Angst & Intrigue! · Dominance & Submission · EMOTIONS: · Fan-fiction · Fire Emblem · KINKS: · LENGTH: · Lesbian Love · PAIRINGS: · Slow Burns

Safe (Word) Chapter 2: the Tidal Crush of a Hero’s heart

It’s a follow-up to the Oboro/Beruka fic I just put out! Warnings for 👋REALLY GOOD BUTT SMACKS👋 and also 💖TENDER LOVE & ANGST💖

Fire Emblem: Fates Fan-fiction || Camilla/Selena (or Severa, if you like!) || NSFW

You can also find this story on Archive of Our Own!

Description:

It’s Beruka who’s been sneaking around behind their Lady’s back, so why is it Selena who’s forced to take the punishment???

Beneath the weight of her Lady’s hand, and the whole world besides, Severa finally unravels.

Camilla’s laughter rang across the table as she regaled the gathering with her quip about Oboro’s shop. “Did you know, darlings, that her name means “foggy?” She certainly seemed to have that effect on my lovely little Selena. As soon as we crossed the threshold, her eyes glassed right over, and she went into a haze! It’s almost as though she forgot who I was! I think she might have a bit of a crush—but I understand that Oboro is deft with her hands, after all!”

“I-I-I do not!” Selena stammered, as Camilla launched full sail into her story. “Y-you’re the one who charged into that shop searching after that mute midgefly.” She wasn’t blushing… yet… “You… You practically dragged me in there, sniffing the air like a bloodhound… and… and…”

“Is that so?” The benign, matronly smile Camilla offered Selena contrasted mildly with the knowing raise of her eyebrow. Bloodhound, indeed. “Regardless; it’s a shame dear Beruka couldn’t make it; I’m sure she’d have all manner of lovely tidbits about our haze-inducing seamstress to keep to herself.”

“Ha~zy!” giggled Setsuna, staring Selena down across the table with her drowsy eyes, a leg of hare in one hand. “I like Oboro. She HATES Beruka, though. They used to fight a~ll the time! My room was right next door to hers. Gosh, I heard them scrabbling with one another con~stant~ly.” She tittered sotto voce again, and took a huge bite.

The dinner, as planned, had been simple—Corrin and her Nohrian siblings—but Xander, stony-faced, had bowed out to speak on matters of state, leaving Laslow to shoulder his share of the social event (there had been no question as to whether Peri would attend). Leo had brushed the dinner off, claiming frivolity, and sent Odin in his stead, and Odin had claimed at the door to have had a ‘nigh-pregnant tete-a-tete with the very handmistresses of the Apocalypse!’ and had pushed a confused Ophelia through to take his respective place. Thus disrupted, Camilla had quickly seen fit to add to the guest list with those who were both convenient and, as she put it, ‘suitable’.

Selena, for her part, was happy, despite being sat next to Laslow, and all that entailed, that Soleil wasn’t present, and told Laslow as much. That girl would take a league if you gave her a look. And Selena wasn’t much for looking at anyone generally, least of all right now.

“Fighting?” Ophelia mustered. “In Oboro’s room?”

Setsuna dropped the meat, and nodded lazily. “Oh, yeah. DEFINITELY fighting. Fighting with the Noh~ri~an Scu~m. Pow! Pow! Over and O~ver!”

Beruka, that idiot. What she did in her own time was her business, but funny how that managed to somehow slink into her NOT own time too. Moments such as these, where her midday liaison with that Hoshidan cloak-mender morphed into a long, evening rendezvous. How convenient that Beruka was conspicuously absent from the dinner table, leaving Selena to bear the lion’s share of Camilla’s affectionate harassment.

“Oh will you can it already?” Selena pursed her lips, and lifted her nose pointedly away from Setsuna’s leering visage. “From what I’ve heard you can’t tell a snare from a sleeping bag, so… so I don’t know what you THINK you heard, but…”

Setsuna’s eyes fluttered closed, she sighed, buoyed by some memory, then offered a laconic, “No offense~”

“None taken, darling, I’m sure!” Camilla’s smile was sweet and superior. “But there’s nothing to fight about any more, I’m certain, so I’d hope that they’ve put their little squabbles behind them. And if they were truly fighting, well, certainly darling Selena would have told me so, and I’d have lopped that troublesome weaver’s legs off at the knees!” Camilla and, somehow, Setsuna managed to laugh. “Isn’t that right, dear Selena? You’d never keep anything from me, I know.”

