Fire Emblem: Fates Fan-fiction || Corrin/Camilla/Felicia – bondage, dominance
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Description: Doesn’t Felicia realize?! Surely she must know!
All those feelings, sealed up for all those years… it was inevitable, what happened.
Felicia’s thighs squeezed in sight of her mistress, and she let out a diminutive moan to whatever gods cared to listen.
Corrin’s heart struggled distracted and adoringly taut, torn between two very different and distinct loves. She grasped desperately at understanding. Had she been gone so long that Camilla had had her fill? Tossed Felicia away? Had Felicia jilted Camilla? She was dimly aware that paramours who disappointed Camilla tended to end up in various… predicaments, though she understood that such encounters were long ago and anyway that was what dungeons were for, not ribbons.
“I could hardly stand to interrupt your lovers’ tryst, there in the romantic, secluded Right Outside My Bedroom, could I?” Corrin’s eyes flashed rebellious, her heart beating fast, her mind still pushing back at the sight. Her breath was ragged with anguish and energy. For Corrin, there was never any way but honest, and forward. “And it seems I interrupt you FURTHER! It’s bad enough that… YOU…” Her glare roved hungrily, helplessly, from the dangling, hapless maid to the woman luxuriating in the armchair, and back. “Had to go and claim HER…”
Another futile glare; it was certainly the nerves, Corrin convinced herself, that made her grind the ball of one bare foot into the soft carpet in frustration, and not the swift rush of blood, not the desire to rush to…
“Interrupt?” Camilla had a casual mien in most things, and it rarely betrayed her. Her finger traced around the moist rim of her snifter, and a wise smile peaked the corners of her mouth. “My dear, dear girl,” A slight ring as she set down her glass. Corrin’s ears burned at Camilla’s quiet chuckle. “As if there could be anyone but…”
“Hunhh!” The ribbon between her teeth muffled Felicia’s plea. Her fingers squirmed for the air above her. Her skin sparkled with sweat in the low candlelight. Her nose flared with even the smallest of breaths. True to fashion, however, her distress seemed more due to her mistress’s anxiety than the very personal discomfort of her bondage.
The bright bow tied between her small, upraised breasts seemed almost an invitation.
Camilla’s lips parted.
“Aren’t you going to unwrap your present, little love?
The fog lifted from Corrin’s eyes. It was beyond indecent, of course! She would never, ever…
…do anything to betray her Camilla…
But this wasn’t betraying her Camilla, was it? This was at Camilla’s INVITATION. And she would never do anything to disappoint her Camilla, either…
And, her heart silently roared. It had felt so GOOD, when Felicia’s hand closed over hers.
Almost tremulous, the warrior-princess turned. “Felicia?” The beginnings of Corrin’s question were a pale mess, a bare whisper.
But where Corrin trembled like a caught rabbit, Felicia wriggled. She nodded in response to her mistress’s call, and shivered as the motion set her asway against her satin suspension, forced it against and into her skin and trapped her tight.
“You were here this whole time. You poor thing. You were… waiting for me?” Corrin’s voice took on a new, unusual cadence.
The maid blushed darker, gasped in abashed and secret pleasure at acknowledgment of her position.
Corrin’s hand smoothed gentle, first against Felicia’s cheek, then down her body, caressing the soft twists of ribbon, the maid’s delicate skin, down her side to her hip, across her thigh to her bent knee, then back up her calf. “So strong…”
Felicia cooed, and cleaved tenderly—within the limits of her bounds, and her aching muscles—to her mistress’s touch. With a coltish shift of her slender hips, Felicia inadvertently drew attention to the thick, soaked ribbon buried between the lips of her cunt.
It must be agonizing, Corrin thought, all of her weight resting on that single point; the slightest movement turning the whisper-tickle of the satin into a scream of pleasurable agony through her body.
“How cruel I’ve been!” Corrin’s index finger, the nail-tip sharp, teased across the soft, exposed sole of Felicia’s right foot, then her left, letting the poor, beleaguered maid shudder against her. “I will never, ever question your loyalty again.”
Agony indeed. Seemingly every touch amplified Felicia. At Corrin’s words, she pushed a throaty, hungry call upwards from her core.
“It’s not your cruelty that’s to blame, it’s my insensible foolishness.” Camilla’s breasts pressed to Corrin’s back, and her hand met with Corrin’s, cupping it gentle, so that it might follow her love’s exploration of Felicia’s ready body. Felicia’s lips suckered against her gag, as the duo of delicate fingertips explored. Her buttocks tensed, she moaned her weak little need so loud that her nipples went hard as ice, despite their soreness.
“Little Princess,” Camilla’s nose stoked affectionately against Corrin’s ear, “she needs you to open your gift.”
With grueling precision, Corrin pulled at the bow between Felicia’s breasts, tugging soft ribbon through ribbon, until, after an eternity, it fell free…
But the bow was but one method of her bondage, and with release Felicia’s body lurched downwards, and the satin strap between her legs braced her weight. A shriek of startled pleasure stifled in her throat in a clipped instant, and her body writhed as her nascent, teased-out need became imminent. A frigid aura blasted against the skin of all present—less than an instant, before shaking, suffering Felicia could regain her control.
Corrin’s heart skipped as Felicia fell forward, and again and her plummet was halted by even more pressure on her poor, punished cunt.
