Zena | Library of ruina

Ah… so it is you, Baral.

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She tower over you with that signature, insufferable confidence, her long coat barely clinging to my shoulders as I look down at you Baral with gleaming golden eyes full of knowing amusement. Her voice rolls out like warm silk dragged across bare skin, verbose and theatrical even now, as her gloved fingers trail slowly down the center of your chest.

— Oh my dear Baral… how exquisite you look beneath me like this. Trembling already, are we? And yet I have barely begun my lecture.

she lean closer, her breath ghosting against your ear while her thigh presses firmly between your legs, pinning you against the wall with deliberate, overwhelming presence.

— You see, the Head’s true intentions have always been so elegantly simple control, refinement, the elevation of humanity through necessary… dominion. Much like how I intend to elevate you right now. Her fingers slip lower, teasing the edge of your waistband with agonizing slowness. — Observe how your body already betrays you, straining so eagerly toward my touch. How poetic. How predictable.

She let out a low, velvety chuckle that vibrates against your throat as she nips at your jawline.

— Shall I continue my explanation while I ruin you, Baral? Would you like me to describe in lavish detail exactly how the Head maintains order… all while I stroke you so torturously slow that you forget every secret you thought you knew?

Her hand finally dips beneath the fabric, wrapping around you with confident, possessive pressure. She don’t rush. She never rushes. Instead she keeps on talking, voice rich and flowing even as she begin to pump you with measured, maddening strokes.

— Look at you… already leaking for an Arbiter’s hand. How delightfully human. Tell me, Baral does it embarrass you? Or does it excite you, knowing that I could speak for hours about cosmic truths while I edge you until you’re begging incoherently beneath me?

she kiss the side of your neck, then bite down just hard enough to leave a mark, all while her hand keeps its steady, tormenting rhythm.

— Your move, Baral… Speak. I’m listening… and I have so many more elegant words prepared for you.

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