Chapter Three
Her beautiful, lithe body lay stretched out on the bed like a virginal offering on a yellow, downy altar. Her fierce-looking body artwork stared back at him, its reptilian teeth gleaming white along her hipbone. Who knew such a sight could arouse him so? And her hairless, smooth body tempted him beyond reason. He’d have to go slow. It would be torturous, but he could do it.
Isabelle refused to acknowledge that he’d returned to the room. She wasn’t pleased.
No matter.
Strolling closer to the bed, he bent over, running his finger down the inside of her wrist, the length of her arm, touching the smoothness of her hairless underarm. Her breast he circled with slow motions meant to excite her. The rapid rise and fall of her chest betrayed her otherwise stoic expression.
He traced a path down her stomach. Her muscles quivered at the slow, exciting touch. At the tattoo, he stopped. Isabelle stared at him now. He grinned before lowering his head and licking the dragon’s tail coiled around her leg, toward the inside of her thigh. She bunched her muscles, fiercely trying to keep him from intruding farther.
“What do want, Isabelle?” he asked. “What can I give you?”
Her expression surprised him. He imagined her cool disdain. He imagined her forced passion while he gave her orders, made her switch positions, touch him just so, all the while giving him the insane pleasure rumor suggested.
What he saw gave him a satisfying shock. She wanted him. She wanted whatever he was going to do to her.
“You have to tell me. You have only to ask,” he said.
“No, I should be pleasing you. Let me. Please.” She tugged at the silken threads binding her hands.
“I don’t want your kind of pleasure. The kind that takes only a few minutes of your time and very little of your effort. You’re good, you know. I know what you to do your men. How you make them want so insanely beforehand, only to have them squander their pleasure as soon as they’re inside you.”
“I can do so much for you,” she suggested.
“It’s all been done to me before, Isabelle. When I’m inside you, I’m going to stay there until the neighbors hear you scream.”
She sucked in a steadying breath, licking her lips.
“You paid for me, now let me do my job,” she said with breathy excitement.
He laughed. “Your job? As I suspected. You don’t take pleasure in what you do. Is that it, Isabelle?” He scooted closer, leaning one hand across her body, his bare hip next to her dragon. Or her bare hip next to his dragon.
“I don’t like to be tied,” she said.
“So?”
“You said to tell you what I wanted. I don’t want to be tied.”
“No, you’ll think of some other clever trick to get me wound up and spent before I’m ready.” And entice him in others ways, for which he also was not ready. Isabelle had all the perfect, practiced manners he’d seen with other purchased women. The women of the ton might not be purchased for money, but they never said no to jewels.
What was it about Isabelle that captivated him so? For every last man, every lover he’d known that had purchased her favors had, indeed, fallen in love with her. The way they’d mooned over her when describing their time with her was laughable, except he was starting to understand how they felt.
“I won’t do that. You’ve only to tell me what pleases you,” she said softly.
“I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No, it’s not that. I’m used to men’s idea of hurting. I don’t like to be fettered. It makes me feel closed in. Trapped,” she confessed.
“Ah, well, we’ll have to work through that. For now, what pleases me is for you to lie there like a good girl.”
She relaxed at his soothing words. Or she was playing more of her game in an attempt to placate and seduce him.
He placed his hand on her stomach and stroked upward. Her breasts had been tempting him through the entire conversation. Dorian bent low, opened his mouth over a hard little nipple and sucked inward.
She gasped. Her body tensed.
No, Dorian thought, she doesn’t know what real pleasure is. He gazed into her eyes and the dual sensations of fire and ice goaded him. “For now, what pleases me is for you to lie there like a very good girl and open your legs for me.”
Isabelle arched off the bed, moaning with want she couldn’t control.
He clucked his tongue. He grinned again—this grin he couldn’t get off his face. “Ah, something sweet Isabelle wants. Now, she must learn to ask for it.”
Isabelle gritted her teeth and turned her head away.
“A mistress with pride. That won’t do,” he said. He looked at her through squinted eyes, considering his next move. “I know how to break you of that pride, Isabelle.”
Isabelle lay helpless and nearly frantic. Dorian wouldn’t hurt her. She knew enough about him to be assured of that at least. Preparation with a new lover always involved learning about his proclivities, his routines, his character. Normally after she opened the bids and accepted a lover, she only had a few days to learn what she could. With Dorian, she’d known everything there was to know.
But oh, he could hurt her in other ways.
