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To begin with, neither of them had been entirely sure of it. It had started as a joke, after all - and a particularly mean one at that. Ptilopsis had ‘observed a pattern’, and had provided statistical evidence to prove Silence’s suspicions - that Ifrit’s bedtime was consistently later on nights when Silence was busy and Saria was looking after Ifrit. Other revelations soon followed; rampant snack consumption, violent Yanese films, and other indulgences that Silence would never have allowed.
The cause quickly became clear; Saria couldn’t say no to Ifrit. And when ‘ask your mom - no, the other mom’ was no longer an option, Saria simply acquiesced to Ifrit’s demands.
Silence wasn’t angry, per se. She understood that Saria felt a huge debt of love to both of them, and this was her way of paying it to Ifrit. But she was… perplexed. This was Director Saria of the Defense Division. An iron disciplinarian. A woman of such temperament that she passed herself off as a Mansfield Prison guard without effort.
And so Silence had said, in mild disbelief, “How is it you can strike fear into the hearts of a prison full of inmates, but you cannot control a single child?”
Saria had stiffened at the remark, and Silence swiftly regretted her words. Mansfield was a sore spot for Saria. Her cover story had worked perfectly and her intervention had saved all of them, but having to act the part of Columbia’s brutal carceral system had left her haunted. She did not like to talk about it.
But after a moment, Saria relaxed, and had turned to Silence with a vicious grin - an attempt to lighten the mood, but still slightly bitter. “Truly, Olivia, I think that role would suit you better.”
They had chuckled, and that had been that. Or it should have been. The joke persisted, twisting into something slightly different each time. A post-midnight “It’s past your curfew” elicited a response from Saria that she had very swiftly suppressed, save for a strangled “Yes, officer” in response. And so the roleplay continued.
It was when Silence had made a passing remark during a disagreement - “I should put a muzzle on you if you’re going to bite back so much” - that Saria knew she was truly, deeply fucked. Because she had made a noise in response, a very undignified noise, and Silence had heard it. Heard it, turned to her, and given her a cruel, knowing smirk. Nothing was said afterwards, but now it was a foregone conclusion.
And so tonight, when Silence presents her with two outfits, some paraphernalia and a silent question, Saria gives her a silent answer by kneeling and allowing Silence to place the collar around her neck.
Now they found themselves in Silence’s bedroom - still somewhere that Saria was only rarely permitted. Ptilopsis was looking after Ifrit for the night, of course, giving Silence the time to set up… this. She was dressed up in an alarmingly accurate recreation of Saria’s own prison guard uniform (with just enough noticable differences that it didn’t send Saria back to Mansfield). And she carried herself with the same mix of discipline and disdain that Saria had cloaked herself in many times before.
She really, really did look the part.
As for Saria, that was another story. She had been outfitted with an orange prisoner’s jumpsuit, which had remained buttoned up for a handful of minutes at most before being torn open again. Her hands were bound above her head in cuffs - professional grade equipment, ones she couldn’t simply break without her arts. The collar tight around her throat now sported a leash, which Silence was holding now, keeping Saria’s head to attention, stopping her getting comfortable. And strapped, with love and care around her head, was a muzzle.
“You look so much like the wild animal you truly are.”
Saria growled.
For a moment, there was a surprised silence between them. Saria taken aback by the noise that arose from her unprompted, and Silence by the sheer impact of her own words. And then Silence settled into an easy, satisfied grin. She had Saria right where she wanted her, and they both knew it full well. Silence leaned in towards Saria, slowly. Languid. Her eyes watching for the restless twitches of Saria’s muscles as she tried to resist the impulses that must be rushing through her head. Her tail moves in spasms.
Silence plants a kiss on the edge of Saria’s muzzle. Saria jerks, involuntarily, and Silence pulls away, happy with the reaction. Saria seethes in anticipation.
“Olivia-”
“You will not speak unless spoken to,” Olivia cuts in, and Saria falls silent, “and when you do, you will refer to me as Sir. Do you understand?”
