Page 27 of The Princess Tied

She choked several times.

Spluttered. Drooled. Licked along the length of his cock.

So much indecorous activity. Her morality teacher would be appalled.

But the sight of him grimly doing this, seeing his pleasure rise with her mouth filling and refilling with his cock, being made yet again to do what a princess should not… it made her crave him, made her want this shameful act.

And all the while she could feel that plug in her rear hole.

She almost came when he did, from squeezing her thighs together over her aroused little clit.

“Fuck. I think my favorite so far is—” John gulped, smiling triumphantly, eyes flaring orange and red. “Is you under me with my come dripping from your mouth.”

He left his cock in her, twitching and pumping out more small squirts. Then he inhaled through his nose, studied her, and pulled out. He held her lips closed. He brought his face lower, until inches from her. “Swallow that, Princess, or you can ride with the plug in you today.”

Po thought for a second, a long what-am-I-doing second, then she swallowed.

She found herself unable to take her eyes off him until he ravaged her neck, then bit his way to her nipples and sucked on them.

Mouth open, she gloried in this. He kissed and lightly bit her thighs then reversed his path, returning for second helpings at her breasts. Gasping, she pushed them at his mouth, begging for more in the most primal way. The pleasure he drew from her, the savage beauty of seeing a man tasting her, using her for his mouth toy…

It was too late for shame.

Afterward, still naked but with her hands unbound, she followed him to the horses, stopping as he spoke to Ruth. Apparently, her clothes were either too dirty, cut up, or gone. She found her legs weak, and she swayed a little, and she didn’t exactly care how he found her clothes to wear.

Anything would do.

When they set off riding again, Po found herself resting her head against his chest more than she would’ve ever thought likely. She was sleepy, yet hungry. Exhausted really. If not for his arm about her waist she might have fallen. Ruth had given her some clothes—the woman had a supply of erotically charged clothing. So instead of decent riding gear, she wore an embroidered red bustier with a tinkling fringe of chain beneath the breast-line, revealing far too much cleavage, as well as matching skin-hugging leggings, her boots, and a long fur-lined coat, with a split up the back.

It kept her warm, and that was enough, for now.

“You know I could ride the mare now. This is not my kingdom.”

“Later. Maybe tomorrow.”

She shifted her head on John’s shirt. “How did your eyes turn to fire?”

“Did I not say?” His voice came to her ear, soft and rough. She decided she liked the smell of him, which was crazy considering what he’d done.

“You said you’d been to Hell?

“Yes.”

“Why? How did you get out?” Listening to the tale would pass the time. Also the more she knew the better.

“I killed a lot of demons.”

“How did you do that? What do demons look like?”

“I… you know, I can’t remember. It’s gone. I just know I did.” He was silent for a while and she guessed he was thinking. “I guess that’s to be expected. I can kill anything if I have the right weapons. I’ve regretted it…” He cleared his throat, shifted his body. “The Storyteller put me in Hell, so I couldn’t stop him taking Xander.”

“Oh yes,” she murmured. “You said he took away your heart?” Which was plainly weird and surely impossible?

“Yes.”

“But I can still hear it, here, inside you, beneath my ear.”

She could, though it seemed a muffled lub-dub compared to what she remembered a heart should sound like. Her father’s had been the last heart she had listened to like this, and that was long ago when she was a child. Perhaps she remembered poorly?