His Little Courtesan

by Breanna Hayse

  "Philip? I must go and see to preparations for the morning meal," Usha interrupted, her tone tinged with amusement. "Should you require me, please ring for a servant."

  "We will be down shortly," he responded, smacking the jiggling bottom in rapid succession and earning a yelp. "I will take care of our little girl's needs."

  "I have no doubt that you will," Usha said with a giggle, quickly departing.

  Jane groaned as her wetness seeped through her clothing. The spanking continued, inflaming her passion with every stroke. Despite the pain and bruising from her discipline the day before, her body responded with eager desire to the clapping palm against bare flesh. His stiffness poked uncomfortably against her belly as well, and she waited to see how he would seek to relieve his own discomfort.

  "On your knees," he ordered gruffly. "I cannot view a bottom so red and not want to do something with it."

  Jane scrambled to the mattress, raising her backside into the air and swaying eagerly for his attention. She held her breath as his bulbous tip eased its way into her damp cavern and then sank inside to fill her hungry void. He whispered a word into her ear, and Jane responded by slowly stretching her right leg out and bending her left leg to the side. She supported her weight on her elbow as he rested his long torso against her back, sliding his thick member in a loving caress within her.

  Philip swelled inside her, stiffening and increasing his rhythm as he came close to spending. His large hand pushed her left leg higher towards her chest, opening her more for his penetration. He lunged three more times and flipped Jane onto her back.

  There was a dark passion in his eyes that she had not witnessed before. He placed her bent left leg to press again her chest and pumped with animalistic demand, before filling her with his seed. Her clit was swollen with desire, her womb hungry for relief, yet none was given. He slowly withdrew his softening organ, kissed her quickly on the mouth and pulled away from the bed to adjust his trousers.

  "Philip?"

  "Clean yourself up while I have Usha come back to dress you for the day. I will see you for breakfast in thirty minutes."

  "But…"

  "Do not touch yourself, Jane." His voice held a menacing warning. "That hairbrush will sit on the bureau as a reminder to obey me."

  He was gone. Her womanhood throbbed and ached with want, overpowering even the remnant of tenderness of her bottom. She buried her face in a pillow and screamed. Denying her needs was far worse than any spanking he administered—and he knew it.

  ***

  By the third day of experiencing sensual spankings and being twisted into positions which allowed her the greatest stimulation without being able to achieve release, Jane was beside herself.

  Whenever he did not have his nose buried in ledgers, Philip had it buried in her hair, her neck, or between her legs. He teased, taunted and tantalized her with kisses and nibbles, bringing her to the brink of sensuality and then stopping a hair's breadth before she exploded. Even as she attempted to complete her 'chores', his physical presence distracted her. As promised, she was never left unsupervised and, hence, was unable to bring her needy body to completion.

  "Jane? Were you not told to prepare for dinner?" Usha asked, a bowl of fruit down next to the bed.

  The girl sat up, her hair in disarray after she had pounded herself with a pillow. "He is killing me, Usha! I feel so… so used! I cannot abide being in the proximity of that man any longer," she bemoaned. "This torture he brings to my flesh is beyond contempt. It is far worse than any spanking that he could administer."

  "Most women enjoy it when their husbands make them hunger for them."

  "He is causing me distress. It is cruel what he does to me. If I were doing such a thing to him…"

  "Are you not?"

  "Am I not what, Usha?"

  "Are you not doing the same to him?"

  Jane stared at her blankly. "I do not impose myself upon him and make him long for me, and then refuse."

  "You do not? My eyes tell me differently." Usha held up a hand to silence her. "Philip loves you with every fiber of his soul. His longing for you grows as you stay close to him, as does his need to possess and protect you. It is a longing borne of the heart, not his manhood. When you disobey or defy the rules he made for your safety, it shreds his heart and leaves him in great pain. A pain that could not be relieved if he lost you forever."

