by Aran Ashe
He felt his nostrils pinched - quite lightly - and he had to open his mouth to breath, whereupon his nostrils were released, and then that small warm tongue was slipped between his lips, where it seemed to rest, making tiny, nervous, deliciously sweet vibrations against that sensitive skin, until he had to reach his tongue to touch hers, tip to tip. The feeling was as if a stream of liquid fire had passed from her to him; in that brief touch, the Prince could sense the trembling heat of passion in the slave. His cockstem throbbed and pumped up harder, till it ached.
Anya sat back; her sex felt swollen with her heat. She used her hands to spread herself, to open out her thighs more fully, and to spread apart her leaves, for she wanted her liquid heat to trickle out and to seep right through his skin; she wanted to drug him with her passion and to burn him with her fever. She wanted to plant that seed of inner need within him - that craving need, which no one else would satisfy, and that seed which would root and grow until nobody - not even she - would ever have the power to kill it.
She held her body fully open whilst she kissed herself against his skin - across his belly, round his nipples, on his arms and shoulders, and up onto his neck, depositing loving, liquid circles of her musk upon him, marking his body with her scent, marking him for her own.
Anya reached back and curled her fingers round his stem, not tightly but very lightly so her fingers enveloped him but barely touched the skin; each movement of her hand was a whispered brush of aching delight against that pulsing plum of flesh. She tightened her gloving fingers once, and then released them again. The Prince sighed very softly. Anya pressed two fingers of her other hand up to the knuckle in her liquid pot of flesh, then, while she slowly pushed them in his mouth, she worked the outer skin of his cockstem firmly, yet with intermittent nervous jerks, up and down. The Prince's moan was stifled by her fingers. In a smearing trail of honeydew, she slid her openness down his belly, past his navel, until she could feel his curls prickle up against her out-turned leaves, and his rigid cockstem curving closely up to her from behind. She spread her thighs as widely as she could, and then she spread her buttocks, until she felt as if her thighs were hung upon a hook of living flesh; his taut and throbbing cockstem lay along her groove and touched her, flesh to tender flesh. She wet her fingers in his mouth and reached back to massage the plum end of his cock, whilst she squeezed it rhythmically between her buttocks. She watched his face intently, but she did not change the pace of squeezing, nor the sliding pleasure of finger pressure upon that upturned plum. And when at last his head began to move from side to side in strong, insistent jerks, she knew to stop that intimate massage, and instead she lapped her tongue back and forth across his nipples, whilst she placed her closed fist low down against his belly and pressed it into him, until such time as she judged the massaging and the squeezing might resume. For she wanted to fill him up to bursting point with unallayed desire before permitting that final, devastating transport of delight. In fact, she hoped to make him pass out beneath the burden of that pleasure, when it came.
Then, having wet his nipples so they glistened with her spittle, and having sucked them, and nipped them with her teeth, to bring them up to hard and wrinkled stiffness, she moved her hips back up over his belly and spread her slipperiness about the firmer, harder nipple of the two, which happened to be the left one, then closed her eyes and very gently rocked until that flesh point snuggled up against the tiny pushed-out pip of flesh between her outspread leaves. She worked her nubbin; like a hungry tongue, it licked across his nipple, and slid around, in slow, delicious circles of thick and oily pleasure, kissing him with her flesh, until the pleasure surged so strongly in-between her legs that it made her double forwards, tightly in a circle, against that impending threat of premature delight. Her face was buried in his hair; her misted curls, beneath her arms, suffused the air with languor; his lips reached to touch and suck upon those soft and dangling shaking mounds of black-tipped flesh that, with each and every movement of her hips, kept brushing over his face.
Anya caught her breath, but managed to wrench herself away, and knelt up, outspread above him, to let her musk roll down to fill his nostrils, to fill his mouth, and to drive him to distraction. She took his head and turned it to the side; she brushed the hair back away from that ear which so intrigued her, to expose that smooth and bare surround, then curled that rubberiness into a cone of flesh and spread herself over it, sealing her liquid leaves down upon the smooth, bare skin around it. The ear sprang back against the walls of Anya's inner flesh, and then she moved, very gently, very slightly, for she wanted him to hear those soft and liquid sounds inside her, that distant echo of her heartbeat, and that very earthy, slow drip of her heat. She wanted him to understand her body very fully, and in a way he understood no other. And while she moved, she stroked his hair, and smiled upon him, though he could not see her smile.