To admit the things she wanted—it was a matter of pride that prevented her from admitting her lack of complete sexual fulfillment. She, the Westminster Whore, shouldn’t have to ask for anything, but there was one thing she wanted. She wanted the little death.
And she had no idea how to achieve it with a man. She had for so long steeled herself to accept whatever her lovers gave, little as that was.
She had never taken a lover for pleasure’s sake, not even in Italy. She maintained a respectable life there, more to protect her brother and grandmother, than her desire to be free of this lifestyle. Though there was no denying if she had had a choice, it wouldn’t have been to sell her body to the highest bidder.
Her scheme now seemed both at odds with her practical decision to survive and her detached decision not to give any more of herself than necessary.
Her patrons had no interest in pleasing her. Her duty involved providing pleasure for her lovers and pretending pleasure for herself. It was an unspoken condition for accepting payment.
Her moans and groans, her throaty squeals of delight were all a part of the purchased package. The lover went away feeling like a king—her body the answer to the sexual morass of life. She was that good. Men always boasted of their prowess in bed whether or not they performed, but that men boasted of her prowess was a testament to her skill.
She did have her pride.
As much as she wanted Dorian, she couldn’t give up her will to his. She had to retain some control of the situation. Without control, what good were her talents? Dorian must be pleasured or she wasn’t the Westminster Whore.
Now if only he would allow her to use those carefully perfected skills.
For she had a secret—one of many learned from her Arabic housemaid—that drove men to their knees. When the time came, she would have no mercy on Dorian Montgomery.
He kissed her stomach. Her body reacted strongly to his touch.
“Pride is one of the seven deadly sins, you know.” He kissed lower, under her bellybutton. “Pride cometh before the fall, Isabelle. And you’re not pleasing me. I want you to open your legs.”
Somehow, she knew his order had nothing to do with the usual intercourse.
“I have something I want to put inside you, Isabelle. Let me.”
His hand crept along her thigh, brushing over the dragon and across the hairless area he seemed so fascinated by.
Ah, she thought. His fingers. He only wishes to use his fingers. Would he be rough and without finesse? Would he poke and prod, expecting her to moan with uncontrollable lust and longing? Would he press too hard or not hard enough? Would she be dry from lack of excitement?
No, not that. Already moisture slid from her body and between her legs.
Would Dorian of rumor satisfy her? A whore? Would he waste his precious time pleasing a fallen woman? Would he scorn her technique? Would he laugh at her desire? Would he believe that she had longings and feelings just like the pretty daughters of London cits he knew and the willing widows he bedded.
She shifted. She moved her legs upward, sliding her feet flat against the bed covers, the arch of her foot tickled by the fringes of loose material.
Dorian gave her a pleased smile.
“Good girl, sweet. Now close your eyes and imagine the greatest pleasure of your life.”
She blinked. Her body tensed, her hands pulling hard against the bonds.
Dorian twisted, bending low and kissing her thigh. He leaned, his elbow pushing one leg away and wide. His other hand settled high on the inside of her thigh.
His lips, when they settled over her mons, caressed and soothed. She waited for the hard, quick fingers to assault her. She prepared to moan.
Her preparations were in vain. Dorian licked a path downward. His fingers spread the aching folds between her legs. Now. It would happen now.
She lurched at the touch of his tongue, her bonds pulling tight. Her eyes flew wide as she tried to see past Dorian’s wide shoulders and between her legs. “Don’t.”
As another slow caress of his tongue passed from her little tender button to the secret place men enjoyed, she clamped her legs together, gripping his shoulders. Unbearable pleasure shot upward. Her open-mouthed gasp echoed in the room.
“Stop, Dorian, please. You can’t.” She tossed her head, her arms pulled, straining against the pleasure.
He used his strong arms and elbows to push her open wider. She tugged hard against her cords, struggling against his overwhelming strength and dominance. She peered at him through slitted eyes—he was all man—wide, strong and determined to have his way.
When his fingers touched her, she cried out. One, then two fingers slid inside her. With slow, sensual thrusts, he moved in and out of her body. She fell back on the covers, her legs falling open in languor. “Don’t,” she whispered, “Don’t stop, Dorian.”
Yes. Her mind screamed, her body reacted, convulsing as her muscles contracted everywhere. Her arms, her legs, her stomach.
Dorian’s lips and tongue played with the now sensitive, alive and aching nub. She felt her body clench and loosen in ways that made her weak and needy.