  Usha took a deep breath and cut open an orange, allowing her words to sink in. "Eat this and tell me what you see and taste."

  "It's an orange, Usha. Please, no riddles."

  "The sweetness you enjoy comes with a price. The outer covering, which is bitter and inedible, must be broken through. However, even that needs to be performed with care. Watch me," the woman said, picking another piece of fruit from the basket. She carved intricate lines through the skin. "With a sharp knife, I made this a beautiful object to display. It even gives off a nice scent. But you cannot eat it. It serves no purpose except being beautiful and pleasing the senses."

  She then sliced through the flesh and peeled away the bitter rind. "By cutting past the surface, I can make the flesh vulnerable and ready to be enjoyed. The cutting of a knife can be painful, but productive. Without a knife…" she smashed her fist down and splattered the fruit on the table, "the fruit cannot be fully enjoyed."

  Jane blinked, confused. "What is your point?"

  "The process by which Philip has chosen to obtain the sweetness you have within you might not be pleasant, but it has purpose. Embrace the purpose instead of fighting against it, and you will find peace."

  ***

  Jane had been confined to the cottage for nearly ten days, directed by Usha and Philip to perform her chores, practice her lessons, and obey every order given without argument or discourse. The staff had taken it upon themselves to actively seek opportunities to spend time with her as well. Philip had hidden his amusement as his household found multiple excuses to personally care for the master's 'little girl', including the bringing of sweets as a reward for lessons learned and chores completed. Her punishment had turned into a time of joy as Jane grew closer to her many caregivers and discovered true contentment—even in the confinement of her home, and the lack of sensual fulfillment following Philip's daily engagements with her body. She learned the meaning of embracing the purpose of her discipline, and found herself looking forward to the ensuing days with excitement.

  Even when Philip left her to attend to business at the docks, she no longer felt slighted, and happily engaged in her role as bookkeeper, with her new doll sitting by her side, urging her on. She also maintained obedience to his orders not to pleasure herself, and eased her burden with the help of the ever-present Kama Sutra and meditation exercises. She was stunned to discover the pride she felt every time she completed another day of denying herself as she gifted Philip with her obedience.

  Upon his return, he rewarded her with the rare and unexpected treat of being permitted to sit alone, unsupervised, upon the dock at the river's edge, as well as encouraged to roam the paths of the garden. He was specific, however, that she was to find places of peace so that she could practice the different positions and breathing of meditation that Usha had diligently taught her. He implored her to begin her practice by using the gentle ripples of the current as an example of the ease with which her body was to flow.

  No longer feeling foolish as she attempted to balance and position herself, the little courtesan in training closed her eyes and concentrated on allowing her body to respond to her environment. She inhaled deeply, stretching her limbs while listening with care to the mesmerizing chants of a festival being held in a village up the river.

  There was no denying the power of the ancient chant and its effect on her body. Like Philip's lips, it grazed her senses and grew into a palpable pressure in her core before moving in a snakelike dance down her spine. Ignoring the fear of judgment should her actions be witnessed, Jane responded to the haunting music as though it were a lover. Her spiri
t undulated along with her flesh, growing into an undeniable and potent desire for something greater than pleasure. She took the unrelenting pulse of the music within her as though it were a rigid cock pressing her soft interior with the sweet massage of love. Her fingers rested against the outsides of her thighs and she kept them in place, struggling against the overwhelming desire to ease the tingling appeals of her overwrought womanhood.

  A tiny groan of desire rumbled her in throat as the chant, the bells, the mass of raw emotion in the voices of the singers, and the gentle lapping of the river water combined into a symphony of lust. Her body responded with a feverish arousal, feeling like an ethereal sitar being gently plucked by the talented fingers of a Hindi goddess. Giving into the hypnotic sounds around her, she released herself to the sensation and allowed her imagination to float, picturing Philip brushing his talented lips over the stiffening peaks of her breasts… before he boldly ravaged her aching pussy from behind.