Anya wanted next to kiss him with her sex - not to kiss him on the body, but to kiss him on the lips. But first, she lifted him and kissed that ear which had been inside her; she licked the earlobe that carried the ring, and turned him so he looked at her. She did not want his eyes closed now; she wanted him to see, and to kiss her whilst she kissed him with her soft and delicate female self. Her black leaves spread like lips about his lips; they sucked upon them, drawing them inside her as she kissed them in that very special way. Her eyelids were weighed down with a soft, voluptuous pleasure as his tongue reached up inside to spread her and to taste her in her openness, to drink that dripping musk. And whilst she tightened and relaxed, and sucked upon and squeezed that gently probing, softly slipping tongue, Anya pressed her fingers to her leaves, pulling back the hood, and urged on by the inner pressure of that tongue, she drew wet circles of pleasure, very slowly round and round her poked-out nubbin, pausing, when the pleasure swelled too strongly, to smear that honeydew across his eyebrows, and to take his head within her hands and hold him tightly to her. Then when the pleasure, even with those loving pauses, became too sweet to bear, Anya lifted from him, kissed him with her mouth and, checking that his cockstem was still hot and swollen unto bursting, she turned her Prince over onto his front.
She spread his thighs and arranged him so his cockstem lay beneath his belly and his bag lay on the bed, between his outspread thighs. She traced her fingers down his backbone until she had found, within his groove, the tip of the Prince's spine. She wet her finger, stretched the skin, and drew the finger slowly round that very ticklish tip, and then she brushed further downwards into the groove, making him contract. She spread his buttocks even wider and tickled in the gap, stroking just the fingerpad back and forth across that sensitive skin. Anya pursed her swollen leaves together and fitted them to that groove, then lay down upon him, moving, pressing against him, spreading him and working herself more closely up against him until the Prince could feel that hot and weighted velvet droplet brush against his bottom mouth, tickling the skin. Then Anya moved her flesh leaves upwards in his groove until her nubbin found that hard, rounded tip of spine, and she worked herself against it whilst she kissed his shoulders, licked his back and - when her pleasure rose too sharply - bit him in the neck. The Prince could feel her seepings trickling, in intermittent, hesitant droplets, down into his groove. That constant pressure, through his back, was transmitted to his plum - the circling of her hips was rolling him from side to side, turning a gentle stimulation into an overpowering need for pleasurable release.
Anya now would work him, slowly, ever onward to that release. She turned the Prince onto his side and had him bend his knees quite tightly to his chest. She wanted him this way so that she could have very free and easy access to his person, whilst she pleasured him in the manner of her choosing. She wanted his parts completely at her mercy. She would control his pleasuring very closely, and would in fact postpone his pleasure several times in order to sweeten his deliverance.
The Prince's cockstem was already very stiff indeed, and was pulsing with his heartbeat. Anya very care
fully wrapped her hand round his silken skin, to feel that heartbeat and to ease that upcurve slightly outwards, away from the Prince's belly. She wanted that fleshy part to be, in a sense, abstracted from his person, so that any touch or brush which brought pleasure to it would be a touch or brush, or suck perhaps, which she herself bestowed directly. She pressed two fingers into the topside of his cockstem, at the point at which it fed into his body, which pressure served to keep it held away from him; it also kept it both rigid and balanced in its tension, so each tiny adjustment of her fingertips was magnified into a wavering dance of that very swollen plum. Anya now traced, with the forefinger of her other hand, a slow line down the undersurface of his stem, starting at the tip and pressing definitely, yet not too firmly, working downwards, down that centre line, that thick tube slung just below his skin, down to the base, where she pressed her finger firmly in, trapping his stem between those fingers on the upper side and the forefinger, pushing into him from below, and in the process evoking a soft moan. She used that grip to keep him firm whilst she pressed and stretched the skin in a slow and rhythmic motion, so his plum skin appeared to her alternately very tight and polished, then softer and more silky, and a clear fluid droplet welled in the tiny mouth at the tip of his cock. She worked him in that way, pausing only to stroke his brow or to bend, and to dab moist kisses along the tight curvature of his back, down one side, then up the other, yet even in these pauses not releasing him, but encircling the base of his stem with a finger and thumb and pressing back against his body, keeping his cock a prisoner in its taut-stretched skin, keeping him aware, keeping that deep and swelling ache of pressure tight - enough to make him want to burst, yet not quite enough to trigger him.
Throughout this pleasuring, Anya watched him very carefully. She would make that cockstem seep. She kept him closely collared with her finger round the base, and jerked the collar very quickly, until she saw him tense and hold his breath. Then she held him tight but very still while, with the other hand, she rubbed her fingertips back and forth along the strongly curving tube-filled bridge between his cockstem and his bottom. And under this very close attention, this rapid working till he gasped, and then the pressured stroking, she was pleased to watch his body seep, as the droplet swelled to dripping point and lowered on its thread to rest upon the bedsheet, then welled again, until his cocktip was connected by a continuous tube of liquid to a heaped up droplet down below. Anya dipped her finger in the liquid he had made and, kneeling up, so that the Prince could clearly see, she spread her thighs and pulled back her hood and worked its liquid slickness round her nubbin until her knees began to buckle - until she could not bear the pleasure any more.