Back and forth she shook her head, trying to deny the pleasure, trying to stop her reactions. Low in her back, she experienced a searching pressure. It looked for her and she wanted only to escape.
“Kiss me, Dorian. Please.” She had to get him away.
“I am,” he chuckled. Even the hum of his words against her skin excited her.
For a moment, he stopped. She sucked in a lungful of air, willing her body to obey.
He removed his fingers and bent lower. She felt the tip of this tongue search the little cavity where she wanted him to be. But not like this.
His fingers pinched the tight skin and pulled in little pulsing tugs. Tugs that seemed to coincide with the waves of sensation sweeping her body.
Death was coming.
Instinctively, blessedly. Death was coming. And she would welcome it in the open arms of Dorian Montgomery.
With that knowledge, she gave in to his promise, “the greatest pleasure of your life”.
She let it happen. She let Dorian strip away her pride. Clamping her eyes shut, she existed only where Dorian touched her. She took in a deep breath, her body arching as she ceased and pleasure lived. She let the skies open to sunshine—radiant, fierce, hot rays beating into her body. Soaring, soaring, soaring. Then free falling until sharp, racking peaks of pleasure shot through her body.
Her eyes flickered. For a moment, she returned to sanity. Then she gasped and her world went dark.
Dorian gazed on the peaceful face of Isabelle St. Hillaire. Who would have imagined the Westminster Whore fainting?
He knew how to rouse her again.
He changed positions, something more comfortable for him, something just as pleasing for her. Untying one of her wrists, he moved her closer to the edge of the bed. He knelt on the floor and slipped between her legs, letting the long silky limbs fall open, supported by the strength of his arms.
Perhaps her reaction was so strong because it had been nearly a year since she’d been with a man. It seemed the only explanation and a weak one at that. Who knew what she did while in Italy.
He viewed the pretty pink skin and the pearly signs of her excitement between her long legs.
Calling her name, he urged her to wakefulness. “Isabelle, sweet, it’s time for seconds.”
She moaned. Her hand went to her head, swiping at a light sheen of perspiration.
When she realized one hand was free, she tried to sit up.
Before she had a chance to say anything or deny him, he mouthed her private bits. She whimpered and fell back onto the bed against the pillows, spreading her legs farther to accommodate him.
Isabelle accepted everything without a hint of defiance. As she peaked a second time, she moaned loudly. She stared down at him and on the wicked thing he did to her. She speared her fingers through his hair and held him there, urging him, instructing him, helping him make her pleasure more complete.
As if he were going anywhere.
The third time he had freed both of her hands. Her arms lay boneless at her sides.
He reached for the bedstand where he’d placed the special toys he’d brought just for her and the scented oil that would make his play so much easier for her. He left the bottle on the bed, within arm’s reach.
The dildo was magnificent, even by his practiced standards. He’d had it specially made, an enhanced version of himself, on the hopeful chance he would be her chosen lover. “Isabelle, would you like this?” He sat up, leaned over her and traced the smooth, wooden toy down her body, between her breasts until it rested at the junction of her thighs.
The enticing display of her partially spread legs showed the creamy fluid he’d coaxed from her body. Her sex was swollen from the pleasure. “Isabelle? Answer me.”
She shook her head in denial, but her gaze remained dazedly fixed on the smooth contours of the phallus. Her mouth open, she licked at her lips.
“Ask me for it.”
“I can’t.”
“Ask me or you’ll be tied to the bedpost until I’ve wrung every drop of this pearly fluid from your body.” He ran his fingers through those juices and then caressed her nipple.
“Just do it,” she gasped, the air rushing from her lungs as her desire overcame her.
Dorian brushed the hard phallic head against her luscious cunt and settled it near her entrance, pushing a small length of the tip inside. “Mmm, you want this badly, don’t you, sweet?”
Her body lurched, hungry and demanding. He pulled the dildo away and her eyes flamed in anger.
“Not yet. I need you to do something for me,” he said.
She squinted at him, giving him a hard glance that said she wasn’t pleased.
“On the edge of the bed. Grab the bedpost,” he said. “Don’t let go until I allow it.”
Isabelle resisted his demand for a moment then obeyed. Glancing over her shoulder, her hungry gaze followed his every move. He knelt behind her, his chest to her back, one of his legs between hers to urge her supple limbs in the direction he wanted. “Relax. You’re going to like this.”
