Work Text:
Citlali clucks her tongue as she peers through the dimly-lit doorway of Xilonen's workshop. The smoldering embers of the dormant furnace cast a warm amber glow that doesn't quite reach the shadowy corners of the open space. Towers of reference books are stacked precariously taller than her head, with all manner of maps, sketches, and even music records stuffed between the yellowing pages. Smithing tools like hammers and tongs are strewn haphazardly across the floor along with bits and bobs of iron, stone, and crystal. She nudges an open can of paint cautiously with her toe, then withdraws to the relative safety of the threshold.
Little wonder Xilonen doesn't allow her clients inside. She might lose them.
Well. There's also the prominently displayed sex swing hanging from the ceiling. That might have something to do with it.
Citlali can't help but stare. How exactly is she expected to react to that? The polite response would be to pretend she doesn't see anything immodest. Citlali is, however, above such superficial and arbitrary rules of etiquette. Are swings like these trendy among the sexually liberated young adults of today? Does that mean Citlali will be perceived as old-fashioned if she dodges mentioning it? Or dare she bring it up directly, and risk highlighting her ignorance?
No, it's always safest to play it cool. Nothing can faze her. She's not overthinking this at all.
“Ahem. I don't know how you find anything in this mess,” Citlali announces, crossing her arms and adopting a confident stance.
“Like you're one to talk,” Xilonen retorts, although her delivery has no real force behind it. “I've seen your place too, remember? Just gimme a moment. Your novels are somewhere around here.”
She ducks under a crowded table to begin pawing through several baskets overflowing with lumps of unpolished ore. Soon all Citlali can see of Xilonen is her spotted tail, lazily weaving in between heaps of books and woven scrolls, rocks and half-finished inventions. Citlali winces at a crash, then coughs into her elbow at the cloud of dust it kicked up. This archeological excavation could easily take hours.
“...Do you want me to come back later?” Citlali asks, barely suppressing the impatience creeping into her tone. “I'm not getting any younger.”
Xilonen yawns something that Citlali can't even parse as words. She sighs sharply through her nose, irked.
She does have respect for the important work that Xilonen does, as well as her brilliant capacity as an inventor, but hypocritically less for her housekeeping. Citlali probably should have brought another volume to entertain herself.
Pointedly not gawking at the sex swing because it's totally normal and everyone in Natlan has one now, Citlali lets her restless attention wander over the vintage phonograph, past the bookcase sagging under its own weight, and finally settling on an innocuous wooden crate nested in the corner.
With nothing better to do than be nosy, she eases the crate's top off, and takes a peek inside.
There's an assortment of smooth, dark ovals that look sort of like charred eggs, which appear to be imbued with some percentage of solid phlogiston. They emit a mild energy signature that hints at some preprogrammed purpose, not unlike the ones written into engraving diagrams. Curiosity getting the better of her, Citlali concentrates a spark of energy in her fingertip, and touches it to one of the spheres.
It immediately lights up in a flash of brilliant colors and begins to loudly vibrate.
Horrified, Citlali slams the lid onto the crate. The muffled rattling can still be heard from within. Even worse, the buzzing intensifies as the other pieces activate through proximity.
She frantically steeples her fingers and weaves a muting spell, but before she can execute it, Xilonen's fluffy blonde head pops up between a heap of firewood and some unused weapon billets, ears swiveled toward the racket.
“Oh, that's where those went...”
Citlali winces. Before she can invent a decent excuse to cover for her snooping, Xilonen is already dumping the crate's contents unceremoniously on the floor. They roll about like marbles, albeit marbles that strobe brightly enough to illuminate the gloom of the workshop.
“I was initially trying to tinker with something that could resonate with the music on pressed records. Sound is really just vibrations, right?” With a double tap of Xilonen's claw, one by one, each construct falls silent and dark. “So something portable to amplify the bass when I DJ on the fly... that was the plan, anyway. I haven't really gotten around to testing them though, I just shoved them in the box to deal with later...”
“If you had a proper system of organization, then – wait, what do you mean, untested?” Citlali frowns. “Are these safe to throw around like that? They're not going to explode?”
“Mm. Probably.” Xilonen gestures vaguely over her shoulder without bothering to turn around. “Ah, I knew it was over here somewhere. C'mere.”
Citlali hikes up her skirts and delicately picks her way over to where Xilonen is now squatting, careful not to bump into anything load-bearing.
“You found my novels?”
“No, even better,” Xilonen promises. Her green eyes glitter like emeralds in the low light as she slides a black, unassuming toolbox to Citlali's feet. “Try to open this.”
