Having been in the Viscount’s employ for the better part of a month, I was beginning to see facets of him that were in many ways particularly shocking. For instance, upon his vanity I had found a raunchy publication that confirmed my latent suspicions of him and tonight, I intended to fully prod at his intentions for me. Having been subjected to his covert flirting and unable to stand much more of it for the nights I spent madly frigging myself over it, I sought him out at the end of the evening in his bedchamber where he sat in the candlelight, reading.
I took with me a bottle of champagne and, without a knock, entered the room and approached him with the bold suggestion that he have a glass before bed. Maddeningly, he was wearing only his shirt which was open at the top and revealing the broad expanse of his powerful chest. Seeing the manner in which I assessed him, he grabbed me suddenly and pulled me down so that I was across the length of him. At only this, my prick was stiff and ready and I exaulted in his passion as he tore and fought with my clothes. Rendered nude and panting with ardent desires, I did not fight him–I did not wish to!–when he held tight to my buttocks and licked round the engorged purple head of my stiff cock, plunging it clear down his throat to the sound of my rasping cries. So it went on this way for only a minute before I came to spend in his mouth and in shivering aftermath, asked after his own potent love engine that had not yet felt my grasp.
He ignored my question as he had not yet even begun his explorations of me, reaching to the side drawer of his nightstand and wetting his fingers with a stretchy liquid before he set to frigging my bottom-hole, an act that reasserted my lurid desires and pushed my prick back to a proud cockstand. With one or two fingers, it was all pleasure, my having preceded the night by pleasuring the very same hole with a candle of all embarrassing items, but when the Viscount inserted a third, I lamented the addition and gave a tiny shriek in protest which he promptly smothered with his lips, as I had neglected to lock the door.
His sword, a vertiable King Priapus, was sheathed by me readily even as I contracted around it and wriggled against him though I sought not to make it seem as though I struggled. Having mounted me with love’s ardour, he was eager to move and ruthlessly heaved as I pushed back to meet him, the sound of our bodies meeting enough to send us to mutual spend and the force of it causing us to swoon together with intense delight.