captured enemy warrior. Yeah. That was just silly and improbable enough to work. Him wearing nothing but a sword belt and a raggedy loincloth over his manly parts. Chained hand and foot, eyes hot with helpless fury. Fresh out of battle, all jacked up and desperate. Yummy. This could be really good.
And herself, sporting lots of cleavage in a teeny weeny chain mail bikini top. A filmy skirt slit up to both thighs dangling from her jewel-studded belt. She dreamed her hair back to its original coppery red, grew it out to instant hip length, slathered on makeup; shadowy bronze tints that made her look feverish and slutty. Like the covers of those fantasy novels she used to devour, except that she was the one brandishing the sword looking tough, and he was the one on his knees, clutching her thigh. The image was so silly, it made her giggle.
Big mistake. The laughter shoved her almost over the edge into tears. She rolled over, pressing her hot face into the pillow, and slid her hand into her panties. She was wet already, squirming around a damp glow of arousal. She didnât even need the vibrator. She was teetering on the brink of a screaming orgasm just thinking about his eyes.
She shut her eyes tightly, caught her clit between two fingers, and clenched her trembling thighs together. She had to get some relief from this ache. It scared her. Her whole damned life scared her.
The barbarian queen wasnât scared. She had the power to enforce her slightest whim. Armies at her beck and call. Lucky her.
Exotic images formed, broke, and reformed in her head. McCloud on his knees, his eyes furious. Unable to hide his excitement under that skimpy loincloth. She imagined touching him as she caressed herself, her hands sliding over his tense, straining muscles, his hot face.
He was slick with sweat, trembling. She slid her hand beneath the loincloth, grasped his hard penis and stroked it boldly. He jerked, gasped, arched back in a helpless spasm of pleasure.
Images blurred and shifted in her mind, the myriad possibilities pulling her in every direction. The fantasy refocused. She stood over him naked, legs wide, his face cupped in her hands. Telling him with her eyes, get to work, soldier, and make it good for me if you know whatâs good for you.
And it was. Oh, it was. Sheâd never had a fantasy so clear, every nerve alive and thrumming like it was actually happening. His strong tongue thrust and lapped, sliding up and down her slit and suckling her ravenously, and the glorious feeling was building, higher and hotter, almost there, almostâ¦thereâ¦
The tension dropped a notch, and left her dangling. Unfulfilled.
She was furious. This was bizarre. Sheâd never been so turned on in her life. It made no sense at all that she couldnât make herself come.
Onward, take two. Segue to the lavish, curtained bed, the light of a flickering fire. He was stark naked now, tied with silken cords to the carved posts. First she went the kinky route and had a bunch of her sexy barbarian ladies-in-waiting teasing and tormenting him to prepare him for the main event. That lasted about a nanosecond. She sent the silly bitches packing. Poof, they disappeared.
This one was for her alone. Every last drop of him.
The silent room was charged with desperate tension. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the low, strangled moans of the man beneath her. He writhed, cords standing out on his neck, muscles hard and flexing with desperate tension against his bonds, but she was merciless. She gripped his penis in her oiled hands, sliding her hands up and down his shaft, swirling and squeezing her fist around the swollen head. Hypnotizing even herself with the rhythmic caress.
It was time. She straddled him, guided his penis to the soft, swollen opening of her sex, and flung her head back with a moan of delight as she forced herself over the thick, throbbing club. Taking him, claiming him. She stared down into his
And herself, sporting lots of cleavage in a teeny weeny chain mail bikini top. A filmy skirt slit up to both thighs dangling from her jewel-studded belt. She dreamed her hair back to its original coppery red, grew it out to instant hip length, slathered on makeup; shadowy bronze tints that made her look feverish and slutty. Like the covers of those fantasy novels she used to devour, except that she was the one brandishing the sword looking tough, and he was the one on his knees, clutching her thigh. The image was so silly, it made her giggle.
Big mistake. The laughter shoved her almost over the edge into tears. She rolled over, pressing her hot face into the pillow, and slid her hand into her panties. She was wet already, squirming around a damp glow of arousal. She didnât even need the vibrator. She was teetering on the brink of a screaming orgasm just thinking about his eyes.
She shut her eyes tightly, caught her clit between two fingers, and clenched her trembling thighs together. She had to get some relief from this ache. It scared her. Her whole damned life scared her.
The barbarian queen wasnât scared. She had the power to enforce her slightest whim. Armies at her beck and call. Lucky her.
Exotic images formed, broke, and reformed in her head. McCloud on his knees, his eyes furious. Unable to hide his excitement under that skimpy loincloth. She imagined touching him as she caressed herself, her hands sliding over his tense, straining muscles, his hot face.
He was slick with sweat, trembling. She slid her hand beneath the loincloth, grasped his hard penis and stroked it boldly. He jerked, gasped, arched back in a helpless spasm of pleasure.
Images blurred and shifted in her mind, the myriad possibilities pulling her in every direction. The fantasy refocused. She stood over him naked, legs wide, his face cupped in her hands. Telling him with her eyes, get to work, soldier, and make it good for me if you know whatâs good for you.
And it was. Oh, it was. Sheâd never had a fantasy so clear, every nerve alive and thrumming like it was actually happening. His strong tongue thrust and lapped, sliding up and down her slit and suckling her ravenously, and the glorious feeling was building, higher and hotter, almost there, almostâ¦thereâ¦
The tension dropped a notch, and left her dangling. Unfulfilled.
She was furious. This was bizarre. Sheâd never been so turned on in her life. It made no sense at all that she couldnât make herself come.
Onward, take two. Segue to the lavish, curtained bed, the light of a flickering fire. He was stark naked now, tied with silken cords to the carved posts. First she went the kinky route and had a bunch of her sexy barbarian ladies-in-waiting teasing and tormenting him to prepare him for the main event. That lasted about a nanosecond. She sent the silly bitches packing. Poof, they disappeared.
This one was for her alone. Every last drop of him.
The silent room was charged with desperate tension. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the low, strangled moans of the man beneath her. He writhed, cords standing out on his neck, muscles hard and flexing with desperate tension against his bonds, but she was merciless. She gripped his penis in her oiled hands, sliding her hands up and down his shaft, swirling and squeezing her fist around the swollen head. Hypnotizing even herself with the rhythmic caress.
It was time. She straddled him, guided his penis to the soft, swollen opening of her sex, and flung her head back with a moan of delight as she forced herself over the thick, throbbing club. Taking him, claiming him. She stared down into his
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