Citlali squints at the box, immediately suspicious. She crouches and waves a palm over it first, testing if it has any magical signature or signs of tampering. None she can sense. No Abyss energy, no traps. She glances at Xilonen to gauge her reaction, but Xilonen's calm, almost bored, expression tells her nothing.
“Hmph. It's just an ordinary box.” Citlali scowls and undoes the latch. “I don't see what's so funny about – dicks?!”
Inside the box are a variety of what appear to be erotic toys which Xilonen must have fashioned herself. They're unmistakably phallic, brightly colored, and oversized, even outfitted with additional ridges and spikes for a playful Saurian twist. There's also a length of silk rope, some sort of muzzle, a leather harness Citlali can only speculate on, and, and a ring for–!
Xilonen smirks at Citlali's affronted yelp. Citlali slams the box shut with both hands, heart pounding. Internally she's short-circuiting.
“...I started making the weird ones just to see if I could, but I ended up selling a few,” Xilonen shrugs. Only the slow, swaying rhythm of Xilonen's tail tip reveals her quiet amusement. “To lesbian couples, mostly. I still need to field test the phlogiston-infused ones before I release them. Like what you see?”
Citlali's face must have cycled through every color in the rainbow before settling on a deep, flustered burgundy. She has to play it cool. She can be cool. She's totally cool.
These are just so... big. Surely this is a prank Xilonen is playing on her. No one could actually use a dildo quite so... wickedly draconic.
Is she supposed to laugh, then? Would that be interpreted as her mocking Xilonen's craft? There's always a chance she's unaware of the latest fad. Citlali tries to keep up with the youths of today, but it's not like Ororon wants to talk to her about getting laid. What if not laughing mean Citlali has no sense of humor?
Her inner voice won't stop screaming, which of course is no help at all.
Argh! What is she supposed to say?!
“...Relax, Granny Itztli, I just wanted to see you squirm,” Xilonen chuckles, setting the box aside. “The Traveler isn't the only one who gets to tease you. I know you're too old to actually use stuff like this.”
“I – well, that's – Excuse me!” Citlali stammers, caught somewhere between embarrassment and offense. She draws herself up to her rather unimpressive full height, and clears her throat, in an attempt to reclaim her lost dignity. “Don't assume I'm some sort of prude because of my age, you... you... rapscallion. You just caught me off guard. Sex is a natural part of life and should be celebrated as such. Why else would I share my... personal books... with you?”
“Sure, whatever.” Xilonen shrugs. She idly scratches her ear as she casts her gaze about her. “Right, the porn, the porn... Maybe I stashed it behind the anvil...”
“We Masters of the Night-Wind tend to spend less time in the corporeal world and more in the spiritual, though. Spirit-speaking, the Night Kingdom, and so on,” Citlali lectures. “Physical pleasure isn't something we're as likely to seek out, especially if one's body is, ah, incongruous, with one's mental image of oneself. If you catch my drift. Mind you, that doesn't mean I don't know my way around, erm, anatomy. I still have a vast wealth of experience, as you can imagine.”
“Is that so?” Xilonen cocks her head in mild interest. “You want a strap, then? I take commissions.”
“Th, th, that's okay,” Citlali sputters, cheeks growing even hotter. “That isn't really my... style. I wouldn't... be the one who...”
“Suit yourself,” Xilonen replies, unbothered.
“I mean-! Maybe after a few drinks, but, having completed centuries' worth of reading and studying, I simply have developed more refined tastes, than, uh...”
Citlali can't stop digging herself deeper into this hole. Reading fantasy erotica imported from Yae Publishing House, and occasionally sticking her hand up her skirt to jack off, is about all the experience she can truthfully lay claim to. Over her long and solitary years, she's carefully and deliberately avoided getting tangled in anything so emotionally messy as a tryst, let alone a relationship. She would never let anyone that close to her. It's just not worth it.
But after so much boasting, Citlali can't very well ruin her uninhibited image by backpedaling now.
“...Than, uhh, playing the, dominant role. I consider myself something of a repository for humanity's knowledge, and after experiencing the full spectrum of sexuality, I'd be more inclined to–”
“–Lay back and let someone else dominate you?” Xilonen offers bluntly.
The borrowed novels she was looking for are tucked under her arm. Xilonen unfolds and holds up one of several centerfold illustrations, this one of a sleeping Inazuman woman surrounded by a group of amorous oni, whose phallic horns and clubs artfully conceal her nudity. The color drains from Citlali's ashen face. A mischievous grin spreads slowly across Xilonen's countenance as she flips to another illustration, this one with a kitsune woman tied and blindfolded, kneeling obediently at the mercy of her well-endowed human captors. And so on.
