Read Online PETALS AND THORNS by JENNIFER PARIS - Free Book Online
Authors: JENNIFER PARIS
Tags: BDSM
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strapped to a brass frame.
And she'd thought she didn't recognize herself before.
49
The Beast positioned a pole in front of her with a horizontal bar that he slid between her legs and adjusted to just brush the wet lips of her sex.
“To keep you occupied.”
“Will this be very bad?” she whispered.
The Beast fondled her breasts, bending his cowled head to lightly suckle each turgid nipple.
“Yes. This will be difficult for you.” He swirled his slightly raspy tongue over her nipples, moving back and forth between them so that she moaned and moved her sex over the cool brass of the bar pressing there. “Fortunately”—she could hear the smile in his voice—“you need do nothing but hang there and accept your punishment. The same rules apply as before.”
She watched him walk to a cabinet on the wall and take out a long whip. She felt the wild tremble of fear take over her body.
The Beast stopped at the armchair and, turning away from her, sipped from the brandy.
He set it down and studied her. “I would say I regret the necessity of this, but it has been some time since I've whipped a beautiful young virgin. And I doubt it will take much to make an impression on you. You respond so honestly.”
He whipped her as he'd spanked her—in rhythmic, steady strokes, unrelenting and endless.
The first scream ripped out of her throat, and she never caught her breath enough to scream again. As he'd promised, she forgot entirely about the strain in her wrists and shoulders. As each lash landed, her body convulsed until only the slick brass pressing into her sex seemed real.
Amarantha didn't think she'd lost consciousness, but as before, the punishment had stopped some time before she realized it. The girl in the mirror stared back at her, hair finally tumbling askew, breasts heaving like the panting of a hard-worked animal, white skin sheened with sweat.
50
The Beast, dark and still, sat in the armchair, sipping the brandy in the depths of his hood. As if he'd been waiting for her to notice him, he stood and came over to her. He held the brandy to her lips, and she sipped, the sweet smoke of it evaporating on her tongue and sliding down to burn of her throat. He set the snifter down and detached the bar that had pressed against her sex.
She felt bereft of it, but the Beast slipped his fingers into her folds. She pumped her hips for him, somehow more full of need than ever, despite it all.
“Watch.”
The Beast knelt down and pressed his cowled head to her belly. His cat's tongue slid into her, slipping and swirling around her pearl, then sucking hard as if he would consume her in a great gulp. Frantic, Amarantha writhed, feeling all of it—the pain, the pleasure, the helpless longing—swell up and crash through her in wave upon wave. Red and black pulsed through her mind, and she was nothing but sensation.
And then he was releasing her from the bonds. Her limbs shook, depleted. The Beast cradled her, limp and exhausted, against him. He once again carried her to her bed and set her on the edge of it. With utmost care, he worked her gloves down, massaging her arms as he went. He did the same with her boots. Then took the pins and braids out of her hair and brushed it out as she swayed.
He tucked her in, brushing her cheek with a softly padded fingertip.
“My beautiful bride,” he murmured. “I don't think we need to tie your hands tonight, as I believe you to be well sated at the moment. But when you wake, you'll be stiff and sore. Soak in a hot bath and meet me in the atrium as the sun sets, so I can tend to you.”
Amarantha nodded, unable to keep her eyes open. The last thing she felt was a tender kiss on her forehead.
* * *
51
“Sore” wasn't the word. Amarantha woke from tumbled dreams of riding on the back of a great cat through the forest, grinding herself in wanton sexuality against its velvet fur as they flew through the trees in soaring leaps.
Movement felt excruciating. It
And she'd thought she didn't recognize herself before.
49
The Beast positioned a pole in front of her with a horizontal bar that he slid between her legs and adjusted to just brush the wet lips of her sex.
“To keep you occupied.”
“Will this be very bad?” she whispered.
The Beast fondled her breasts, bending his cowled head to lightly suckle each turgid nipple.
“Yes. This will be difficult for you.” He swirled his slightly raspy tongue over her nipples, moving back and forth between them so that she moaned and moved her sex over the cool brass of the bar pressing there. “Fortunately”—she could hear the smile in his voice—“you need do nothing but hang there and accept your punishment. The same rules apply as before.”
She watched him walk to a cabinet on the wall and take out a long whip. She felt the wild tremble of fear take over her body.
The Beast stopped at the armchair and, turning away from her, sipped from the brandy.
He set it down and studied her. “I would say I regret the necessity of this, but it has been some time since I've whipped a beautiful young virgin. And I doubt it will take much to make an impression on you. You respond so honestly.”
He whipped her as he'd spanked her—in rhythmic, steady strokes, unrelenting and endless.
The first scream ripped out of her throat, and she never caught her breath enough to scream again. As he'd promised, she forgot entirely about the strain in her wrists and shoulders. As each lash landed, her body convulsed until only the slick brass pressing into her sex seemed real.
Amarantha didn't think she'd lost consciousness, but as before, the punishment had stopped some time before she realized it. The girl in the mirror stared back at her, hair finally tumbling askew, breasts heaving like the panting of a hard-worked animal, white skin sheened with sweat.
50
The Beast, dark and still, sat in the armchair, sipping the brandy in the depths of his hood. As if he'd been waiting for her to notice him, he stood and came over to her. He held the brandy to her lips, and she sipped, the sweet smoke of it evaporating on her tongue and sliding down to burn of her throat. He set the snifter down and detached the bar that had pressed against her sex.
She felt bereft of it, but the Beast slipped his fingers into her folds. She pumped her hips for him, somehow more full of need than ever, despite it all.
“Watch.”
The Beast knelt down and pressed his cowled head to her belly. His cat's tongue slid into her, slipping and swirling around her pearl, then sucking hard as if he would consume her in a great gulp. Frantic, Amarantha writhed, feeling all of it—the pain, the pleasure, the helpless longing—swell up and crash through her in wave upon wave. Red and black pulsed through her mind, and she was nothing but sensation.
And then he was releasing her from the bonds. Her limbs shook, depleted. The Beast cradled her, limp and exhausted, against him. He once again carried her to her bed and set her on the edge of it. With utmost care, he worked her gloves down, massaging her arms as he went. He did the same with her boots. Then took the pins and braids out of her hair and brushed it out as she swayed.
He tucked her in, brushing her cheek with a softly padded fingertip.
“My beautiful bride,” he murmured. “I don't think we need to tie your hands tonight, as I believe you to be well sated at the moment. But when you wake, you'll be stiff and sore. Soak in a hot bath and meet me in the atrium as the sun sets, so I can tend to you.”
Amarantha nodded, unable to keep her eyes open. The last thing she felt was a tender kiss on her forehead.
* * *
51
“Sore” wasn't the word. Amarantha woke from tumbled dreams of riding on the back of a great cat through the forest, grinding herself in wanton sexuality against its velvet fur as they flew through the trees in soaring leaps.
Movement felt excruciating. It
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