that held the pallu in place. The fabric slid off her shoulder. With a swift and practiced hand, he unwrapped the rest of the sari. The garment fell to the ground with ease. There was much to recommend the sari. He considered having her wear nothing else while at Chateau Follet, and, at times, nothing at all.
He dropped to his knees and grasped both her hips, pulling her to him and drinking in the sight of her bared midriff. She let out a shaky moan when he kissed her there and darted his tongue at her navel. He inhaled the musk of her desire. His cock stretched even further. Reaching up, he grabbed a breast and kneaded the heavy orb. He brushed his thumb over her hardened nipple. Her head fell back, and she threaded a hand through his hair.
“Ask permission,” he told her.
She looked at him with a dazed expression, her eyes glossy. “Eh?”
“You are not to move without permission.”
He could see the thought sinking in. She withdrew her hand.
“Good,” he murmured. “Obedience shall be rewarded.”
She stiffened in obvious resistance to the idea. Undeterred, for he had expected she would not fully accept the practice—at least, not at first—he continued to work the nipple. Pinching, pulling, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until she whimpered. He pulled the blouse down below the breast. Rising to his feet, he lifted the exposed breast and attended the nipple with his mouth. She groaned with every swirl of his tongue, every nibble, every suck. When he had her panting, knowing she was wet with desire, he turned her around and pushed her up against the nearest wall. Her cheek was pressed against a tapestry depicting Kama and Rati locked in a naked embrace.
“Your obedience shall be rewarded,” he repeated, “and your defiance punished.”
He stepped into her, pinning her body to the wall with his. He ground his desire against her.
“What is the safety word?” he demanded.
“Rati,” she answered quickly.
“Good.”
He circled his right hand around her waist and between the front of her thighs, rubbing the petticoat against her. It quickly dampened. He fondled her more, using the garment to further the friction. She writhed, her movements hampered by the wall and by him. Her legs shook a little.
His left hand went back to the same breast, mirroring the rhythm of his right. The petticoat was drenched against his hand.
“ Ohhhhh ,” she moaned, a melodious sound.
When he sensed her nearing her peak, he slowed his ministrations. “Now, Miss Herwood, I had directed you to pleasure yourself.”
She shifted her weight but said nothing. He pulled his right hand away completely. Bereft, she let out a sigh.
“I am still waiting, Miss Herwood.”
She squirmed. “What you ask is...degrading.”
“Degrading? Consider yourself fortunate that I did not ask you to pleasure yourself before all the guests at the Chateau.”
She sucked in her breath.
“Pleasuring yourself is no less natural than coition.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. You may find it easy to adhere to Eastern philosophies on the matter, but it is different for me.”
“You underestimate yourself, Miss Herwood. Come. It would please me greatly.”
He seized her moment of indecision to pull her petticoat down to her thighs, his own breath catching when he beheld her naked arse. Yes, he remembered well her delightful derriere and how it had quivered beneath his flogger. He slid two fingers down the curve of one buttock, admiring its contour, before palming it. He returned his other hand between her thighs. She let out an immediate moan.
Grasping her hand, he forced her to join his caresses. She put up a short-lived resistance until desire overcame her shame. Her hips swayed gently to their joint strokes. He pressed his erection against her arse and closed his eyes for a brief moment. With her body rubbing against him, her grunting and groaning filling his ears, it was all he could do not to unbutton his fall and
He dropped to his knees and grasped both her hips, pulling her to him and drinking in the sight of her bared midriff. She let out a shaky moan when he kissed her there and darted his tongue at her navel. He inhaled the musk of her desire. His cock stretched even further. Reaching up, he grabbed a breast and kneaded the heavy orb. He brushed his thumb over her hardened nipple. Her head fell back, and she threaded a hand through his hair.
“Ask permission,” he told her.
She looked at him with a dazed expression, her eyes glossy. “Eh?”
“You are not to move without permission.”
He could see the thought sinking in. She withdrew her hand.
“Good,” he murmured. “Obedience shall be rewarded.”
She stiffened in obvious resistance to the idea. Undeterred, for he had expected she would not fully accept the practice—at least, not at first—he continued to work the nipple. Pinching, pulling, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until she whimpered. He pulled the blouse down below the breast. Rising to his feet, he lifted the exposed breast and attended the nipple with his mouth. She groaned with every swirl of his tongue, every nibble, every suck. When he had her panting, knowing she was wet with desire, he turned her around and pushed her up against the nearest wall. Her cheek was pressed against a tapestry depicting Kama and Rati locked in a naked embrace.
“Your obedience shall be rewarded,” he repeated, “and your defiance punished.”
He stepped into her, pinning her body to the wall with his. He ground his desire against her.
“What is the safety word?” he demanded.
“Rati,” she answered quickly.
“Good.”
He circled his right hand around her waist and between the front of her thighs, rubbing the petticoat against her. It quickly dampened. He fondled her more, using the garment to further the friction. She writhed, her movements hampered by the wall and by him. Her legs shook a little.
His left hand went back to the same breast, mirroring the rhythm of his right. The petticoat was drenched against his hand.
“ Ohhhhh ,” she moaned, a melodious sound.
When he sensed her nearing her peak, he slowed his ministrations. “Now, Miss Herwood, I had directed you to pleasure yourself.”
She shifted her weight but said nothing. He pulled his right hand away completely. Bereft, she let out a sigh.
“I am still waiting, Miss Herwood.”
She squirmed. “What you ask is...degrading.”
“Degrading? Consider yourself fortunate that I did not ask you to pleasure yourself before all the guests at the Chateau.”
She sucked in her breath.
“Pleasuring yourself is no less natural than coition.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. You may find it easy to adhere to Eastern philosophies on the matter, but it is different for me.”
“You underestimate yourself, Miss Herwood. Come. It would please me greatly.”
He seized her moment of indecision to pull her petticoat down to her thighs, his own breath catching when he beheld her naked arse. Yes, he remembered well her delightful derriere and how it had quivered beneath his flogger. He slid two fingers down the curve of one buttock, admiring its contour, before palming it. He returned his other hand between her thighs. She let out an immediate moan.
Grasping her hand, he forced her to join his caresses. She put up a short-lived resistance until desire overcame her shame. Her hips swayed gently to their joint strokes. He pressed his erection against her arse and closed his eyes for a brief moment. With her body rubbing against him, her grunting and groaning filling his ears, it was all he could do not to unbutton his fall and
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