Saria makes no response besides a deepening red on her cheeks, and an uncomfortable bucking against her restraints. Silence deems this insufficient, and swiftly grabs the leash, pulling Saria’s head forward to meet hers as she leans down. She’s briefly surprised by her own strength.
“I will repeat myself only once. Do. You. Understand?”
Saria is disintegrating already. If it were anyone else, she could hold her resistance for days. But against Silence…
“Yes, sir.”
Silence studies her, and finds her sufficient. “Good. Then we may begin. You recall the safe word?”
“Yes. ‘Barbeque’.”
“Oh, don’t say it now-!”
“I was merely reassuring you I knew what it was-”
Silence quickly brings the situation back under control by mounting the bed and driving her knee between Saria’s thighs. Saria’s words die in her throat, replaced with a dry groan of desperation.
“The prisoner will not answer back,” and Saria nods. The preamble has left Silence impatient, and she finds herself deciding that Saria’s jumpsuit is not open enough. She pulls the zipper the rest of the way down, and parts the orange material to reveal Saria’s abs beneath. Saria’s muscles are taut, and already slick from sweat. Silence can see the tension in them, running through Saria. She almost leans over and kisses them reverently.
But that wouldn’t do at all, would it? Instead, she grabs the bottom of Saria’s sports bra and yanks it up over her breasts. Saria is looking more disheveled by the second, and it is glorious. Every part of her looks alert, raw. If she were to just…
Silence lets herself take a nipple between thumb and forefinger, and squeezes, watching for a reaction. Saria gasps, does not protest. Silence smiles, and twists. Saria responds in a way Silence has never seen. She keens, throwing her head back and gritting her teeth. She has truly never looked so vulnerable. All for Silence. All for her.
And Silence wants. She can feel herself throbbing, and she has barely even touched Saria. But she has to establish control, and she cannot show weakness. Her hand falls, tracing Saria’s abs - she cannot stop herself from appreciating them, and who could blame her? Saria is a sculpted Goddess. She finds the tuft of coarse white hair, and pauses. She takes the leash in her free hand, holding it firm, and locks eyes with Saria.
“Do not look away,” she says, and lets her hand slide further, her forefinger over Saria’s clit. The sound that escapes Saria’s lips is exquisite. She looks ready to thrash, to throw her head back, to break loose. But she doesn’t. She dutifully keeps eye contact, her desperation writ across her face. Silence falls in love once again. She wants, wants more, wants Saria to break beneath her.
Her motions are unrelenting, and Saria is so drenched that she need not worry about being gentle. Saria’s breaths guide her fingers; she chases the deep inhales, the raising voice, the desperate gasps. It is so easy to dismantle Saria like this. She falls apart so quickly, so violently, shaken apart from the inside. She bucks against Silence’s fingers in graceless motions, and Silence smiles so sweetly, tilting her fingers just so, pressing just there.
Saria roars when she comes. All her self control breaks, and she shudders, muscles clenching, relaxing, clenching. And she, oh, she’s squirting, drenching Silence’s hand and the inside of the jumpsuit with each spasm. Silence is transfixed. She is certain that nobody else has seen Saria come like this, and nobody else ever will. Only she can do this.
She is still in love when Saria finally begins to calm. Saria’s face is burning red, and sweat coats every inch of skin. Silence wants to do what she did to her, again. And again, maybe. But she needs, now. And she has been so good to Saria, has she not?
She climbs up onto the bed on her knees. She reaches over Saria’s prone form, for the latches at the back of the muzzle. It pulls away as she leans back, revealing a confused look on Saria’s face. Saria doesn’t want this to be over yet, either. Good.
“Relax,” Silence tells her, as she reaches to unbuckle her belt and pull down her fly. She lets her cock push free, letting Saria see just what this has done to her. One hand on the leash, the other around her base, maneuvering both so that her tip rests an inch from Saria’s mouth. She looks down at her partner, her love, and smirks.
“We’re not done yet.