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My breasts jiggle and bounce from all my jerking. When Archer retrieves his fingers, eyes the slick upon them, then licks them to taste me, I arch and cry out, “Oh, please, say that’s the end!” Is this some sort of discipline?
“Mmm…” he deepens his voice, purring against my vocal cords. “Sweet little strumpets who can’t control their filthy thoughts in serious moments deserve more punishment.”
Punishment vs discipline. Well, I was close! And I think I’m close about theotherthing.
He touches his stony lips to the corner of mine, distracting me. Repeats on the other side. Ugh, it’s driving me insane that he won’t kiss me! Oh, sure, he’s kissed my tits and my pussy plenty of times. Not my mouth. Not like in the dungeon. I curse, screeching in protest.
He swats the side of my left breast, then slaps the other, punishing me for the curse. I never knew how much impact play gets me off. When he circles his sandpaper-coarse tongue around my hypersensitive distended tips, I scream, “Archer, please! For the love of merciful humanity!”
“Yes, they love your humanity.” He scrapes his teeth along one nipple, then kisses it. “The warm, effervescence of your light, so ephemeral, you are but a spark of an ember driftinginto the night. One that must be treasured and worshiped, little Butterfly.” He locks his eyes with mine. I’ve lost count of how many times they darken while that telltale muscle tics in his jaw. “But you’ll find no mercy here. And I’ll have you screaming my name until all the gods in Mount Olympus can hear!”
He hoists me up, positioning my weakened legs over his shoulders, and dives between my sweaty thick thighs.
Orgasmic stars dazzle my vision as I come hard again. More orgasms follow until I can’t tell the difference between the major earthquake convulsions rocking through my system and the spasmodic aftershocks. My clit has turned into an engorged nub that he sucks upon like a fat sweet morsel, tonguing all around while pumping those stony hard fingers in and out while I squirt too many times to count. He drinks from me like I’m a bursting fountain. I’m numb everywhere but my burning cunt and my sore distended tips.
I throw my head back, screaming savagely from another orgasm and wondering if someone can die from climactic bliss. Orgasm means ‘little death’, after all. Mine would simply be grander…with spectral fanfare all around me. If I die here, will my soul join the ghosts in the ballroom?
“Oh, gods, enough already!” I cry, my voice beyond hoarse as Archer pumps his fingers inside me again while sucking my fat nub.
Chuckling darkly, he slides one firm thumb into my dark hole. More convulsions. I jerk and rock against his face. I can’t take it anymore. It’s too much for a flimsy mortal like me. And well…he did say I’d be screaming his name by the end.
Time to test my theory!
So, with the smoldering force of my release ripping through me like a herd of flaming stallions, I shut my eyes, throw my head back, and scream at the top of my lungs, “Stop,Eros!” For the love of bloody Cupid, stop!
Everything stops. The orgy of ghosts. The music. The gargoyle’s tongue and fingers…
It all stops.
Tearing himself from between my legs, Archer raises his head, cocks it to one side, and burns the abyss of those orbs into mine. He doesn’t have to say anything to confirm it. I can read it all over his gods-damned face.
Breaths rush out, but I manage to croak, “Fuck you,Eros! I knew it!”
I pass out.
16
”One word, Cres. One. Word…TAXIDERMY!”
EROS
“Are you done fuming now? The clever little darling is still passed out,” Crescendo gestures like I’m a damned moron.
My spine bristles as I eye the girl in the middle of the ballroom floor, where I left her. Of course, the bloody jester covered her with her dress, but her drenched little sex is still weeping its juice right onto the fucking marble.
Balling my hands into fists, I pace, my steps more like heavy stone stomps that wear cracks in the floor. Bloody fucking flutes, how did she know?
Crescendo whistles a tune that directly implies the scenario of waiting…and waiting and waiting.
“Shut up, Cres,” I bark. “Or you’ll find yourself with that jester’s cap shoved so far down your throat, you’ll be playing nothing but your jingle bells for the next century.”
He pauses and shrugs, glancing her way again. “Touchy, touchy. Eros, this isn’t like you. You may be the demon God of Fornication, but you are also quite the master at aftercare. Do you want me to—”
“No!” I roar, infuriated at the idea of anyone but me touching her.
“The only time you were this hot under the collar was when Psyche dripped wax on your di—”
I charge for him.
