A Demon's Desire

"Will you hurt me?"

Silence met her words and Natasha's ears strained on the sounds of her own heavy breathing.

At last the deep voice rasped: "Nay. I only wish to give you pleasure."

The reply was dismissive, not short of breath and lusty – not predictable. Natasha's eyes fluttered closed, her hands fisting on her lower stomach and she waited thus until her buttocks began to numb slightly, until she was half-convinced that the man had quietly left the room - but the roughened hands that cupped her thighs some moments later dashed that particular hope and she flinched in surprise.

"Madame – Madame said that you only wished me to play, she-"

"I am going to taste you," the man's voice cut into her pleading words with slight ferociousness. "Only taste you. I keep my word. Keep your eyes closed, girl."

She would not open them for the world, she internally vowed. But soon enough, she felt herself relaxing somewhat at his admission, for oddly enough, she believed the man, believed that he would not cause her pain or harm.

She knew what he was about to do. The girls who had been assigned to instruct her of her upcoming duties had been most expansive in their explanations. The fact that a man may want to lick a woman in her most intimate parts bemused Natasha. She herself had tasted herself once, quickly, when she was alone and learning herself for the first time and she hadn't thought much of the taste, wondering why a man would bother with such a burdensome task but her musings crashed to an abrupt halt as a hot tongue followed by a sweet suction over the entire length of her cunny, gave her a jolt of pleasure she was unprepared for.

Gasping in jerking response, she squeezed her lids tighter. The pressure on her mound was light and the mouth over her did not move at first, simply stayed settled upon her, making her innards quiver in anticipation. And then came the licking. Strong, bold strokes – greedy, Natasha decided dimly as it persisted – the sounds filling the air lusty and carnal, the sound of wet tongue on wet flesh, of grunting male muffled between feminine thighs.

The lashing tongue suddenly hardened and probed at her throbbing opening and the moisture that gathered and pooled there in reaction to the immoral act made Natasha hot with mortification. She was drenched. Unable to prevent her moan of confusion – of ecstasy – Natasha turned her head away, her neck aching as it fell back against the hard head of the chair but she barely noticed the pain.

And then she did something foolish, wrong – mortifying. She could not have prevented it, not when that attacking tongue brought her so much pleasure that her every though all but scattered. She clasped him – she gripped bare, broad, taut shoulders for leverage, her fingernails digging hard into the skin before her hands moved of their own accord, journeyed to a taut, veined neck until they settled on their target.

Curling her fingers through handfuls of crisp hair, around a warm skull, Natasha's thighs closed tighter around the head between thighs. Crying out in wonder, thrusting her hips against the attacking mouth again and again, on a scream, she came.