Selena slunk lower in her chair as she felt the levy of Camilla’s gaze upon her; tabulating her, searching for a weakness, a crack, a way in. She stuffed her mouth with chicken; a preemptive measure.

Beruka that IDIOT. Just muttered things like “I’m going now” or “Be back by evening” just Taking. For. Granted. that poor, long-suffering Selena would cover for her. And she never even ASKED, which was the worst part of the whole sticky, stupid mess.

“I was NOT crushing on some dusty old seamstress.”

Or WORSE, didn’t even think about it at all, the runt!

I do not KNOW what Beruka gets up to when she vanishes into thin air like some bite-sized specter.”

And now, to sit here and bear the slings and fricking ARROWS of Camilla and her coterie of hand-selected dignitaries… and that drowsy wench staring at her from across the table with those lewd eyes…

“Nor do I CARE.”

Between Setsuna and Oboro, Selena was beginning to understand that Hoshidans came in two flavors. Dimwitted as a bag of rocks or angry as a horny bull.

“And finally I have NO idea why we’re still TALKING about this while I’m forced to watch this narcoleptic half-wit’s poor excuse for table manners gets hare gravy all over Ophelia’s over… over… over-exposed hecking VITTLES!”

She squirmed in her seat, thighs a bit pushed together by the occasional pressure of Camilla’s gaze…

…getting a bit redder now…

Selena crossed her arms and stared at her plate, slouching in her chair. She’d been looking forward wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Vittles?” Ophelia asked, following Selena’s gaze to her attire, which some might call revealing, certainly. “Then so be it!” She grinned, clenching her first in the air. The insult seemed to have gone over her head—or, possibly, she was better at hiding her true feelings than some members of the dinner party. “By these vittles, I shall claim a virtuous and vicious victor—”

Corrin opened her mouth; a hand on her thigh gently let her know who was hosting the dinner. Camilla clucked her tongue patiently at the redhead. “The welfare of my retainers is as important to me as my life! I won’t take either one of you precious lost creatures in just to lose you again, whether it’s to foul magic or to some overenthusiastic vendetta!” She looked up across the table with a beatific smile. “And for the record, Ophelia, dear, your outfit is fit to charm the scales off a succubus! Being a sorceress suits you, and I simply cannot wait to see what dark forces you’ll conjure next!”

Selena crossed her arms and stared at her plate, slouching in her chair. Despite the stress of covering for her fellow retainer’s little sojourns with her Hoshidan wench, she’d been looking forward to the feast, and she was starved enough to eat a whole brace of rabbits, but, for some reason, she couldn’t muster the energy at the moment.

A bemused smile across the table, where a candle had gone out. “Most recent intelligence does indicate that Beruka entered Oboro’s shop, but has yet to return…” Kagero leaned forward, into the light. Camilla’s choice in dinner-guests may, in fact, may have been based entirely upon modesty and exposure—”vittles” abounded, so to speak, enough to silence even Laslow. “But, as this is the third such event in as many months, I would not concern myself overmuch, your Highness.”

Selena spiked a morbid glare at Kagero for reopening the matter, when it had already gone over to the much more suitable topic of Ophelia’s ridiculous tits in that ridiculous get up. At least the conversation seems to turn away from her, at that point.

Camilla arched an eyebrow. “Third? My darling little berry has been dashing off into the fists of that barbaric weaver for months?” She turned to her retainer, then back to Kagero. “Well, she must be enjoying herself, then! As many marriages as our war saw, you know, I don’t believe Oboro ever took a partner, did she? I suppose some of us must be terribly lonely. Still, I do so wish Beruka had told me! I tried so hard to find both of my darlings someone suitable, you know, but Selena’s just so… attached to a certain someone.”

Getting redder………..

