37. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
L yra
I’ve seen things like this in vids, but being here, so close to such beautiful paintings and sculptures takes my breath away.
We enter a room full of huge paintings full of naked females engaged in all manner of things from lying on couches to battling fierce beasts.
“Are they all pets?” I ask, breathless. Vids never depicted pets. I’ve never seen one of my kind before. And look at them, fighting with swords, exhibiting their courage.
“No, not pets,” Master Vartan says.
Of course not. My old Master was right, pets don’t merit being the subject of these fine works of art.
“Do you think they’re pets because they’re nude?” he asks.
“Yes. Pets are naked. People wear clothes.” The rules are obvious. Except for me. I’m wearing clothes, but I still feel like a pet.
“These paintings are old. For some reason, artists liked to paint naked females. Perhaps because the female form is lovely to look at.”
Lovely. That’s an interesting word. I snatch a glance at him, then return my attention to the paintings. Could he possibly think I’m lovely? That thought fills me with fear . . . or is it excitement?
As we walk from room to room, we see art through the ages of Hyperion. Master Vartan has so much patience with me. He lets me listen to all the talking signs as I learn about the history of my planet. Well, it’s not my planet. I guess I’m from a place called Earth. But I listen to the explanations about the paintings and the artists and some of the details I never would have noticed without my attention being pointed to certain elements.
A pang of yearning darts through me as I wonder what it would have been like to go to school. What would my life be like if I had been allowed to learn this much every single day, like regular people? I would be the smartest person in the galaxy!
Stop it , Lyra, I scold myself. Master Vartan may be deluded and think you’re a person, but never forget what you really are. A pet. Pets aren’t good for anything. They’re not even useful like a workhorse or a beast of burden. They’re ornamental, nothing more. Don’t get a big head after one day at the museum.
As we’re about to leave the room, my attention is captured by the picture nearest the exit. It takes up almost an entire wall and has a shining golden frame. It shows an old-fashioned sailing ship in flames, listing to one side. Males of the Hyperion race are diving off the railings into perilous, choppy water. There’s a female, nude of course, standing in a small boat as she paddles to their side.
The talking sign explains this is the depiction of the battle of Herzon, where a female named Lydia rowed out to save a ship that had crashed upon the rocks. Legend has it that she single-handedly saved every soul on board.
My heart clenches in my chest as I contemplate what it would feel like to be useful. Of course, I could never do what Lydia did and save a life, but what if I did what Master Vartan described in the hover lot? What if I found a passion and discovered a way to help others?
My top teeth scrape my bottom lip as I allow myself one moment to imagine it. I give myself the pleasure of one moment more, just to pretend in my mind that I could do such a thing.
I vow to all the gods that if Master Vartan was telling the truth, if he’s really going to take me aboard his vessel and allow me to learn to read, I will make something with the gift I’m being given.
Vartan
Lyra loved the museum. I hadn’t been sure she’d like it and couldn’t really ask. She’s been so sheltered she doesn’t know what’s out there. And she’s never been allowed to make choices, so even if I’d asked, she’d have had trouble telling me.
But I chose well because she was fascinated. The questions she asked were intelligent, considering she’s had no education. I can’t wait to get her to the Devil’s Playground and set her up with some learning programs.
Something changed for her in that museum, for a moment at least. She seemed to stand a bit taller, talk a bit louder, exude a bit more confidence. Now that we’re hovering back to the hotel, though, I can almost see her shrinking back into her old shell.
“Have you ever been to a restaurant?” I ask.
“No . . .”
Every single time she says something I can almost hear the ‘master’ at the end of each sentence. At first, it irritated me, but now I find it endearing. It’s obvious how difficult it is for her not to say it, and how hard she’s trying.
“Would you like me to take you to one? You go to a building and sit at a table and people cook and bring the food to you.”
“If you’d like.”
“What would you like, Lyra?”
She pauses. When I glance over, her face shows how seriously she’s contemplating my question, as if it’s a difficult math problem.
“Truth,” I remind her gently. It always nudges her to speak her mind.
“I’d like to go back to the hotel and take a shower and not be around all those people. I’d like to . . .” her sentence comes crashing to a stop.
“Truth,” I urge.
“Do you really want to know what I want?”
I nod.
“I’d like to take a shower and not put my clothes back on. I’d like to kneel at your side and have you brush my hair, and I don’t want to have to talk. Thank you so much for taking me to the bazaar, and I loved the museum. It was the best day of my life. I’m on overload right now though and don’t want anyone expecting anything of me.”
