Take it out."

And when she did, pulling the pants off his hips, it would spring up, probably slapping her hand and painting it with precum. He dove deeper into her mouth, images of that bottle pressed in there making him more eager to find other ways of hurting her. His fingers hooked inside her, massaging the soft area there as they continued to move in and out violently, as if her was trying to lift her with that alone, thumb hard against her bud. She'd seen her last days of freedom, but she could still have pleasure.
 
Her mind was a haze of pain and want. She half sucked and half choked on his tongue, unable to focus as she still struggled to breathe. Her hips squirmed as she leaned up onto her toes, knees spreading wider as though he needed more room to abuse her sex. Shaking hands opened his pants, breath hitching to choking on their joined saliva when his cock came out her fingers all too eagerly wrapping around his heat and rubbing him in her palm, pumping as her hips rocked against his cruel hand and her breath wheezed around his tongue.
 
He purred among all the grunting, his lungs reacting to her obedience. Apparently pain and threat to her very life was enough to make her compliant. He forced her already straining sex to take a third finger, thumb never relenting on her clit as her hand around his cock cemented it's full form. He moaned into her mouth darkly before pulling back to watch her face, his fingers relentlessly trying to reach deeper into her inner.

He stared at her and their saliva mixed on the lower part of her face, drinking in her expression as he continued to enjoy exploring her cunt harshly. He'd always have her, and yet her hand made him feel urgent. His own lips, moisten by hers, parted to say

"Down on your knees." he ordered, sliding out of her with all the delicious noise that came with it. Sticking his soaked fingers into his mouth, tasting his salty, thick victory, he nodded for the floor she'd wet that it wasn't a choice for her to make. "Deeper than the bottle." He smiled around the fingers he was pulling out, subtly making the corset hum to remind her what could happen.
 
It was embarrassing how eagerly her legs bent to drop her with little grass on the floor in front of him. Her own excited juices making her inner thighs slick. One hand still stroked him, pumping as she licked her lips and then parted them, leaning in to take his cock into her mouth. She sucked and made sure he heard it, her saliva dribbling down her chin.
 
His hand touched her head, caressing her scalp, her hair still wet from the bath she'd obviously cleaned the wine off her body with. His head tilted as he watched her, fingers slowly digging at her skin, softly at first. He shivered at the feeling of her mouth enveloping his dick, rocking slightly into her affection, her submission. And then the contraption would constrict again, warning her harshly that this wasn't at all as deep as the bottle had been. He smirked cruelly for her to see if she would try to seek the reason up on his face. The deeper she let him be in her throat, the more she'd be able to breathe.

As his pants dropped to the floor from simply having been open at the zipper, his palm hugged the back of her head, clawed it, shoving it toward him, demonstrating how she should take him before letting go and letting the corset speak for itself, squeezing her harder, waist and lunges.
 
It was cruel. The corset only allowed her ribcage to expand and her lungs to take air, so long as she used his cock to suffocate herself in exchange. Soon her hand didn't need to stroke him anymore, couldn't because the head of his dick had popped into the back of her throat. Her body shook as though it would gag, her face red, but she couldn't deliver the sounds, couldn't breathe, but the corset felt so loose. She moved her head on him like that, popping him in and out of her throat and moving him inside it as long as she could between wheezing desperate gasps.
 
She had understood his will. Good. With some further harshness from his hand he increased the speed with which he diminished the reflexes in her throat. It was a beautiful, until recently virgin tunnel she'd had no choice but to let him have. Sucking back his breath he spiked her on his cock again, her forehead to his stomach tightly as he made her choice to swallow his orgasm his rather than hers, loosing it beyond the parts of her neck she had control over. She must be fretting, being made to keep her breath for so long, filled with foreign liquids.

He let go of her, grinning with sharp teeth as she unsheathed his cock to get those breaths she had wanted. It was a delight to see her like this. Promise in mind, he didn't increase the already tightened state of the corset, and let her have the pause she'd deserved. His head was still swimming with the pleasure of cumming when he stepped out of his pants and nodded for her couch. Perhaps she had thought it was over?

"Knees on the cushions and spread, bend over the back with your ass in the air." She'd do as he said, of course, or he wouldn't let her breathe, and then he'd be on his knees on the same cushions behind her, trying to see if that pussy of hers was as tight as his fingers had discovered.
 
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