“T-that’s just…” Selena laughed anxiously, looking around the table, all eyes suddenly on her. “W-w-what are you talking about I don’t… have…” A self-conscious chuckle, a squirming ‘eh-heh-heh’ under her breath as she felt a cold sweat prickle her brow. ” any… one… like… that…”

She TOLD Camilla that IN PRIVATE. And why are we talking about matchmaking now, of all times?? She wasn’t her mother! Selena already *had* a mother, an *abysmal* one who never did anything wrong and was perfect and beauteous and if SHE had to cover for her INGRATE PARTNER and her INGRATE PARTNER’S SEWING SLUT the great and awesome Cordelia would probably build them a whole secret pleasure dungeon and EMBROIDER THE DAMN PILLOWS herself, only she wouldn’t need to BECAUSE BERUKA PROBABLY SPENT TWO NIGHTS resting her bruised and beaten ass on CUSTOM-MADE OBORO-BRANDED SPANKING CUSHIONS.

Why did her doublet feel so warm?? What idiot was stoking the fire in here? It was practically mid-summer and humid enough to soap a horse!

~everyone~ was ~looking~ at ~her~

“Ugh! Why do any of you even *care* what that taciturn little rugrat does?? She certainly doesn’t give a horse plop what any of US do, or want, or what lengths we go to on ~her~ ~silent~ ~behalf~. She doesn’t have any friends, she ~definitely~ doesn’t have a “partner” and wuh-wuh-whatEVER she’s doing wuh-wuh-with that Smelly Hoshidan Cloak Darner b-b-behind closed doors couldn’t possibly count as…”

Right before she trips right over the line and into a chasm of exposure, Selena’s eyes go wide and her jaw drops. All speech hits an abrupt and, presumably fatal, conclusion.

“Yes, darling. I think that’s quite sufficient for a single dinner. Corrin, do make Felicia chill a dessert for the table. Elise, if you will proceed as the elegant hostess I know you are, I will have a word with my beautiful, impulsive retainer.” Camilla rose to her feet, her smile never wavering, Selena’s hand firmly clasped in her own. “Come, darling. Gossip has its limits, after all.”

Mournfully, Selena flicked her eyes between Camilla’s uncompromising expression and the unfinished bounty of food on her plate. “B-but I haven’t fi—”

It was all she could say, before Camilla’s hand on hers stifled her. Camilla armor rang as she strode from the table, practically dragging the redhead behind her. And Selena, without other complaint, she followed her Lady away from the table like a kitten carried by her nape in her mother’s teeth, listening numbly as Elise rallied her dinning companions through the pregnant pause Selena’s outburst had foisted upon the table.

Several hallways and one heavy door later, Lady Camilla stood before the fire in her room, seemingly impervious to the hazy midsummer evening heat. “That,” she purred, flexing her fingers in their kidskin gloves, experimentally, “was an exceptional show.”

“I-I can’t believe you!” Selena stomped one of her heavy boots upon the carpet. “That… that was so… so *rude*!” She crossed her arms and flicked her head, turning up her nose, her pigtails shivering like furious tendrils behind her, and……………………………

“What is rude, darling, is when a powerful, strong, independent, beautiful woman, sworn to service and loyalty to a Mistress who loves her dearly, decides to keep extremely dangerous secrets.” Camilla tugged at the hem of her glove, tightening their fit with an audible squeak. “I had worried that the Hoshidan had the nerve to try and buy Beruka’s contract from me. What do you think would have happened to your Mistress if she’d lost her assassin? What do you think would have happened to you?”

Her gaze is warm steel.

“…y-you shouldn’t pry into…” came Selena’s meager reply, as if entranced. Camilla’s fingers, the squeak of the glove; it was hypnotic.

“Imagine my relief to find corroborating sources—multiple!” Camilla tittered at the word. “Stating that it was simply my darling Beruka’s cold heart finding life! Why, I couldn’t be happier for her! All this time I was terribly worried, just absolutely beyond words, when I should have been overjoyed.” Camilla smiled beneficently as she spoke, looking like she could dance on air at any moment.

Then, Camilla’s smile evaporated into the humid air. “And all you had to do was your duty. Rude, indeed.”

Selena’s body shook.

“Nevertheless, now that you’ve made your position clear on our dear Beruka, it occurs to me I ought to clarify your position too.”

…and then Selena realized why she was brought here. What her conscious self had been denying throughout the evening. The meaning behind the full, weighted looks Camilla had spared during dinner. She noticed how her thighs ached a bit; she’d been clenching them beneath the table…

“Disrobe, darling. I will not have my retainers at odds. Or,” she said, her richly malevolent gaze filling the room to its corners, “keeping secrets.”