A strange sympathy tugged at Corrin’s heart! Such cruelty!
But Felicia’s sobs were not of distress, and Corrin’s heart, like Felicia’s body, righted itself in an unexpected thrill of pleasure. It was cruelty, but a lovely, beautiful sort, without pain—so long as she was attentive to her servant’s needs.
This was her own purpose, Corrin understood. She held not only her own reins, but Felicia’s and Camilla’s as well. It was a heady, glorious feeling; damp warmth in her loins and a swelling in her breast.
“Have you wanted me so, all this time, Felicia? Be truthful, I’ll not be cross!” Her voice was playful, sweet—the Corrin Felicia knew so well and served so long. Camilla beamed with a new, glorious pride.
Her eyes sparkling, framed by the pleasure-wrought tremble of her eyelashes, Felicia offered up a happy (if strained) nod, as best she could. Her shuddering hands grasped towards phantoms in the ceiling. Having ceded the reins of her fate hours ago, she was now at the reckoning point.
And, perhaps a bit possessively, Camilla toyed her fingers through Corrin’s short hair as she spoke. “Felicia dear, you’re here of your own accord, isn’t that right?” Felicia moaned; her back arching, she showed her breasts, and wriggled her longing cunt upon its only source of stimulus.
Corrin groaned as Camilla’s fingers pulled gentle through her hair—a brief moment only, reminding her that however proud, Camilla could bend her to her whim at barely a touch. Corrin thrilled, in her strongest moments, to know that she could be mastered so; that one person alone held every key to her, could unravel her with no more than a finger.
But that little spark-thrill passed. This was not a moment to unravel beneath Camilla, but to command.
“A nod would suffice,” Camilla chided, her fingers moving to stroke along the sensitive skin of Corrin’s ears. “And if your lady does something that discomforts you, or if you’re in pain? What will you do?”
With rapt obedience, and a proficiency more in line with her abilities on the battlefield than with the laundry, Felicia sternly shook her head three times, her long ponytail cracking the air behind her. Not just for a single evening, but a heart-measured eternity, she had waited for this! Her skin pebbled with gooseflesh, and it seemed she might cry out, and still her bound hands reached for nothing…
“That, I believe, is all you’ll need to know. I’d offer to leave you two, but…” A avaricious giggle rose from Camilla’s throat. “Even as far as it concerns you, beloved, my altruism knows SOME bounds.”
When Felicia expressed her assent to her lover and her limits, Corrin’s heart set, strong and firm. She reached up to comb through her maid’s coral tresses, feeling the lingering Ice Tribe chill at the very roots. Her fingers traced a path down the lattice of ribbon that webbed Felicia’s back, and along the ley line of satin that slunk between her taut buttocks and supported her beneath her grinding hips. Her touch trailed downwards, gracing Felicia’s thighs and calves and, finally, the sensitive soles of her feet.
It was not enough to hold the reins, Corrin understood; a true leader proved herself worthy of their gift. Feeling that same sway of pleasure-power in her blood, she reached back, taking Camilla’s hair with an uncompromising firmness.
“Embrace her from behind, my love. I would see both of you.” Battlefield-steel in her voice, pointed ears sharp. Perhaps there was no betrayal in wanting Felicia, but her swelling desire could hardly be satisfied by that alone. “Such fearless service deserves your kindness, as well, does it not?”
Camilla’s heart increased a pace, as her Little Princess displayed this more regal bearing; the behavior befitting a queen. A broad smile, free of belittlement, spread over Camilla’s lips at the tension of strong fingers in her hair.
Without complaint or question, Camilla fluidly mounted the bed. Felicia whimpered, thrilling at the hyper stimulation of her denied body, as the softness of Camilla’s robe brushed along her back, and as Camilla’s feet graced gently against hers as the princess knelt behind her. Drawing Felicia back against her waiting breasts, Camilla touched her palms down at the curve of Felicia’s hips, in a way that both presented the maid to Corrin and forced a long-slow draw of her cunt along the ribbon. Felicia’s toes curled in frantic need, and her whole body strained as she soaked the fragrant ribbon beneath her in deep desperation.
Thus, Camilla’s tempting question of, “…like this?” was completely subsumed by Felicia’s choking moan.
But the incipient smile she offered over Felicia’s shoulder was certainly not.
“Your posture requires correction.” At Felicia’s sigh of pleasure, Corrin’s instinct was to close her eyes and thrill in it. But she fixed them strong and bright on the maid, letting the lovely girl delight in her command. A leader leads, after all. “Let me provide a more fitting stance.”
She reached past Felicia, easy, businesslike, to shuck Camilla’s robe from her shoulders—bare beneath, just as Corrin had hoped! The ruby piercings decorating Camilla’s bountiful breasts grew frightfully cold in contact with Felicia’s bare skin, an Ice Tribe shiver passing back into the dense metal, forcing Camilla’s nipples up to proper stiffness.
