Archive of Our Own ^beta

As always, I entered the pleasure chamber of Melisande Shahrizai with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. She had once again sent me a gown to wear to my assignation, and the heavy fabric swirled about my ankles like the teasing brush of fingers. It was as dark a green as my sangoire cloak was scarlet, making the brocade patterns difficult to distinguish. I'd had to touch them (which I'd done while wearing it, shuddering with delicious expectation at my own touch) to determine that it was a floral pattern. But more than that, I could not say.

I had carefully selected accoutrements to complement the gown. Thinking to play on the botanical theme, I wore a caul of golden mesh, as if my hair had been showered with pollen, and ornate little boots of tooled green leather. A smile fluttered at my lips as I imagined Melisande's reaction to the boots, an item which I seldom wore--and never to assignations with her. I feared and hoped she would punish me for it.

Melisande waited inside the pleasure chamber, seated on a plain wooden chair. My breath caught at the sight of her. It was as if I had forgotten that face which I so often dreamed of, for she was always more beautiful than I remembered. She was dressed rather formally, in a high-necked gown of black silk with long, tight sleeves. Her long-fingered hands were covered in black silk gloves, but I could see every flex of muscle and bone beneath them. Her hair was upswept and covered in a hood of black, leaving her face the only part of her uncovered. It glowed like a pearl.

She also wore boots of shining black leather. My guilty smile widened when I saw them. I wondered how high they were, for her gown was ankle length. Perhaps I would get to find out.

"Are my boots so fascinating, Phèdre?" Melisande inquired coolly.

I tore my gaze from them and boldly lifted my eyes to meet hers. "No more than the rest of you."

But she did not even glance at my own boots, which I had hoped she would take for a presumptuous attempt at mimicking her own attire. Instead, she gave me a long, slow smile that put me in mind of a cat lapping up a saucer of heavy cream. "You are a precious gem, Phèdre. You truly see nothing but me."

I was briefly puzzled before I noticed the rest of the room. A gasp escaped my lips. In truth, I had been so captivated by my first sight of Melisande that I had completely failed to register my surroundings.

"It is a wonder you have had so much success as a spy," she went on.

Attempting to maintain my dignity, I pointed out, "I do not need to observe everything instantly. It is only important that I do observe it."

"And what do you observe?" Melisande inquired.

"You have taken everything from the room," I said. The pleasure chamber was shockingly bare. The wheel, the flagellary, the racks of instruments of delectable torture--all of it was gone. The only furniture left was the chair in which Melisande sat, and a small table beside her, bare but for a bundle of rather damp muslin.

"Why do you think that might be?"

I ground my teeth. Melisande was enjoying this, delaying my pleasure and making me answer questions as if I was a child being tutored. But I knew that I had to please her with my reply, or this torment--which was certainly not the kind that I enjoyed--would continue.

I repressed my first pert instinct, which was to say that she had done it expressly to irritate me by making me guess at her motives. My second thought was that she was remodeling the chamber--but that was far too simple. I cast my gaze over the chamber, and then over Melisande herself. I had often seen her wear black boots and black gloves, but I had never seen her cover so much of her skin. In particular, the gloves required a sleeveless top for the full effect...

"There is something in that bundle which you don't wish to have touch your skin," I replied. "Or to touch anything in the chamber, except for that rather cheap little table."

The impression of a cat drinking cream deepened. I could almost imagine the cat Melisande--a lithe black creature with sapphire eyes--licking her paws and cleaning her whiskers. "Very good, Phedre. Would you like to see it--before it touches your skin?"

My breath caught in my lungs. I could guess at what kind of thing it could be--I was not inexperienced with the burning of fresh-peeled ginger against tender inner tissues--but such things require nothing more than the use of gloves or sheaths, not for the entire room to be emptied. "Yes," I breathed. "Very much."

Melisande unwrapped the bundle, with precision and care but not over-caution. It contained a blossom on a stalk, which she held up to me. I couldn't help stepping closer, though she had not given me permission to do so. I had never seen anything like it before. It was most like an orchid, perhaps, one of those exotic blooms bred in greenhouses, in its almost sculptural design and the slight fleshiness of its petals. But no orchid I had ever seen had so many petals, which shaded from the palest blue at their tips to deep sapphire and finally to a heart of velvety black, nor did they spiral in on themselves until the eye was bewildered. Nor had I ever seen an orchid with leaves like little succulent rods. Nor, so far as I was aware, did any orchid have thorns, let alone thorns as scarlet as the mote in my eye, standing out with shocking brilliance against the subdued pale green of the leaves and stem.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Photianthos, in the Hellene tongue. We would call it fireblossom." Melisande gazed down at it thoughtfully, then looked up at me. "Do you know the language of flowers?"

