“From all your debauch.”
But she was smiling as she spoke, so he felt it permissible to say, “Yes.”
“I’m not inclined to take issue when your expertise affords me such pleasure,” she cheerfully noted.
“Very sensible.”
“I think so. There.” Sitting back on her heels, she surveyed him spread-eagle and secured to the bed. “Now what should I do?”
A number of answers leaped to mind. “Be selfish of course. I’m at your command.” Although his suggestion was not without motive, having her impaled on his cock high on his list of priorities.
“Maybe I’ll make you wait.”
“Suit yourself.” This from a woman who couldn’t wait.
She wrinkled her nose. “Such composure. Do you ever get agitated?”
He smiled. “I seem to quite often with you.”
Mollified by his boyish smile as well as his answer, she softly sighed. “I don’t know why I’m so petulant with you. I dislike petulance. It’s so… so…”
“Willful,” he finished. “I like that about you.”
“In contrast to all the fawning women in your life.”
He stopped smiling. “I’m tied to your bed-a first for me, darling. Don’t quibble about other women.”
She grinned. “Is this really a first?”
“In countless ways, my darling wife,” he drily said.
Her smile was one of untempered delight. “So you’re being particularly agreeable.”
“I’m trying.”
An irrepressible constraint underlay his soft reply, prompting a little shiver to race up her spine. After quickly surveying his bonds, reassured, she whispered, “I promise to be gentle.”
“I’m not sure that’s a requirement.”
“And you would know, of course.”
Definitely petulant. His lashes shaded his eyes. “I only meant to give you license.”
“I believe I have all the license I need with you trussed up hand and foot,” she snidely countered.
Already going above and beyond in terms of congeniality, he tamped down his temper with effort. “This isn’t armed combat, darling. Or at least it shouldn’t be.”
“You’re right,” she replied, telling herself to be sensible; jealousy was a useless emotion with Oz. “Sex is sex is sex better suits the occasion.”
“The golden rule of dalliance,” Oz said with brevity. “And my cock would prefer less talk and more action if you don’t mind.”
One glance at his enormous erection caused a predictable flare of desire; really, she was shamelessly captivated by his beautiful penis. As was every quivering sexual receptor in her body.
“Please,” he said, whether candidly or designedly he wasn’t sure.
Her gaze came up and met his. “In a minute,” she answered, in her case designedly, and slipped off the bed.
He recognized his phrase, understood her possible motive, considered breaking free, taking his pleasure of her and putting an end to this bit of foolishness. But since he intended to prolong his visit for an undetermined length of time, a certain civility was required. “Take your time,” he said with just enough impertinence to salve his pride.
She swung around, the dish of blancmange in her hand. “You’re not in the least tractable, are you?”
He shook his head slightly. “Resigned, I believe, is the word.”
“I must see that you’re better reconciled to your condition.”
“You talk too much,” he grumbled. Conversation was not a salient feature of his sexual encounters.
“Let me remedy that,” she blandly offered, climbing back onto the bed. “As you said to me that first night, Observe.” Setting down the dessert dish, she pulled his rigid erection away from his stomach until it was perpendicular to his body, and holding it with one hand, dipped the fingers of her other hand into the blancmange.
Controlling his breathing, his senses, the impulse to break his bonds, Oz watched from under his lashes as his wife slowly smeared the length and breadth of his upthrust cock with pudding.
The coolness should have shrunk his penis, but under his wife’s ministrations, with her lush breasts close enough to touch under normal circumstances, and anticipation of the finale to her bedaubing inflaming his lust, the possibility of contraction wasn’t an issue.
“If you keep getting bigger, I’m going to run out of pudding.”
Oz gazed reflectively at his wife. “You could do something about that.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she cooed.
“You know what I mean. Even under the best of circumstances I couldn’t taste that pudding.”
She resented his ability to keep his voice so normal. “I might just be amusing myself.”
“And I might be the king of Siam.”
“Rather than the prime stud of London.”
“Who is tethered to your bed for your pleasure,” Oz softly reminded her.
Licking her fingers, she set aside the dish, reason restored with his comment. But beneath the reason a small unjustifiable jealousy remained. “And yours as well,” she said with a touch of acerbity.
At her tone he unconsciously braced himself only to meet her dazzling smile.
“Worried?”
“A little.”
“Good.” Her grip tightened at the base of his erection, and she bent her head.
He flexed arms heavy with muscle, testing the strength of the silk cords.
Glancing up, her mouth inches from the slick head of his cock, she murmured, “You’re not going anywhere.”
“That depends on what you’re planning to do.”
“On the contrary, it depends on the solid wood of this bed and that heavy braided silk cord. You’re at my mercy. Ah… you find that arousing-look at him swell. I think he wants me to kiss him.”
He shut his eyes as her mouth closed over the swollen crest of his penis, the enigma of wanting and not wanting mystifyingly unclear when the warmth of her mouth, her tongue, the light friction of her teeth on the thin-skinned, highly impressionable nerves of his cock was obliterating rational thought.
“There now,” she murmured, the hum of her words on the head of his erection a provocative buzzing jolt to his senses. “He likes that.”
At the moment, he was willing to acknowledge a fondness several degrees more enthusiastic than liking, but in the grip of gut-wrenching sensation he was incapable of speech. Particularly with his wife beginning to suck on him with increasing pressure.
Less experienced, Isolde had no way of knowing that the fierce vibrations throbbing through her vagina had more to do with the object of her attentions than the actual act of bondage. What she did know, however, was that she had no intention of wasting the gloriously large penis in her mouth when she could apply it to better purpose.
Swiftly sweeping her tongue up the rigid length, then down, once, twice, three times, she licked off all the sweet blancmange before moving to position herself astride Oz’s thighs. “This is mine by right of marriage,” she said, brushing her fingertips up the distended length of his erection. “To do with what I will,” she playfully added.
The residue of pudding glistening on her lips was starkly erotic, the lingering sensation of her mouth on his cock fueling his impatience. “I’d help you if I could,” he murmured, his penis twitching in expectation.
“I like that you can’t.” Rising to her knees, she reached for his massive cock.
Maybe he did, too, if his fierce lust was any indication. But thought gave way to feeling as she slowly slid down his turgid length with exquisite deliberateness. And when she finally came to rest fully impaled on his cock and softly sighed, rapture took on an incorruptible purity for them both.
It shouldn’t matter who was riding his cock, he thought. Yet it did. He gave her high marks for allure.
How was it that Oz’s erection felt more wildly arousing than anyone else’s, she mused?