For the briefest moment, I feel rejected. It’s as if I read her wrong and we didn’t have fun together. Then I realize how hard these changes must be for her. She’s barely left her house before, never been around throngs of people. Her mind has never been fed as much information as she received at the museum.
“Overload indeed, Lyra. I understand. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”
As soon as we return to our room, she takes a shower and I order food. When she leaves the refresher, she’s naked. I wondered if she would be, but I shouldn’t have; it’s what she said she wanted to do.
I’ve killed males in the arena. Never by choice, but when you’re put in a kill or be killed situation your instincts take over. Even with that, I still considered myself an honorable male. Until right now. Right now, I’m not so certain.
I should tell her to put some clothes on. She said she wants to be naked , the selfish part of my mind wheedles. You’re being kind. Let her be comfortable.
I absolutely know I’m doing the wrong thing by allowing this. And I just as clearly know I will not forbid it.
She walks directly to where I’m sitting at the table, drops to her knees by my side, and hands me the brush, a silent request on her face.
After I take the brush and tap my thigh, she lays her head on me and I brush her long, wet hair.
I can see why she likes this. Now that I’m doing it correctly, I imagine it soothes her. It’s a silent exchange between two people. I also understand why her former Master never tired of it. It’s mindless and calming. Truth be told, it’s more than that. It’s sensual, and a way of connecting.
I can’t deny it one more moment. I’m attracted to her.
My cock is hard behind the unforgiving leather of my pants. I doubt she can see it, and even if she could, she’s na?ve enough she might not understand what it is. But I do. I want her. How could I not? She’s beautiful and naked and is currently hugging my thigh.
Luckily, the knock on the door interrupts my lecherous thoughts.
“Put some clothes on, Lyra,” I tell her. “Let’s eat.”
Lyra
The shower refreshed me, and Master Vartan brushing my hair . . . I don’t know what that did. When he touches me it’s not at all like when old Master touched me. When old Master brushed my hair, it calmed me. Nothing is calming about being so close to Vartan.
My body’s been doing strange things since I’ve been around him. There are tight feelings low in my belly, and my panties are damp. The tips of my breasts pull into taut knots. Twice in the hover, I looked over at him and my mouth went dry.
I don’t see him as a scary alien anymore. I find his face handsome. When he places his hand on the small of my back, a thrill darts up my spine. After the bazaar, when he almost kissed me, I wasn’t certain I wanted it.
But I want it now.
During dinner he’s attentive, making sure I like the various dishes I’m eating. Yesterday he cut my food for me, but today I got the hang of it. It gives me a little thrill to know I’ve mastered one new thing, even though it’s so very small. I’ve seen younglings on vids do it, but they weren’t brought up as pets. I’d never held a fork or knife until yesterday.
But all the new tastes and smells and the mastery of cutting my own food fades into the background when I focus on Vartan.
I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to call him Master in my thoughts anymore. I want to call him Vartan. I roll the syllables around in my mind, relishing them. I vow to say them out loud from now on. Not only will I enjoy it, I think he will as well.
Pictures from the vids Mistress watched start flicking through my mind. She only watched them after Master nodded off. She didn’t care what I saw, but threatened me once in that evil, hissing tone she used when he wasn’t around. She said if I mentioned them, she would punish me. I never breathed a word.
I watched sometimes. They repelled me and fascinated me at the same time. The noises, the moaning, the sounds of flesh slapping on flesh scared me. But sometimes the expression on the people’s faces displayed pleasure.
Vartan has done so much for me. I shake my head to dismiss images of where I could be right now if someone else had bought me. I could be with someone mean who would pinch me like Mistress did—or worse. I watched enough law enforcement vids to know sometimes males hurt females between their legs. That could be happening to me right this moment, but Vartan would never do that. I know that now.
I should reward him for saving me. His male-part is hard for me. I saw it straining against his leather pants when I turned my head for him to brush my hair.
He gave me a present. My hand slips to the pendant now hanging warmly against my chest. I want to give him a present too.
“Are you tired, Lyra? Want to go to bed early?”
I’m still not used to being asked anything, and I’m certainly not used to making my own decisions. Except for the present I want to give Vartan. I’m sure about that.
“Yes.” The clothes feel weird on my body, and I don’t know how anyone gets used to wearing panties or a bra. I stand and remove the soft shirt and pants I put on when the food arrived, then slip into bed. I place my head in the exact middle of the pillow like Vartan wanted last night and close my eyes, counting my breaths until he lies down next to me.
The next thing I know, I wake up. I hadn’t planned on falling asleep and now Vartan is next to me breathing heavily, fast asleep. He must have taken a shower. He smells faintly of soap.