Her doublet was already unfastened, halfway open, her small clothes obvious beneath, before Selena looked away, blushing. “I-it’s her business, however she decides to—”

“It’s your business, of course, what you choose to tell me and not to tell me. But I want to nothing more than your trust, your heart, and your loyalty. But you’ve been distracted, darling.” Her gloved fingers graced amiably over Selena’s jaw. “You’ve had so very much weighing on you.”

Selena bit her lip, coming to hard grips with the unquenchable quiver of her knees. Her own fingers clenched—without the benefit of gloves—impotently, at her sides.

“Are you angry with her?” Camilla asked.

With her empty hand, she reached beside the bed—a collection of long, reed-like objects awaited her questing fingers.

“Jealous of her, perhaps?”

“I didn’t…” Selena looked away. It just seemed… very… sad… whatever it was Beruka did with her precious seamstress. She… didn’t think it should be her choice… whether or not to share it.

She was red as roses. She was dizzy as a stunned bee. The room was so hot she could hardly breathe. And the sound of Camilla’s gloves…

Even through her protests, she undid her doublet, and took her trousers down to her ankles, where they caught around her boots. She shifted uncomfortably, working toe of one boot against heel of other, dizzied by the heat and the lecture, zombie-like, her heart pounding against her ribs. She couldn’t find a way to take them off, petrified beneath Camilla’s gaze, but terrified of breaking from it.

“I wasn’t…” Jealous? Why should she be? Some wench from some backwards nation in a backwards time, no less. Why should she care what the little assassin got up to, or how many of whoever’s fingers got up in *her*. That wasn’t the point!

“Have I neglected you? Is that the cause of this… unfortunate lapse in judgment?”

Selena shook her head, speech was leaving her, quickly.

She quaked a little, lithe and muscular in her small clothes, looking like a ripe fool ready to be plucked, shackled with her trousers around her ankles. Feeling like a maggot, with tears brewing in the corners of her eyes. Feeling even more like a fool, pining for a girl from a different time. A girl who might not wait, if “wait” even had meaning in such matters.

A gasp was born and quickly died in Selena’s throat.

Severa wasn’t sure if she removed her doublet, or if the unremitting quiver of her fragile body simply shucked it from her shoulders. It caught at her elbows. Her breasts swelled outwards with a deep breath. She realized her exposure, when Camilla’s fingers swept slowly along the tattoo on her right shoulder. It was a brand; a mimicry of the true one her lost Hero bore. Indigo blue…

…the color of her distant love’s hair…

When Camilla’s hands left her shoulder, Selena quickly moved to cover the tattoo with hers, as if this were some shame to be hidden.

Camilla’s eyes took on a narrow cast, and the back of her hand swept gently along Selena’s cheek, the softness of her glove elegant against her skin. The touch of soft leather against her face, but it was that name that made her gasp. “Have I neglected ~Severa~?”

There’s a heaviness to that word, that name, and a permissiveness, too.

She had been so…

lonely…

“Let Lady Camilla carry that for you now. Is Severa ready for her punishment?”

At the question, “Severa” silently nods.

With Camilla’s guidance, Severa’s doublet fell to the thick carpet. She stood there, trembling in the thin, white shift that covered her breasts and stomach, and soft, cotton trunks that hugged her hips.

Camilla lifted the crop from the bundle, teased its leather tip along Severa’s neck, between her breasts. It had a wicked sting when swung, or when she so much as flicked her wrist, and left a pleasing (to the Lady’s eye) red welt along Severa’s skin.

It would match her hair, Lady Camilla mused.

At the cool touch of the crop, Severa trembled. Severa gives a quiet moan. All but unable to speak. The anticipation filters through her blood, and her breath comes in staggered little gasps as the crop explored her. Its firm edge tickled her sensitive skin through the meager barrier of her shift. It traced her body without judgment. It was pure, in a sense, as was the potent aura of Camilla dizzying her overwhelmed senses.

Camilla let the implement trace down to the woman’s navel, all the way down to the core of her. As it wound back upwards, it snuck beneath her slip, touching her muscular stomach, around her right breast, against the scar on her right side, the one the girl had suffered long before her first trip through the worlds.

“Who are you thinking of?” Camilla mused.

