interesting. "And did it?"
"I am still
here, am I not?"
Watching her
steady expression he couldn't be sure whether she fibbed about the wolf story.
"What else?" he pressed again.
"I am not
afraid of the dark."
Of course not; her
favorite color was black.
One hand still
wrapped in her hair, he reached down with the other and ran his fingers down
the length of his penis, cupped his balls and then invited her again to touch
him.
"I explored
you earlier. Now 'tis your turn." He was hot for this woman, intrigued by
her. She kept herself aloof. No, she was not afraid of the dark, but she feared
to smile, to laugh before him. He wanted to know the secrets she held onto so
tightly.
Her haughty,
imperious gaze stroked his manhood and it was almost as arousing as her soft
clean fingers would be. When he licked her to orgasm in the forest earlier that
day he had denied himself the full pleasure of spending. All the way home, with
her body slung across his lap, he was hard as a rock. But whatever she thought
of him—whatever names she called him— he would not take her by force.
Consequently he'd suffered all evening, trying to ignore the need. Failing.
Now his balls
ached. He knew he must have release before the day was out.
Since she refused
to touch him, he would pleasure himself. He gripped his shaft and began to work
it in the familiar way, making waves that splashed up again and further wet the
front of her gown.
"What are you
doing?" she demanded, her eyes following the motion, her fingers withdrawn
from the water and curled around the edge of the tub.
"What does it
look like?" he grunted with a terse laugh, concentrating on her lips, his
hand moving faster. "What happens if a cow is not milked regularly?"
She shook her
head, shoulders lifted.
"It gets
ill-tempered and sore," he said. "And the teats leak, wasting
milk."
Amias pouted in
disbelief, her lips gathered tight as the strings of a miser's purse.
"The same as
it is for a woman's breasts when she's nursing. See?" He showed her the
bead of liquid dripping from his seed hole. "A man needs milking
too."
"I never
heard of such a thing."
Stryker resumed
his masturbation, while she watched, the waves of her thick hair loose over her
shoulders, an abundant autumnal display that seemed as bright now as the fire
in the cookhouse hearth.
"Does it
hurt?" she asked.
"Yessss."
Stryker looked down at his aching, bulging cockhead and longed to feel lips
around it. Pussy or mouth. His fist was adequate but never as good as those
other choices. The thick veins of his warrior were clearly outlined now, the
helmet dark and swollen.
"Stop
then."
"I can't.
Look. Touch it," he gasped, feeling the rush of heat build to a tumultuous
pressure, the fountain ready to gush.
With one hand she
reached out and her fingertips trailed over his crest. It was all he needed. A
stream of white seed shot out and startled her. She fell back with a small yelp
of alarm, but kept watching as he pumped the last of that pent up cream high
into the air.
His shoulders
falling back into the water, he laughed. Well, she was definitely an
inexperienced virgin. The thought pleased him, although until now he was never
troubled by a woman's previous sexual adventures. This wench would be solely
his. He would be her first lover and her last.
"You wasted
your milk," she observed wryly, looking at some of it splattered on her
gown.
"That is your
fault."
"Why? What
could I have done?"
He eyed her
lazily, his body relaxed now as he sank lower into the cloudy water.
"Taken my seed into you."
"You promised
my uncle not to breach my maidenhead until the wedding night."
"No
matter." Stryker grinned. "There are other avenues to that pleasure."
He brought his hands out of the water and swept them back over his hair.
"You could have taken me in your mouth."
She eyed him
skeptically again.
"You could
have drunk from me," he explained, "as I drank from you today."
He had not known many inexperienced, shy
"I am still
here, am I not?"
Watching her
steady expression he couldn't be sure whether she fibbed about the wolf story.
"What else?" he pressed again.
"I am not
afraid of the dark."
Of course not; her
favorite color was black.
One hand still
wrapped in her hair, he reached down with the other and ran his fingers down
the length of his penis, cupped his balls and then invited her again to touch
him.
"I explored
you earlier. Now 'tis your turn." He was hot for this woman, intrigued by
her. She kept herself aloof. No, she was not afraid of the dark, but she feared
to smile, to laugh before him. He wanted to know the secrets she held onto so
tightly.
Her haughty,
imperious gaze stroked his manhood and it was almost as arousing as her soft
clean fingers would be. When he licked her to orgasm in the forest earlier that
day he had denied himself the full pleasure of spending. All the way home, with
her body slung across his lap, he was hard as a rock. But whatever she thought
of him—whatever names she called him— he would not take her by force.
Consequently he'd suffered all evening, trying to ignore the need. Failing.
Now his balls
ached. He knew he must have release before the day was out.
Since she refused
to touch him, he would pleasure himself. He gripped his shaft and began to work
it in the familiar way, making waves that splashed up again and further wet the
front of her gown.
"What are you
doing?" she demanded, her eyes following the motion, her fingers withdrawn
from the water and curled around the edge of the tub.
"What does it
look like?" he grunted with a terse laugh, concentrating on her lips, his
hand moving faster. "What happens if a cow is not milked regularly?"
She shook her
head, shoulders lifted.
"It gets
ill-tempered and sore," he said. "And the teats leak, wasting
milk."
Amias pouted in
disbelief, her lips gathered tight as the strings of a miser's purse.
"The same as
it is for a woman's breasts when she's nursing. See?" He showed her the
bead of liquid dripping from his seed hole. "A man needs milking
too."
"I never
heard of such a thing."
Stryker resumed
his masturbation, while she watched, the waves of her thick hair loose over her
shoulders, an abundant autumnal display that seemed as bright now as the fire
in the cookhouse hearth.
"Does it
hurt?" she asked.
"Yessss."
Stryker looked down at his aching, bulging cockhead and longed to feel lips
around it. Pussy or mouth. His fist was adequate but never as good as those
other choices. The thick veins of his warrior were clearly outlined now, the
helmet dark and swollen.
"Stop
then."
"I can't.
Look. Touch it," he gasped, feeling the rush of heat build to a tumultuous
pressure, the fountain ready to gush.
With one hand she
reached out and her fingertips trailed over his crest. It was all he needed. A
stream of white seed shot out and startled her. She fell back with a small yelp
of alarm, but kept watching as he pumped the last of that pent up cream high
into the air.
His shoulders
falling back into the water, he laughed. Well, she was definitely an
inexperienced virgin. The thought pleased him, although until now he was never
troubled by a woman's previous sexual adventures. This wench would be solely
his. He would be her first lover and her last.
"You wasted
your milk," she observed wryly, looking at some of it splattered on her
gown.
"That is your
fault."
"Why? What
could I have done?"
He eyed her
lazily, his body relaxed now as he sank lower into the cloudy water.
"Taken my seed into you."
"You promised
my uncle not to breach my maidenhead until the wedding night."
"No
matter." Stryker grinned. "There are other avenues to that pleasure."
He brought his hands out of the water and swept them back over his hair.
"You could have taken me in your mouth."
She eyed him
skeptically again.
"You could
have drunk from me," he explained, "as I drank from you today."
He had not known many inexperienced, shy
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