Turning on my side, I look at him. Instead of noticing what scares me about his face, I inventory all the things I like. His coloring is beautiful, so much more interesting than my own. The scar on his cheek reminds me of his bravery and his hard life.
I scoot closer and snuggle him like I did last night when he allowed me. He’s warm, his skin is soft. I put my nose on his chest and take a deep breath, memorizing his scent.
I’m not sure how to wake him. I consider touching his man-part, but that doesn’t seem right, so I whisper his name. At first, it’s so soft it’s barely a breath, then I whisper louder and louder. While I do that, I skim my palm over his chest, noticing the hard muscles under his red and gold skin.
“What?” he says, his voice deep and full of panic. If my hand hadn’t been on his body, I wouldn’t have believed how his muscles went from relaxed to steel in a modicum . He’s sitting, his eyes flared wide until his gaze falls on me, then the room. His body stands down, and he takes a breath.
“Sorry, Vartan.”
“What happened? What’s wrong?” His red gaze, now full of worry, pierces me.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I clench my teeth to keep from calling him Master. “I wanted to wake you.”
“Why, Lyra? Why would you wake me if nothing’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream? Are you worried?”
Vartan is a good male. His gladiator reflexes must have kicked in and taken him from sleeping peacefully to fully alert. Instead of being angry, though, he’s concerned for me. I feel even more certain I want to make him feel good tonight.
“I wanted to . . . thank you again for the present.” I sit up and let the covers pool at my waist as I grasp the pendant and show him, presenting my breasts at the same time. I saw something like this on one of Mistress’s vids.
“You woke me for that?” There’s a hint of irritation in his voice, but his eyes are focused on my chest. Not on the pendant I’m fondling, but on my breasts.
“I . . . wanted to give you a present too.”
“That’s very thoughtful, Lyra, but I know your circumstances. I’m well aware you have nothing to give. Thank you, though.”
I love when his voice is warm and melty like that.
“I do have something to give you, Vartan.” When he doesn’t immediately grasp my meaning, I cup my breasts and point my nipples at him. “I want to . . .” I don’t know the right words. I know the nasty vid words I heard, but I don’t want to say them.
“You want to share sex with me?” he asks, tipping his head at the same angle my old Master taught me to get his attention.
“Yes.”
“As a present?” his voice isn’t warm and melty anymore. He doesn’t sound happy. What’s the right answer? Obviously, the idea of me giving myself to him as a present displeases him, but the covers are too thin to hide his instant arousal at my suggestion.
“Not a present,” I hedge while I try to figure out the correct answer. What does he want to hear?
“Then why?”
I see it now. There’s passion on his face. His red eyes have turned to the color of hot lava; his mouth is slightly open as if he’s thinking about kissing me.
“Because I want you.” I watch closely, checking every tiny detail of his expression to see if I answered the question correctly.
“You want to kiss me?”
I nod.
“And touch me?”
“Yes,” my voice is breathy, just like the females on the vids.
“And you want me to touch you?”
“Oh yes.”
“I don’t want it to be a present, Lyra. I want it to be mutual. To please both of us.”
He’s the nicest person I’ve ever known. This is the least I can do.
“It will, Vartan. It will please me.”
My top teeth tug on my lower lip as I watch his face. He doesn’t scare me at all anymore. Even though his features have tightened, I don’t think he’s mad. I think it’s because he wants me. This thought makes the space between my legs twinge. It’s hot and shocking and makes me yearn for his touch.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Lyra,” his voice is deep and scratchy. He strokes his chin, contemplating my offer as if it’s complicated.
“You won’t,” I reassure him.
He sits up, crossing his legs and facing the headboard. Our bodies point in opposite directions, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. He’s almost naked, just wearing a loincloth. The room is silent as we sit motionless. He’s still considering my offer as he inspects my face.
He reaches over so the flat of his palm rests at the small of my back, right where my hair ends. His hand is warm and still. He lifts it under the curtain of my hair and slides it along my spine so slowly I mentally urge it upward. When it finally arrives at my neck, he cups it there, his fingers on the side of my neck where I can feel blood pulsing.
“Your heart is pounding,” he says. His mouth is so near my ear I feel his breath waft across my skin. “Are you scared?”
He’s a good male. What other master would ask their pet if she was scared? I remind myself I’m not a pet, but I’m still confused about so many things. I know he wants the truth from me. I can give him that.
“Yes.”
He tilts his face closer until his nose nuzzles behind my ear. His moist, hot breath gives me the shivers in a good way as he asks, “Scared of what?”
I think for a long moment, “Not pleasing you.”
“Oh, Lyra,” his lips slide up and down the path from my throat to my earlobe, “don’t be afraid of that. It wouldn’t be possible.”