“Lucky for you, service is kinda my thing. Wanna try it?”
“Huh?” Citlali gapes. “H... here? With you?”
“Yeah. That's why you lent me your porn, right? No pressure, of course. Only if you're in the mood.” Xilonen saunters over to Citlali, until she's looming so close that Citlali has to crane her neck just to maintain eye contact. She pushes the books into Citlali's chest, making her fumble awkwardly to grab them. “I don't feel like doing any more forging today. I'd rather tie up a cute girl and play with her until she melts for me.”
Citlali's mouth flaps on an empty syllable, but no sound is forthcoming. Actually, she just handed over the smut because Xilonen asked what she was reading lately, and that was the answer. She didn't have any ulterior motives. She just likes reading smut.
Although...
It's been so long since anyone was so boldly unafraid of Citlali's fearsome reputation and her powers over the border that she can't formulate a coherent response to the invitation. She stalls for time as she arranges the novels on the floor by their feet. She's never been more keenly aware of how tall and muscular Xilonen is, how thick the curves of her tanned thighs and biceps, how powerful a blacksmith and one of the Archon's six champions must be – especially in comparison to her own reedy, underdeveloped figure.
Citlali gulps. She can't deny she's tempted. Strong and blonde is kinda her type.
She could even pretend this was her goal all along, and not have to swallow her pride to admit she blundered into this completely by accident.
“Y... you realize these are fake, though,” Citlali finally blurts, gesturing stupidly at her own chest. “And I don't know if you like... Um, you know...?”
She points between her legs, unable to say the dysphoric word at the moment. Her ears are burning so hot she thinks they might spontaneously combust.
“Makes no difference to me what equipment you've got. I can work with anything.” Xilonen touches the point of Citlali's chin, gently tilting her heart-shaped face upward. Citlali shivers as Xilonen's voice drops to a smooth whisper. “I just think it's cute when you get all embarrassed. I want to see that face more. I saw you eyeing the swing earlier – you think you can handle a round on that? Or will I end up breaking your hip... Granny?”
That decides it.
“You insolent little brat!” Citlali hisses, indignantly raking her painted fingernails across Xilonen's forearm. “I'll show you who breaks first!”
“Heh. I didn't hear a 'no',” Xilonen purrs. She shrugs out of her jacket and drops it to the floor where she stands. With the fluid grace born of athleticism, she sweeps Citlali off her feet and into her arms, cradling her form against the warmth of her bosom. “Mm... you're even tinier than you look. You're like a little doll. Adorable.”
“H, h, how dare you treat me so condescendingly! I am your elder,” Citlali stammers into Xilonen's ample cleavage, cheeks aflame. Being manhandled already has her ready to go. She squeezes her thighs together to try and hide her scandalous arousal, but the bulge beneath her skirt is becoming increasingly obvious. “P, put me down...!”
“You and I both know if you actually wanted to be free, you have dozens of spells to stop me in my tracks. You're hardly some damsel in distress.” Xilonen's tail waves pleasantly behind her as she carries a squirming Citlali over and around the piles of dusty junk. “In fact, why don't you summon your little demon pillow guys as a failsafe... They can stop me even if your mouth is otherwise occupied, right? Go on. Do it.”
Being ordered to do anything makes Citlali immediately want to refuse, just to be contrary. It's not a bad idea to have her Tzitzimimeh familiars on standby, though. Xilonen is right in that she doesn't need to voice her commands or her spells.
Face twisting like she just tasted a sour quenepa, Citlali grudgingly calls their names.
“Itzpapa! Citlalin! Get over here!”
The two possessed dolls appear with a resounding poof. They crowd curiously around Xilonen's long legs, peering up to get a good look at Citlali. Xilonen nudges them out of her way, and they waddle after her, trailing her as obediently as baby Saurians.
“I didn't say you could follow us!” Citlali wails, covering her face with both hands. “Just go wait behind those books unless I tell you to come out! Shoo, shoo!”
“All your arrogance about what a genius you are, so competent at everything, the great and powerful shaman...” Xilonen remarks. “I think you like it when I tell you what to do. You're just too proud to ask me for it.”
As Itzpapa and Citlalin trundle away, Citlali seethes at this fresh insult. How dare she actually call her on it! That's mortifying to hear! Too incensed to think straight, Citlali balls her fists and pummels Xilonen all over the shoulders and back, flailing her legs to make herself even more difficult to hold onto. Citlali's temperamental punches prove ineffective as a deterrent to Xilonen. Setting Citlali down and ignoring the repeated attempts to kick her shins, Xilonen focuses on adjusting the swing's hanging restraints down to match Citlali's scant height.