  Inhaling deeply through her nose, Jane stretched into another position that opened her thighs and bottom to full access in any manner that Philip could choose. The deep longing to straddle his mouth and relieve her need made her body throb from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Could she find satisfaction without the help of flesh and blood—even her own? Could she calm her raging need and still the sensual trembling that both her desire and the music brought to her?

  Jane rose and walked silently into the garden area, the silk pyjamas she wore fluttering against her sensitive skin and lightly caressing her flesh. She frowned as the music and chants grew louder, and followed the sound without leaving the path. The trees opened to reveal the old temple grounds and fountained pond she had previously visited, but this time it was attended by a small gathering of people who were dressed in all the colors of the rainbow. They stood in a horseshoe, chanting and tossing colored powder over a man standing in the center of the group.

  His ability to manipulate his form in the slow, acrobatic poses of the yogi hypnotized her. She had seen a yoga master before, but never one so magnificent in the smooth current of physical unity that submerged the beauty of each individual part of his physique. She held her breath, hypnotized by his sheer physical presence as she watched each rippling muscle flow like the graceful ribbon of water from the fountain behind him. More impressive even than the artistic grace was the power of his masculinity, which flared from his body like a firestorm from the surface of the sun.

  Jane hunkered behind the dense foliage, feeling very much like a voyeur as a jolt of purely sexual energy tore through her body. The insides of her thighs were instantly kissed by the first creamy signs of her voyeuristic interest, and she struggled against the indecency of her need to continue watching. The yogi's movement reminded her of the imperceptible opening of a flower—almost as though his body had somehow learned how to slow down the streams of time. Had she not seen his original position, and recognized the significant difference between that and his final pose, she would have questioned whether he had moved at all.

  When he finally raised his head again, his dark brown eyes came to rest in the direction of her hiding place for a fraction of an instant, and he allowed the corners of his mouth to rise slightly in an almost imperceptible smile. Jane turned her back to him, leaning against the trunk of tree, and panted with a knot of anticipation growing in her chest. She had never lusted after anyone other than Philip and felt both excitement and shame in how her body responded to the stranger's primal sexuality. She had two choices—to continue to view the man's sensuality from behind the veil of leaves and shame herself with her lust, or to flee in obedience and not permit herself satisfaction. She chose the latter.

  Aware of only the sounds of her footfalls and heaving for breath in the hot, humid air, Jane ran along the path and into the house. Without pausing, she raced into Philip's study and collided into his arms.

  "Janie? Are you well?" her handsome husband asked, as he held her shaking body close to his. "Are you injured?"

  "I saw a master yogi," she panted, crushing her cheek to his chest. "I was practicing my meditation and skills as you had requested, and heard the sound of chanting. I followed the path to the grounds temple where a festival was being held. Oh, Philip, beg your forgiveness! My thoughts were indecent as I watched him. I fled when the desire lit inside me. Please forgive me."

  "Your thoughts are your own, my darling," Philip said gently, lifting his chin to face him. "Did you bring yourself to pleasure?"

  "No, Philip," she answered, lowering her red face.

  "Did you wish to?"

  "Yes. I am sorry."

  "Jane? Look at me." His low voice was soft, caressing and slightly husky, as a notable erection began to alter the tailoring of his trousers. "You have no need to apologize. You obeyed me by not pleasuring yourself, and you came to me with your need. Because of that, you will be rewarded."

  "Rewarded?"

  He smoothed his hand down her cheek and rested it on her throbbing breast, then began to slowly unbutton her tunic with practiced ease. The deliberate leisure with which he was disrobing her caused her to moan; the sensation punctuated with his delicate little nibbles at the nape of her neck. He lowered her to the thick, soft carpet and sat across from her with his knees touching hers, then closed his eyes while slowly and deliberately inhaling. She gasped as a hot current of sensation arced between them, and fought the growing urge to grab his rigid cock in her hands and plunge it into her ravenous womanhood. Every nerve in her body longed to pounce upon it, to empty him until he was sapped of his juices and they were both left drained.

