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Thread: And You Smell Like One, Too

  1. #21
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    Again he did as instructed, though not nearly as gracefully as she. It was, to put it lightly, a slightly flailing affair, but at least by the end he'd achieved the same pose as hers. He did his best to mimic T'y, he really did. But at least he was scraping his way through it all.

    With a slight grunt, he couldn't help but ask a pressing question.

    "Kitten, uh, when does the paint brush come into things?"

  2. #22
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    "Ssoon, gai'tou."

    Unwinding effortlessly from her pose, T'yeellaa checked on Samus's situation. He was a little shaky, and his knees weren't fully locked out.

    "Keep brreathjing!" she grinned as she playfully smacked his ass with the flat of her hand. She straddled his straining thighs, cradling them with a gentle upward press from her hands from underneath.

    "Don't forrce jit. Let jit happen. jIn and out."

    Her supporting hands rode higher up his thighs.

    "How do jyou feel?"

  3. #23
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    How did he feel?

    When he'd sent her door chime to ring, Samus hadn't quite expected to be pulled into T'y's stretchy-painting, but here he was and truthfully, he wouldn't want to be anywhere but here, no matter what.

    "I feel like I should be in a workout class, surrounded by a bunch of women in workout lycras," he answered truthfully.

    As well, her touch was making The Chancellor begin diplomatic proceedings a bit early.

    He gave another deep breath. Then another. A third.

    He was committed, and would do his damndest to not let the eagerness for 'diplomacy' to get the better of him.

  4. #24
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    "Oh, a whole classs, jyeah?"

    She could feel his relaxation taking hold, even as something predictable began to stir. T'yeellaa eased off the accelerator as she took her place at his side again.

    "jI thjink jyou've got jyourr handss full wjith tjiss classs of one. Letss ssee what jyou can do. Drraw jyourr kneess to yourr chesst. Keep jyourr back and arrmss sstrrajight and jyourr head down. Ssee?"

    T'yeellaa provided an example, kneeling fully low on both legs while splaying her hands as far forward as possible.

    "Head down, touch jyourr forrehead to the mat, keep jit therre, and...contjinue...to brreathe..."

    She provided a cadence, drawing breath softly and audibly in a long laconic meter, interlaced with a completely relaxed purr as the tuft of her tail lethargically switched behind her.

  5. #25
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    Again he obeyed, and thankfully for the sake of her desire to continue this strange ritual of painting, she paused in her closeness enough to demonstrate for him what she wanted him to do.

    Samus did his best, but it was nowhere near as polished as her showing. He barely maintained his balance.

    "I feel like I'm seven years old again, trying to beat my sister at that old game Cyclone."

  6. #26
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    "Well let that memorrjy fall awajy. Rrelax jyourr mjind ljike jyou arre rrelaxjing jyourr bodjy. Don't focuss on anjythjing but now. Focuss on brreathjing, jin and out. Ssmoothljy."

    Samus couldn't see T'yeellaa from his current pose, but he felt a shifting of weight on the mat, then heard soft footfalls against the mat. There were some other soft sounds, and then a another shifting of weight, this time in front of him.

    "When jyou'rre totalljy rrelaxed and at easse, jI want jyou to sslowljy rrjisse frrom prrosstrrate."

  7. #27
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    "Kitten."

    There was no relaxing, no matter how much she tried to impress it upon him.

    "Don't tell me to relax when you're in the same room."

    He'd at least not moved, and instead kept the pose that she had most recently told him to keep. If nothing else, he was an obedient follower. And yet... he couldn't help but at least take a tiny little peek.

    In front of him was a tray of paints. It was enough to make him furrow his eyebrows in mild concentration, but when his eyes switched to the side...

    That was it.

    She could wax poetical about finding her center while painting and smooth strokes and measured breathing, but when she was right there, without a stitch of clothing, Quentin Samus Dage was so far beside himself that he couldn't even exist in the same plane of existence.

    "Kitten," he practically whimpered.

  8. #28
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    She kneaded her fingers into his hair, allowing her claw tips to slightly extend so as to add to the tactile stimulation and nothing more.