She wanted to respond. She wanted to bare her soul and spill her guts out onto this floor, for her mistress and the world to see. She wanted to pull the sticky essence of herself out and out. To cleanse herself of these feelings. Hatred. Envy. Loneliness. Anger. Frustration. Jealousy.

But the question was rhetorical; Camilla had not yet given permission to answer.

Please, she thought, remembering the taste of the crop on her skin from nights past, afraid of it, but desperate for its impact at the same time. Please.

She’d be denied.

Camilla sat on the bedside, almost motherly, patting instructively at the thickness of her thighs. “Down. Across my knees.”

Severa shuffled over with the shackles of her pants. She was petulant, immature, unwholesome, even vile. Under her Lady’s patient, watchful eyes, Severa laid her bare body across Camilla’s lap. She sunk her nose into the soft comforter on the bed, and her booted feet dangled off of the side. Her breathing was stifled and thick in her throat. At the instruction of her Lady’s touch, she lifted her hips, allowing Camilla to take her trunks down to her thighs, and expose the offering of her rear. She shut her eyes against the wetness that built there.

“That’s a good girl. Now. Arms out in front, flat. Hold this.” Camilla inserted the crop into the redhead’s outstretched hands, palms down. “And hold it tight.”

Severa holding the crop as instructed, knowing it wasn’t to be used, disappointed by that, fearful of what would take its place.

Camilla’s hand roved across Severa’s rear, exploring. “It’s been so long. Who, I wonder.” In tandem with her speech, her hand rose, threatening. “That big, strong girl, with a cock like my forearm?”

Punctuation; her hand descended with an echoing CRACK! across Severa’s pale, muscular rear, reddening the skin.

“Naah!” Severa moaned, through gritted teeth, as the first stroke came. The soft leather of the glove stung at her bare skin. She grips the crop, hard as she can.

“Or the flimsy, spellbound thing, who slapped you rigorously about the face and spent whole nights inside you?”

A feinted strike. The whoosh of air across Severa’s rear brought some relief from the heat of the fire for a moment.

It was an instance of time almost too small to measure.

“Or someone different? Some other love?” Another resounding CRACK! as gloved hand met flesh.

Tears well up. The second impact knocks something loose, and Severa begins to pant. She is jolted. Her mind dislodges.

The fingers of Camilla’s other hand traced Severa’s lips eagerly.

CRACK! Again.

On reflex, her lips part for her Mistress’s fingers.

The intrusion of Camilla’s fingers into her retainer’s mouth isn’t forceful. It isn’t violent. Her progression as inevitable, as true power always is. One finger, then two, then three, tasting of leather and just barely of the fragrant cunt they brushed against before claiming her. It is a claiming; she is not fighting or struggling to control this woman, but pressing inward in a display of ownership and power and, in this special way, undeniable comfort.

You are mine, the gesture speaks. Release control, give yourself back to me.

Camilla’s open palm finds powerful, resonant home once more on the girl’s reddened ass, her voice as nonchalant as if she were having tea. CRACK!

“Naaah…” Severa whimpers, as this questing opens her body. Her jaw unclenches. She has to be as careful not to bite down, once the striking begins in earnest, as she needs to keep her grip on the crop.

“Or was it the hero, the sweet, lonely girl, the pretty one who was ravishing—or should I say handsome? Was it that look of hers, when she put her hair up like that, which stole your heart? You have such a tremendous heart, darling Severa, and you’ve made space for so many of us…” Cozening. Soothing, with her words. “It’s no wonder you’ve made yourself so protective that you’d lie, even to me…”

Crack!

Yourself.

Crack!

Protective.

Crack!

Lie.

Crack!

Even.

Crack!

Me.

In rapid succession her blows fall, even and powerful, opening the girl up, bringing her soul to the surface. The skillful impacts colored her skin, hurling Severa ever towards the limits of vulnerability, but never past. With each strike Severa shattered exhales push air past Camilla’s questing fingers. Then, in reflex, Camilla allows a moment of stillness, until she feels Severa drag it in again.

Camilla catches the reek of Severa’s need, filtering through the thick summer air like scented dew, muddling with her own heady lilac aroma. She can feel the pounding of the powerful, fragile heart that lays above her knees.

This is her Mistress. This is who knows the heart of her.