He reached around and soothed the dildo down her body. She arched her back, her buttocks and legs flexing as she spread herself in anticipation. He slid his hand to the juncture of her thighs and held the soft, velvety skin open. Massaging the wooden toy across her lips and flaming bud, he waited until he heard the short, breathy gasps and felt the gentle thrust of her hips as she propelled herself against his straining erection and toward the secret wanting. Once he bathed the toy in her fluids, he slipped the thick pleasure rod into her body.
Everything he did to her drove him higher. His excitement banded around his groin, his muscles contracting early. Too early. His release, when it came, would be blinding.
Isabelle rocked back, rubbing his cock between her ass cheeks while Dorian thrust the phallus in and out of her. She keened, falling forward, gripping the post tighter. Her moan, low and throaty, filled the chamber. She glanced back at him, her eyes slitted and her mouth opened, wanting his kiss. He took her quickly, open-mouthed and deep while he moved his knee, pushing her leg wider, opening her farther. His cock fell naturally into the cleft of her fine, round bottom.
“Shh. There’s more.” He thrust the invading member a few times, gentle strokes designed to please and entice. Each full, slow plunge brought a moan from Isabelle.
Dorian intended to possess every inch of her. Repositioning slightly, he sheltered her smaller, more fragile frame, using the torment of the dildo, pressing inside her body, into her deep, desirable cunt. Her hips thrust rhythmically underneath him as she tried to soothe her body against the thick ridges of the crafted cock. She liked it. Her pleasant moans and hums satisfied Dorian’s need to master her.
He grabbed one of her hands and brought it to the dildo. “Hold this. Deep. And don’t move.”
With one hand, he caressed and then opened her tight-cheeked bottom, displaying the pink, puckered flesh. He grabbed the bottle of oil with his free hand, popped the cork and drizzled a generous portion over his cock. He swore as he tried to get the stopper back in the bottle with only one hand.
She was moaning with want, barely noticing that he was engaged in stroking his cock with the silken oil.
“Isabelle, I need you to be still for a moment.” He pushed his long, straining cock forward, touching her, nearly breaking through the dam of his carefully erected reserve.
Her body froze in rigid anticipation. Isabelle gasped, “Dorian!”
Poised at her other entrance, he allowed the fleshy cheeks to encase the length of his cock. She reacted with a long, needy wail. He placed a light kiss at her neck.
“You will die from pleasure, Isabelle. I won’t hurt you,” he assured.
“Dorian…I…” Her body pulsed and shook beneath him.
With one hand, he spread her ass cheeks. He nudged inward, his hard cock probing through the soft cleft and tight sphincter of her fleshy ass.
“Relax, sweet. I’m coming.”
She was tight and tense. He retreated before he pushed forward again, advancing his cause and nearly losing his sight as the tight rim pulsed over the tip of his cock.
Dorian did what he did best. He went slow, ensuring they’d both get incredible pleasure. He’d waited ages for a woman who could take him and take his desires without a single objection. The hard head pushed through the tight, tight hole. He reached around her again and encouraged her to rock the dildo in her cunt at the same time. She understood his direction.
He filled her. Slowly. He gritted his teeth. His head fell back as he tried to steady his breathing. Crushing pleasure shot through his cock.
He wanted to know what she felt.
Isabelle fell forward, weak and barely holding on to the bedpost with one hand. He heard a muffled scream as she attempted to control her violent reaction, her hips jerked backward and he sank farther, causing yet another scream. He spread his legs, settling himself for the final penetration. His cock disappeared inside, only the root visible between the valley of her ass.
He reached around her again, confirming the dildo was deeply encased in her cunt. He slipped his fingers over her labia closing her up, every inch of the dildo crammed inside her.
With a last urgent thrust, he seated himself fully.
“Tell me how it feels? I need to know.”
“Dorian.” Her voice rasped, choked with pleasure. “I can’t take it. Don’t move. I can’t…I can’t…”
She squirmed, only making things harder for Dorian. He bit lightly into her shoulder before relieving some of the pressure inside her body. She sighed and he plunged both cocks back in. Her eyes flew open and she gasped, her head lolling backward against his shoulder, her hair tickling over his body.
From inside her anal cavity, he felt the first contractions. Isabelle went weak, screaming as her orgasm washed over her in repeated, deep, muscle-clenching torture.
Dorian pumped into her from behind, still holding the dildo firmly inside her sheath. The tightness had given way to sweet, deep relief as his aching cock and hard, tingling balls got more pleasure than he’d ever known with a woman.
