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“Ah, something the priest did not teach you, no doubt.” He removed his dagger and pouch from his belt, and unbuckled it, then kicked off his boots. Slowly, methodically, he undressed, and each item was laid neatly upon a chair, folded into a pile. He stopped before removing the hose and shirt and, turning to face her, he presented the tented fabric of his breeches, the rigid member lifting itself out and into view.
The red embers lit one side of his face, the other was cast into darkness. All around her were shadows and slithers of light. The room presented itself as neither warm nor cold, kind nor cruel. She was unsure if Gervais was of a similar mind.
“Lie back,” he said, strolling over to the bedside. “Now, open that sweet mouth and slacken your jaw. Keep those teeth in check. I only want to feel your tongue.”
She ogled him in disbelief. “You’re putting that huge—”
“It will take a few times before you have the measure of it fully. Relax, Matilda. Do as I bid you.” He pushed his hose down, revealing his groin muscles and what stood upright between his two narrow hips. He clambered on to the bed, positioning himself close to her head and leaning over her, he dangled the smooth head of his cock in the direction of her agog mouth.
The slit at the end oozed a creamy liquid. It was the first thing she tasted. She spluttered, unprepared for the frisson of saltiness, the musk that triggered a wave of trembling. He held his shaft and dipped into her mouth, angling the member toward the back, where her throat tightened.
The plunging was shallow enough to allow her to breathe, but it still filled her, preventing her from talking.
“Tongue it.” He held just the glans against her lips. “Go on. Impress me.”
She reached up with her hands, and he allowed her to guide his cock without his help. She wrung her fingers around its immense girth and squeezed. He chortled. “That’s right. But mind those sharp teeth.”
Lifting her head off the pillow, she snatched a lungful of air, then sucked her cheeks around his cock. Her tongue flitted, but it barely had room to manoeuvre. She slipped back, leaving the tip of it teasing the veins lining the underside of his cock. Able to look up at him towering over her, she measured the success of her experimentation on his facial expression. He presented many mannerisms for her to judge: panting, licking his lips, groaning and tipping his head back. At one point, when she managed to take half of his erection down her throat without suffocating, he gripped his hair and growled.
He behaved less like a lord, although she found his stature arousing. She was a little thing, trapped beneath him, and she hungered for all of him. He moved his knees astride her body, pinning her between his thighs, and there he remained with his cock in her mouth and her cheeks like bellows, maintaining a rhythm that was like the beat of an invisible drum.
Without warning, he curtailed his dips, and allowed her to savour him for longer. She tasted more of him, noting that he was neither sweet nor bitter. Something unique and personable. He drew off his shirt, tossing it away, and with her eyes on his abdomen, the line of ribs, the proud bearing of his pectorals, she drew upon the image of a beast. His smooth chest, marked only by a handful of white scars, she imagined covered in war paint, the kind barbarians used. His eyes, a marine blue, darkened into fire-lit pits, and as for his hands, they were massive claws that pinned her to the bed.
Closing her eyes, she played the scene further. She was a poor creature, caught in a snare, carried to his castle by armour-clad soldiers with no faces. Left at his feet, she was dragged to his bed and ordered to open her tiny mouth. His cock, as big as a hued branch, rammed itself down and...
“Matilda. Open your eyes.” Gervais tapped her cheek.
She coughed and he withdrew. “Sorry, was I not doing it right?”
“You let your teeth bite, a little.”
“Oh. I wasn’t aware... It’s not intentional.” She licked her lips. “I can taste you.”
“You’ll swallow me, too. But not today.” He eased off her and brought her a goblet of weak wine. “Drink.”
She gulped it down, flushing out the heat from her face and the rampant dreams of her imagination. Below, between her legs, the bed was damp, her pussy inflamed with a different fire. She nearly spilt the wine.
“I’ll take that.” He finished the last mouthfuls, then dropped the goblet on a table.
The hose was an unnecessary hindrance. He pulled it off, leaving it on the neat pile. He was now as nude as her, and moved to the foot of the bed, presenting to her the defining qualities of warrior. He stood astride, his unyielding cock vertical and curved into his belly. The muscles of his thighs extended over his knees and down his shapely calves. As for his arms, they rippled with thick veins around the biceps, and the same vessels continued up his neck and into his temples. Everything about him pulsated, and the surface of his skin shone in the flickering candlelight.
Gervais, his teeth bared in a primitive grin, grasped her ankles and yanked her down the bed. As she whooped, he sank, crouching on his heels with her legs hooked over his shoulders and his head bent. He looped his arms over and under her thighs, and with his palms on her inner thighs, he forced her legs apart. His head fitted snugly in between, and he pressed his lips hard against her mound, kissing between the unruly hairs until he found what he sought.
Naturally, she screamed. He had it in his mouth, lips firms above and below, the nub of it resting on his lower teeth. She froze, aware that any movement might jeopardise her precariously placed clitoris.
Her teeth chattered, goosebumps raced down her spine to her bottom, which he’d lifted off the bed. She held her breath, waiting, praying her nerves would hold long enough for him to complete his torment.
Slowly, with a purpose that astounded her, he sucked and toyed with her tiny bud. Those dangerous teeth of his never went further than a subtle nip, while his tongue lashed or fluttered, depending on his chosen form of torture. He spread his mouth above to her belly, which he peppered with kisses, then below to the slit and its opening. With expertise, he darted in and out of her drenched pussy, dining on her, enjoying her sufficiently to appreciate her lust on display.
She tried not to thrash, but it was impossible. She didn’t want to come either, but that also was not achievable. The first orgasm was a bolt of lightning, so fast it ended before it had begun. The intensity of it was painful. She hollered, begging him for respite.
“For pity’s sake, my lord. Allow me some relief!”
Gervais chuckled. “Think again. This sweet entree will prepare me for the feast.”
He gripped her failing legs, preventing her from twisting or turning, and while her arms drifted about her bed, tangling themselves in the cloak and bedcovers, he devoured her with his mouth. She fought, not against him, for it was beyond her to ask him to stop, but against herself. The exquisite, crushing orgasms, battering her senses one after the other, were congealing into one stupendous flare of overloading sensations. The contractions were as powerful as her heartbeats, which pounded beneath her breastbone. She failed to breathe, then suddenly she was gasping for air. Nothing deterred him. No amount of screaming and kicking of her h
eels on his back.
