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Even restrained, there was no part of the Dahlia that exuded weakness. The only parts of her that seemed helpless were the parts she wanted people to see.
Black Swan kept her distance as she paced around her captive, surveilling her to ensure she wouldn’t make her escape. Her concentration was mainly reserved for the cascade of spectral arms she’d summoned to restrain Constance in the center of the dance hall. The largest one kept the Cremator’s arms locked behind her back, with both her wrists within its crystalline clawed grasp, while several more wrapped around her legs to hold her down to the floor. The result was that she was trapped in a kneeling position, almost resembling a gesture of supplication.
Though, the look on Constance’s face was anything but supplicant - rather, it was the look of a predator lying in ambush, biding her time until the right moment to strike.
“I daresay, you are an incorrigible woman, Miss Swan,” Constance purred, her voice light and lilting with an affectation of sincerity. “All this, just for me? You shouldn’t have.”
“And yet, I have,” Black Swan replied, not breaking eye contact. She didn’t want to miss the moment the mask slipped. “So don’t think I’ll fall for this act so easily. I know you too well to let you get away with your tricks.”
The Dahlia’s sharp face softened with mock concern, eyebrows raised, her lips forming a small “o” shape. “Oh, how cruel of you~” she remarked, less of an accusation and more of a backhanded compliment. “Is this why you’ve been so rough with me, dear? You don’t trust me?”
Black Swan paused mid-step, turning to face Constance and walking up to her without a word. Her eyes said it all, staring daggers at the demoness in defiance of her wicked tongue; though she feigned innocence, the Memokeeper saw clearly through her crocodile tears. To think she still thought that she could charm her way into Swan’s good graces (and into her pants) with honeyed words, like she hadn’t grown wise enough to taste the poison. It was almost insulting.
But therein lay the trap; the insult was the point. A message, written in flaming script, straight from her rotten heart for only her dear Swan to see: “Predictable. Boring. You are not worth the effort of my full attention.”
Seeing how easily the Memokeeper took the bait, it appeared Constance was proven correct.
“You want me to trust you?” Black Swan’s brow cocked with clear intent to challenge, as she reached out to tangle her gloved fingers in Constance’s raven tresses. “Then you’ll have to do something to earn my trust.”
Those patient eyes drifted downwards to the front of Black Swan’s crotch, and a truly terrifying smile split across the Dahlia’s face - fangs bared, tongue racing over glistening teeth. “Oh, darling,” she purred, practically salivating with anticipation. “You should know better than to threaten me with a good time~”
Black Swan could see the devotion in Constance’s gaze, feel the heat of her scarlet eyes practically burning a hole in her pantyhose. It made part of her want to vomit, seeing how effortlessly she could play this role - how easy it was for her to play at submission, pretending to be the kind of woman who could gladly die a thousand deaths between her thighs. But then again, with Constance, the lines between truth and falsehood were always wafer-thin.
She knew she should run. She should leave Constance here, trapped in her constructs, and pray she wouldn’t escape them too quickly. She should do anything, go anywhere else - nowhere else in the universe was more dangerous than being in the same room as this woman. She shouldn’t stay. She shouldn’t do this.
But it was simply in Black Swan’s nature to play with fire. And Aeons help her, she longed for the feeling of flames licking her skin.
It was a simple matter for Black Swan to dispel her undergarments; after all, as a memetic entity, there was no part of her appearance that she could not change at will, including her clothes. All it took was a thought, and Black Swan’s rosy nether lips were left bare and exposed. Constance’s eyes flashed scarlet at the sight; she would have lunged forward to sink her teeth into such succulent flesh right then and there, were it not for the cascade of shimmering arms holding her in place.
“You are aware of the rules, I assume,” the Memokeeper emphasized with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t need to remind you of who’s in charge here. Do I?”
The melodious laugh Constance let out sent a chill down Black Swan’s back, as the Cremator looked up at her with barely-concealed hunger. “No, I think you know that quite well. But far be it from me to complain, when you’re keeping such a tantalizing meal just out of reach-”
She didn’t get to finish her thought before Black Swan mashed the Dahlia’s face into her crotch, eager for her to put her wicked tongue to a more productive use.
A task she approached with a fervent delight, as her tongue swiftly speared through Swan’s folds and began digging into her pussy. The tip curled upwards slightly to prod the underside of her clit, extending just far enough to provide some brief stimulation, before retreating to explore more of her labia instead. Constance devoured Swan’s pussy not with the ravenous appetite of a starving woman, but with the elegance and manners of a connoisseur - taking each and every minute to savor her meal.
Black Swan trembled as the tips of Constance’s horns grazed her thighs - a close shave, just barely pricking the skin. With her head tilted at a practiced angle, the Dahlia was free to indulge as much as she wished, and Swan was loath to admit that her technique hadn’t lessened in the slightest. Her breathing grew more ragged with every stroke of the Cremator’s tongue, as more and more of her juices began to drip down her chin.