And this time, before she began to touch the Prince again, she had him - still lying on his side - lift one leg from the bed so his stem rose up at an angle. Bending down, she closed her lips about that pushed-out bridge beneath the root zone of his cock, and sucked him very hard. And while she sucked, she licked him there, probing her tongue against his tubes, until the sucking and the probing made his cockstem sway. She formed her fingers into an open ring and slid this tightly down and up over his plum, smoothed now with his seepage, whilst she sucked upon and softly pressed her teeth into his bridge. His groan was now more heartfelt, so she desisted, but took his cockstem fully in her hand and, making him keep his leg upraised - as a sign of his submission - she kissed him on the lips. Whilst she kissed and sucked upon his lips and gently probed her tongue into his mouth, she was reassured to feel that hot and swollen cockstem pulse in random, nervous spasms like the flutterings of a wounded bird against her hand, which held it not too tightly, not too softly, not varying the pressure at all, yet keeping that bird of love at all times aware that it was her captive and that she would release it only when she chose to. And yet she did not think this treatment cruel; she thought it necessary to her purpose, and though she herself was burning up with unallayed desire, she would never take her pleasure until her Prince had been delivered first to that fullness of release.
Anya now desired to penetrate the Prince. She told him she would do this thing to him. And she made him lift that leg up even higher.
"You shall make yourself very open to my touch," she said, for she had learnt her lessons well. She wet her fingers with her honeydew, by pushing them inside herself, then she held his cockstem tightly whilst she pushed them into him. The Prince groaned and tried to close his legs; his cockstem nearly spasmed. "No, Sire, you must wait," she whispered very firmly. "The time is not yet nigh. I must be allowed this tender touch without any interruption." And against his tightness and his softened murmurs, Anya pushed her fingers in, right up to the knuckle. Now, whilst she used the fingers of her other hand to massage his plum with nectar, she stroked him with a slow seductive pressure, in that very intimate way, her fingers deep inside his body, until he cried out. "Please ..."
"But, Sire," she said, with wicked innocence, "I have yet to taste you ..."
Then Anya spread her lips about that plum and very gently sucked it, as she moved her fingers in and out of him, and on the instroke, curled them round to push against his root zone from within, until she felt him go so very tight against the constant probing, and those salt-seep tremors of forepleasure wept upon her tongue. The Prince shuddered and emitted a wrenching groan. Anya calmly released that plum and drew her fingers carefully out, then turned him onto his back. His stem was shaking with strong, contracting throbs. "Wait," she commanded. "Do not let your pleasure spill. Tighten. Hold your breath. There ..." The Prince gritted his teeth. Very slowly, very leisurely, Anya knelt astride him. "Now," she said, "beg of me to burst your pleasure," and she lodged his cockhead between her tight and burning leaves of flesh. "You may beg me. Go ahead," she said, and with very great assurance.
He had no choice. "I ... I beg of you ... to do it," gasped the Prince of all Lidir, and to a slave, at that.
Anya's face lit up with pure delight.
"It shall be my pleasure to chastise you in this way," she said, and the Prince was forced to laugh at this, even in his present state of torment.
And as her body took him fully to itself, she lay down upon him and kissed him in a wave of true and burning passion, pushing her breasts against his chest, gripping him with her thighs, urging his pleasure with her hips, holding him down, hand to outstretched hand, pushing her tongue into his mouth, bedding it beneath his own. And when he thrust and bucked until his cocktip kissed the mouth of Anya's womb, she squeezed so tight she burst him; she covered his lips with hers to suffocate his moan, to render him powerless while that force of pleasure seemed to suck and spit and draw and draw, right through him to his backbone.
To Anya, even though she had not taken full release, that feeling of deep, suffused warmth was delicious. Before this night was through, there would be time - much time, she knew - for that pleasurable release to take her breath away, before this night was through.
And afterwards, when the Prince was curled around her, fast asleep, her back pressed up against him, his hand about her belly and his hand about her breast, and delicious thoughts were kissing her mind - pictures of the ways in which she might take him next - she heard him murmur softly, in his sleep:
"My Princess ..."
Anya smiled a smile of very deep contentment.
"My slave," she whispered in reply. It was indeed a cheeky thing to say, but was in fact quite true.