Up close, Citlali can more easily guess the purpose of each buckle and loop. The leather cuffs are thickly padded on the interior to cushion the wrists and ankles. One to lock each limb in place, and then the supports, to safely suspend the body in various midair positions.
Eagerness, frustration, and humiliation battle across her conflicted expression as Xilonen firmly straps Citlali's brittle wrist into the first restraint.
“In my line of work, I've learned it's not only about listening to the things people tell me. It's also about the things they leave unsaid,” Xilonen says conversationally. Her tone is still infuriatingly calm as she buckles in Citlali's other wrist, as if none of this is out of the ordinary for her. And maybe it isn't. Just another day in the workshop for Xilonen. “You strike me as the type who doesn't want to submit willingly, but you enjoy it when someone's forcing you, yeah? Picturing yourself as the pure, aloof protagonists in your stories who say no when they really mean yes? I mean, look how easily you folded.”
It's not a question so much as an observation. Citlali gnashes her teeth in wordless response, tugging uselessly with both wrists bound above her head. Efficient and practical, Xilonen strips Citlali of her distracting jewelry and feathered ornaments, leaving her only with anything not directly in her way. She then undoes the fastenings of Citlali's halter top and peels it down to her waist, causing her feminizing illusion to flicker before finally vanishing.
Citlali freezes.
Her breath hitches in her throat as Xilonen's warm palm slides across the now-flat plane of her bare chest. Her heart is pounding like a war drum against her ribs, making her pulse thud in time with the echoes ringing in her ears.
“You're just so cute,” Xilonen murmurs, fondling a pink nipple until it stiffens between her fingers. “Look at that face you're making. I could get you off just with this, huh?”
She gives the nipple a light tweak to prove her point. Citlali screws her eyes shut and whines, her swelling erection bobbing between her skinny legs. Xilonen flashes her fangs in a vindicated grin.
Citlali puts up no resistance as Xilonen's fingers explore lower, then lower still, catching the hem of her skirt and slowly sliding it up her shaky thighs. Her brain is still trying to process that this is really, truly happening. Xilonen is touching her. Her useless limbs are nothing but wobbling jelly. She wouldn't be able to hold herself upright if her wrists weren't buckled in place.
“You're not as subtle as you think you are, though. You could make this body of yours look like anything you wanted,” Xilonen remarks. As she speaks, Xilonen unwraps Citlali's layers of ribbons and indigo-dyed fabric with the same casual disregard as one swiftly shucking cacahuatl pods, only caring about the treasure they house within. “Illusions are child's play to a master of the art like you. And what did you choose? Big, innocent doe eyes, perky little tits, the most delicate high femme you could imagine on the cover of a bodice ripper? Shameless. You're practically begging to be dommed.”
“Th-that's my actual body you're talking about, you–! Hey!”
Her Cryo Vision is tossed unceremoniously atop the heap of discarded clothes on the floor. Now Citlali is well and truly exposed. She stares at the ceiling to avoid seeing her own nakedness, hands trembling and face burning, as Xilonen straps each of her ankles into the swing's wide stirrups.
Xilonen takes a step back to admire the view, eyes gleaming in satisfaction.
Citlali's feet are still planted on the floor, but her fingerless gloves and platform heels are all that remain of her outfit. Her legs are forced too far apart to hide anything now. With a creak from the pulley and a grunt of effort, Xilonen hauls on the main cord, and hand over hand, Citlali is hoisted to dangle just a few feet above the ground.
“You're unusually quiet. Still doing alright?” Xilonen asks earnestly, cupping her palm to Citlali's cheek now that she's around eye level. “Need a moment?”
“What are you waiting for, a written invitation delivered by courier?” Citlali bristles defiantly at any implication that she might not be able to handle this. Of course she's fine. Why wouldn't she be fine? No one can make her do anything she doesn't already want to. Her voice is strained with impatience when she yowls, “Get on with it and f, fuck me already!”
She even snaps her teeth at Xilonen's fingers, narrowly missing a bite. Xilonen whistles.
“There's that famous sharp tongue of yours. And you called me a brat...?” Xilonen says, then yawns. The nerve of her, to act bored at a time like this. “You're really not in a position to make demands.”
