Fleur pulls the Strings
Octavia Melody
My feet move off the rugged-floor and come to a rest on the low-hanging coffee table set in front of the couch and recliner. I would sit in the recliner, but my roommate spilled some sort of drink on it during a bustling party she threw a few days ago. And I don’t see why I need to clean up her mess, seeing as she has made quite the mess as it is; and I have cleaned up much of it alone.
Getting her to clean up is going to take some time, and a lot of effort. We both live here. I shouldn’t be the only one keeping it tidy. Besides nine hours over three days. I think I have cleaned enough, and Vinyl can finish the rest.
Pat, pat, pat…
I look around the room. “What could that be?” I mutter to myself.
Pat, pat, pat…
I look behind me only to realize that someone is at the door. I reluctantly pull my feet down from the table. Rising from the couch I tread around working my way to the door, but before I make it.
Pat, pat, pat…
“I’m coming,” I announce. I step off the carpet onto the tiled flooring that makes up the entryway. Reaching over I take hold of the knob, and slowly twist it. The door barely clicks before it gets shoved open. “Hey!” I start to yell.
“Octavia, darling, it’s me!” I hear an excited voice chime, quite full of excitement; yet before I can see who it is I am pulled into a tight hug.
It takes a moment for me to pry the clasped fingers from around my waist. White and grey hair waves in front of my face in a flash. Violet eyes stare back at me. I start to focus on the rest the face. White, fair skin, slightly chiseled facial structure, sharp nose, and an understanding soft smile.
“Fleur?” I ask hesitantly. Why was she here? Shouldn’t she be… I don’t know… relaxing on a beach somewhere. Today wasn’t a safe day for us to meet. Vinyl could be home from her job in a few hours, and she is the last person I want to find out about us (Fleur and I).
The violet eyes blink a few times revealing matching eyeshadow. “Yes?” she asks coyly, clearly something devious is on her mind. The smile that crosses her face reminds me of a snake ready to pounce her prey. “I came all this way to see you, and you don’t even want to see me,” she pouts with as much realism as a bird flying without any wings.
“No… I—” she tackles me into another hug. I can feel her cheek smooshed against my breast, and with the way she wiggles her cheek she is wanting to feel more. Not long after they begin to feel ticklish; I push her away using the top of her head as leverage.
She whines as I do, exactly like how a dog would, but doesn’t put up much resistance to it. Her snake like smile returns. “How was that?! Bet I made you believe that I was upset?”
Now it is my turn. I blink a few times in a reactive manner. “It would be much more believable if you didn’t break the… act so quickly,” I inform her.
“Hehm… true, but then I would see you looking worried,” she replies with that wry smile. She grabs my hand in hers. “Come on,” she says as she starts to drag me along with her. Before I can protest she leads me into the kitchen and sets me down at the round table we (Vinyl and I) use as a dining table, Vinyl is rather good at finding edges in the morning—as we found one morning months ago; she might still have that scar on her waist.
“Fleur. What are you up to at this intermission?” I ask, but she starts to stir around in the cabinets. “Hey! What do you think you’ll find?” Without a word she pulls out a tall round cardboard tin. And shakes it in my direction long enough for me to see what it happens to be—mint tea.
“Let’s see…” she mumbles to herself. “Ah! Here they are,” Fluer takes out a kettle and heads over to the sink. Filling it with water before making her way to the stove, all the while carrying the tin full of mint leaves. She pops the lid to the tin off, and dumps a small amount of leaves into the water before turning the stove on. “Oh dear… was I supposed to heat the water first?”
She somehow finds the cups; pulling two out, one at a time, and pours the poorly made tea in as she sets each down. The steam slowly rises in waves, billowing slowly away as it climbs higher and closer to the ceiling. Puffing out into – for it – the endless decay. Until finally it found its relief, its liberation, in the form of an air vent.
Fleur taking a cup in each hand carries the two cups over to the table setting one in front of me, and the other where she plans on sitting. After pulling the chair out a small ways she gently seats herself. We sit for the next few minutes in a pregnant silence; both our eyes following the curves, and general shape of each other. My own eyes rest on the small strips of fabric holding up Fleur's – boldly plain, simple, and doesn’t leave anything to the imagination – white dress.