"Of course I do," I retorted, offended. "What do you suppose the Houses of the Night Court are named for?"

Too late, I saw the trap. Now Melisande was a cat toying with a mouse. "Then what does it mean, Phèdre, when I give you this flower?"

I was forced to shake my head. "I don't know. I've never heard of it before."

Melisande stood, her hand extended. The long stalk of the blossom was like the scepter of a queen. "It means 'I possess you.' Will you accept it?"

"I will," I breathed.

I reached out my hand, but Melisande withdrew the blossom. "Disrobe first."

I had undressed for so many patrons, but none had ever made me feel as naked as Melisande. I removed my gown, my undergarments, and my boots, then reached up to take off my caul.

"Leave it," she said. Glancing at the little green boots, she added, "Presumptuous. I ought to have you lie down on the floor and step on you."

I trembled at the thought of it. Those hard soles pressing into my buttocks and spine, with her weight behind them, pushing my tender skin into the cold hard floor. They would leave such precise bruises. And that was only the physical aspect. There was also the humiliation...

"But I'll save that for another time," she said. "For now, your punishment will be to crawl to me and kiss my boots."

She made a peremptory gesture, and I dropped to the floor so instantly that I jarred my knees and wrists. I savored that tiny pain like an appetizer, the smallest taste of the feast to come. Keeping my gaze fixed on Melisande's shining black boots, I crawled toward her. I couldn't see her face, but I could feel her gaze on me, on my swinging breasts, my swaying buttocks. Heat rushed through my body, and I knew I was flushing pink. I reached her and pressed my lips first to one boot, then the other. They were cold and smooth against my mouth.

Melisande lifted one boot--from my low position I could see that they were knee-high, and also that she was clad in tight black silk trousers beneath her gown--and prodded me with it. The hard toe jabbed painfully into my breast, and I gasped.

"Mouth open," she commanded. "I want you to taste the leather."

I kissed her boots like they were her own soft skin. The leather tasted earthy, untainted by any polishing oil. She had achieved that shine by having someone polish them with a cloth alone. It must have taken hours. I was grateful that Melisande had no taste for making me perform household tasks, or she would certainly have made me do it. Though perhaps, for Melisande, I would not have minded so much...

"Enough."

I sat up, kneeling abeyante. Melisande had produced a small knife from somewhere on her person, and sliced the flower from the stem. She carefully set it down upon the table, then proceeded to cut off the stiff little rod-like leaves. Each of those, too, she placed upon the table. When she was finished, she held a length of pale green stem studded with wicked-looking scarlet thorns. "Do you know what I intend to do next?"

I swallowed, fearful of the bite of those blood-red thorns, but longing for it, too. "Whip me with the stem?"

Melisande studied me, her expression giving away nothing. She set down the stem, with its tempting thorns, and picked up two of the leaves. Each one was about the length of my ring finger, and of a similar thickness. She handed them to me. I took them with some trepidation, but they didn't burn or sting my skin. They had the very smooth, almost slick texture of a succulent plant.

"Sit down and spread your nether lips for me," Melisande commanded.

I obeyed, flushing under her appreciative gaze and wondering if she could actually see the wetness I felt gathering.

"Like dewy rose petals," she remarked. "Now insert the leaf."

My fingers trembled a little as I did so, for I was certain that it would burn like peeled ginger. But it didn't. It felt slightly cool, like any pleasure toy did when it wasn't specially heated, but nothing more.

"Turn around and spread your buttocks," said Melisande. Blushing, I did so. "Another rosebud. Put it in."

I inserted the other leaf, to the same lack of effect, then obeyed her instruction to stand with my back to her and my hands braced against the wall. My feet made no sound as I walked, but I could hear the click of Melisande's boots as she walked toward me. My anticipation grew as she came closer. Did she have the blossom, or the thorny stem? Or both? Heat gathered between my thighs as I considered the possibilities.

I gave a start as I felt the little rod within me grow. It was so small that I had barely felt it, but now it seemed to swell, pushing against my inner walls.

Behind me, Melisande gave a rich chuckle, making me start again. It seemed that even in boots, she could walk silently when she chose. "I see you have discovered another property of the fireblossom. It is a desert plant, and must take advantage of the dew and the rain when it comes. Its leaves draw in moisture, and swell to contain it. The one in your rear entrance will not grow much without extra lubrication... which I may provide, if I choose... but the one you're feeling right now will grow as your excitement grows. I wonder how big it could become?"

Every word she said made the heat and moisture within me grow--and sure enough, the rod grew larger within me. It had started out the size of a finger, and now it felt the size of a small pleasure toy.

"Let us find out," she said, and brought the thorny stem down upon my bare back.

