Aradis’s gentle hand moved again, and she moaned in helpless response. If it had hurt, she could have fought, and dared Kemel to do his worst. But this was his worst, and she wept as his slave caressed her.
Aradis licked her belly, and she gasped. The shocking caress burned through her like acid, as splendid as it was degrading, and she sobbed as the silken skin below her navel twitched as if to an electric charge. Her hips rolled, mocking her desperate effort to keep them still, and her nipples swelled.
Aradis laughed, and Prudence jerked as that hot, slick mouth returned to her breasts. She quivered and tried to lie still, but ripe, wet lips recaptured her burning nipple, and Aradis’s laughter quivered in her breast as tongue and teeth tortured her with pleasure. She writhed, wailing into the hateful gag, head lashing in defiance, but there was passion in her denial.
And then Aradis woke her, shattering her wavering, virginal resistance with cruelly gentle expertise. There was no harshness to fight, no pain to defy. Not now. Not yet. There was only Aradis’s devilish skill and knowing touch.
She was helpless, with no experience to guide her. It was all shockingly, vibrantly new, and she fought in ignorance against Aradis’s knowledge. Her own passion was the chink in her armor, and the concubine pierced it ruthlessly.
She twisted as lips filled her breasts with fire and swept down her body once more. A skilled tongue flailed her navel while knowing hands caressed her, and her insides slagged down in the furnace consuming her captive flesh.
The hot, clear melt of passion oozed over her thighs, more silk tore, and she cried out in wretched pleasure as fingers tweaked her plucked fronds. Every nerve hummed and quivered, and she squealed as a slender finger stroked the weeping furrow of her sex. She felt her nether lips swelling, opening of their own accord in the betrayal of passion and sobbed in misery as Aradis’s breath burned her molten core. And then she screamed — screamed in rejection and the searing grip of her own eroticism – as a tongue whipped her clitoris.
Her eyes flared open, despite herself, and she arched again. Muscles ridged her satin skin as she heaved madly against her tautly corded limbs, but she was trapped – trapped in her cords . . . and within the shuddering treason of her own body.
She thrust against Aradis’s mouth, groaning in shocked, outraged ecstasy as that tongue burned inside her. The fire in her belly flashed, and she whined – a wild, desperate sound of passionate, broken-hearted defeat – as Kemel laughed. He leaned over her, caressing her jerking breasts as Aradis’s mouth rode her shuddering loins, and his hands were as gentle as his smile was cruel. She sobbed wildly, weeping into her gag as pleasure wracked her, and her tear-soaked eyes were huge with horror as she realized he was as naked as she!
She screamed, writhing against her bound limbs hopelessly as she beheld the rigid shaft of his desire. It lanced out from his groin, springing from the wiry hair of his crotch, thick as her delicate wrist, and it filled her with terror. Her gagged, snuffling pleas were those an animal might make, flogging her soul with shame, but she couldn’t stop them. To be raped and ravished by that huge length — to have it thrust crudely and brutally within her tight virginity, wounding and rending her — ! No! He couldn’t!
Yet there was no escape, and she closed her eyes, refusing to look, as he knelt between her sundered thighs. The heat of his body seared their inner satin, and Aradis’s mouth never left her. The concubine only shifted position, drawing back to flick her clitoris with the tip of a wicked tongue, stabbing her with tearing spasms of tormenting eroticism. The captive sobbed — then wailed into her gag as a vast, hot roundness touched her.
She writhed, shuddering in goaded sensuality, awaiting Kemel’s brutality. But he was more cunning than that . . . and crueler. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers cupping her bottom, his fingertips gentle in her rear furrow as he lifted her, and then he thrust gently.
Prudence gasped, her bulging eyes popping wide in confusion as she tasted not savagery, but gentleness. He pressed against her, piercing her, swelling her in a slither of hot, slick, stretchy friction, and she’d never felt anything like it. Never imagined anything like it! She was small and tight, and it hurt, but Aradis had prepared her well. She was also hot and wet, and the pain was swamped in the treacherous glory burning in that vast intruder’s wake. It clove ever deeper, sheathing itself in her molten flesh, and her shuddering sob of rejection was haunted by a hotter, softer echo of unwilling delight.
Kemel heard it, and his mocking, triumphant laughter wounded her to the soul. He knelt between her thighs, motionless, a blazing iron-hard presence at her core, and his smile was cruel.
“And so you are but one more wet-cunted whore in the end, sweet slut,” he said mockingly, and laughed at her violated sob. “Ah, but you are. And now, little slave, you will fuck me,” he gloated. She shook her head frantically, and he laughed. “Oh, but you will,” he assured her. “Aradis?”
The silent concubine let action speak for her, and Prudence whined in incoherent shock as a skilled mouth stroked the swollen petals straining to encompass that piercing, fiery shaft. A flicking tongue tortured her with stabs of pleasure, trapping her flesh against Kemel’s as Aradis lapped them both, and it was too much.
The debauched carnality of that nerve-crawling caress – of feeling that hot, wet mouth locked about her impaled softness, sucking at the flow of her passion and lashing both her and her ravisher with goading tongue-licks of fire – destroyed Prudence Saint-Ives. She screamed again, wildly and hoarsely, shrieking her despair and defeat into the choking intrusion of her silencing gag, and her writhing hips escaped her will.
They lashed upward, devouring Kemel’s despoiling phallus, and she grunted in strain, coated in sweat and tears, twisting at the heart of lust’s own furnace as the iron rod split her asunder. Her violated womb locked like a wet, slippery vise, squeezing him, caressing him . . .