A hard gulp escapes my throat before I even realize that it was bubbling to the surface. Sure I have seen Fluer in all sorts of outfits, or even without anything. But the places that the dress covers leaves what’s hidden to the imagination, which makes her all the more appealing. It makes me a little self conscious. Here I am wearing simple things; plain brown skirt, white button-up long sleeve shirt and a matching brown – with white swirls – vest. I notice her eyes tracing every little line, and curve; almost as if she is tracing me onto a canvas, or bowing me out on a cello.
I take my first sip from the tea, or I’d like to say I take my first sip. No, instead an ansty Fleur quickly stands from her chair and rushes over to me; taking my hand in hers and silently leads me off to another location. Not knowing what to do I follow behind her as she leads me out of the kitchen, down the hall and into my bedroom—how she knows the layout of the house is beyond me, since she has never been her before; at least to my knowledge.
As soon as I pass through the door she turns pushing it close, while simultaneously, firmly planting her lips to mine.
I’m flying~
No~
I’m melting~
Her tongue finds its way onto my lips tracing small circles on them. My mind races as I try to figure out what I want to do, but before I decide Fleur pulls off. Her arms have found their way to my upper back and waist, right above the tailbone. Her hands—one resting to pull my chest closer to her, and the other pulls my waist closer while also lightly groping my butt. I groan as our lips part ways.
“Why did you stop?” I ask with a pout. She smiles at me with that snake smile that she does at times—things are going exactly as she planned.
* * *
Vinyl Scratch - Dj Pon-3
I check the clock once again. It seems that it will not move, sure the second-hand is slowly ticking to the next. But I am going to be stuck here—here being the school. I found out that even though it was a weekend you can’t have parties on school grounds—well, parties with hard cider. And I now need to face the fact that inviting everyone was a bad idea.
Perhaps I should have waited for Octavia to go to that concert in a few days. She isn’t playing, but it will be good for her—so she can relax, and rest; which is something she needs. I wish I could be the one to help her, but she has been pushing me away for some reason.
I check the clock once more, three minutes left. It has been ages. A new civilization could have started up, rose to power and then fallen into collapse from the lack of musical wub. All in the time I have been sitting here—a whole fifty-seven minutes.
I pick up the pencil that sits on the desk and begin to tap a small quarter-beat out on the desk, simple; but I follow it with tapping my left foot in an eighth-beat, and my right foot in a half-beat. Using my spare hand I start to pat out a sixteenth-beat. I’m only able to play for a few seconds – it starts to sound good too – before the annoyed teacher sitting at the front can’t stand it any longer.
“Vinyl you’re free to go!” she says with a grimace and a heavy sigh in her breath.
I smile as I stand, sling my bag on my shoulder and quickly place my headphones in place. My tunes are already playing, and I begin to walk out. I’ve got a job to get to—The Music Store, generic naming, but a perfect place for me.
* * *
Octavia Melody
Fleur grabs my hand and leads me towards the bed. With a small twist – a hand on my hip and back – plants me atop the bed. She is already on me planting kiss after kiss on my lips, cheeks, and neck. The kisses add a deeper shade of red to my already burning cheeks. The burning – the deep desire – spreads rapidly through my body; like a fire it spreads. The flames consume, my mind leaving only thoughts of her.
Her leg finds its way to my thighs, swiftly yet delicately rubbing me down there. A double-attack from her lips and leg. She continues rubbing, but her lips move up to my ear. She begins in a low, seductive voice. “Do you want to feel good?”
She goes back to kissing and sucking on my neck. She finds the right spot – the most sensitive area – and focuses intently on it—all the while, her leg rubbing down below. With her hands she has started to grope my breasts, or fondle them – for her, not me – she loves my breasts: so soft she normally says. She would be able to play with them for hours on end.
The burning has only grown and grown since it started, and Fleur isn’t making it any better. With her continuing to find more and more sensitive places; and continuing her assault on them. I can feel that I am rising with the ever increasing crescendo. Before I reach the finale, Fleur stops. “You must not want to feel good,” she states, her voice low and tired.