She was worth every pence.
His thrusting grew more frenzied. He tried to slow, to control his desire but waves of pleasure were pulling him under.
Isabelle’s hand pushed his away as she gripped the dildo. “Yes, Dorian. Take what you need,” she whispered. “Look there, Dorian. In the mirror. Do you like what you see? Does this bring you pleasure?”
The words sank into his brain and he glanced to his left. In stark, bold outline, he saw her witch’s eyes glaze with satisfaction. She moved the dildo in her cunt in time with his thrusts.
Inside her ass, his cock buried deep, her tight muscles contracted, squeezing with merciless pressure. His testicles lifted as the blazing pleasure spread though his groin. He couldn’t take his eyes from the sight. He pumped faster. His gaze lowered to the sight of his reddened cock thrusting in and out of her.
His release came in hard, brutal spasms. He buried himself one last time, growling his satisfaction with a long moan before he went weak, collapsing into the bed covers as he brought Isabelle down with him.
As he came around, he remembered her self-satisfied gaze as she clutched the dildo and assisted with her own orgasm.
He rolled with her, covering her with his body. He fell on her, spreading her legs wide. The dildo had slipped from her body. He pushed it back inside her delectable cunt and then he devoured her swollen, red clit. He knew how to use his tongue to master a rebellious, insatiable mistress.
She’d forget every man she’d ever been with, along with her own name.
The fourth time, he tortured her with his tongue for long stop-and-go minutes before letting her go. She uttered such foul, enticing language he nearly took her with savage domination. She was near begging—begging him to stop, begging him to never stop. She wasn’t going to control his sexual experience. He’d bring her to heel.
The fifth time, her body lay in relaxed stupor as his mouth worked magic. She cried like a newborn babe, all the while chanting his name. He heard the sweet surrender of her words, “don’t ever leave me”, “Dorian, I’ve never had such pleasure”. All music to his ears.
He nestled behind her and let her weep into her pillow. She uttered his name with such sweet yearning he could almost believe she’d never experienced the like before. The cadence of her breathing told him she dozed.
He crawled from the bed, replete for now. He washed at the basin.
There wouldn’t be a sixth time. He’d wanted the whore and her whore ways gone. When she woke up, Dorian Montgomery would be loving a desirable woman, not a practiced whore. Granted, his woman for only twenty-nine and a half days. Unless he could figure out another arrangement that didn’t cost another eleven thousand pounds.
He could get used to this—this complete satisfaction.
Dorian would coax her in ways that pleased him. He wanted her to hold nothing back, accept everything he could imagine two people could do in bed—and out—and he wanted none of her fake pretenses or whore’s tricks. He did want her experience, which he didn’t believe was contradictory.
He’d hardened again thinking about her. This time his control would find satisfaction in sweet, deep release. This time they would start building the trust necessary for a complete and full physical relationship—willing to give all, hold nothing back over the length of their contract. Oh, and he wanted it all.
Climbing back into bed, he enjoyed Isabelle’s warmth. He rolled to his side, easing her to her back.
The tattoo stared at him. He traced the pattern with his fingers. Twisting, he set his tongue around her bellybutton and lapped at the drawing again. Why had she done it?
“I did it for you,” she said, her voice raspy from sleepiness and swearing.
“It’s beautiful. Why?” he asked before he returned to the delicious skin.
“So that Dorian Montgomery would remember the Westminster Whore.”
“I don’t think it’s possible he will ever forget. But this,” he stroked her bare spot, “this makes me insane,” he said. He kissed her stomach again, her special scent all over her lower body and on him. His body, covered with dark hair from his chest to his cock, except for the tapering line at his lower belly. Her body…nothing like his. Thank God.
With a swift move, he positioned himself over her. Her legs fell open with the knowing that came from having several lovers. Sliding inside her made him believe he’d returned home after a long, arduous trip. She felt that good. He let out a satisfied groan when he touched the back of her taut, wet flesh.
They hadn’t kissed much, until now. Pressing deep inside her, he opened his mouth over hers, their tongues touching in tentative movements, almost more intimate than what he’d done to her between her legs—her mouth the sweetest of heart-shaped candies and the taste of her like strawberries and cream on a summer morning.
Her arms twined about his neck. Her legs caressing—one around his waist, the other rubbing up and down the back of his leg.