    "jIt'ss mjy bjirrthdajy..." she replied laconically, a small delight on her features at his predicament, "...and jI get what jI want."

  9. #29
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    He leaned into her touch, eyes closing once more as he felt her claws rake gently across his scalp.

    "It's torture you want then, isn't it."

    His tone had gone low, almost to a growl that seemed to begin in his belly and travel upward.

    She had wanted him to, once he was fully relaxed, to rise up from his position.

    And when he finally did, his spine was not the only part of his body that rose. Unfortunately for his situation southward, his trousers hindered - if not uncomfortably - the act.

  10. #30
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    If she was upset by his state of arousal, there was no indication of it. T'yeellaa arched her back slightly in her kneeling state, leaning back slightly to allow her to prop up by her fingertips at each side. Her tail looped behind in a tight crook back and forth as a sign of her own state of pique, though the K'ohta'rrou kept an expertly-straight face at the moment.

    "The next parrt jiss jimporrtant. When jyourr mjind jiss clearr, jyou follow the djirrectjion of jyourr next thought orr emotjion. jYou gjive jit sshape, and jyou gjive jit colorr."

    At this, she leaned upwards, the muscles in her abdomen contracting to bring her back closer into his orbit. T'yeellaa placed her hands over Samus's own, fingertips kneading against him without claws as she breathed into his ear.

    "jYou fjill the canvass wjith jyourr prressence. Whateverr can't be sspoken orr explajined, jyou defjine jin a decjissjive sstrroke of pajint, and jyou neverr explajin the meanjing to anjyone elsse. jIf jyou do, jyou brreak the magjic."

    She withdrew, but not before catching his earlobe with the tip of her rough tongue. Her hands guided Samus's to rest next to the pots of paint before she separated, and returned to her arched-back repose, waiting for him.

  11. #31
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    Follow the direction of your next thought. Your next emotion. Fill the canvas.

    Her guiding hand was enough to cause his fingers to close around a paintbrush, and Samus eyed the paints set out before him. Some were colors he could easily pick out. Others... looked the same.

    The brush was lifted then, and he chose a deep, almost burnt yellow color. It was vibrant and bright, and he let the soft bristles of the brush swirl languidly through the colorful liquid. Slowly he lifted it back out, studying it and the way the paint streamed from the brush back into the well before slowing to a rapid drip at first, then a more steady affair.

    He waited until it was mostly done dripping, and looked to T'yeellaa.

    And, extending the brush, he methodically drew a fiery orange line across one breast, down into the valley between, and then back up to crest the perky peak of the other.

  12. #32
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    Not wasting a moment of introspection to find out what the pattern and the color meant, T'yeellaa fell upon him with pent-up intent, pressing her lips to his as she greedily met his tongue with her own. At the same time, she carefully began to negotiate the fraught row of buttons along her gai'tou's shirt, not wanting to needlessly ruin him. Besides, the ritual denial in the time it took to remove his shirt only increased her want, and the fabric she parted with each loosed button she gathered into clenching fingers as she continued to press her mouth to his.

    The orange of the paint glistened against her chest, a trap to ensnare their passion. T'yeellaa held him at a scant distance as she worked greedily to disrobe him, all the while the tuft of her tail tracked against his backside, working up against the small of his back.

  13. #33
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    Her instant reciprocation was met with an eager acceptance, and Samus let his body almost collapse. No longer did he need to hold himself up in some bizarre fashion for body-twisting painting. No, now he had instantly found himself thrust into a familiar element.

    Taking T'yeellaa into a firm embrace, the rangy blonde rolled the both of them over - he was on his back, with her hands moving swiftly to undo the buttons of his shirt. And then he sent them rolling once more so that she was now beneath him. Their lips pulled apart then, and he let out a long, rattling exhale as he let his eyes move from her eyes downward.

    A final hesitation as his gaze swept below her neck, and he went in to the side of her neck. There was a cluster of nerves, just behind her ear, and he latched on like a mynock feeding off the energy conduits of a freighter.

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