(A!A is grateful for the love the story is getting. Thanks for the comments! I hope further chapters won't disappoint.)
”First”, he said, ”we're going to see if you really can do as you're told.”
From the way her scalp felt on fire, Laverna was half expecting to see loose strands twined around the fingers that withdrew from her hair. There were none. She felt at her head instinctively in any case.
”Vain about your hair, are you?”
Mercer had walked around the desk and was now a solid wall of armed and armored man behind her. She could smell leather, damp firewood and fermented honey on him. That signature scent of the Cistern had started to stick to her as well; but he was steeped in it, as if to remind her senses whose place here was certain and whose was not.
”Let's hope you're not as vain about your clothes. Stay still.”
The shing of a dagger being unsheathed made her blood run hot and cold, and then hot again when Mercer brought the blade up to her field of vision. She flinched.
”Stay still”, he repeated, a low growl which made her spine feel soft as hot wax. By that point, though, it had become an unnecessary order: he had wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, and she could not have been held more firmly in a vise. Extracting herself would have taken a considerable amount of struggling, and she was not suicidal enough to do that with a naked blade against her body. He was working the tip of it under the laces of her plain, simple bodice, and all she could do was watch as the bright steel pulled the first crisscross taut, snapped it neatly, then tugged the rest out. The bodice fell open to hang uselessly between her back and his chest.
The dagger slid back into its sheath. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
”You will continue to be still”, he said in an even tone, matter-of-factly, ”until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”
Forming just one single syllable in her mind and voicing it had somehow become as difficult as speaking Ayleid. Everything that was simultaneously wrong and so right about the situation was concentrated in it, that simple acknowledgment of obedience.
”Yes.”
”Good.”
His arm moved away, palms slid down her shoulders and sides and hips, getting a feel of her feminine shape. It was almost painful not to move under the touch. His right hand reached the top of the side-slit of her dress, high up on her thigh, possibly too high for decency –
– and grasped, bunched and tore. Thread and fabric gave way up to her waist, leaving the dress in two sorry shreds on the right side.
Laverna swayed slightly on her feet, seeking to regain balance. The cool draft from one of the doorways slithered under the dress and raised the tiny hairs on her skin.
She remained still, an easy target for his next move.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Simple Instructions, 3/?
Date: 2012-08-21 06:36 pm (UTC)”First”, he said, ”we're going to see if you really can do as you're told.”
From the way her scalp felt on fire, Laverna was half expecting to see loose strands twined around the fingers that withdrew from her hair. There were none. She felt at her head instinctively in any case.
”Vain about your hair, are you?”
Mercer had walked around the desk and was now a solid wall of armed and armored man behind her. She could smell leather, damp firewood and fermented honey on him. That signature scent of the Cistern had started to stick to her as well; but he was steeped in it, as if to remind her senses whose place here was certain and whose was not.
”Let's hope you're not as vain about your clothes. Stay still.”
The shing of a dagger being unsheathed made her blood run hot and cold, and then hot again when Mercer brought the blade up to her field of vision. She flinched.
”Stay still”, he repeated, a low growl which made her spine feel soft as hot wax. By that point, though, it had become an unnecessary order: he had wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, and she could not have been held more firmly in a vise. Extracting herself would have taken a considerable amount of struggling, and she was not suicidal enough to do that with a naked blade against her body. He was working the tip of it under the laces of her plain, simple bodice, and all she could do was watch as the bright steel pulled the first crisscross taut, snapped it neatly, then tugged the rest out. The bodice fell open to hang uselessly between her back and his chest.
The dagger slid back into its sheath. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
”You will continue to be still”, he said in an even tone, matter-of-factly, ”until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”
Forming just one single syllable in her mind and voicing it had somehow become as difficult as speaking Ayleid. Everything that was simultaneously wrong and so right about the situation was concentrated in it, that simple acknowledgment of obedience.
”Yes.”
”Good.”
His arm moved away, palms slid down her shoulders and sides and hips, getting a feel of her feminine shape. It was almost painful not to move under the touch. His right hand reached the top of the side-slit of her dress, high up on her thigh, possibly too high for decency –
– and grasped, bunched and tore. Thread and fabric gave way up to her waist, leaving the dress in two sorry shreds on the right side.
Laverna swayed slightly on her feet, seeking to regain balance. The cool draft from one of the doorways slithered under the dress and raised the tiny hairs on her skin.
She remained still, an easy target for his next move.