“I do!” I moan. She pushes me onto the bed, and starts tugging the vest off. I lift my arms obediently. I can feel the sweat already forming all over my body, but more than that I can feel the beads of arousal that has leaked from my nethers. I am left in the dark as the vest reaches my eyes—it sits there. Fleur is clearly not going to remove it. She wants me to stay in the dark, figuratively and literally, about what will be happening. Allowing only my other senses to thrive—to increase the sensitivity that I’ll inevitably end up feeling.
I feel the cool air as it brushes against my ever damping thighs, and on my chest. Fleur is slowly unbuttoning my shirt. I can feel it from the small ticklish feeling that keeps sprouting from each button being undone. The shirt, tucked into the skirt, is pulled out. I can feel it rubbing against my skin.
Her hands glide against and over my skin in as delicate a way as she can manage. Until they reach my skirt, which they quickly find the button and unhook it. She unzips it to pull it off easier. With a steady hand she begins to tug on it, and I lift my waist to make it even easier. Fleur pulls it at a terribly slow pace—making me feel every tug, every vibration. It reaches my ankles and she stops. I set my waist back down and lift up my feet, but she doesn’t do anything.
“Should we leave the skirt on?” she asks innocently. Harmless. Or that’s how it should sound, but there is hope in that voice. But most of all is the expectancy; she has something planned. That plan most likely will feel great, so the answer is obvious.
“I leave that to you,” I say; though the vest muffles me a bit. I think I actually say, “Eye eve hat hu lou.”
“Right,” she replies as she slides the skirt the rest of the way off, and I can practically hear the smile in her tone. Her unease wisps away, as if on a breeze. Fleur moves up from my legs – dragging her fingers along my whole form as she goes – until she is close enough that I can hear her still, steady, and strong breathing. “I’ll just have to… move on then,” she says sweetly, or rather seductively—how did that become seductive?
Her fingers start tracing circles on my breasts, over the thin padded bra, making sure to let her fingers gravitate to my firm nipples. Even through the vest I can smell the vanilla perfume she uses. “Can’t we do more?!” I blurt out quickly, without any thought. It must have been the wrong thing to do, because I can’t feel Fleur's touch, her vanilla scent grows weaker, and the indent on the bed has all but vanished. The only thing on the bed, by what I can tell, is me.
Nothing. Other than the faint vanilla in the air I can’t find any trace of her. I wait, and wait. I focus on the bed, and the burning; yet, the burning is giving rise to something more. Thobbing? No. Pulsing. I can feel my heart, each beat, as if time were moving much slower than it should. The vanilla in the air, while faint it is much stronger now; but I have a feeling nothing has changed. The air, cold, flowing against my skin. It is like nothing I have felt before… except that one time I was wearing much less in the snow.
Hugh, hugh, hugh…
What is that?
Hugh, hugh, hugh…
Wait…
Hugh, hugh, hugh…
That is breathing. My breathing. But… since when? When did this—
Warmth lands on my face from over the top of the thicker material overlaying, and obstructing my view. “Shh~” Fleur shushes. Her hands caress my cheeks before they move up gripping the vest and starting to work it off me.
Light floods my eyes; a smiling Fleur is there to greet me, a light blush coloring her pristine skin. She starts to lean in, her eyes closing as she draws near, her lips pursed. Should I? Do I? I think to myself, but before I can come to any solace Fleur’s lips land on mine. Her lips feel moist – she must have added some chapstick since we entered the bedroom – she pulls back after only a second before peppering me with a barrage of quick pecks.
They land scattering all over my neck, ears, hair, forehead, and cheeks. She doesn’t stop, nor slow down for a moment. She runs her hand slowly down my stomach, taking her sweet time – the pulsing only increased; satisfaction? Lust? yes, unadulterated lust – until she gets to my hips; which is when her hands make a dive under the thin cotton of my last defense—my panties. Her fingers easily find their way to my nub, and masterfully caress and love it.