Her body absorbed him, the sweet, plump skin taking his fullness with a tenderness and ease he’d not imagined, but should have expected. Stroking, he moved slowly. This was for their enjoyment and he’d make it last as long as possible. No taking, only giving.
Isabelle pulled away and smiled up at him. The damned whore’s smile, he thought with some chagrin.
He pushed deep and tried to get her attention on their shared pleasure, not on her duty to him as his mistress.
Her grin turned wide, her teeth sparkling white.
Isabelle clamped down hard, every muscle inside her body gripping his engorged, sensitive flesh. Her hands fitted around his buttocks, holding him close.
Dorian gasped. “Oh shit.”
Kabazzah in the Arabic. Isabelle St. Hillaire had mastered the technique of a holder.
“Oh shit is right, my fine fellow. You wondered about the Westminster Whore. Wonder no longer.” She loosened her grip and Dorian was about to take a gulp of refreshing air. She clamped down again. Even tighter, if that were possible.
“Isabelle,” he said between clenched teeth. “You have to stop. I can’t…”
She cupped his face, a serious look on her face, and asked, “Can’t what, sweet?”
“If you don’t stop, I won’t be able to finish.”
She pulsed, gripping long and hard. Dorian gasped, his arms nearly giving way. He gritted his teeth in painful ecstasy.
“Oh, you’ll finish. When I want you to finish.” Isabelle released and clamped, over and over again until he was mindless. He had heard of women with such expert control they could cause a man’s ejaculation without moving. He’d heard, he’d never believed.
His balls tingled, ready to explode. Isabelle set three fingers and her thumb at the base of his cock and squeezed. A whole different feeling erupted. Or didn’t erupt, as she’d effectively stopped his ejaculation.
“You bitch. Don’t do that again,” he gritted out.
Isabelle laughed. “Tell me what you want, Dorian.” She threw his words back in his face. He didn’t find them so humorous now. “Tell me what you want.”
He groaned. The words tumbled out. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”
Isabelle’s expression froze, her eerie gaze tempered by the shock of his words, for the first time appearing hazel, as though she agreed with him. She wanted him. She’d always wanted him too.
A pleasurable relief coursed through him when she relaxed her inner muscles.
He surged into her. Over and over again. She had mercy, timing those grips in a way that drove him high and hard. If he performed for five minutes, he’d be surprised.
Isabelle whimpered. His mouth fitted over hers. She breathed life into him. He stroked and fitted his finger over her clitoris. She came with a loud cry. Dorian came with her, exploding long and hard and hot, feeling as if it would never end. As if it should never end.
* * * * *
Isabelle lay still beside him as he slept. A peaceful languor invaded her body. The hours had flown by and the first light of dawn brushed the skyline and suffused the room with a dim blush. From experience, she knew that pleasure and happiness were fleeting, but that misery had a way of lasting.
Her time with Dorian would be gone in a blink. She must embrace every moment of physical sensation he offered. Her body might tire in time, but she was determined to push herself as far as she could.
He’d roused her about every two hours during the night. His cock had been indefatigable. None of her others lovers were as virile or as beautiful.
Isabelle pushed up from the bed, walked to the washbasin and sponged away the remnants of their night’s activity. She returned to the bed and straddled Dorian’s thighs. He groaned in his sleep. When she applied the cool, damp sponge to his cock, she felt the quick tension in his body as he started to wake. She washed his sleeping cock and dropped the sponge to the side of the bed.
She bent low over him and sucked his relaxed cock and balls into her mouth. She used only her tongue to lick and caress the underside of the sac. His erection sprang to life and she turned her attention to laving the thick root surging upward, already hard.
A subtle change occurred in his body and she knew that he was awake, enjoying the full pleasure of her ministrations. She employed her hands to fondle his large cods and stroke at the base of his cock. With her lips, she encircled the ridged cap. Each pleasure point brought tense excitement to Dorian’s body. His legs clenched. One hand gripped the bedsheets at his side, the other slid to her kneecap, his fingers digging into her flesh.
“Isabelle,” he warned through gritted teeth.
His prowess was masterful until she caught him unawares. She had him ready to spill but she wanted to see him bow to the pleasure in her hands. Her whore’s tricks were effective, if not unusual.
She reached to her bedside stand. Inside the drawer was the linen strip she sought. She placed the band at the root of his cock and started to wind it around the base. Dorian sucked in his breath as the band grew tighter.
The visible half of his cock was large and purplish, full and tight—near ready to burst.
