Starved Beast

Yet there remained a contentment on Christine's face that ought not to have been there, a self-confidence that I remembered as having been in Isabelle, and I wondered and asked myself why she wasn't undressing.

Her fingers tightened around my erection, both in promise and warning, and I tipped my head in ecstatic bliss because her hand was constricting around the base of my tool. Her nails were digging into the soft tissue and they were putting a brake upon my orgasm. I gasped. She had me in mid air, craving a release that wouldn't come. It had stopped, and she did nothing. She simply waited and slowly the tension grew inside of me.

"Papa said that once I was naked that you'd torture me, but he reckoned that I could endure it," she murmured. "He said that a woman's torture is heaven for a man, that her screams will turn him to putty!"

She tossed her head almost dismissively, as if daring me to hurt her. But I didn't rise to that bait.

I wasn't going to chase her.

I would wait because