Electricity zaps through my whole being; her fingers fade away until only the lust remains. My eyes – which I had closed when she started peppering me with kisses – open and things are foggy—hazy even, more so than before. As I get control of my breathing I find that the lust doesn’t die down, but the haze is sifting; moving onto other notes. With half-lidded eyes I cast my gaze to look down to Fleur, sucking on one of my erect stubs, not quickly either just casually sucking and playing with it in her mouth.
Her fingers move down from my nub to the puffy lips, flooding with the watery substance that is slowly flowing, flooding—a change of undergarments may be needed after this little concert of ours. I can feel it. It is trying to come up, right out of my chest; as if it is a beat of my heart. I cover my mouth with my hands as it threatens to burst.
* * *
Fleur Dis Lee
I can’t help but smile as I see my darling little Octavia cover her mouth with her hands; she is trying to hold back a moan. But I want to hear it—so…
I spread her puffy lower lips – feel the hot arousal flood out – using my pinkie and index fingers while using the other two, smaller fingers, to enter inside of her puffy labia. The flesh wrapped around becoming accustomed to the size of my digits. The warm arousal warming, dampening my soft moisturised digits.
As I forced them in further and further I could see the anticipation, lust, and pleasure building in Octavia-darling's eyes. She was near tipping point – she knew it – and I know that she will want to ‘seal a show’ as she always says. As my digits max out inside her I begin to move them around slowly.
The inevitable happens – it begins with a moan – and the longer I work “the magic” the closer she edges to the line; closing the fine point between staying and crossing. She teeters at the precipice. I let my fingers do their own thing as I continue to suckle on her juicy, bouncy bazoongas.
It isn’t even ten seconds later that something extraordinary happens. “Nnnnmmm…” Octavia manages to moan past her covered mouth; though when I look she is biting down on the sheets—clearly working to stay quiet, maybe to not let me hear her.
“Octavia-darling, was that the ‘curtain’s call’?” I ask with a purr.
She looks at me, but it would be more accurate to say attempting to look at me. She is only able to focus on this general direction—what a wonderful state she must be in for this climax. She is easily the hardest releaser that I know; as in power, and not in the form of gushing. “Huuhh…” is all my poor Octavia mutters—so defenseless and precious; I’m glad she is all mine.
I ease my fingers out from within her folds, when her eyes snap close I slow down. And when I finally remove those slender utilities (from only the best) I slowly work them out from inside the cotton chastity belt. My longest finger lightly grazes her swollen clotoris and her head digs into the bed at the same time her waist lifts ever-so-slightly.
It seems that she is putting on an encore. Oh, I just love the way her body arches when she is going through the motions of an orgasm. I am spoiling myself by watching her. Vinyl should be back here in several hours, once she is done with work. I have got to thoroughly enjoy Octavia before then. “Octavia-darling?”
“Y-yeugh…” she breaths.
“Do you want to feel even better?” She nods her head with a slight obliviousness about it. I give her a ‘right answer little dove’ type of smile, and she seems to relax. Her muscles, toned, relax as well. It seems that the main aftermath of her climax is over; good, now she is ready for the next part.
I pull the hem of my dress up, and reach my hand to my waist. I quickly find what I am looking for; a polyester red scarf. It is something specially made, as polyester isn’t something normally used in scarfs. I gently begin to untie it.
I inhale deeply taking in the scent flooding the air: Octavia’s scent. I felt like I was flying high, all off of the scent of my dear Octavia. I look down on my resting girl, and she seems so at peace. I lick my lips the chapstick smearing around and most of it sticking to my tongue coming back in my mouth and leaving a berry flavor, or gloomy really. “L’obscurité, what was I thinking?” I gloat quietly.
Finally getting the scarf untied I start unwrapping it. Octavia loves this next part. It really takes the breath out of her, the way she really gasps for each note; as if she were singing. This has to be one of her favorite activities.
I pull the scarf out, and let the hem fall back into place, or to wherever it wants to go. Climbing back onto the bed, Octavia eyes slowly work their way into becoming opened, she looks at the scarf in my hand; and a faint smile crosses her face.
