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Scars from punching that mannequin today pockmarked his knuckles. He stood there, naked but for the scarlet ribbon and the black mask.
Quietly, he pointed a solitary finger toward the floor. I approached, waiting with bated breath as the jester prowled to his original position at my rear. My pulse skipped when he drew along my spinal column with the back of one fingernail.
“Lie down for me, princess,” he murmured.
The instant I stepped forward, Poet guided me onto the chaise, where I sprawled sideways on the cushions. Lowering himself behind me and realigning his chest with my spine, he caught my hip and folded my buttocks into his turgid cock.
“Wonderful,” he praised. “Now relax your thigh, my thorn.”
Nervous excitement sizzled through my veins. I suspected this would not be a familiar position. And based on his husky timbre, it required a practiced partner with flexibility and stamina.
Despite my interest, I wavered in self-consciousness before letting his voice soak into me. Poet was an attentive lover who knew the extent of my abilities. He would not engage unless he believed I could ride his movements, unless he knew it would bring me pleasure. So I unfurled into his body, giving myself over.
Poet growled quietly. Hooking his arm around my thigh, he bent and raised my limb aloft, suspending it parallel to the rest of my body. Like this, he anchored me in place, with my knee steepled.
The arrangement splayed me wide, exhibiting every intimate inch of flesh. Over my shoulder, Poet glimpsed the swells of my pussy, the damp indentation between them, and the nib of my clitoris, which extended from a crisp patch of hair. Candidly, he saw me dripping for him.
“Such a lovely little cunt,” he crooned. “I wager you feel as perfect as you look.”
Heat flushed my cheeks, though not out of the shyness I would have felt eons ago. Instead, avid curiosity suffused my complexion. That, and pride. I liked him seeing me this way, simultaneously at his behest and empowered by his appetite. Although the jester sought to claim me, I could never feel more dominant than this. I had lost count of how often he made me feel this way.
It took a moment to relax into the position. When I did, a staggering amount of fluid melted from my core.
Effortlessly, Poet tilted his body, enabling his cock to reach my entrance. The tip probed my cleft, his bare length poised to fill me, the gentle abrasion making my head swim. On a whine, I squirmed and arched my backside into his pelvis.
The stem broadened, rising high in the seat between us. And when I gyrated harder over the crown, air sliced between the jester’s molars. At the sound, I envisioned his snaggletooth poking out like a knife.
“Now,” he hissed. “Let’s see if you can remember, shall we?”
I twisted a fraction, slicing my mouth along his strained jawline. “I remember every time you take me.” My tongue licked his skin. “I remember every way you’ve fucked me.” Then my lips dropped a sweet kiss beneath his hard chin. “I remember all the ways we’ve made love, all the things we’ve done to each other, every time you’ve corrupted me, and every way I’ve ruined you.”
A growl rumbled from the solid expanse of his chest. “Then remember this.”
His buttocks swept forward, and the pome of his cock slid between my walls, stretching pussy so that it flared around him. My mouth gaped, a cry of surprise lodging in my throat. Only a few inches in, and the slant of his cock was already tipped in a way I’d never felt before.
Poet groaned, his body shuddering along with mine. He sloped his backside forward and broached another few inches, then deeper, and deeper, and—“Oh,” I whimpered—deeper. The weight and width of his phallus drew my folds apart, coaxing me to spread far around him.
My pussy acclimated, dilating over Poet’s cock, suctioning him into me. The jester moved his erection steadily, neither rough nor tender. He rowed into me with heady precision, attentive to my body’s response, timing each pitch of his length with my gasps. In this way, he marked and serviced me.
Every thrust seemed to say,Mine.
Every moan seemed to confess,Yours.
With another beat of his hips, Poet’s cock slung to the hilt. The firm heat of his flesh beat against a narrow point that wrung a host of brittle cries from me. My head flew backward and landed against his clavicles. I sensed him watching me, drinking in every crinkle of my brows, each quaver of my lips.
Never had I experienced him nocked inside me this way. With my right limb moored in the air, the angle created a new sort of friction, throwing bolts of pleasure through my limbs. Heavens, I felt it in my hip bones and behind my knees.
It should not be possible to join our bodies from this direction. It hardly seemed feasible, much less enjoyable. Yet this was Poet, who could bend himself into postures most humans failed to achieve.
Which justified why he was able to glide his cock back and shove delicately into me again. Another shaky moan frayed from my lungs. I bowed into Poet, the points of my nipples aching.
The abrasion was nothing short of stunning. My pussy gripped his cock from the crown to the base, wetting him anew. Seasons have pity, but I needed more. So much more.
The jester knew as much from how thoroughly I drenched him, how tightly my walls seized his cock. A purr of encouragement resounded from his tongue. “There’s my resilient princess.” His mouth hastened across my cheek. “All mine.”
“Yours,” I keened as he flexed his cock deeper, hitting that angle thoroughly.
My hand shot backward, grappling for the bracket of his shoulder. Fastening my fingers there, I braced myself forlonger,higher, andfaster. And as ever, Poet reacted.
