Mastery [Kushiel’s Legacy]

by Jennifer-Oksana
Fandom: Jacqueline Carey
Rating: R
Pairing: Not really, but Melisande/Phedre kind of.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit, please don’t hate me, Jacqueline Carey.
Summary: Cavalcade of Unpeople Having Unsex II — BDSM masturbatory fantasies/character study.

It is not, after all, the yielding that is so delightful. If the pleasure came from simple obedience to simple orders, then she would have surrounded herself with children and weaklings, the sort who smile and bob at being told, and thank you for it, even when such things are against their own interests, might cost their lives.

No, there is nothing much to be gained from the mastery of those who are already slaves, who want things to be simple and will walk over hot coals to gain a simple, straightforward answer. Such people bore Melisande, and boredom is far worse than the cheap pleasures of easy obedience.

There is also little to be gained from those who cannot understand that Lady Melisande Shahrizai de la Courcel does not want allegiance and obedience as such; such priggish bores and their simplistic dismissal of power and control and its multihued pleasures are almost impossible to speak to. They would call their temporary accession to her a spell.

A spell cast over them by a dark and arrogant sorceress, even as their eyes sparkled and their breath came quicker, their arms twining about her waist and lips humming against her perfect ear. A spell that hardened phalluses to aching rigidity and turned the most honorable of female centers to juicy, inviting cunt.

What can I do for you, my lady?

Perhaps they are right and to them it is only as a fever dream, Melisande’s abilities so far past theirs that it might seem like magic, being seduced and convinced to seek Melisande’s power…

…dreams of perfect seductions make Melisande’s somewhat staid and irritating exile in La Serenissima bearable. The perfect seduction, viewed by someone with the wit to understand why Melisande bothered with flails and whips, flechettes and scarves.

With the right person, Melisande could use the real weapons — words and body and sheer will. And love of the game, the element that turned machinations into art, rather like the sheer beauty of Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève’s neck encircled by a velvet-lashed diamond.

Oh, Melisande’s anguissette, ye gods and little fishes. Melisande could have been unmanned by Phèdre eternally, for the endlessly distracting pleasure of love, love, love, the two of them too busy discovering every way to sate the other’s needs to pay attention to the rest of the world.

But love — even the overwhelming, consuming love that would have taken Melisande and Phèdre to such pleasures that they would be commemorated in verse for centuries — could be as pleasurable as the game and the wide world it encompassed.

Still, Melisande would like to watch Phèdre lose, to admit that she craved Melisande’s brand of power, that Melisande’s fingernails raked over the back of her hand sent darts of pleasure to her very core.

Melisande wants Phèdre to call her name, grinding her wetness over Melisande’s lips, humid and juicy and pulsing. But not just that, Melisande wants someone who will propose their own humiliation, hating it, needing it, so seduced by the possibility of Melisande’s mastery that it overwhelms…

Biting into the back of her hand, Melisande chokes off a moan of pleased completion as the convulsions shudder through her. At the temple of Asherat-by-the-Sea, they do not much want to hear a potential goddess release at her own hand, plotting while using a well-wrought phallus on herself.

Not that it stops her, not that they don’t bring such things to her themselves — but that, too, is part of the game that shakes through Melisande as she continues to consider the pleasures of mastery.

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