“Breathe. Cry out, if you must. There is no sin in crying before a Mistress who loves you.”

These soothing words, why do they hurt so badly? Why do they sting worse than the impacts on her flesh? Her rump quickly pinkens, her toes curl in her boots. She shakes, as she accepts her punishment, and that she needs it at all shames her so badly that she could cry.

But she doesn’t.

Camilla’s face is careful and placid as her hand continues its crashing tirade against Severa’s body, strike after strike, each one strong enough to send a lesser woman reeling—after all, Severa was no lesser woman, and to withhold her own strength would only draw a different, less desirable humiliation to the woman. She might tease or cajole, but she would never condescend in such a way. Not to her loves. She would never hold back, never relent. She would give her beloved retainer exactly what she could handle, to the ounce, to the second. Every weight, she knew, every force, every iota of energy flowing through the foolhardy, precious woman brave enough to rest upon her lap.

“Naaah!” A more urgent sound, tongue flexing against Camilla’s fingers as the pain begins to burn through her flesh and into her core. Severa shakes, terribly as a leaf in a torrent. Her soul screams, cinders above a bonfire. It isn’t fair! Why does it have to be her that’s treated this way? Why did *she* need to be punished for what *Beruka* did. Why did she tell Camilla all these things, why did she pull apart her skin and show her heart, give her mistress this power over her soul. Why did… why did…

Why did she always end up all alone???

Her tongue flexes against the intrusion of Camilla’s fingers. Her chest chokes a little in pre-sob. And a pair of twinned trails run down her body. Down her cheeks. Down the insides of her thighs. Warm, wet slips along her skin. Why did it matter which was which? They were the same. She squeezes the crop so tightly her nails dig crescent welts into her palms.

Camilla’s fingers catch at the Severa’s twitching tongue, and press in, never a passive player in her games. Another strike, lower this time, on the backs of her thighs, sending fresh blood roaring to new, untouched skin. The sound Severa makes is something like a sob, and something like a whinny of fear and pain as these new vulnerabilities are tested, and even more sensitive areas are threatened.

Camilla sees fingers tremble tight along the crop, and feels the heave of the woman’s chest. She halts in this torture, in this release, long enough to confirm that Severa’s grip holds firm.

“Would they stop me, if they could see me? Would they simply stare at the wonder of their Severa, brought to heel?” Her gloved fingers roam gently across the woman’s rear, setting reddened skin alight with nerves, parting the crack of her ass, gently exploring that tender crevice and the tensed muscle there before retreating to the tight firmness of her cheeks once more. “Or would they join me? Would they stroke your hair and hold you down, even as I apply your punishment?”

CRACK!

Images conjure from Severa’s shaken-free heart. Noire’s frail hands upon her shoulders and the scent of her small, pretty, cock before Severa’s ready mouth.

She is panting in full now, like an animal, breasts heaving against the bed beneath her, shoulders tussling.

“Would they permit this shameful behavior?”

CRACK!

Kjelle’s hands on Severa’s back, huge, coarse and powerful. The feel of her weight between taut and tensing cheeks…

It’s not obedient, the way her hips and rear buck and sway, trying to shake out the discomfort, but it takes all her effort not to drop the crop, not to bite down and grind her teeth on her Mistress’s probing fingers.

Her Mistress pounds against her with the flat of her palm, again, again, again…

CRACK!

“Each blow is not just for your Mistress, and not just for you, but for them…”

CRACK!

She shivers and shakes and writhes—a beast in full.

“Until they can be here to join you beside me.”

A silhouette beside her—the silhouette of a Lord—holding her hand….

One final crack; and the fire roars in tandem fury, like a heart long-denied.

The crackling of the fire, in the too-warm room, fills the silence for what could be a long time, or not much time at all. Camilla’s gloved fingers free Severa’s mouth, and traipse curiously in wet trails along the sun-flare color of her bottom, drawing

“Has Severa anything to say to her Mistress?”

She is too far gone to even care that she’s crying. She’s just angry. She’s mad, and most of all she’s mad at herself that she’s so angry. Stupid Beruka. Stupid Camilla. The intimations of that idiot archer and that ninja with the over-ripe tits and Kjelle and Noire and… and…

And everything! And EVERYONE!

CRACK!

The crop hits the carpet with the mildest thump imaginable as Severa’s will gives out, as everything pours out of her, all at once.