His words are so deep and full of passion they make me tremble.
Did the world just slip into slow motion? Vartan’s palm resumes its slow glide up and down my back while his humid breath assaults my ear. This is nothing like the vids Mistress watched. It’s giving me quivery feelings.
“Would you like me to kiss you, Lyra?”
“Yes,” I tell him without conscious thought. My lids flutter closed as I expect his lips to claim mine, but Vartan isn’t in a mood to go fast. He sweeps my hair off my back and over my shoulder, then uses one finger to lodge under my chin to tilt it to just the right angle. His muscular bulk and masculine heat edge closer, then his breath fans across my lips.
He’s not touching me anywhere now. That’s not true. Our hips are still pressed together, but nowhere else. He remains motionless for so long I open my eyes to look at him and see the smallest smile playing on his mouth and a molten look of yearning in his eyes.
“You want this kiss?” he asks again. There’s something about the serious, questing look on his face that tells me he’d wait all night and into the next day for my answer. I won’t make him wait.
“Yes.” Perhaps there’s nothing in my life I’ve wanted more than this.
As his lips descend on mine, my lids shutter so all my attention can focus on my sensations. I feel their heat before I feel the flesh of his lips on mine. It’s so soft, just the lightest graze of skin on skin, less than the brush of a feather. Yet I feel the walls of my internal world crumble.
My first kiss. A threshold that had never been crossed is now bridged. Turning my body, I clutch him, my fingers curling around his rock-solid shoulders, hanging on. His kisses are longer now, as our lips become acquainted. His seem firmer than mine as he kisses me over and over.
It dawns on me that I’m receiving and he’s doing all the work. Suddenly, I realize I can kiss him back. I experiment with soft caresses and quick smacks. I press hard until our lips are plastered together, then I ease up and sway my head from side to side.
Nipping his full lower lip pulls a masculine grunt from him. I glance at him to make sure I didn’t hurt him, but the look on his face is filled with passion. I think I’m doing fine.
He rearranges me, pulling me across his lap, my hip against his belly. No, it’s not his belly. I feel his man-part pulsing there beneath his loincloth. I’m so curious. I’d like to see it. I guess I will . . . soon.
One of his huge hands spans my waist and the other lodges at the nape of my neck. His mouth slants across mine, and his tongue flicks at the seam of my lips. It tickles, yet I feel hot need speed through my body. My nipples prick and I turn in his arms so they drag against the firm skin of his chest. This doesn’t quench their need to be touched. Just the opposite, it makes me want more.
Opening to him, I welcome his tongue into my mouth. The delicate point explores, stroking my tongue, delving my depths. He smells so good. It’s that beachy smell I caught before, only stronger.
And his taste. It’s like the mellaberries in our backyard. I’d sneak them sometimes when Master let me out to play as a youngling. The sweet berries were ripe to bursting in the scorching summer sun.
I thought I was doing this to give Vartan a gift, but it isn’t just for him; I’m enjoying it too. The kisses aren’t patient, though, like they were in the beginning. They’re hard and hot and make me want things. Other things.
He pulls away from my mouth and grabs a deep breath. It’s as if he’s forcing himself to pull back, slow down. Then his mouth is on mine again, just lip to lip so he can delve into me and I can open to him like the first time.
The hand on my waist begins a slow climb up my body. I can feel him travel past each individual rib. Then he waits, poised, his thumb under my breast. His tongue is inside my mouth, sharing its sweetness, but my attention can’t stay there. Every thought in my head is directed at that hand. No. His thumb.
I want that thumb to move the small span to my nipple from where it’s resting. I wiggle, silently urging him to bridge that gap. Instead of cupping my breast or strumming my nipple, though, he pulls away far enough to ask, “Do you want this?” The ‘this’ is obvious—his thumb is drawing soft circles in a holding pattern near my breast.
“Yes, mmm . . .” I almost said ‘Master’ but made it into a sensual ‘mmm’ sound just in time.
He must not have noticed, because his hand flew to my breast, cupping its scant weight. He releases a quiet groan as he palms my nipple. His hands are big and rough, yet they touch me with exquisite tenderness. When his calloused fingers pluck my nipple, I gasp in pleasure.
He flicks and rolls the hardened bud until my tummy feels the way it did when we came up in the elevator.
As he eases me back against the bed, I get a good look at his masculine face and those black horns. I want to touch them, but I’m afraid. I’ll just lean back and let Vartan do as he wishes with me. He suckles at my breast, licking and flicking with his tongue.