Citlali twists violently at that, testing the strength of the restraints, but Xilonen moves faster. She presses her palm flat to Citlali's sternum and shoves. Citlali yelps as she topples backwards... and then hangs that way, unable to fall any further. She tries to maneuver herself upright again, but there's no leverage to do so. She's stuck on her back, unable to see where Xilonen is, limbs outstretched and pastel hair spilling down to the floor.
A blindfold abruptly blacks out even her view of the ceiling. Citlali tries to wriggle away from the hands tying it on – is that her own necktie? – but to no avail. Now she's truly at the mercy of Xilonen's whims.
She's never been this turned on before.
Citlali jumps at Xilonen's unexpected touch on her inner thigh. Trailing fingernails leave goosebumps dotting the sensitive skin. Her knee jerks reflexively when it registers as ticklish. She's pretty sure she heard Xilonen chuckle at that.
Citlali scowls, wiggling her hips meaningfully. Xilonen answers by cupping her balls and rolling their heat between her fingers, making her gasp. That's... interesting. Not unpleasant. She's never thought of trying that on herself before. Citlali's usually in too much of a rush to finish to do much experimentation, but Xilonen values quality over expedience.
That, or Xilonen enjoys taking people apart the same way she disassembles mechanics, just to find out how all their moving parts work.
Xilonen's other hand strokes up and down Citlali's length, light and teasing at first, until it begins to twitch and swell. She swipes her thumb over the dampness beading up at the tip, then slicks her grip, making of her fist a tight, slippery hole. Unfortunately, she pulls away much too soon, and there follows a rustling noise, like Xilonen is rummaging through her pockets for something she forgot.
Citlali groans in frustration, her erection flagging. “Can you not stay focused for more than five minutes?!”
“Hush. You're gonna blow your load before I get to any of the fun stuff,” Xilonen's disembodied voice explains. “If you want me to use you so badly, you have to let me put this on. Just tell me if it's too tight, kay?”
Xilonen steadies her cock with a firm hand. The ring she's holding slides over the semi-erect shaft easily enough, and settles snug at its base. Citlali shudders at the unfamiliar sensation. It is tight, but it doesn't hurt; it feels more like Xilonen's hand is gripping her there and refuses to let go. She moves her hips experimentally, trying to thrust upward, but the tightness gives her no friction, no satisfaction.
“F... fine,” she pants, fingers twitching uselessly. “Now will you touch me?”
“Mm, that's a good start,” Xilonen praises. “Hey, Itzpapa – bring me that box over by you. Yeah. The black one.”
“Excuse me!” Citlali seethes. “Don't give my Tzitzimimeh orders! And hey, don't obey her, you traitors!!”
“Thanks.” Xilonen ignores Citlali's continued shrieks and curses as she rifles through her supplies. “Let's see what we can do about that mouth of yours...”
Before Citlali can complain further, there's a hand on her chin. Something large and hard pushes past her lips, prising her jaws apart and invading her mouth.
At once, Citlali can't breathe. A strangled noise escapes her as she instinctively thrashes against her restraints. A fist grips her by the hair and steadies her head, strong enough to hold her in place. The dildo – because even blindfolded, there's nothing else that suffocating shape could be, not when she got an eyeful of Xilonen's ridiculous collection earlier – presses her tongue flat as it shoves in further, far enough to bump the back of her throat. Citlali gags, coughing as her own spittle dribbles down her chin.
The pressure on her hair eases off, and the dildo slides partway out, giving her just enough of an opening to gasp for air.
“Too much for you?” Xilonen prompts, somewhere close to her ear. “Never sucked dick before? Stop me now if you don't like this.”
Citlali's contrarian nature flares into annoyance. So what if she's only read about it? She's a quick study, isn't she? Fellatio can't be anything so complicated she can't learn as she goes.
Citlali pulls in a quick breath through her nose, then pushes her head forward in defiance, forcing the dildo down to her throat again. She smooths her tongue over the textured surface, tightens her lips, then does her best to suck.
When Citlali sets her own slow, simple rhythm of bobbing up and down, the sheer size of it doesn't force her to cough the way it did before. The strain on her jaws makes them ache almost immediately, and it's impossible not to slobber all over herself when she can't close her mouth, but she'll be damned if she lets Xilonen make a fool out of her this easily.
“Oh, that's a good girl,” Xilonen murmurs. “Isn't submitting nicer than fighting it? You're doing great.”
Citlali's toes curl at the little flush of pleasure that elicits. Of course she's good at this. She redoubles her efforts, wanting to hear it more.
“I'll make you feel even better if you keep trying like that... for me.”