Camilla wastes no time gathering her darling retainer up, cradling her close against the softness of her body, undoing bootlaces and removing trousers, then pulling her gloves off and unlatching her armor deftly so that there is nothing to stand between the redhead and her Mistress’s abundant flesh.

Mute Selena trembles upon her Mistress’s lap. Trying to curl up. Wanting to lose herself in the folds of Camilla’s thick body. Now that the play is over, and her Mistress frees her mouth, her sobs can likely be heard up and down the corridor, and her face is nearly as red as her rump, once the tears start in earnest.

And they flow for a very long time. Dams hold back lakes, but not forever. Resist too long, and you’ve done nothing but buy your future self a tidal wave.

“There, there, Selena. Come back, when you’re ready.” She coos in her retainer’s ear, tracing fingers to clear the tears as they fall. “You’re safe, and you’re here, and you’re beautiful…” Once she’s convinced that her redhead’s secure on her lap, she reaches out to the table by the bed, for the little pot of unguent. Camilla dips her fingers inside, leans Selena gently forwards, and strokes her hair with quiet affection as she smoothes the thick, milky, soothing formula across her smaller love’s burning rear.

“Aaann…” Selena moans, swept up in the pain and sting of the ointment, and potently aware of her body. Deft and careful as her Mistress was, some things would always hurt. A hiss of air between her teeth, as she waits for the sting to subside.

“Are you here with me? Are you well?” With her voice, she centers the woman. “You took so very much, and there’s so much to let out…”

Selena becomes attuned to her body by its fragile shuddering. Her tongue feels overlarge in her mouth, her breasts are so. Her legs fidget. It sounds like she’s being called out to from across a distance, through a thick fog of memory.

“…Lucin…?” She asked, dazed.

No, not her.

Shamed by her gaffe—why can she never be perfect? Why isn’t she perfect in anything?—Selena flinches inwards, curling herself into a ball…

Or she tries to. But her Mistress is there to guide her. Sit her the way she needs to be sat, hold her the way she needs to be held.

“I-I’m… I’m…” Her voice croaks, she hates the burn of her cheeks more than the burn of her rump. “I’m here…” She says, meekly. A quiet voice that few who’ve known the underdog swordswoman have ever heard. And only in situations like this, where deft, kind fingers filter through the pigtails and set the world at right.

Ointment-greased fingers slide carefully, gently, along Selena’s velveted cunt, mingling with her dew, before dipping back into the pot once more to apply another layer of cooling, soothing thickness to that poor, abused rump.

A different hiss of air, when the lotioned fingers slip broadly along the broad length of her cunt. It brings fresh tears to her eyes, but these tears she could sustain… if they didn’t remind her of the ones still drying on her cheeks.

Her Mistress offers her a questioning look. Her fingers alit tenderly against Selena’s entrance. The subtle incline of a sensuous eyebrow that says nothing, yet asks…

Is this okay?

There is a liminal space, at times like these, where she isn’t sure if she’s Severa or Selena, or something of both. Whoever she is, this impish, impudent woman acts in that twilight moment. Impulsively taking Camilla by the wrist, holding her there. Closing her thighs.

Begging.

Camilla’s cheeks only show the slightest pink when her retainer seizes the moment, and she smiles, even though her retainer—impudent, boorish, demanding—would not. Her fingers brush the brave swordswoman’s dewed folds like the whisper of silk.

Selena’s open lips pantomimes a silent gasp. Her chin tucks forward, like an animal lost in a need. Looking up with tear-glittered eyes, Selena whispers….

“Will I always be alone?”

“Darling! You have the temerity to serve me, to hold me against yourself as you do, to beg my service of you, and you say such a thing!” The words are spoken as though she were asked if wyverns fly. “Are you alone, right now?” Her smile is as sweet and generous as her body, and her fingers press gently inward – claiming with a certainty, just as they did her mouth. One, then two, against the force of Selena’s grip on her wrist.

“Nnhhhh…” Selena whimpered, body arching out and away, in struggling contest with her needy spirit. Her thighs clenched and writhed in deep possession around her Mistress’s wrist.

Camilla leaned in to press her lips against the curve of her retainer’s ear. “You recall what I said would happen if you ever tried to run away, don’t you?”

