AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He cupped both of her breasts for a time, pinching the nipples when he lingered inside her, savouring her pleasure and pain with a deep groan of delight. Then, when she begged for more, he snatched at her hair, and drew her head back so that he could plant fierce kisses on her lips. Cocooned under his body, she had no means to shift or unfold herself, and while she might have his cock buried to the hilt inside of her, he had her trapped in her entirety. The melding of their bodies was perfection.
But it could not last, not on her part. Gervais and his Zalim could fuck like this for hours, but her body was weak, and he sensed her buckle and strain for movement.
Abruptly, he disengaged, scooped her up in his arms, and laid her on the bed belly up.
“Spread,” he ordered.
She drew her knees up and wide, and stretched her arms above her head. Before he entered her, he stripped, finally pleasing her. The contours of his frame were etched onto her mind but seeing them afresh always was an elixir. He laid his body over hers, planting both hands on either side of her shoulders, and directed the bulge of his cock at her wetness.
Smooth warm skin caressed her belly as he dipped leisurely in and out, teasing her, drawing her closer to a climax. Each time she felt on the cusp, he held back, knowing it was her pleasure to be teased to the point of angry frustration. Her obedience to his command was critical. He alone, now that he was her absolute lord and master, could decide the moment, ensuring it was always joined to his.
He kissed her breasts, lashed the nipples with
his tongue and nipped the softest parts of her with his fine teeth. None of this hurt. It drove her mad to think she wanted it to, and he had the means to satisfy that peculiar yearning. The Zalim wasn’t cruel or savage; she had to recognise it was as much in control as Gervais. When he chose, he would do what was needed to remind her of the fact.
“Do you surrender this body to me?” he asked, in a tone of voice that was not Gervais’s.
“Yes,” she replied.
He was in her, his shaft stroking with sweeping movements, his hands gripping her wrists, pinning her down, while the girth of his hips kept her thighs spread to the widest points of the bed. Moonbeams illuminated his mane and the sheen of his face. She wasn’t afraid to look into his striking eyes. Darkness had filled them, leaving the whites brilliant.
“Again, I ask you, yield to this Zalim, and he will never leave your side.” The voice was deep, rumbling, and clear. The room itself seemed to quake and the candles flickered.
“I humbly yield.” She closed her eyes, and tilted her hips toward him, giving him the depth he required to plunder her fully.
What little she remembered later was of his frantic might, almost insane in its need, and she rolled with him, sometimes riding him, bucking up and down with his hands about her waist, but mostly she was under him, and panting breathlessly.
There was, she might recall in the morning, the odd laughter, when they paused, snatched a drink or wiped each other’s brows. He bathed her, she thought at least twice, and was keen to ensure she was thoroughly taken in all ways. The conquering of her tightest hole was done considerately by the beast—somewhere Gervais was there, ensuring she was safe.
It was the discipline that shocked her the most. How had she not understood what it meant to be controlled and directed, how she craved for it. The slightest infraction on her part, whether a roll of her eyes or a cluck of her tongue, usually because he wanted her to rest or take a morsel of food, was met with a summary clout of his hand on her backside.
She tested the beast sometime in the middle of the night. It had to be done. If promises were genuine, then what Gervais offered was a husband, lover, and possibly a father, whereas the Zalim would be her paramount, master, and officer of punishments. She would always need those sanctions.
He was between her thighs, his lips locked around her clitoris and his tongue flitting.
“Oh, please, please, give me your command,” she implored, uncaring if the whole world could hear her beg.
“Not so fast, little bird, you taste too good.” He resumed his feasting.
Her heart was fit to burst both with frustration and longing, so when she came, against his wishes, he must have felt the spasms in his mouth such was their strength and longevity.
Without a word, he rolled her over, dragged her over his lap and smacked her rump. She squirmed and giggled, quite aware both were inappropriate responses. He delivered a swift spanking, meticulous in its accuracy—the beast wasn’t careless—and sufficiently firm to calm her down. The giggles ceased and she stilled, allowing him to finger her between slaps. The soreness was paired to the tantalising drift of his hand along her furrow and slit, the plunge of fingers inside her pussy. Both sensations were bringing her close again to completion.
This time he granted her permission, and added without hesitation, “My Tilda, the tamer of my heart.”
When the last waves abated, he caressed the curvature of her bottom and thighs, and sighed lovingly.
“Thank you, beloved huntsman,” she murmured, her body slumped in all directions.
“My pleasure, little bird. I am a hunter, but do you trust the beast, now and forever?”
She twisted, awake once again, and looked over her shoulder. There was a strange pensive look on his face. “Yes, I do.” She spoke as solemnly as she had when giving her wedding vows.
He relaxed. “Then, the moonlight shall serenade us.”
He carried her over to the window and the long-cushioned bench that formed the low sill. There he bent her over, and with the beams of light in both of their upturned faces, he finally achieved his own climax. Hugged to his body, she absorbed his thrusts, hardened to their vigour, and felt the heat pool inside her.
If the other guests thought they heard a wolf howl that night, they were mistaken. It was Gervais’s Zalim crying out in joy, and she listened to it knowing she was cherished.
