A Gentlewoman's Ravishment Read Online Free PDF Page B

forwardness. He likes my lust for him. Shrinking virgins who resist their own urges are not to his taste. He prefers lusty women who know what they want, and who aren’t afraid to reach for it.
    “Oh, very good, Mrs. Enderby…very good.” He speaks in that low, husky, almost indistinct way again, but his meaning is clear.
    And he knows my name. Everyone here seems to. It is clear to me that I’ve been targeted, not plucked off the street at random. I’m a chosen woman, carefully selected by this man. And singled out for my own pleasure, just as much as his.
    Big hands slide down my body now, cupping my buttocks. He manhandles me against him with great effectiveness, positioning my clitoris against the solid muscle of his thigh far more accurately than I was able to do myself. He rocks me against the fulcrum of his strength, working my most sensitive part, but when I start to soar again, he backs off, teasingly denying release.
    Rolling me onto my back, he slips a finger into my channel and hooks it round, making me shout at the intense, confusing sensation. It’s so sharp that it’s hard to tell where the discomfort of it ends and the pleasure begins, but I only know I want more, more, more of it. And as he rubs me inside, he touches my clitoris with a finger from his other hand. I groan helplessly, and as I start to come, he pinches the tiny organ gently.
    Ah, I can’t believe it! Another climax so hard and so quickly after the last. This one crystal clear, sharpening my mind instead of dulling it. Eyes wide open, I look into his, so night-blue and enigmatic in the frame of his dark mask.
    Who are you, sir? I cry out silently, coasting on a high wave of pleasure.
    This time, I recover quickly, hungrily, my voracious appetite for him stoked and embellished. I care not what I get—hands, lips, cock—I only want more. He laughs as if he’s read my thoughts. Maybe he has. He’s a mystery, but he seems to have powers and a degree of sensibility beyond that of normal men.
    As I surge toward him, he pushes me back down amongst the pillows again, and from beneath one of them, he produces a pair of long silk ribbons.
    My belly flutters as I divine their purpose, and as he takes me by the wrists and binds my hands above my head to the low brass bedstead, I’m so excited by the sensation I can barely breathe.
    I’m totally vulnerable. Totally available to him. And I adore it, parting my thighs to entice him once more.
    His fine mouth twists in a smile, half teasing, half affection, and he gives a little shake of his head, as if despairing of me. Even half obscured by the black mask, the expression on his face is indulgent, almost kind, and even in the face of what could be parlous danger, I feel reassured…and at peace.
    Relaxed, even. That is until he opens a drawer in the chest beside the bed and brings out an object, carved from ivory, pale and gleaming.
    Goodness gracious, I do believe it’s a godemiche! A faux penis, such as a woman might use to relieve her desirous cravings in the absence of a husband to satisfy her. Although heaven knows what sort of monster such a husband might be, if his member were the size of this ivory fabrication.
    The thing is enormous! Bigger even than the penis of my kidnapper, and more generous in both girth and length than my dear Mr. Enderby’s gentlemanly tool, which I’m happy to say is also considerable.
    I begin to squirm, both edging away from the threat of such a thing, and subconsciously inviting my captor to put it to its use. He clearly intends to. The half smile becomes a full one, wicked and teasing, as he lays the carved, creamy-colored monster on my belly.
    It feels heavy and warm, almost as if it were real. My eyes flick from the ersatz penis, to the most real one that’s still on display, poking from within the blue satin folds of my companion’s Eastern trousers. He’s not as huge as the godemiche, and not fully erect yet, but there’s promise in his rosy, living