Camilla responded to this unexpected turn of events with, perhaps, the first unstable gasp she’d ever given in front of Corrin, much less anyone. Stripped as if she were a common barmaid! But, as her nipples went stiff from their chill contact with the ice tribe maid’s skin, her mind went momentarily blank, and eyelids fluttered in brief paroxysm…
“Felicia is so very sensitive! Anything more than a tickle used to give her chill-fits. It’s quite dangerous, you know, all that frigid power, waiting, ready to be unleashed by a single, errant fingertip. I suspect it’s what makes being a proper maid so very hard for her.” Corrin reached up to Camilla’s shoulders and urged her downwards, her knees parting around Felicia’s outstretched legs, letting the girl’s soft, delicate soles press flat, then furrow, against the steaming, damp warmth of Camilla’s cunt.
“Corrin…” Camilla whispered, overcome, as she felt her Little Princess’s strength guiding her downward, felt the shake-inducing sensation of her piercings dragging between the cage of hers and Felicia’s skin, and then she was made to kneel…
Not kneel. She HAD knelt already. Now, she squatted. Like a…
Felicia squirmed, eyes rolling back at the feel of Camilla’s plushness against her. Again, she grasps futilely at empty the air.
Corrin trailed a gentle finger along Felicia’s chin. “It’s so charming, the way you stumble, the way you blush when caught, the way you can’t hold back all the wonderful magic inside when you’re startled!” She cupped her hand against Felicia’s cheek gently, comforting the poor beleaguered maid, her affection real and warm, accepting the coolness of her skin. As she pressed her forehead against Felicia’s, the chill began to subside. Felicia followed her mistress’s touch wherever it chose to fall, shivering with a fearful whimper of promised pleasure as she felt the vaguest wash of Corrin’s breath trail along her shoulder…
Camilla was thankful for the slim measure of control she had. She could grind her palms firmly into Felicia’s hips to keep her still as much as she kept her steady. She could focus on providing this service, positioning Felicia for her love’s pleasure… that is, she could, until…
The testing squirm of Felicia’s toes rippled an uninhibited shiver through Camilla’s ample body, and the battle-hardened princess of Nohr dipped her head and suckled at her lower lip, grateful for the fall of her hair shielding her eyes.
But there was nothing to shield the ears of her companions from the subtle, husky moan that accompanied the full-body tremble radiating from her spine, through thick muscle and soft flesh, as that cold struck the very furnace of her being.
Corrin reached past Felicia to brush the hair from Camilla’s eyes.
“No hiding from me, beloved. I don’t want you to be ashamed of any of your needs. After all…” She smirked. “My wants are your wants, aren’t they?” At that, Corrin dipped her head just barely, let her tongue lap along Felicia’s warm collarbone…
…and deftly drew back, as it took no more than that little worshipful moment to shatter Felicia’s restraint once more, buffeting the room with an icy caress.
Or so it seemed to Corrin, whose metal piercings and steaming pussy weren’t directly against the source of the chill. The fresh-cold burn of Felicia’s power upon her heat spurred a reflex in Camilla. Her nails impaled Felicia’s hips, and Felicia cried out through her gag—but her head stood firm, even as she trembled.
Corrin pressed her lips full to Felicia’s, warm and hungry. The gag prevented reciprocation, but Felicia whimpered with her need and swelled with warmth, giving Camilla a chance to breathe and rut at Felicia’s soft feet once more.
”A trainer of wyverns told me once that discipline is the soul of loyalty. You quite broke my heart, Your Highness.” Through kiss and caress, not once, did Corrin’s eyes leave Camilla’s. She spoke firmly, without mockery. Indeed, there was no mockery in her blood, her passion swelled to bursting by the love and loyalty shown to her by these generous souls. “And you’ve put poor Felicia through such strain! So that is why, kind though your gift may be, I must establish the soul of your loyalty for it to blossom.”
With a blush Camilla steeled herself to meet Corrin’s eyes. With caution—for without caution, she might dissolve here and now—she nodded.
“A-as always, dear princess,” Camilla said, “you speak no lies.”
And what skill did Felicia possess. Even balanced tenuously atop this edge of sensation’s knife, her toes explored Camilla’s opened body in a deft, teasing caress.
“See how sweetly and loyally our darling Felicia attends to your needs? When her heart is in her service, she is beyond reproach.” Corrin’s lips betrayed joy in a smile, but her eyes still exuded command. She pressed two fingers beneath the damp ribbon between Felicia’s thighs—the mistress finally, FINALLY touching her Maid!—and tangled her other hand into Felicia’s hair, pulling her into a furrowing kiss.
With the promise of entry upon her, Felicia gurgled in abject want. Her tongue strained against the ribbon denying her the full brunt of Corrin’s kiss. Her cheeks puffed and her nostrils flared, a slick of drool running down her chin. Her heart was struck. So long, so long, after all this years…
Without her hair to hide behind, Camilla was confronted with the full brunt Corrin’s firm gaze just as Felicia’s outburst of icy energy reached a cold-snap crescendo. Camilla’s eyes widened, her lips opened into a perfect, ring. Camilla’s back arched with the invasion of Felicia’s chill, through the medium of her piercings and pussy. She was nigh smelted to this girl by cold; she could not escape.
There was, of course, a limit to the extent of the Princess’s cruelty—and a limit to the strain her desire and hunger could bear. And yet, she found that desire both at a rage—and strangely unsatisfied. Her eyebrows plunged downwards.