The implied threat that Camilla whispers privately to her sends a stronger jolt down Selena’s spine than the impact of her fingers fluidly claiming her inner reaches in their easy, confident stroke. Selena wrinkled that petite nose of hers, and her cheeks flared with panting breath, looking like a student scornful of her lesson as she is lectured. Embarrassed. She thinks to say it’s different. She thinks to say Camilla is wrong. That Camilla has Corrin. That Beruka has her… wench. That everyone HAS someone… but her…

Though… she wonders if that’s the most important thing… r-right now…

A gentle bite upon that ear, as Camilla spread her fingers inside that precious warmth, which dwarfed even the hearth’s fire.

“Naaah!” Selena cried out, feeling the tightness spread inside her. Oh gods. She saw stars. The imprints on her abused rear become a constellation of pain with her squirming, and as her slickened rump smears the thick unguent back against her mistress’s stomach as she squirms and her toes curl, releasing a pant.

Her retainer was tighter than a fresh sin. How long had Selena denied herself this touch? Camilla must, she mused, have been terribly neglectful, to let her doting Selena get to this state…

“Every time you lie, or you lose yourself, or you start to drift away from me, I’ll bring you back, just like this.”

Impudently, Selena hooks an arm behind her, an elbow around her Mistress’s neck. It’s all she can do. Even relieved, she’s afraid. She’s still so scared. It takes such an effort to twist her body, to pivot at the spine so she can look her Lady in her eyes. Her lips quiver and shake. She snuffles like a spoiled aristocrat. Her nose fidgets and flares above her upper lip, sticky and abraded. Her pigtails flick and shiver, as if they were alive, with the squirming, pained motions of her body.

And her deep, soulful eyes—shining so bright that one might wish to capture them in a bottle, so all would know them as the jewels they are—beg for everything her mistress will give, and thank her for all she’s done.

Impudent, that was her. Especially to think such things; that she could be alone, even in this moment.

When Camilla drives into her, she cries out. She falls into some ungodly, infinite chasm. The ground opens up, and so does she. Around her Mistress’s touch, Selena blooms.

Camilla coos at her retainer’s unexpected release. So deeply restrained, the poor thing! She’s careful to be gentle as she draws back her fingers, and gathers up the girl once more. She seems so small in her arms—Camilla’s so close to her, so familiar, that it’s easy to forget how fragile Selena is, and how careful she must be.

…at least, in times like these.

“You’re wonderful, and beautiful, and faithful, my darling. You’ve had to be so many women, and each of them had to know a whole army’s worth of strength.” Camilla cosseted Selena’s cheek in her palm, to lift that leaden head, so that she could speak to her beloved retainer eye to eye, and her beloved retainer would know every word was true. “I’m so happy you’ve wandered here, to me, and I’m so glad you came back to me just now.”

Her hands work carefully, her clean hand combing through and smoothing Selena’s hair, brushing away tears. “I’ll not tell anyone how pure and beautiful your heart is, not ’til you’ve got the person you want me to tell, and I’ll protect it with my life ’til you’ve got them… or until they come back to you. I’m sure they’ll make a wonderful retainer for me, too.” She smiled in what must almost certainly have been half-jest.

“But as long as you’re here, as long as you want it, this is your home. You’ll never need to be a different woman, and you’ll seize what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Were those tears in her eyes, as Camilla clutched her Hero close? Her arms wrapped around the woman, tight, and Selena’s own tears were clean—spectres of the past, dear and beautiful, were there, in the past. She might seek them someday, or they might seek her, but in this day she was her own woman, her greedy mercenary heart taking all on offer, just as hearts do, and giving just as much, if she had to admit it. Reluctantly.

Naturally. Of course it gave. When others were worthy of it. They were all lucky to have her, weren’t they?

Camilla raised her hand and wiped the tears from Selena’s cheeks, pressing the woman to her bosom, easing her rear to Camilla’s plush lap.

And really, whatever Beruka was sitting on? Probably ratty, in comparison.

Definitely ratty.

Selena ducked her head. The corners of her lips quirked upwards in meager, fragile smile. When she became brave enough to meet her Mistress’s gaze, softly, she spoke.

“Yes, Lady Camilla.”

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2 thoughts on “Safe (Word) Chapter 2: the Tidal Crush of a Hero’s heart

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