  Philip had other plans. The masterful and delicate teasing of his fingers and his careful probing were meant to inspire a slow growing chain reaction, designed to drive her to the source of all sensation within.

  The opening of her tunic and a shock of cool air hitting the surface of her tingling breasts made it seem as though Philip had a thousand fingers; yet he had still not touched her. Once her bare breasts were exposed, he began to blow ever so lightly in little circular patterns over the two deep pink aureoles. Her nipples spiked and hardened in response, reaching out in fervent need for the touch of his fingertips.

  The sound of the temple music drifted through the open windows and filled every corner of the room. "Dear Lord!" she moaned, throwing her head back to offer the full length of her throat and chest to him, and invite further tantalizing meanderings. "Do I hear chanting? The music was your doing, wasn't it?" she gasped, feeling her breath being pulled from her lungs.

  Philip responded by tracing a wispy trail of warm air along the length of her neck and down the valley between her peaked breast. Her nipples awakened to stand like soldiers against the thrilling sensations created by the breeze of his mouth.

  "Please, Philip, I beg you to ease my suffering. I will do whatever you wish of me if only you will allow me release. Bring me to pleasure before I explode! "

  "I will," he murmured, pausing briefly as he trailed his breath down a scintillating path to her navel. "When we are both ready."

  Jane groaned as the feelings raged through her starving body in a surging tide of yearning. Her distended nipples rose and fell with her heaving breasts, crying out for the crushing attention of a hot, wet mouth and strong, demanding lips. His breath caressed her, teasing her with the promise of greater delicious torment delivered by magical fingers and an enormous, ravenous cock.

  Shrugging the tunic from her shoulders, Jane stretched her back across the carpet and soundlessly invited him to use her body for his pleasure.

  In one swift motion, Philip reached under her waistband and yanked the loose pyjama pants down below her knees. He raised himself over her body and locked her in a full embrace, melding her to his chest with fiery fingers pressing upon her back. Closing her eyes to inhale his scent and losing herself in the hypnotizing music that bathed her senses, Jane felt him shift his body as he stripped himself of the confines of clothing.

  "Open your eyes,"
he commanded, hovering over her like a hungry tiger waiting to devour his prey. The afternoon light streamed through the windows and cast shadows over the peaks and canyons of her breasts, the flat plain of her tummy, and the naked delta that led inexorably to the cavern of her longing. The shadows themselves were an aphrodisiac, luring her senses to respond to the combination of purity and sexual power that emanated from his body over hers. Slowly, she responded with the spreading of her thighs, offering an invitation to be plundered by his solid rod of flesh that bobbed impatiently against his stomach; tilting her pelvis towards him in a silent plea to bring an end to the sweet torture.

  Philip explored the lines of the shadows that danced over her body with his fingers, tracing a delicate, lacy path to encircle her breasts, over her quivering belly, and through the indentation of her navel—dragging it in delicious agony to the moist pool of her sex. Her breath quickened as he made a passing stroke along the trembling rim of her swelling, neglected clit and she groaned as he brought a damp finger to his mouth.

  He murmured, "Honey of the Gods," before duplicating the tantalizing stroke, igniting her body once again with his marvelous fingers. Jane writhed and thrashed under him, tossing her head from side to side as an outlet for the tumultuous sexual energy that he was mining from her very core.

  "Breathe…" he coached, touching her again with the delicacy of a fluttering butterfly wing; lingering over her breasts while gently pulling and rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. She obeyed, practicing the tantric art taught by Usha—imagining that her breath was drawn not just through her lungs, but through the entirety of her body. This breathing radiated through her in a suffused glow, enhancing both her desire and her control. She reached to wrap her hand around his velvety, pulsing phallus, and stroked the surface with the pads of her fingers.