Xilonen's claws stroke Citlali's scalp in a way that sends pleasant tingles zipping down her spine. As Citlali starts to whine around the dildo filling her mouth, Xilonen's other hand slides down to touch her neglected cock. Citlali moans, louder and more shamelessly than she's ever moaned before, as Xilonen starts to lazily jerk her off.
Through her blindfold, Citlali's hazy vision lights up in the familiar rainbow of phlogiston. Before she can guess what activated, her cock ring begins to vibrate. Citlali chokes. Her spine arches up into midair, legs and arms straining in their cuffs, as a muffled cry escapes her mouth. The conflicting sensations are overwhelming.
“Shh, shh, easy does it,” Xilonen is cooing somewhere in the void near her. The hand retreats from her erection, and the ring rumbles softly before stilling once more. “That's just a little preview. Concentrate on catching your breath. I have more for you, when you're ready.”
Dazed, Citlali lets her body go limp. Her pulse still races at a dizzying tempo. She dangles by her limbs, chest heaving, breathing heavily around the dildo.
Little by little, reality begins to filter back through her frazzled senses. Perspiration plastered her bangs to her damp forehead. Xilonen is petting Citlali's hair to soothe her, while humming something to amuse herself. Citlali stopped actively sucking at some point, but the dildo still fills her sore mouth with a weight she's starting to get used to. Citlali's swollen dick, however, still aches with unfulfilled need.
She feels like she's going to literally burst if Xilonen works her up and then denies her again.
“...I could just leave you like this,” Xilonen muses out loud, as if hearing her thoughts. “You'll be right here waiting for me to come back, all trussed up, keeping that cock warm in your mouth. That would make a pretty picture...”
The temperature of the air around Citlali plummets. Diamond dust sparkles as ice crystals form instantly, serving as a needle-sharp warning.
Xilonen huffs a breathy laugh. “Oh, that got a rise out of you, did it?” The velvet fuzz of her tail drags over Citlali's belly, then her sensitive chest, tickling her. “I'll take that to mean you don't want to wait any longer. You want to get fucked. Yeah?”
Citlali jerks her head in irritation. The frozen air thaws, releasing the threat of imminent Cryo.
It's difficult to light a proverbial fire under Xilonen, who will always do things at her own pace, no matter how agonizing the wait can be. Citlali still flinches at the unexpected heat of hands on her back, but Xilonen just rubs the straining muscles at first, loosening the tension held there. She wiggles impatiently, trying to signal some sort of urgency without making her look desperate. Which she definitely isn't, of course.
The hands vanish. Citlali strains her ears to pick up any hints of what comes next.
A clink. A jar being unscrewed. A wet sound that makes her breath hitch in her throat.
Not knowing what Xilonen is planning for her makes Citlali's adrenaline spike with every rustle in the dark, every warm exhale against her skin. Being stripped of her eyesight amplifies every sensation. Despite bracing for anything, Citlali still isn't ready for the slick finger prodding between her ass cheeks. She lets out a garbled yelp around the makeshift gag.
Xilonen pauses, watching for any further signal.
Citlali draws a shuddering breath and holds it, legs quivering in their stirrups, as she tries to will herself to go limp again. A little flutter of excitement peaks in her chest. She's waiting.
Xilonen presses gamely onward, sliding a finger inside Citlali. Citlali's always been too timid to try this by herself, but she can't deny her curiosity. It's not exactly how she fantasized it, though. At first the slippery intrusion is strange and invasive. Her muscles clench down despite her conscious effort not to, making everything feel that much tighter. Citlali whines as she shifts around in her bonds, trying to angle herself in a way to relieve the pressure, and finding there is none.
“Mm... Good girl. You're doing so good,” Xilonen praises in a whisper. “Just relax and let your body get used to this part. Let me take care of everything.”
Citlali makes an undignified, needy whimper that she will most certainly deny later.
As Xilonen patiently continues to finger her ass, even easing a second alongside the first, Citlali realizes the dull burn of the stretch is beginning to feel good. She's panting. Her neglected dick throbs. Even her drifting thoughts are starting to go hazy. The ache hasn't lessened, and it's no less strange-feeling, but the smoldering heat in the pit of her belly is beginning to rise in response, making her fidget restlessly.
She wants more. She wants to be full.
“Itzpapa! Uh, what's the other pillow called... Citlalin! Toss me one of those,” Xilonen calls over her shoulder, distracted.
Citlali's temper flares. She snarls around the dildo gagging her, trying to express her wrath at her Tzitzimimeh betraying her once again, but Xilonen purposely ignores her. Worse, the fingers pull out, leaving her emptier than ever. She kicks her feet and writhes in a frenzy of displeasure, trying to make the metal buckles jangle and clank as noisily as she can.
