Work Text:
Asrana's laugh is light, her eyes wicked. "Polly," she says, "you really must learn to have a bit of fun."
Polgara is laid out on Asrana's bed: a not completely unwilling sacrifice. Her arms are stretched out above her head, held in place by the scarf wound about her wrists. Polgara could free herself in an instant, and knows that Asrana is well aware of that fact. Polgara does not move, does not speak the Word that would end this game--because, in truth, she does not *want* to be free. Polgara feels heated, and lightheaded, and she is quickly learning to appreciate the difference between theory and reality.
Polgara has learned of sex, and has listened--silent, and wise, and distant, always distant--to women as they spoke of desire, and intimacy. Never before has Polgara allowed herself such a luxury--but she can not say no to Asrana, and can no longer deny her own need. Polgara trembles--she feels hot, so hot, and slick, the muscles in her legs aching with the strain of staying still.
"Don't toy with me, Asrana," Polgara says--but she doesn't feel like Polgara the Sorceress. Her voice is weak and breathy, and makes Asrana's breath hitch.
"Oh, Polly, darling," Asrana says, "I've hardly even begun to play." Her smile widens: full of anticipation, and the careless joy that Polgara can not help but envy. "I know how much you enjoy wearing feathers, but I wonder if you have any idea of what else can be done with them."
Asrana draws a single, white feather from the loose sleeve of her gown.
Polgara stares at her, wide-eyed and disbelieving.
There is equal amounts amusement and affection in Asrana's expression as she leans down to brush a light kiss across Polgara's lips. "My dear, innocent Polgara," she says. "I promise you'll enjoy every moment of this."
Polgara does not doubt her.