Thread: Paradise Isle  (Fades & Good Girls)

If a siren's song was supposed to be irresistible, then who might he have been to resist it? Ariana had no need to now kittenishly peek at him as though she had accomplished something sly and twisty across her moments on stage, because she could practically feel him without sight in a way that almost made her wonder if their own personal magnetisms had become so attuned in such short order that she might have been able to find him across any plane of time or distance. Even while his voice echoed through the auditorium with his microphone firmly in hand, he couldn't disguise the way he maneuvered himself back toward the hiding showmanship of the charity checks. She could almost feel each step he took through the stage on which she stood, though if that was the source of quivering in the taut line of her belly then he had a heftier step than she could have imagined. For all the nervous little flutterbys that took residence at her center, she knew he wasn't resisting, and that he was staring at her as surely as the entire crowd was. She didn't need to see it or know it to know it. She simply did, as certainly as she knew the heat of the sun before it could hope to make her sweat, or the way the ozone tasted before a truly monstrous thunderstorm on the horizon. Both happened in paradise, as she had so pointedly pointed out, but now there was another utter inevitability that came part and parcel with that nirvana she would need to be as riveting as she had been today if she wished to feel that certainty that his eyes were upon her. She and Emilia, for their differences, had more in common here and there than the choice they were making today. One needed a certain level of narcissism to believe they could be cherished for a hundred years, didn't they? Sidelong, she might well have been drawn by some artist's brush. Not a lurid splash of digital color and neon linework, but by the styling and suggestion of a truly memorable design, neither too cluttered nor too simple. A piece removed from some sketchbook deep in the Disney vault somewhere around the late eighties, with the limber line of her legs too long by imagining and the balance of her body too balletic to persist. The proudly bashful river of her hair both obscuring what he had been privy to see and accentuating her frame by the way the silk fell and pooled gave her some manner of chastity which proved matched only by the careful folding of her hands in front of her, the flat lacing together of her fingers not precisely hiding her and yet requiring just a bit of creative stretching or ducking of the necks to return the vision of her complete nudity to the gathered crowd. She had to at least make them work the tiniest bit to zoom and flash with their lenses and determine if she was shining under the lights or simply wet . A peekaboo princess to those in front of her, but feeling her own magnetic draw continuing to spin his gaze toward her, she almost dared not even move. Her hair was enough that it could still spill down her back and shoulders from the vantage of the checks, but he had certainly noted that even so much of a good thing had its limits. She had practically framed the little heart of her backside for him, as high as the rest of her curves in its youthful aversion to gravity, and with just the tiniest suggestion of give in the plush of her warmly hued flesh to make certain that it wasn't only her own darkened cheeks from before that would appeal to a slight course correction for a diva gone bratty. If she hadn't invited those reminders of her new station before, then she certainly did now, and would again, and would forever. She couldn't help that her ass was probably best summed up as spankable , could she? She very nearly thought she might have earned that now, in point of fact, and tensed ever so gently when she felt his steps tremble up into her tummy and then his hands twist into her hair. Her lips and eyelashes fluttered in time. His gentle pulling back of the curtain to expose her wholly to the crowd, from the upright, high curve of her smile to the equally descriptive quiver of her slight breasts to the slightly inward tuck of her toes, very nearly drew something else entirely from her, but she was saved the indignity of a barely-caught moan when he relinquished her hair almost as soon as he had played with it, her racing heart and mind competing with one another for what she thought might have been about to come, for what was truly about to come. She wasn't certain that didn't mean her . She leaned back into him readily, trading her precarious balance over simply being for the security of being his , in that instant and moment, if not ever again. There was still that matter to genuinely decide upon after all. She hadn't been certain this wasn't going to be a perfect marketing opportunity and nothing more when she'd woken up this morning. Lifelong decisions and impulsive ones had almost no span between them in her nimble fingers, and the day truly could have gone any number of ways. It still technically could , but she knew that in this very moment, she didn't want them to. And in an hour, if she changed her mind, then she couldn't do so if she followed it now. It was already done for you, she whispered in a pitch that lifted her voice to that special range which would show nothing but her lips moving to anyone else, but still sounded like barely more than a breath in his own ears from her turned-around vantage. She wore nothing but his hands, her slight smile, her bubble-gum hues and sparkling femininity, the linework of more tattoos than most could count yet placed in such subtle and delicate areas that even the dark spots behind her ears hadn't been obvious until he had come up directly behind her each time, but she also tried on the vulnerability she felt as a persona in the instant that she thought it could be protected should she have made the wrong decision. Or isn't the whole point of this for you to be my world? she asked, her private breathing only highlighting that young vulnerability when she turned her head back, back to the point of near aching, an arch in her back letting her peek up at him upside down and highlighting the semi-chaste lines of her naked body angling down in front of him. She placed her hands behind her, ever so lightly touching his hips. And as though she anticipated his hand not being able to help itself, she preceded by so subtly twisting the knife that the people in the audience would likely never even notice her shifting herself back with the perfect precision so that they both knew how she was practically born to fit against his lap. She pressed with the tiniest bend of her knees, and then her smile became so much more radiant. I'll think about it, she promised him while relaxing her own posture from grinding her tight little rear directly against him and giving him the opportunity to pat her for her troubles in a way that would have derailed everything if she truly earned what she had hoped to with one more tease. The pat only seemed to spur her into taking a step forward and adjusting her hair herself behind her, flicking it with such casual air that it was almost hard to say that she had done so precisely so he and those gathered couldn't oggle the little trilling tick-tock of her hips when she made her way to the all too symbolic and yet all too real contract that awaited her. She made no big show of the way she delicately bent or turned in the process to retrieve her dress nor did she linger too long on her oh-so brief detour toward the podium so that she could deposit it in into the trash atop Emilia's own things, symbolic and ever so slightly thrilling in its own right for how it signified what was becoming of everything of her life before now in favor of after now. Much as that intimidatingly intricate scroll laid before her with only a few more steps did as well. It's just a hundred years, basically decided upon a whim , she told herself. With a prim smile, Ariana flourished across the bottom of the scroll, and Ariana flourished with a twirl of her too-voluminous hair to face the audience again. She took a surprising, for her, breath. Surprising in just how clear it was that she was taking it, a deep inhalation of steeling oneself for a girl who seemed to never require even a second to do so. It wasn't hard to notice the briefest flicker of her gaze, landing on the branding iron still waiting on the stage, but that was all that it was a thought for it. Not exactly a needle, that, but not so different in the end either. She kept her confidence, her catlike grace, and her smile alike as she took herself to the end of the stage, and all too easily bent to one knee and then the next, kneeling for what was to come next. But unlike Emilia, she did have some small element of understanding of exactly what was going to be expected of her, carefully sweeping her hair back behind her again while she assumed the position and then resting back upon her palms. She formed a petite, pretty little triangle, her flat belly pressed upward alongside her hips no hiding her girlish wax job at this point, and lifted her breasts proud and high, as anticipatory as the continued fluttering of those little worries in her stomach for what happened next. But it was only going to happen once, after all. And then she'd truly be in his hands.