“Don't throw a tantrum. I'm getting to it,” Xilonen promises, voice low and husky. “You can fight all you want, but it won't make me move any faster. I just think you're cute when you're angry.”
Citlali bites down on the dildo as hard as she can.
It's some special kind of torture, being forced to wait this long to get off. Xilonen should consider herself lucky Citlali has enough self-control to not blast this entire workshop into a fine powder with her still inside. She grinds her teeth deeper in helpless frustration. She'll have to settle for leaving permanent bite marks in Xilonen's dick.
She jumps when something hard prods against her entrance. It's round and heavy, and lubricated well enough to replace Xilonen's fingers with ease, despite being bigger. Citlali's struggling changes intent as she leans her hips into it, trying to impale herself on whatever foreign object Xilonen is shoving into her.
She wants it now.
The dense, smooth ball slides gradually into her, and oh, that feels better than fingers. The widening edges drag against her walls as it pushes deeper and deeper. Citlali's eyes are screwed shut, her head tipped back as far as her bowing spine will allow. Her voice pitches up into a wail. Her muscles clench down instinctively after the thickest part makes it through, which seats the sphere fully inside of her. It settles low in her gut, a constant pressure that shifts when she does, bumping into areas that spark flurries of alien sensation.
Then it starts to vibrate.
The phlogiston in the ball resonates with the phlogiston in the cock ring, synchronizing their soft pulses of light and vibration into unison. It's good, it's good, it's amazing, she needed this – the overwhelming fullness, the vibrator nestled inside her and the dick stuffed in her mouth, the steady rumble of the activated phlogiston, all of it making her feel like she's getting fucked from both ends.
Citlali is tied up and the world is spinning around her, everything buzzing and electric and so very alive.
“Ah... damn. I'm getting really horny watching you,” Xilonen admits bluntly. “Mind if I hop on? I usually wait to take care of myself after, but if it's cool with you...”
Citlali blinks at the sudden light flooding her vision, eyes watering. The blindfold is gone. She stares uncomprehendingly up at Xilonen, who blows a bubble of her chewing gum, then pops it.
As Citlali watches through a dreamlike stupor, Xilonen slides her shorts and underwear down around her ankles, then steps out of them. Her spotted tail curls down the length of those elegant legs of hers, swishing back and forth in anticipation. Xilonen would look almost disinterested if not for the hand she's working roughly between her thighs, touching herself without an ounce of self-consciousness. She glances meaningfully at Citlali's erection, then back at her, cocking an eyebrow.
Hop on... that?
Citlali's lagging thoughts catch up with her quivering, overstimulated body. Oh. Yes. Yes, she wants that very much. She whines, nodding her head vigorously. Xilonen reaches over to pull the spit-soaked toy out of Citlali's overworked mouth, tossing it off into one of the junk heaps and freeing her to speak.
“Please, please, please,” Citlali begs over and over, her voice gone hoarse from shouting.
“Oh, good.” Xilonen swings a leg over Citlali's torso and seats herself firmly on Citlali's lap, wasting no time at all. “I was hoping you'd say yes. You're almost there, just a little longer...”
Xilonen is tall enough that her feet still rest on the floor, even with Citlali suspended in the swing. Citlali's voice cracks into a squeak. Xilonen grabs her by the cock and spears herself onto it, burying Citlali inside her in one confident motion. Xilonen is feverishly hot, wet, and tight, and – Citlali sees stars. The howl that tears its way out of her throat is something from beyond this plane. She thinks she might actually black out.
The rush of shared body heat is the first wave of grounding sensation to crash over Citlali. The intense swelling of Xilonen's arousal is the second, squeezing all of Citlali's length for everything it's worth. The ring buzzes every time their hips meet, and Xilonen sways, eyes half-closed in blissful enjoyment as it stimulates her clit. She rolls her hips at her own languid pace, fucking herself on Citlali like her erection is nothing but another toy to be used.
Bound and motionless in midair, Citlali can do little besides watch Xilonen ride her.
Fully useless, Citlali trembles violently, her voice cresting into wail after wail. Every point of contact she can perceive physically blazes bright with dazzling light in her spiritual perception, her shaky vision unraveling into an indecipherable kaleidoscope of elemental energies overlaying the fiery colors of their souls. Xilonen grinds their hips together with a bestial growl, tail lashing the air as she chases her earthly pleasures – while Citlali reels from the intensity of everything, everywhere, illuminating the lines of her nerves like silver threads on a celestial loom weaving the heavens into existence.