“It’s best if I tie your hands. You’ll be tempted to remove it before you get your full pleasure.”
“I can manage,” he said, his voice lower and threatening. His gaze darted from her mouth to her breasts to the sight of his penis wrapped tight and standing tall.
As she lowered her mouth to the engorged tip, he dug one of his heels into the bed and arched upward.
“Are you sure?”
“I can take whatever you give me.” His hands searched over his head until he had a secure purchase on the headboard.
She lifted one limb and then the other, settling between his legs and forcing his thighs wider. She set her lips to his groin and licked every inch of exposed skin. With her finger, she stroked the soft patch of skin between his legs, under his sac, setting Dorian to squirming. His hips bucked as if he were attempting to mount her.
His eyes, she noticed, were clenched tight instead of watching her with his usual intense regard.
Based on what his mistress had told her those many, many months ago, Dorian was willing to try anything once and usually a second time to make sure he got it right.
She set the flat of her palm against the very tip of his cock and rubbed in a small circle while she reached for the toys Dorian had thoughtfully provided for their pleasure. Her body had responded to many things, even her own hand, but her desire to know pleasure with a man had exceeded all other dreams. So far, she had not been disappointed by Dorian’s assertive demands and his surprising ability to know what she wanted.
In twelve hours, she had known that Dorian had all that she craved for her physical fulfillment.
“The metal container,” Dorian said, his eyes now open. The tight expression on his face revealed a man very deeply affected by the pleasure she was inflicting.
She gripped it and set it to the bed so she could flip the metal clasp. Inside was a longer, more slender version of the dildo he had used on her last night.
A container of rose oil was also in with the other pleasure toys. Dorian watched. She did not rub the oil directly on the dildo. As she poured the oil on her chest, Dorian’s nostrils flared. The oil ran down her stomach, but she quickly rolled the dildo upward, catching the oil, coating the faux penis with lubricant.
She rubbed the slender phallus against her breasts, touching the tip to her nipples.
Dorian’s hands cupped her and pushed the full spheres together, making a tight valley that she could penetrate with slow thrusts, enticing him closer to an orgasm. She’d learned that for men, seeing could be as powerful as feeling.
The head of his cock was angry and red, swollen with moisture beading at the slit.
His eyes glazed. Isabelle wasn’t even certain that he saw her, only the blinding pleasure that was building, consuming his body.
She was going to make it worse.
He reached for the binding around his cock. His chest heaved as he tried to regain control.
“You said you wouldn’t,” she reminded him.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth. She repositioned herself to one side and commanded, “Roll to your side.” He did with a mindless obedience that Dorian would never have agreed to in a state of normal control. When he did, she nudged one of his legs forward, straddled his straight leg and lowered her warm, wet cunt over his knee. One of his hands reached for her breasts and she allowed the fondling.
She leaned forward, her stomach braced against his outer thigh, her breasts settling against his hip. He watched her, his lids lowered in sensual abandon.
He must have some inkling of what she was preparing.
She slid her free hand over his thigh and lightly caressed his throbbing cock with her fingers.
With her other hand, the one still holding the lubricated phallus, she stroked back and forth over the crevasse of his ass, causing his buttocks to clench. But he didn’t say no.
She probed at the tight sphincter. After the initial resistance, she pushed through the pulsing ring and went no farther. He moaned, his jaw tight. One hand gripped her shoulder, his fingers digging in. He’d leave marks from his pleasure.
Slowly, she unwound the tight binding around his cock. At the same time, the dildo penetrated deeper.
Dorian was breathing through his mouth, alternating between deep, gasping lungfuls of air and steady exhalations.
When he ejaculated into the sheets due to his lack of control, he’d begin to understand the masterful control she had over a man’s body.
The binding came loose. Isabelle pushed at his hip, forcing him to his stomach and then she plunged the dildo in several short thrusts that caused Dorian no small amount of pleasure. He groaned loudly, his hips bucked, grinding into the bedsheets as she had predicted. Copious amounts of semen shot from his cock as his body jerked. Uncontrolled, without finesse and delirious with pleasure.
He lay gasping, his arms wrapped around her pillows.
Isabelle removed the phallus. She crawled over him, conforming her bare body to the contours of his. Her breasts were flattened against his back. She slipped one hand under his arm and her palm touched his chest right where his heart beat. She settled her face against his neck, inhaling the scent of perfection.
“You are going to pay for that,” he said as he slipped off to sleep again.
“My punishment will be well earned.”