This little minaret was dancing to the string of my hand. My movement became longer, the circles became strokes, her pants became deep breaths and h...r body became mine. Rolling my wrist I slid my middle finger inside her without missing a beat. My thumb rode along top keeping her swollen button from getting lonely. Leaning forward I let my snaking tongue dance along her groove, tasting and teasing a counterpoint to the steady thrusting of my hand. Inside I pressed up lightly, seeking that. ” I still had my blindfold on, but was able to maneuver to him and work my tongue into his pits, which were ripe…while I had showered, he hadn’t. I licked away, in slave-boy heaven.During my years as a “bottom”, I had often found that what some tops used as punishment was actually enjoyable to me. Whether or not I let them know that fact allowed me some control over my own punishments. Of course, a true slave boy, one committed to a Master for life, would immediately report that pleasure, of. It pleases me that you do remember."It was apparent to Jean that he was stalling her now. He was leading up to something. She couldn't believe that he had any intentions of making a pass at her. Surely he couldn't believe in his wildest dreams that she would even consider accepting a proposition from him He must be a madman. She watched him closely, afraid that he would make a movement toward her, to try and touch her. She shuddered at even the thoughts of those filthy greasy hands coming near. Honestly, Chloë, sometimes I wonder if I didn’t marry a Fae… prancing around in the middle of the night, eating pâté, and getting into bed with your street clothes on…’ He laughed, obviously entertained and with adoration. I stood there like a deer in headlights. ‘Chloë? Does he think I’m his wife? Is he still sleeping? What if he realizes it’s me in the middle of a love-making session and panics?’ ‘Well?’ he quashed my impulse to run. ‘I’m coming, Gaston.’ ‘Very good,’ he said pleased. I don’t.