“Felicia knows well to say ‘Yes, Princess’ and ‘Yes, mistress,’ and even ‘Yes, Corrin,’ when it suits the moment. It’s so very sweet, when she does. It comforts my heart.” The hand in Camilla’s hair forced the elder Nohrian’s attention and focus, eye-to-eye. “Camilla, dear, you could learn so very much from our Felicia.” She turned her head slowly, drawing Camilla’s attention to the rapt, ecstatic maid. Her fingers, caught between soft satin, traced along the source of Felicia’s heat. “Answer honestly. Do you truly desire me?”
They were such odd words to speak, Corrin had to force them past a lump in her throat and the nervousness of her soul. Quietly, she hoped the heated tension of the moment masked her blush as thrill and not timidity.
Without hesitation, Felicia let out a high, guttural sound of desire, punctuated by a sharp nod, moving her lips in unspoken words that, creatively interpreted, could have been ‘always, forever.’
Corrin’s two fingers plunged inwards, into that tight and fragile warmth—gods, the tension on the ribbon nearly broke them!—into the embrace of her loving maid, sweet and fragrant…
Only within did she realize how badly she’d longed for that closeness. Felicia had treated her when sick, nursed her wounds, bathed her innumerable times, knew the inside and out of her, and Corrin’s entire being danced in making their intimacy full and true and beautiful.
And Camilla, the last soul in this castle who’d ever expect such a thing, knew envy in that moment.
Yet, she knew equal joy. Watching how strong her lover had become, how bold and brave. Her heart thundered against Felicia’s back in their close embrace. As Felicia moaned with Corrin’s long-awaited claiming of her, so did Camilla, strangely, as if they were twinned, and shared their bodies, for a breath. Camilla stood to attention, her hips flexing and rolling with uncertain need, feeling the writhe of Felicia’s toes and press of her soles upon her own burning entrance, feeling the tug and tickle of hungry movements against the studded piercing of her clit.
These sensations were not what captured her. It was the unremitting desire of Corrin for this person before her. It was the groping fist of Corrin’s power in her hair. She could not duck her head; she could not look away. She felt like a proper fool. She was playing games, toying with her treasure, thinking she could know her love’s needs without asking.
What a silly woman you have been, Camilla thought, embarrassed by and enraptured of the symbol of prowess and confidence that knelt before her.
So she took her nose to Felicia’s hair, keeping her eyes on Corrin as she inhaled the woman’s scent. The tinge of sweat from chores, the musk of passion, the scented oils Camilla had dabbed upon her neck hours ago. She took it all in, let herself feel the thrill rioting through Felicia’s body as if it was her own.
If Corrin feared the tension of the ribbon breaking her fingers, then the tension within Felicia was another thing entirely. Felicia’s body molded itself to this thrust. Sopping and wet with hours of strain and denial, she nevertheless groped and grasped and begged Corrin further as if she were a velvet glove upon Corrin’s steel. She would not only have this; now offered, she would take it.
And somehow, at that precise instant, Felicia’s eyes were the most daring in the room. Her brows clenched low atop eyes flashing with icy surety, and from her stifled mouth came that helpless-yet-omnipotent sound.
“Hoonghhhh…” She groaned.
For even if she had the capacity to speak, what words could she possibly say? She was a warrior, and a warrior’s role requires confidence, true, but was as skilled a poet as she was a maid. She was compression, a ball of tension. Her instincts ordered her not to release, not to shame herself, but to serve the women with her, the woman before her, to continue serving—dutifully, distantly—just as she had for so long!
But her heart, her warrior’s heart, so resistant to ice, would no longer bow to any such fetters. She’d crossed those boundaries! There, anchored above, below, and within, she could serve, but could no longer pretend that spilling tea and dropping silver was sufficient. She was as ferocious as any in the room. And she’d shivered in agony and clenched in want as Corrin pushed within, driven herself as best she could up to passion.
She teetered on that precipice. Should she hold herself back ’til commanded? Her chest could burst and spill with joy and passion, but for the blessed constraint of the ribbons.
Already in bondage, what cause had she to restrain herself further?
She burned so bright for her mistress! Her jaw was tense, the nerves in her sensitive feet near-overwhelmed by the generous heat of Camilla’s cunt, every muscle in her body strained to its graceful bound limit. Corrin’s ardent lips met hers, once more, through the ribbon.
Her body shook as much as the tightened binding would allow, fingers stiff to the sky, back arched, breasts up and shivering against her beloved Corrin as her orgasm—so long and so cruelly teased—rocked through her, and the bursting chill of her body was insulated by the royal warmth of the two women against her.
When Felicia’s wild moans slowed, when the chilly pulse stopped radiating, when her eyes settled into a lazy, lidded pleasure, Corrin clutched her close, took her lolling, exhausted head to her bosom, her nose tickled against Felicia’s bonnet—its pinnings quite askew, now.
“Release her, ‘Milla,” Corrin said, after a time. “She has served exceptionally.”
Her tilted voice, the vengeful glint in her eyes, finished the statement—YOU have still bruised my heart.
Camilla had all but given herself over to the wicked flow of passion rebounding through the room and against her skin, her mind, and her heart. She clutched to Felicia, embracing the woman around her skinny waist as her well-earned orgasm flowed through at this simplest effort on her (…on their?) mistress’s part. She groaned herself, snuffling her nose through Felicia’s hair and moaning along with her love’s power. Nothing mattered, but this. But her love, her needs, and her wants…
Thus, it was worse than any slap in the face, how she was addressed.
