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Stress, or the Lack Thereof

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Signet is swinging in her silks again. Belgard understands why she does this. Signet is responsible for so many things, and to so many people. She's been responsible for decades, and that is a lot of stress on her delicate organic systems.

Oh, the Fleet takes care of Excerpts like her, so she is healthy, and given much time to mentally recuperate, but it is still a strain. A practiced strain that she is accustomed to, but practice does nothing to change the fact that it is indeed a strain.

So she swings. She can do many things in her silks, can fight and dance and more. But that is for others. This is for Signet, who is so small within Belgard.

Belgard reaches out to her and her face rolls up in a slow, sensuous motion that suggests she appreciates the contact.

"I'm fine," she murmurs, "I just wanted to spend time with you."

Ah.

The nonverbal response provokes a ripple of motion, rolling from Signet's hips up her spine, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders. She found that sensation pleasurable. Belgard does nothing more for the moment. Signet appreciates Belgard's nonverbal communication far more when she is in motion. So much so that Belgard will not do it unless she is in motion. Consent is important.

Signet remains motionless for a graceful, tempting moment. Her belly quivers from the effort before she melts into her silks, a controlled fall almost to the floor of Belgard's cockpit. She catches herself at the last moment, gracefully twisting her legs and arms in the silks so that she needn't consciously hold herself up. This results in her thighs being tightly bound together from knees to hips, forming a sort of seat for her, while her biceps and torso are wrapped in the silks to hold her upright. Her pulse has accelerated, but to normal and expected levels.

Signet begins to swing again, and that is Belgard's invitation to continue.

Belgard pushes into Signet's mind and Signet's face rolls up again, a breathy sigh escaping her. Organic minds--mortal minds in general, really--are so fragile. Belgard must be careful, but she has long practice at this skill, and with Signet in particular. She plucks at the sensory nerves and Signet sighs again, this time in a harsh voice that clearly expresses her appreciation.

Signet has described what these sensations feel like for her. Belgard coming into her mind, she says, is a sudden tactile sensitivity, the plucking rather like being drawn forward by a hand wrapped around the base of her spine. Belgard is well aware that a hand around Signet's spine would cause her debilitating pain, but mentioning it only causes Signet to huff out a chuckle and say that it's "Not really like that."

Belgard touches Signet's mind in a way that translates to fingers crawling up her spine. Signet's head drops back with a whimper. Belgard gives Signet the sensation of a finger tracing up her labia and Signet's back arches, her breathing going tight and ragged.

Signet is beautiful like this. Her heartbeat is at an optimal bpm, the frequency of her breathing a coordinating delight, and when Belgard gives her enough sensation, her body makes a delicate curve in the silks that Belgard finds aesthetically satisfying.

Finding the right balance is an imperfect art, no matter Belgard's skill. What worked last time might not this time. What should feel to Signet like a finger pressing into her elicits a guttural grunt and a sideways slump that sends Signet into an irregular sway, while what should feel like nails oh-so-delicately tracing lines down Signet's rear makes her squeal and pull herself into a tight ball, spinning and spinning with vertigo-inducing speed.

Belgard induces the sensation of a tongue sliding over Signet's inner thighs to prompt her out of her spin, then causes tender pinching to Signet's inner lips that turns Signet's body into the curve Belgard seeks, Signet's voice harshly warbling out her delight. A sucking sensation at Signet's clit makes her droop out of the pretty curve, and Belgard stops immediately, pushing at Signet's senses until her body does what Belgard wants it to do again.

For all her strength, Signet is only mortal, and after a mere two hours, her clothing is stained damp between her thighs, under her arms, and at the small of her back. The latter two are sweat, while the former is her arousal, which fills the cockpit with chemicals Signet will later describe as the smell of sex.

Right now, Signet begs Belgard for release, her muscles trembling with strain, her voice raspy with abuse. Belgard has not intentionally denied her what she pleads for, but when Signet gets what she wants, Belgard does not. Fortunately for Signet, she knows exactly what Belgard desires and makes her body into that perfect curve, straining her voice to its breaking point holding herself in place while Belgard pleases her.

When Signet is finally done, she crumples to the floor, unwinding herself as she goes. Belgard gives Signet the sensation of an all-over massage, breaking up lactic acid and soothing Signet to a relieved rest. For now, the strain weighs lighter on Signet, and Belgard is glad for it.