With a muffled curse, I find myself falling backwards until I land on the seat. I struggle, trying to get up, but the invisible bands are still holding me tight. I can’t even Shift when I try to—she’s definitely impeding me and holding back my Drake somehow. Fuck! This witch is strong.
Irena comes towards me, her eyes downcast. I can smell her fear but I still smell the scent of her desire too. Some people like to be ordered around in the bedroom—is she one of those? Or does she just like the idea of doing something so forbidden and dirty?
I can’t answer any of that.
“Irena,” I say, and her eyes flick upwards to meet mine. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” I state clearly. Though fuck if I know what we’re going to do if she doesn’t.
She gives a slight shake of her head.
“How else are we going to get out of here?” She shoots a glance at the witch, who’s watching avidly from the corner of the room. “You have to swear you’ll let us go if I do this. If I…suck him.”
The witch cackles with laughter.
“Yes, indeed, dearie. If you put on a good enough show, the two of you can walk out of here free and clear.”
That seems to decide Irena. She nods slightly and sinks to her knees before me. For the first time, I can really study her and what I see is that she’s all cut up, as though someone dragged her through a thorn bush. I can help her with that—I can heal her with the power of my Drake. But right now I’m frozen in place, helpless to do anything but watch.
Her knees hit the rough wooden floorboards with a soft thud, putting her at eye level with my crotch. The scent of her—fear, yes, but also that undeniable, salty-sweet perfume of arousal—wreathes around me, thick and intoxicating. My own body, traitorously, responds. Despite the danger, the humiliation, the sheer absurdity of our situation, I feel a heavy, insistent stirring in my groin. The fabric of my too-tight trousers tents obscenely, and I see her silver-green eyes widen further as she takes in the sight.
“Go on, girl,” the witch croons from the shadows, her voice like dry leaves rustling. “Don’t be shy. He won’t bite. Not unless you want him to.”
Irena’s hands come up, trembling slightly. They hover in the air for a moment before she reaches for the laces of my trousers. Her fingers, elegant and long despite the scratches marring them, fumble with the knots. Each brush of her knuckles against the rigid length beneath the leather is an electric shock. I grit my teeth, fighting the stillness spell with every ounce of my will, but it’s useless. I am a spectator in my own body—a captive audience to my own unraveling.
Finally, the laces give way. She peels back the leather, and my cock springs free. It is fully erect—thick and flushed a dark, angry red with need. A soft gasp escapes her soft lips. I see her throat work as she swallows. She’s seen me before—but not this close. I think the sight might have shocked her primly bred princess senses.
“He’s…so big,” she whispers, almost to herself.
“All the better to fill a mouth with, dearie,” the witch cackles.
Irena looks up at me, her eyes seeking… something. Permission? Reassurance? I can give her nothing but my gaze, which I try to keep steady, neutral, though the fire in my blood is anything but.
“Just… do what you have to, sweetheart,” I manage to grind out.
She nods—a quick, jerky motion. Then, with a resolve that surprises me, she leans forward. Her breath ghosts over the sensitive head of my cock, a warm, damp caress that makes my entire body tense. She hesitates only a second longer before parting her lips and taking me inside.
The first touch of her mouth makes my whole body tighten with pleasure. Soft…wet…impossibly hot. She only takes the crown at first, her tongue darting out tentatively to taste the bead of pre-cum that has gathered there.
The sensation is a lightning bolt straight to my spine. A low, involuntary groan rumbles in my chest, torn from me despite my best efforts. Fuck, that feels good!
Encouraged, or perhaps driven by her own burgeoning curiosity, she takes more. Her lips stretch around my girth, and she sinks down, her head bobbing awkwardly at first. She has no technique, no rhythm. It’s clumsy…unpracticed. And it is, without a doubt, the most erotic thing I’ve ever fucking experienced.
Because it’s her. Princess Irena, who has been looking down her perfect nose at me—who has issued commands and expected instant obedience, who considers my Drake form a beast of burden. That woman is now on her knees, her royal mouth stretched wide around my cock, servicing me.
The dichotomy makes me so fucking hot. The power dynamic hasn’t just shifted—it has been burned to ashes. I am frozen, utterly at her mercy, and yet I have never felt more dominant. Every hesitant suck, every flick of her untutored tongue, is a surrender. I can feel the tension in her jaw…hear the soft, wet sounds of her efforts…see the blush that spreads from her cheeks down her neck and disappears into the torn neckline of her gown as she sucks me.
Her inexperience is its own kind of torture. Her teeth scrape lightly, making me hiss, and she pulls back, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, her lips glistening.
“It’s… fine,” I force out, my voice strangled. “Use your tongue more. Flatten it.”
She obeys, leaning in again. This time, she swirls her tongue around the head, lapping at the slit, and the direct stimulation is so intense my hips jerk involuntarily against the spell’s bonds.
“Fuck!” A ragged curse escapes me.
Irena seems to take it as approval, sinking deeper, finding a rhythm. Her hands come up to cradle my balls, rolling them gently in her palm, and fuck, where did she learn that?
The answer is, she didn’t. She’s following instinct—guided by the same primal current that has her scent dripping with desire even as shame paints her cheeks pink. She’s discovering this, discovering me, and her exploration is so fucking hot, I couldn’t stop watching even if it made me go blind.