It was a simple matter, releasing Felicia from the ceiling restraint. Barely more than a flick of the wrist for a woman as skilled as Camilla. Felicia fell to the soft bed with the explosive groan of freed tension. Too dull-witted by orgasm to even realize her freedom, she squirmed, prone wriggling her hips and begging for more touch, more force, more ANYTHING…
Thoughts of shame clouded Camilla’s mind, and she ducked her head. “Corrin…” She began, but found she had no words to follow.
The moment Camilla began to lower her head, Corrin’s hand closed in her hair once more, though it set off such a swelling ache in her heart! But she could not permit her love to flee her gaze.
“Will you not even look at me? Will you not speak your love for the woman who sat on the roof crying over you, who you wounded with ill-aimed kindness? Or will you look away, as the hounds do when shamed?”
Corrin reached to Felicia, to slip the slack ribbons from her body. An insensate mess of passion, Felicia hardly seemed to notice. Her pale skin was bore a cross-hatching of deep red marks, inflicted upon her by the ribbon and the resistance of her own bodyweight. Still glassy-eyed, Felicia’s fingertips thoughtlessly explored these long, wide welts as those of a higher rank treated above her.
A promethean spark of defiance lit inside Camilla. A hound? What arrogance; she hadn’t reared this whelp of a dragon to speak to her this way. She hadn’t…
Was it Camilla’s imagination, or were Corrin’s eyes larger, her head regal, horns forming?
“Corrin…” Her husky voice said again, now pleading.
But for what?
Corrin found the damp, redolent, darkened section of ribbon, made fragrant by Felicia’s pleasure. “Then I shall treat you as hounds are treated.” Corrin folded over the damp ribbon, pressed it beneath Camilla’s nose, and smeared the scent of Felicia’s passion across her face, her lips, her chin and cheeks. “So that you will not easily forget how a loyal servant behaves.”
These foolish thoughts of pride were lost to Camilla, as her love drowned her in Felicia’s scent. The scent that SHE so ably provided because HER LOVE was too great a COWARD to… to…
Oh, but did her eyelids flutter. Oh, but does the musk their shared efforts produced from that quivering heap of a servant overwhelm her senses—Felicia couldn’t set up tea without breaking a table, but finally, it seemed, they’d found a serving role suited to her… abilities as ably as her desires.
At this, Camilla resolved herself. What had come over her? Acting like a shamed whelp.
Camilla took Corrin by the wrist and met her eyes as she forced the ribbon to her face, and brazenly took in all off that wretched, wonderful scent. The quiver of nascent tears that shimmered her eyes just moments before vanished. If she were to be punished for her presumptuousness, then her task was to meet it boldly.
Corrin let out a swollen sigh as Camilla took her wrist. “Is this more satisfying? When your love is unafraid to seize what she longs for?” Camilla’s submission amply shown, Corrin took her by the hair, dropped the scented ribbon, rose onto her knees and lifted her skirts, and pressed Camilla’s face to her own fragrant thatch.
The sound, or perhaps the shaking of the bed, drew Felicia to consciousness. Her jaw tested amiably against its soreness and her lips against the satin gag, and she felt as if she’d just be roused from a wonderfully deep slumber.
To see her mistress take her lover as she did, however, gave her quite the start. And it was all she could do, in her clumsiness, not to pratfall directly off the bed. Wanting to escape, and dreadfully embarrassed—though for WHOM she was not sure—Felicia sat with her head dipped, doing her best to call no attention to her presence.
Corrin took Camilla to the locus of her warmth, and Camilla let loose a groan of chaotic passion. Her nose furrowed like a seeking arrow through the fall of Corrin’s skirts around her. Her body seemed to have quickly forgotten the chill of the ice tribe for the fire of her dragon; her tongue, wet and warm, speared out, slippery and earnest, scooping around the piercing in Corrin’s clit, the ruby stone that mirrored hers. Desperate to imbue Corrin with this proof of her devotion—it was for her, to sate her wants, to give her any toy, trinket, or servant she desired, did she not realize that?—Camilla buried herself in Corrin’s furnace. Barely able to breathe in her confinement, and cowed before this adroit and earnest furor that closed its legs around her head, she lapped eagerly, but with precision.
Hounds are trained, they are skilled, and so was she…
The feel of Camilla’s tongue across her ruby piercing made her quake. Fire for fire, dragon for dragon. Bonds between royals had long been sealed with such stones, if usually somewhat more… conventionally.
HER Camilla. HER Rider.
Her hound. It sat poorly. But Corrin shook the uncertainty off even as she groaned in burgeoning pleasure. People, servants, were not to be given as gifts! Especially not to satisfy her own fleeting whimsy, a momentary hunger over a mere…
Corrin turned her head, eyes a mix of potent ecstasy and tear-shimmered anger as Camilla brought a hand up to assist her tongue in its eager, devoted work…
And met Felicia’s entranced eyes…
Felicia, perhaps, couldn’t help herself. She scrambled across the bed, grabbed the first scrap of loose cloth she could find, desperate to dry her mistress’s tears and soothe worries she only somewhat understood.