My entire body jerked in shock, not only from the sudden pain, but from its unexpected nature. I had been whipped with a spiked lash before, and experienced the burn of the whip itself along with the sharp individual stings of the spikes. The stem struck with little force--it was probably too fragile to be used with much strength--but it left behind a tingling sensation that continued to vibrate back and forth in excruciating lines across my skin, a feeling akin to being tickled to exhaustion. And when the thorns pierced my skin, each pinprick wound felt hot and cold at once. I writhed, moaning helplessly, caught in the grip of sensations I had never before experienced.

With every lash, I was overwhelmed with alien pain and irresistible pleasure. With every lash, I grew wetter. And with every lash, the rod within me grew. I leaned my cheek against the cool stone, tears trickling from my eyes, as I felt the rod swelling inside me, filling me like a man's phallus, then like a pleasure toy larger than any man. And then bigger than that. It stretched me unbearably, until I thought I would be torn in two. But every time I shuddered and cried out from the pressure of the rod within me, Melisande brought down the thorny whip, racking me with its strange, unbearable, exquisite sensations.

"Do not spend yet, Phèdre," she warned me.

I could not reply. I was not sure I could obey. She paused in her whipping, letting me sag against the wall in relief, though my back was still afire with a map of tingling lines and stars of heat-cold. The leaf rod inside me was a massive pressure. The rod within my rear entrance had swollen too, though not to such monstrous proportions as the other. I squirmed uncomfortably, panting.

"One more blow and you will spend despite yourself, won't you?"

I managed a nod.

"That is what the flower is for."

Puzzled, I glanced behind me, though she had not given me permission to do so. Melisande had tied a band of black silk around her face, covering everything from her eyes down. They were like living sapphires, and beholding them so, the only part of her not covered in black, smote me like a blow. The thorny whip dangled from one hand, and the hypnotically spiraling flower was in her other.

"Breathe deeply," she said. Her arm extended to its fullest length, she struck me across the face with the flower. The blow was soft, like being struck with a pillow, but a cloud of black pollen puffed out. I breathed it in without hesitation. It had a sweet, bland smell and taste, like a roasted chestnut, and it made me cough. The fit went on so long that it began to alarm me, but Melisande showed no reaction. Indeed, she hadn't moved. When I finally finished coughing, her arm began to rise with excruciating slowness. I watched, fascinated, as the thorny whip rose with impossible languor, then started to float down. I could see those scarlet thorns approaching my tender flesh in slow motion, and I shuddered in anticipation.

I had sometimes wished that certain precious moments, such as the instant before spending or the breathless anticipation as the whip comes down but before it strikes, could last longer than a single heartbeat. And now it was happening. The whip came down and down and down, and the lines on my back and shoulders and sides where the stem had touched tingled with agonizing intensity, and the rod within me grew, and the pupils of Melisande's eyes widened, and I tried not to spend then and there.

And then the whip struck, with that same impossible slowness. I felt the pressure of each thorn as it pushed against my skin, the dimple that formed before they pierced, and the tiny pop as each one broke through. I felt the spread of that hot-cold sensation, and the thorns pushing in deeper before the stem touched, making my skin vibrate.

Melisande's voice was slowed too as she said, "Now spend." It was necessity as much as obedience as I began to spend, shaking uncontrollably, relishing the eternity of the time before and the long, long ecstasy, washing over me in endless waves until darkness overcame me.

I awoke in a luxurious bed in one of Melisande's guest rooms, having been thoroughly bathed, tended, and dressed in a cream-colored nightgown whose slippery texture between my thighs made me squirm a little. I would have expected to feel muzzy-headed and heavy, as if I'd overindulged in wine, but I felt only a little sore on my back where the thorns had pierced my skin.

Still lying on my belly, I raised myself on my forearms to see the paper tucked in beside my down pillow. It was a note in Melisande's distinctive fine hand: I have departed on a long voyage. You may have the use of the room for the day. My servants will get you whatever you wish. Do not expect to experience the fireblossom again. It was only with great luck that I was able to obtain one, and greater luck still that it survived the long voyage. But the petals still retain some potency even after the pollen is spent, though much reduced. As I will not be back for a season or more, I give you permission to steep one petal in a cup of hot water, no more than once a week. Drink the tea but do not swallow the petal. Then touch yourself, and think of me.

A heavy pouch of coins was on the bedside table, weighing down a slim envelope. I opened the envelope, smiling at Melisande's unaccustomed kindness, and was unsurprised to see that it contained a number of already-drying petals that shaded from robin's egg blue to sapphire to deepest black.

I was, however, surprised to find another note within on a slip of paper, also in Melisande's hand: Bring yourself to the brink, but do not spend. The fireblossom tea will make that more difficult--indeed, it will make it the most agonizing of torments--but I trust that you will obey.