“Do you want to stop here, or—”
Octavia grabs my hand and pulls me closer kissing my forehead. Well, I say kissing, but it was more of a slobber. “I’d like that,” she says weakly. Upon seeing my clear confusion she clarifies. She manages to ask between breaths, “To continue… can we continue?”
“Certainly my dear Octavia-darling,” I inform her thusly. Holding the scarf out on front of her, presenting it where she could see. The faint smile that came is a perfect example of why I have been working on making her all mine. The feeling I feel deep within my nethers – the tingles I feel – and the twangs in my heart as I think about making her mine.
I set my left arm on the other side of her, right by the head, and leaned in close on the right side. “Are you ready for some… fun?” I question in a whisper, yet a relaxed undertone. Her eyes, cloudy, grow warm, yet still cloudy. A blush, deeper than any I have seen on her before, paints her face. “Red looks good on you.”
She immediately responds with a groan from deep within her throat, and an even deeper shade of red. I give her a warm smile as I gently lift her head up a small ways, and slide the scarf under until it reaches her neck then just as gently set her head back on the mattress; she doesn’t resist, nor does she seem to be hesitant—so unlike the first time we fooled around, and brought something new to our play. The new activity is quite the spectacle, and we both seem to enjoy it; though, I believe Octavia enjoys it far more than I.
I wrap the scarf around once, twice on both ends; adding in a little cross and fold to allow for tightening and (naturally) loosening. Sure, with the other way I could tighten it, but I don’t want her to die. We promised to make sure it was safe, including an action she can use to stop it immediately. Unless she suffers from shock because of missing a few breaths, we are safe to indulge.
“Are you ready, Octavia-darling?” My voice smooth and silken. I inhaled her scent as I waited. Roses and bath salt. Not a bad mix.
“Yes—” she inhales deeply “—make sure it feels great… for both of us.” She exhales slowly, not really a necessity, yet it puts her at ease—the deep breath before we start. Her being able to rest and relax a great importance to her pleasure, and her pleasure is mine.
“Ready… three… two… one…” I slowly begin to tighten the scarf. Already Octavia is losing blood flow, by the looks in her eyes she is lightheaded. Glancing down I find she is more than just light-headed, her fingers are digging into her love tunnel. Arousal spilling out, and the sweet hazy scent that always follows after it. I slowly begin to loosen and allow more blood to flow back through.
Octavia’s fingers slow down as more blood rushes to her head, until they come to a complete stop. I let her catch her breath, and allow the blood and oxygen to rush back to her head. But I don’t wait long. I tighten, and immediately her fingers work on digging again. Without having been touched it is miraculous that I am already soaked—I can feel my own arousal running down my thighs and legs.
I resist the urge to satiate the itch. I tighten the scarf a tiny bit more, possibly more than I should but Octavia is giving a positive reaction. Those meaty digits are moving like lightning, or in a blur.
As the scope of the arousal grows heavier and heavier I can feel my chest tightening, my breath becoming ragged. It seems that my grip loosened as well; I found out when I look to see Octavia is glaring at me, but with a more beg to the shine of the eyes. An apologetic smile, or as near of one I can give, and I am holding the scarf tightly in my waning grip. Octavia seems to forgive me, well she might be too distracted to give me anything.
Her fingers seem to find a sweet spot as they pump in at a swell pace. I slowly loosen the scarf to allow a moment of air; her euphoria takes over as her hips rise and her fingers jam in as far as she can take them.
In no time at all Octavia is going through another ‘finale’. Her eyes plastered shut. Her mind lost in the haze. A small ‘thump’, quiet, but still enough for me to hear. I turn to see a backpack resting on the floor of the opened door. Standing next to the bag is a wide-eyed Vinyl Scratch, tears seem to be just starting to form at the edges of those wide-eyes. A snake-like smile creeps across my face, and the tightening of my chest consumes me as I go through my own climax.
Author's Note
Thank you Rewrite for spending six and a half hours (focused or not) working on this, and putting up with me. Thank you for bringing me down, then building me back up; though you were trying to not bring me down in the first place. And finally - thanks for helping this Asexual make a story about the thing that makes the least sense in the world (to me).