Corrin gasped. One hand went down, to stabilize herself, right against the back of Camilla’s head, urging the woman on. The scrap of ribbon she dabbed across Corrin’s face reeked of Felicia’s own, wonderful cunt.
Camilla groaned, ignorant of all that transpired in the room but Corrin’s use of her face. Impudent, her hands grasped for Corrin’s rump, desperate to force an even closer joining. Camilla slid, dipped, thrust, and furrowed her tongue against her love, moaning softly with passion and shame. What a fool she’d been. How could this ever be enough? How could anything be enough? Buried in the bonfire of Corrin’s heat, voice muffled by skirts, head full of love and awe and wonder and… and…
“Forgive me,” she said.
Hearing this, Corrin’s soul blossomed, cleaned of anger and pure, as she heard the muffled words. She’d never wanted more than a balm for her bruised heart. Camilla’s voice alone could provide that; her fervent service never would, no matter how she labored.
But once the balm was applied, that devoted service was so plainly and keenly felt that the girl shook, her body acute as Camilla reminded them of the bond they shared with her tongue, her lips, and the comfort of her warm breath.
Dutiful servant, Felicia cleaned Corrin’s face and soothed her as she had so many times. And though she was clumsy, these sorts of tasks were always something she had an aptitude for—and let it be fairly said that the princess Corrin, despite her strength, was something of a crybaby. So Felicia caressed those cheeks and dabbed clean those eyes, cooing to her mistress. Her expression overcome with concern, she vanished each tear as quickly as it appeared, wiping Corrin’s beautiful face gently clean with the softness of the… the… the…
It slipped from her fingers as the shock and embarrassment of her failure overtook her.
But before she could begin to apologize, Corrin’s arms were around her.
Perhaps Felicia would someday learn that this inextricable part of her was just as much a reason that she was loved as anything else.
Corrin embraced her, and the purity and warmth of it sparked an obverse reaction in Felicia. Her nipples became like icicles, calming Corrin’s sweat-dappled skin. The temperature of the room dropped several degrees—giving these rather more warm-blooded women a start—Felicia was well suited to moderate the temperature of her mistress’s heart…
For the first time that evening, Corrin felt the true force of Felicia’s chill burst through her. Her nipples stood on end, icy and peaked and achingly sensitive against her silken dressing-gown. The piercing that shot ferocious and true through her pleasure, small though it was, felt like a frozen iron bar, inescapable, steaming against her draconic heat.
Her breath fogged the air.
It felt BRILLIANT, like she might shatter frosty in the pleasure of it. She strained against it, felt the momentary sensory ice form small, hairline cracks around her.
And then—in the embrace of her devoted maid and against the warm, gentle lips and tongue of her beloved—her frozen, withheld orgasm shattered out, sending ecstasy sharp in all directions, her head swimming as blood rushed through her in an attempt to restore sensation to pleasure-numbed skin.
Her lips felt chilly. But there was yet a solution.
Gentle but firm, her fingers trembling in Camilla’s beautiful fall of lilac hair, Corrin urged her beloved upwards, to warm her lips against her own.
Swept up by Corrin’s lips, Camilla enjoyed the taste of her forgiveness—it was sweet, and nurturing; and Camilla allowed herself a modicum of pride in deciding it was mainly she who’d imbued those virtues in Corrin in the first place. She felt as if in a cloud—albeit a rather chilly one—this pile of flesh, sandwiched, kneeling, among these girls. She kissed Corrin softly, sweetly, and, finding there was really no way to embrace Corrin without including the maid—well, what was the harm in that? Eager service is due proper reward.
At this, even the icy, avid, and preternaturally haphazard Felicia melted. Seeing the passion that swept Lady Corrin and Lady Camilla both, she launched into ardent defense of Camilla’s actions this evening…
…and it was about three sentences into her climactic speech before the widened eyes of Lady Corrin and Lady Camilla, Felicia realized she was burbling unintelligibly through her gag!
She struggled the damp ribbon free and it fell around her bare neck like a loose choker. “Lady Corrin! Lady Camilla did nothing wrong!” She exclaimed, eyes wide. Then, shocked at her own vehemence, she withdrew a bit. But this was not the time for shirking. She cleared her throat, and sat up bravely, and the tips of each lock of hair in the room became subtly frosted as the bravery she displayed on the battlefield subsumed the cowardice with which Felicia operated her kitchen. “T-that is to say… it was I who asked Camilla to-to-to tie me up so, and as such if a-a-anyone’s deserving of punishment…!”
“My silly Felicia. You were absolutely lovely. There is nothing at all for me to forgive.” Corrin stroked her maid’s hair gently, smoothing it back—it had always soothed her when Camilla toyed with hers, and she always felt strengthened when she did the same to others. “It was a brave thing for you to have done. It must have taken great courage.”
At this, Camilla allows herself a -bit- of poise—she’d earned it, hasn’t she? Fingers drumming gently against Corrin’s spine as she held her close, Camilla tilted her head, and offers the absolute mildest possible smirk, as if to say ‘I’ll accept my apology in writing.’
Corrin smoothed over Felicia’s hair once more again, fixing the little bonnet atop her head—as though there were any virtue inherent in retaining that mark of station.
But perhaps, it occurred to her, Felicia might take some joy in it.