Xilonen's panting grows harsh, thighs tightening to crush Citlali's narrow waist. She's surprisingly quiet despite the ferocity of her desire. Xilonen comes with just a shuddering groan, bowing her head and curling her tail as the orgasm shivers through her.
Citlali feels a rush of slick dampness pooling between them, all of it Xilonen's, and sobs outright, tears streaking down her reddened cheeks. She's too far gone to even beg anymore. She can't finish, she literally can't, the ring, the ring is still –
Almost as an afterthought, Xilonen reaches underneath her sweaty thighs, finding the place they're still joined, and taps on the cock ring. The vibration mercifully stops.
“Ah... Good girl. You did it. You can come.”
As the ring is finally, finally undone and released, Citlali lets out a broken cry, stars bursting like fireworks behind her eyelids. She spills inside of Xilonen with such searing, white-hot intensity that it's as much painful as it is pleasurable. Her heavy balls ache, her stomach muscles cramp, her dick throbs, as she helplessly pumps rope after rope of spend with all the pent-up force of a river bursting through the walls of a broken dam.
She's never come so hard in all of her years. It's a truly obscene amount. And Xilonen takes it all.
Only once Citlali's quivering, wrung-out body is milked completely dry, does she finally fall limp against her bonds, swimming in and out of consciousness.
Dimly, Citlali becomes aware of her weight being carried, of being unbuckled and cradled and soothed with sweet words. Drinking water passes her parched, puffy lips. A damp cloth wipes her sweat and other bodily fluids away. The phlogiston ball is eased out of her, leaving her sore and empty. She's wrapped in a blanket and laid out on something soft and warm.
She's not aware enough to respond in any way, though. She's just a toy, after all.
Citlali isn't sure how long she drifts like that, lost in the realms between dreaming and wakefulness. When she opens her bleary eyes again, the first thing she sees is Itzpapa cuddling against her chest. Citlalin is the fluffy, oversized pillow she's laying atop. She yawns and pulls the blanket past her chin.
Only then does she register that she's not hungover in her own bedroom, but tucked away in a quiet corner of Xilonen's workshop. She appears to be alone.
Citlali slowly sits up. Her braids are a mess, she notes sourly. Her body aches in strange places, sore in muscles she doesn't often use. She finds her clothes and other belongings are in a little pile next to her, along with the adult novels she came to pick up in the first place. She's still nude beneath the blanket. Citlali pales, then flushes a deep scarlet, as her memory comes flooding back all at once.
Citlali can scarcely believe she did any of that. She feels so impulsive, so scandalous! Citlali's never felt more desirable than when Xilonen was calling her a good girl. Or more embarrassed. Citlali came so hard, she must have shot her very soul out through her dick.
She buries her flustered face in her hands and squeals, kicking her feet.
Once Citlali is dressed and vaguely presentable, she peeks her head through the doorway, making sure the coast is clear. None of Xilonen's apprentices or clients are loitering nearby. She must have stayed overnight, judging by the curling mist rising in the muggy outdoor air. Itzpapa and Citlalin patter across the porch to play in the barrels and crates of ores that have yet to be sorted and brought inside.
Citlali finds Xilonen sprawled luxuriantly across her crafting table, catnapping in a morning sunbeam. Citlali pauses to admire her in repose. Xilonen's golden-blonde curls spill over the edge of the table, along with her idly waving tail. Somehow she never falls off her most precarious perches, even when she's up in the branches of trees or building rooftops. A soft pang of fondness stirs in Citlali's chest at the oddly nostalgic sight.
Citlali doesn't know how she's supposed to look Xilonen in the eye after this and not fantasize about being her little plaything again. It's sobering to realize there probably shouldn't be another time, that Citlali doesn't want entanglements in this transient generation or any other, but... it was fun to actually be the protagonist for once, instead of just pretending.
So much of her life is just a series of meaningless distractions to fill the time, empty fantasies and empty bottles. For once, Citlali actually took a chance on reality.
Xilonen yawns and rolls listlessly onto her bare belly, eyes fluttering open.
“Mm... that was nice. I got some good performance data on the phlogiston-infused materials,” Xilonen says drowsily. Her heavy-lidded eyes glimmer with amusement. “Did you have a good time, too, Granny Itztli?”
Citlali drags her fingers down her face and groans.
“Don't call me Granny now! I'm going home! Goodbye!!”
Long after Citlali floats away on her Tzitzimitl, she can still hear Xilonen's warm laughter ringing in her ears.