In the master’s chambers, Lady Anya’s head rose with a slow, deliberate grace. Priest Eldrin’s cock, slick and reddened from her relentless assault, slipped from her lips with an obscene, wet pop. She held his spend in her mouth, her cool, elegant features showing no strain. She looked down at his face, his eyes wide with spent pleasure and lingering fear. Then, she leaned forward and spat. A thick, pearly strand of his own release splattered across his cheek and brow.
Eldrin flinched, a choked sound escaping his throat. Anya smiled, a thin, cruel curve of her lips. She bent again, her tongue emerging to lick a slow, deliberate path from his jaw up to his temple, collecting the mess. She savored the taste, the salt and bitterness, her eyes locked on his. Then, she moved her mouth back to his groin and spat the collected cum directly onto his still twitching cock, the warm fluid dripping down his shaft.
“A second course, my dear priest,” she murmured, her voice a silken threat.
She took him back into her mouth, her movements now sloppier, more decadent. The spit and cum created a slick, filthy lubrication. She devoured him with a wet, noisy intensity, her throat working around him, her tongue swirling through the mess. Eldrin groaned, his hips straining against the silken cords, his body betraying him by hardening again under her technical, cruel ministrations.
The door to the chamber creaked, then burst open with a soft thud.
A young woman stumbled in, catching herself on the doorframe. A servant girl, about twenty, her face a mask of terror and fascination. A dark, wet patch stained the rough linen of her dress between her legs. She had been listening. She had been touching herself. Her small, pert breasts heaved under the fabric with her panicked breaths.
“I… I’m so sorry, m’lady,” she stammered, her eyes darting from Anya’s bent form to Eldrin’s tied body.
“I heard… I was….” Her voice failed. Then, a desperate, hungry hope flashed in her eyes.
“Might… might I join? To serve you? It… it would be an honor.”
Anya released Eldrin’s cock with a final, wet suck. She straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze assessing the trembling girl. The smile returned, wider now, predatory.
“An honor indeed, little mouse. Come here.”
The girl shuffled forward, her legs unsteady. Anya met her, taking her chin in a firm, gloved hand.
“So eager you’ve made a mess of yourself,” she cooed, her thumb brushing the girl’s lower lip.
“Let’s get you out of these rags.”
With efficient, dominant hands, Anya began to undress the girl. The rough servant’s dress was unlaced and pulled over the girl’s head, revealing a soft, pale body. Her breasts were small and high, her nipples tight, pebbled buds. A thatch of dark curls nestled between her thighs, glistening with her own arousal. She stood naked, shivering, her arms crossed instinctively over her chest.
Anya pulled her arms down. “None of that. You offered yourself. Now stand and be seen.” She positioned the girl directly in front of the bed, forcing Eldrin to look at her. Then, Anya kissed her.
It was not a gentle kiss. It was a deep, invading plunge of Anya’s tongue. The girl gasped, then moaned, her hands fluttering before settling on Anya’s silk clad shoulders. Anya dominated her mouth, and then, with a deliberate transfer, spat her saliva into the girl’s mouth. The girl’s eyes flew open in shock, but she swallowed reflexively, a shudder wracking her frame.
“Good girl,” Anya whispered against her lips before moving down. She took one of the girl’s nipples into her mouth, sucking hard, her teeth grazing the sensitive peak. The girl cried out, her back arching. Anya moved to the other breast, lavishing the same rough attention, her hands pinching and rolling the free nipple.
Then, Anya sank to her knees on the rich carpet.
She pulled the girl closer, burying her face between her thighs. There was no preamble. Anya’s tongue speared into the girl’s virgin entrance, a hot, wet, shocking intrusion. The girl shrieked, her hands flying to Anya’s perfectly coiffed hair. Her body bowed, her knees buckling. No one had ever touched her there. The sensation was too much, too direct, too intense.
She came immediately. A gush of clear fluid, a true, startled squirt, soaked Anya’s chin and the front of her fine gown. Anya didn’t pull back. She drank it, her throat working as she swallowed the girl’s essence straight from its source, her tongue still fucking into her with relentless strokes.
Sated, Anya rose, her chin glistening. She turned to Eldrin, leaned over him, and spat the girl’s release onto his face, mixing it with the existing mess.
“A taste of innocence for you, priest,” she said, her voice husky. She then returned to the trembling, oversensitive girl, pushing her down onto the bed beside Eldrin.
“Now, little mouse, let’s see how you ride.”
***
In Lyssa’s room, the world had narrowed to the gentle, careful movements of a damp, warm cloth.
Kian knelt between Lyssa’s splayed legs, his expression one of fierce, tender concentration. She lay on her stomach, her face buried in a pillow, her body still trembling with fine, intermittent shivers. Pleasant, deep aches radiated from her core and from the newly claimed, incredibly sore pucker of her anus. She could feel the cool air on her wetness, the sticky, drying evidence of their ferocious coupling.
Then, the warm touch.
He was cleaning her. Wiping the spend from her anal entrance with a soft, soaked cloth he must have fetched from her washbasin. The gentleness of it, after the animalistic pounding he’d delivered, made her want to weep. Each slow, careful pass of the cloth over the swollen, sensitive ring of muscle sent a bolt of sensation through her.
A whimper escaping her.
His touch was methodical, thorough. He cleaned the outer folds, then, with a touch so light it was barely there, dabbed at the tender entrance itself. She flinched, a sharp intake of breath hissing through her teeth. He paused, his hand resting on the curve of her buttock, a silent question. She nodded into the pillow, pushing her hips back slightly, an invitation to continue. She wanted this care. She needed this proof that the beast who had taken her so brutally was also the man who would tend to her so meticulously.
He understood. He resumed, his movements even more tender. The warm water soothed the raw feeling. His other hand stroked the small of her back, a slow, possessive circle. She could feel his gaze on her, hot and focused. This was his. She was his. The cleaning was not just hygiene : it was a ritual of ownership, a quiet, potent declaration.
He set the cloth aside. His hands, now dry and warm, smoothed over the curves of her buttocks, then down the backs of her thighs. He leaned down, and she felt it, the soft press of his lips against the very spot he had just cleaned. A kiss. A benediction on the place he had violated and claimed. A sob caught in Lyssa’s throat.
He moved up her body then, stretching out beside her, his front to her back. He pulled her against him, one heavy arm draping over her waist, his hand splaying possessively over her lower stomach. His lips found the shell of her ear. His body, still hard and hot in places, curled around her spent one. She felt his renewed, semi-hard length press against the back of her thigh. The beast was not sated. It was only resting.
And in the quiet, Lyssa realized she wasn’t either. The soreness was a badge. The tenderness was a lure. As his hand slid lower, his fingers tracing the seam of her thighs from the front, finding her swollen pussy lips, she knew this night was far from over. His touch there was a question, a demand. She answered by spreading her legs wider, a fresh, slick heat already gathering for him.