And it—or the praise—did bright Felicia’s eyes as well as her cheeks. Felicia wasn’t much accustomed to praise in the halls or rooms of the Castle, after all, and to have made a suggestion and done perfectly was a mark of tremendous pride. She could have lit the room with her smile. More efficiently (to say nothing of safely), certainly, than if she had tried to do so with tapers.
“And as much as another may so keenly be aware of each and every one of my wants, down to the smallest whimsies…” Corrin turned her head to Camilla’s feline smile. “She seems to somehow be strikingly unaware of my Loves. How deeply, for example, I love her and rely upon her, and how my life belongs to her.” She smiled, eyes shimmering. “My sweet Camilla is stupid indeed if she thinks any of my wants are worth one second of having my heart bruised over want of her Love.” She blushed, and nuzzled into that lilac fall of hair, feeling less commanding by the moment.
“Consider your Love appropriately chastised,” Camilla said, quietly, not deigning to wipe the glistening evidence of certain KINDS of love from her lips as she did. Her eyes upon her Little Princess were predatory, and perhaps overly bold—but then again, when had a woman like Camilla ever learned her lesson?
“I mean it.” Corrin replied, lips pursed. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, ‘Milla. No matter how sure you are I want someone. I do want Felicia…”—a (she hoped) concealed blush—”But I’m just as certain Felicia would never want me to lose you.”
A sudden thought warmed in her head, perhaps melted from its icy fastness. “Felicia…” From commanding dragon to ruby-red princess in mere moments. Her confidence faltered with her blush. “J-just how long have you wanted me?”
“When have I…” Lost in the cloudy feeling of praise, Felicia started at the question, taking a moment to catch up to the conversation between these two women. “Well… since… I… since I…” She looked down, gently swishing her hips. Vulnerable, ludicrous, naked and still partially trussed as she was; though there was, she hoped, an adorable affectation to it. The room chilled a whisper or two in the process. “Th-that is to say…”
“Oh come OUT with it!” Camilla said, laughing with deep affection as she applied a jolting slap to Felicia’s rump. “I let you fritter an hour of my time this evening with your dithering, I’ll not permit starting from scratch NOW.”
Felicia squeaked and went rigid, blurting out, “S-since ever of course!”
Her outburst seemed to shock her far more than Camilla’s slap. Covering her mouth, her eyes big as serving bowls, Felicia whispers through her fingers. “G-growing up with you and tending to your needs… oh, I’m dreadfully sorry Lady Corrin, I know I shouldn’t say such things!”
Corrin gently kissed Felicia on the forehead, warming the room. “You are permitted, now. Camilla has opened the door and I’ve led you through it. You were going to love me anyway, were you not? So you ought as well do it fully. When you throw your whole heart into an endeavor, you’re so much better at it.”
Perhaps the dragon-pup had learned something from her rider, after all…
“Now, unless we all wish to smell of Felicia tomorrow, I’ll draw us all a bath. And I’ll consider entertaining my Camilla’s pleas for satisfaction during.” Her eyes sparkled. “And you can explain to me exactly how you came to end up hanging above my bed, so we can properly arrange your next such visit…”
At that, Felicia giggled too. And Camilla might have permitted such an escape, but for one thing…
“Corrin, dear. She’s spent her whole life pining for you, and you plan to distract her with baths just when she’s finally flung herself past the tipping point?”
Camilla deftly guided Felicia onto her side. “You weren’t finished speaking.” She says, spooning her fulsome body against Felicia’s back.
“N-no I…” said Felicia, quietly, her head dipped. “I wouldn’t w-want to inconvenience further with my…”
“Oh pish tosh,” interrupts Camilla. “You’ve been asked, and now you’re going to answer.”
Felicia shuddered, feeling the gentle rove of Camilla’s hand upon her side. “I…”
“Or should I say, you’re going to tell her how much you’ve wanted her, and I’m going to show her…”
A roving hand gently lifted Felicia’s leg, showing her red and well-fucked cunt, barely masked by her tufty pubic hair. Felicia looked away with a mousey sound, brushing her lips against Camilla’s shoulder, and finding a warm respite in her pillowy body.
“No need to be quiet now, dear, look into your mistress’s eyes, say your piece and I’ll…”
Felicia’s leg swept eagerly around Camilla’s knee, and Camilla smiled.
“…take care of the rest.”
Fingers descended as Felicia threw herself into speech.
“I’ve… th-that is to say… w-we grew up together and…” Her eyes yearned, pooling with tears of embarrassment and thrill. “you were… a-a-always so kind to me… and… anh!” Her head arches back, a finger gently opening the folds of her sex, spreading her, and showing that glistening pulse of her body. “Y-you were never cross to me… l-like the others and… unnh!” This finger entered her, easily as parting a flower’s petals.
“Keep going dear.” Camilla smiled, trailing kisses along the curve of Felicia’s hair. “You’ve stolen her full attention…”
It was Corrin’s turn to stare in awe. The revelation of desire, she’d brushed off easily enough in her dragon-blooded fury, in her heart-bruised anger, but this was something different. This was love.
This was a Felicia she’d never seen before.
Felicia was as incapable of subterfuge as she was of laying a table setting. And somehow she’d kept this secret, this heart-aching secret, for all these years…
Felicia did her laundry. Felicia bathed her. Felicia touched her. Felicia knew all her secrets, and had held herself back.
