I just manage to finally fully relax, almost becoming sleepy, when the door opens. Immediately, I am wide awake again, energy running through my body – but I cannot leap up or even sit up. Instead, I jerk against the restraints, reminded all over again how vulnerable I am as the duke strides into the room.
He closes the door behind him, hungry eyes raking over my exposed, naked body, and my mouth very suddenly goes dry as my utter helplessness at his hands strikes me. He can do anything he wants and I cannot even attempt to run.
“My little Betty,” he says softly, walking toward the bed, his hands going to his clothes as he begins to strip down. “What a pretty sight you make on my bed, waiting for your Daddy’s cock.”
Chapter Four
The Duke is as handsome undressed as he is dressed.
No padding was needed to broaden his shoulders or shape his thighs, and I catch my breath as I watch him disrobe. Part of Madame Atout’s training was seeing the male form, so that I did not go into a virginal panic at the sight, but none of the men she brought in looked anything like this.
He is muscular, with a lightly furred chest that narrows into a line down the center of his stomach leading to the bush around his cock. The large appendage juts out from his body, thick and long, with a bulbous head on the end. I make a little squeaking sound at the idea that such a large weapon is somehow supposed to fit my sheathe. It bobs between his legs as he climbs onto the bed, his dark eyes alight with anticipation.
Madame Atout swears that the size of a man will not matter, but I am not so certain.
Settling on his knees between my legs, his large cock pointed directly between them, he slides his hands up my thighs, making me shudder. But he does not touch my pussy, though his touch makes that spot tingle. Instead his hands sweep up to cup my breasts.
“Oh!”
I knew he would touch me there, and yet the reality of the sensation is shocking. It is completely different from touching myself, or even Madame Atout or Mrs. Fairfax touching me. His hands are harder. Possessive. Hungry.
There had been something more clinical, less invested, in the ladies’ touch.
Not so with the duke’s.
His fingers close around my nipples, rolling them through his fingers and then tugging upward, making me cry out as the rest of his hands squeeze my breasts. It feels so good. Pleasure ripples through me and I squirm against the restraints for an entirely new reason now.
Heat flushes through my entire body as he plumps and kneads my breasts, my nipples pulsing against his firm grip.
“Good girl, Betty,” he murmurs, his voice low and dark and making my belly curl in a manner that takes my breath away. I do not know why I like it so much when he says that, I only know that I do. “Do you know what good girls get?”
I shake my head, biting my tongue and too afraid to answer because I already know what naughty girls get. I do not want another spanking. It would be difficult to give me one, considering how I’m tied, but the little slap Mrs. Fairfax landed on my pussy lingers in my mind.
With a dark chuckle, as if he can hear my thoughts, he releases my breasts and slides further down the bed so that he is no longer above me, but is right between my legs. His head lowers between my thighs.
“Good girls get rewarded.”
He says the words right before his mouth presses against my pussy, his tongue sliding between the sensitive folds. I cry out again, throwing my head back against the pillow beneath it, as he begins to lick long strokes of pleasure up my slit. Thesensation is so intense that I try to close my thighs around his head, but of course I cannot, thanks to the restraints.
My hard nipples jiggle on my chest, pointing straight up at the canopy as I am held in place, at mercy to his mouth as he licks, sucks, and nibbles at my most sensitive flesh. My mind whirls, overcome by the physical sensations that scatter any thoughts which attempt to form.
It feels sinful.
Wicked.
And oh, so very good.
He teases my senses, my body tightening and shuddering in response to the swipe of his tongue. The little pearl of pleasure between my legs swells when he sucks it between his lips, and I cry out in protest when he releases it. Something is building inside me, growing almost painfully, ready to explode out of me.
My toes curl, my fingers bunching into fists as I writhe against his tongue. I want to grab hold of him and press him against my pussy until the sensations complete.
If it were not for the restraints, I might forget myself enough to do so.
“Please,” I whimper, squirming against his mouth. “Please, please, please…”
“Please, Daddy,” he instructs me, lifting his lips from my pussy for just a moment to do so.
“Please, Daddy!”
