caught like a butterfly on a pin, unable to look away as he chafed himself against her, almost smiling at her sighs of pleasure.
"You don't need to worry that I'm going to hurt you, Miss… Miss…"
The handkerchief in her mouth prevented her from answering even if she'd wanted to, which she didn't.
"Well, I'm just going to call you missy. I'm going to do the exact opposite of hurting you, don't you worry. I don't imagine you've experienced a lot of pleasure, even though it's your job to give it to others, but I'm the gentlemanly sort, and I heartily believe that you should enjoy this too. So you just lie back and let me love you, and we'll both walk away happy."
As much as she wanted to be reassured by his gentle words, her internal moral compass knew she couldn't allow that, so she did her best to resurrect her battle against him, but her jabs again missed their mark or fell futilely against it, so much so that he was chuckling as she tried. And that was the first thing that had her crying since he'd stopped spanking her, although she did her best to stifle it. Dream or no dream, her body was betraying her. No matter how much she struggled, her body demanded more, demanded that he do just that; pleasure her, love her, take her.
"I know some women prefer to be restrained—it adds a little spice for them—and I'm only too happy to oblige a lady's interests," he said, fastening her wrists to the mattress as if they were bolted there by the mere presence of his fingers around them, holding them still. "I like that you are in the mood to be feisty."
Then, agonizingly slowly, he dragged himself down her length, his tongue flicking and licking and wetting her here and there, wherever the whim took him to taste her, right down past the thicket of her pubic hair and boldly venturing between lips that were undoubtedly fully swollen and quite damp.
But he stopped short of actually pressing his tongue to her clit, which was something she realized she was holding her breath expecting—not in terror, as she should have been, but in desperate, raging anticipation—to feel that exquisite heaven for the first time in her life.
Instead, he pulled back a little, making Cimmy stifle a groan of protest that should never have formed in her throat, and skipped right over it on his way to the part of her body that, at this point, was the wettest she owned.
After avidly lapping up as many of her juices as he could with his tongue, he moved back up a little and addressed her, although at first she steadfastly refused to look at him.
"My, my, my, you are just a fountain down here, aren't you? I see my guess was right about you liking to protest and fight, hmmm? And if I was pressed, I'd have to guess that the spanking I gave you was what started all this in the first place, hmmm?"
Although she knew she was lying, Cimmy shook her head in vehement denial.
But he merely nodded. "I understand, I do, missy, and it's fine with me. I love it that you so obviously enjoy what I'm doing to you. There's a lot more where that came from." Then he cleared his throat and the boyish enthusiasm he had just exhibited melted away as if it had never been, and the timbre of his voice changed such that she had to suppress a shiver. "I'm going to let your wrists go right now, and I expect that you're not going to raise them off the bed. Knowing what I do about you now, if you do move them so much as an inch, I'm going to put you over the edge of the bed and use my belt on your backside. And I won't go nearly so easy on you as I did when I was spanking you. I know you like it, and it's going to take just that more effort on my part to teach you a real lesson. If you move your hands, missy, it won't be a spanking. It will be a good ol' whoopin'."
He let go of her wrists then and didn't even look to see whether she obeyed him or not, as far as she could tell. He assumed she would, and to her deep shame, he was right. He was obviously going to enjoy himself