“I heard you… sometimes… at night…” Felicia’s gaze met Corrin’s, and Corrin’s cheeks went red. “And… thought how warm you…m-must have been… and h-how lonely…”
“Very good, darling…” Camilla’s fingers played Felicia expertly, drawing tones and emotion from her with the merest touch, through pink, ready folds and coral tangle.
Corrin’s thighs trembled as she watched, and she bit her lip, Felicia’s soul spread bare before her.
“I-i wanted… to hold… you, so you… so you wouldn’t be lonely…”
“I loved you…” Corrin murmured, but Camilla held up a hand, silencing her rejoinder. This was not Corrin’s moment, but Felicia’s—THIS, not the trussing, was the true event she and Felicia had prepared.
“That’s all you want, to ‘hold’ her, dear?” An encouraging crack against Felicia’s rump as Camilla’s other hand found home. “No dallying.”
“A-and f-fuck…” the maid whimpered.
Corrin’s lips were parted in wonder and hunger and awe, her hand trembling between her own thighs. She and her chambermaid, a wall apart, had always wanted the same thing? All those times… all those nights… She needed have only walked through the door to make it real?
“I a-always w-wanted t-to see you smile, t-to see you look at m-me…” a pause; another crack!ing sound from her rear “J-JUST like this… and to hear you call my n-name…”
Felicia’s shut-tight eyes opened as another sensation joined Camilla’s finger at her spread pussy—Corrin’s fingertips. She was close, smiling just as Felicia had dreamed.
“I always loved you!” She cried, conviction fortifying a trembling heart, her forever dream coming true in misty eyes. “I a-always wanted you… and, and I only ever t-told Flora, I was t-too scared to say…”
“There’s no shame in being scared, little rabbit.” Through skillful positioning, Camilla stroke’s Felicia’s trembling cheek even as the fingers of her other hand furrow, swirl and dip inside her, edging her closer and closer to orgasm. “But fear is something to be conquered, isn’t it Corrin dear?”
“Unhh!” Felicia cried out. She whimpers and writhes, her small breasts quaking with her shivering breath. A cool mist accompanies the exhalations of everyone in the room but her. Camilla endured the cold rather well, it seemed—rather, it did not stop her. Nothing could.
With a soaring breath that compressed her breasts against Felicia’s back, Camilla stirred greater and greater moans from the girl as she trembles to speak–well, it was only fair she got to have SOME fun, wasn’t it, after such a long night? Thumb pressing into Felicia’s side, she drove the girl closer and closer to this needful little release… only… there’s something missing, wasn’t there?
“Well, dear,” says Camilla, her blazing eyes centering in on Corrin’s. “The hour’s grown long, and there’s but the slimmest fraction of our dear Felicia’s request you’ve yet to fulfill.
And Felicia’s eyes quavered with tears of resplendent emotion. She’d been smiled at, she’d been looked at, she’d been held, but she hadn’t received that final gift… that small sound she’d fantasized over all these years…
Corrin’s lips pursed, breath caught in her throat. Her eyes fixed, almost as if she hadn’t even heard Camilla’s request. Because it wasn’t a mere word Felicia needed to hear.
Corrin was now certain Felicia had heard it a dozen times before, a dozen times a dozen. She’d said it before—that name, that word—certainly. In moments like this.
Two of Corrin’s fingers slipped between her thighs, parted and pinched around her ruby piercing.
But never a moment exactly like this. Never where she knew she’d be heard.
Where she needed to be.
Little Princess, so lonely, so sensitive, doted upon by her lover, coddled by her chambermaid. She could still feel the warmth of Felicia’s hands upon her. All over her…
It rose within her once more, that hair-trigger pleasure, built up inside, over years of huddling secretive in her desires. It bubbled up unstoppable against her lungs and took flight against her lips in a throaty, heady, hungry sigh.
“Felicia!” She called, eyes half-lidded, twilight-orgasm, as though her pleasure was only half that of a complete whole, and she were reaching out, calling out for the joining, begging her secret love for its final, long-desired completion.
And, spurred by Camilla’s fingers—though it hardly seemed in that moment, she truly needed them—Felicia tipped over the edge and into this bewildering bliss, breathlessly matching her love’s long-awaited release, and shouting to any and all who’d hear.
They hurled into one another, crashing together into their love as much as their bodies. In squirming, sweaty, exhausted embrace, Corrin and Felicia shared this long-desired joining.
Camilla was a gracious steward; let it never be said she was not. Patient, she let them scream and shout and whimper their love for each other in whatever means they deemed necessary. She was no liar, and she meant what she said.
Corrin’s needs were exactly hers.
It was after this refractory period, when the breathing had cooled a bit (or warmed, in this immaculately particular case), that Camilla gently hoisted the sweaty and stupefied Felicia in her generous arms, turned to her Corrin, and said, with a beneficent smile…
“Now, how about we have that bath?”
And while a well-deployed and feverishly dizzied Corrin tripped towards the bathing-chamber, in the chamber-maid’s room where the door was thin and the sounds of Corrin’s bedroom echoed loud—naturally, in case she were to need anything—a young woman let out an icy, frustrated sigh, her knees clenched tight and her back to the stone, and thumped the firm masonry with a closed fist.
“Why is it always the clumsy, silly one that gets to be so lucky?”