“Mmmm, simply delectable,” Constance murmured, batting her eyelashes up at her supposed captor. “How I’ve missed this taste…to think you’ve shared it with so many others, but not me.” Her expression seemed demure, but her voice was thick with possessive undertones. “Like this ‘Acheron’ woman I hear so much about…I wonder, do you ever whisper my name when she fucks you?”
An invisible hand closed itself around Black Swan’s chest at that question. Her eyes went wide as her cheeks went red - she choked on a gasp and her thighs visibly clenched…before the Dahlia’s elegant laughter echoed up from between them.
“I’m joking, darling,” she drawled, her lips curled in a triumphant smirk. “Aeons, dear Swan, you haven’t changed a bit. Still as fun as ever to rile up…and still so easy.”
“You-ahh!” Black Swan’s protests were instantly interrupted by the scrape of teeth against her clit, and the suction of the Dahlia’s lips against her labia as her tongue slipped inside once again. “H-how dare- mmph~”
“That’sh it, mphh~” Constance murmured with closed eyes, muffling her voice with a mouthful of pussy. “Jusht enjoy imph~”
It was a cavalcade of sensation, against which the Memokeeper had no defense. Pleasure raced through her veins, honing her senses to the one singular point where Constance’s tongue plundered her sex, and dampening everything else. No sound, no light, nothing else could be perceived, save for that wonderful mouth and the wonderful things it did between her legs.
Part of Black Swan could feel her control over this exchange rapidly slipping away, but at this point, she no longer cared. She just wanted this torment to end. She needed to cum, to feel the Dahlia’s serpentine tongue hit that perfect spot to unravel her completely - she was just so, so close…
Mercifully, Constance didn’t make her beg (although she would have done it by that point if she’d asked). She could feel Black Swan’s desperate desires plainly enough, and she would not take any longer than she needed to grant them. Not when there was so much more she had planned for tonight.
With one well-timed thrust of her tongue, Black Swan came apart. Her head snapped back as her hips thrust forward, her whole body shaking with the force of her climax, letting out a strangled moan that echoed through the empty dance hall. A pair of hands wrapped around her waist to hold her upright, squeezing her ass as Constance nuzzled deeper against her companion’s soaked pussy, leaving her breathless as she succumbed to the aftershocks-
Wait. A cold stab of realization. Whose hands were those?
Black Swan opened her eyes to find her worst fears validated; the spectral arms she’d summoned to capture the Dahlia were gone, shattered into motes of iridescent memoria. Now freed, Constance had brought her arms to wrap around the Memokeeper’s thighs, holding her in place and leaving her unable to escape from her talented tongue-lashing. And judging from the glint in her eyes, she’d been waiting for this moment from the very start.
“Oops.” Her voice sang with malice, even as she licked her lips clean. “See, I was right. Too. Easy.”
Rising to her feet in one graceful movement, Constance quickly caught Black Swan as her trembling legs gave out beneath her. One arm around her waist, the other outstretched with their fingers entwined, the resulting image was akin to two lovers entwined in a waltz. A dance Black Swan was finding herself performing quite often, as of late - tonight was not the first time, and deep down, she knew it would not be the last.
“There’s my pretty bird,” the Dahlia cooed mockingly. “I knew you’d come to your senses eventually. You’re cute when you try to take the lead…but deep down, we both know you just don’t have it in you. Not like I do~”
Black Swan did not even bother to resist, for she could neither muster up the energy nor the motivation. She’d been a fool to ever think she was in control here; she had invited a bonfire into her home with open arms, and now there was nothing left to do but embrace it as it burned her up completely.
Instead, she went limp in her captive-turned-captor’s strong arms, looked up at her with lust-glazed eyes, and whispered, “Th-then…do your worst. I have nothing left to lose…so I might as well enjoy myself in your presence…”
“That’s the spirit, darling,” Constance murmured, before pulling Black Swan up for a ravenous kiss; her fangs split her bottom lip, and she shivered euphorically at the taste of blood on her tongue. “That’s the part of you I like the most - that look in your eyes when defiance leaves them, going up in cinders. For the taste of utter ruination…is the sweetest of all~”
As that wicked tongue of hers flickered against the inside of Black Swan’s mouth, sharing the taste of her own juices, she couldn’t help but agree with those words.
When they broke apart, it was with smeared makeup and flushed faces, and the promise of more to come in the hours ahead. “Let’s take this somewhere else,” Constance husked. “This is a lovely dreamscape you’ve conjured, but mine’s a little more private. That, and it’s got more whips and chains - oh, don’t give me that look, darling. After all, turnabout is fair play…”
And with a roar of searing blue flames, the two were whisked away, leaving the dance halls of Penacony empty save for the dim light shining through the windows, and the memories of a passionate embrace.