I wonder if I’ve lost my mind. The pleasure is too intense. No, it’s not pleasure, it’s need. Burning, desperate need for him to keep doing what he’s doing. No. Not that either. I want more. My hands slide along the ridges of his back, picturing the markings I’ve seen there. His skin is soft, yet it’s pulled over muscles hard as stone.
When his teeth graze the tip of my tight bud, I forget what I’m doing and lie back more heavily. All I want is for this to go on forever.
The pulsing between my legs is getting stronger. It makes me restless and desperate. I saw enough of Mistress’s vids to have an idea that his man-part will touch me there. It always looked disgusting. No matter the sighs and moans and groans I heard, I figured they were playacting. What I saw on those vids didn’t look like it would bring pleasure.
That’s why I decided this would be a gift to Vartan. I want him to know I’ll be good to him. Whether he calls me a slave or a pet or a free female, it doesn’t matter. We both know I belong to him. I want him to like me and keep being kind.
His mouth is on one breast and his fingers are plucking the other. My legs are scissoring, wanting something, yet I don’t know what.
I slip my hand off his back and slide it between my legs. I’m shocked to find I’m like a furnace down there. And I’m sopping wet. Is this supposed to happen? When I touch myself, I feel a burst of pleasure so intense it’s almost painful.
I grip his back again, this time I wiggle my legs open so he’s nestled between them.
Vartan licks a trail from my nipple, over my collar bone, to my ear. He breathes there a moment in quick, hot pants.
“Do you want this?” he asks, pressing his loincloth-covered man-part against the seam of my legs.
The pressure feels divine. It’s exactly what I want. I think if he just keeps doing what he’s doing my body will reach the finish line of a race I’ve been running since he laid his lips on me.
“Yes,” I say as I rub against him. He stills, letting me dictate the pressure and the rhythm, then he adds his weight to the mix until I release a soft moan.
I feel his eyes examining me and wonder if I’ve displeased him until he whispers, “You like that, Lyra? You like my cock?”
Is that what he calls his man-part? Whatever he’s doing feels so good I have no reluctance saying, “Yes.”
Something is building inside me, ramping me up like a bowstring pulled taut. Something has to happen, right? So I will feel release?
Just when I think I’m nearing the finish line, he sits up, putting his weight on his knees. I watch him remove the length of fabric he uses to bind his sex. When it’s unveiled I can’t stifle my gasp.
His cock looks nothing like the glimpses I got of Mistress’s vids. For one, it’s bigger than anything I saw. And it’s scary. It’s the same colors as the rest of him, but somehow . . . angrier. It’s stiff and gold and the ridges and bumps are red. That’s supposed to go in my pee-hole? It will never fit.
I scamper backward, sliding along the bed until my head bumps into the headboard. He lays on top of me, his weight on his forearms instead of on me.
“That’s right, Lyra. Get comfortable. I’m going to make you feel good.”
Feel good? By the looks of that . . . weapon, I’ll be lucky to live through whatever he’s planning.
He kisses my throat again, then licks it with just the point of his tongue, taking a meandering path to my ear. I’m sensitive there and it feels good. Perhaps he’s already figured out that it calms me.
“Are you afraid?” he asks.
One part of my brain reminds me he always asks for the truth. It’s not too much to ask, but I don’t want to anger him. I wanted to do this to please him, not make him mad.
I must have stalled too long, because he nips the cord in my neck and scolds, “Truth, Lyra. Are you scared?”
I nod.
“We can stop. Say no.” He backs away, taking his heat and his soft skin off my body. I miss him immediately. “Want to stop?”
I think for a moment, but as soon as my gaze drops to his man-part—his cock—I know I don’t want to do this. I don’t know much, but I know this has got to hurt. I want to give him a present, though. I gather my courage and say, “Don’t stop.”
He spends long moments kissing me. He touches the burnished buds of my breasts and strokes along my flanks with his other hand. It’s that hand my mind focuses on. It’s getting near the juncture of my thighs. I want it to keep moving.
Finally, he places the flat of his palm between my legs and presses with the heel of his hand. That’s it. That’s the thing I’ve been waiting for. It teases at the edges of my awareness, promising me something wonderful is on the way. I thrust up against him, and he grants me even more pressure.
“That’s right, Lyra. You deserve to feel good. Move against me. Take your pleasure.”
I have no idea what he wants, but my body does. I rub up into him and he grinds against me in return. It’s only when I notice my mouth is dry that I realize I’ve been panting.
My gaze flies to his as if I need this tether to keep grounded and sane. He palms me in a circle and I moan in response. I grip his steel-like shoulders so tightly I fear I’ll cut little half-moons into his flesh, but I can’t release him.
Dipping his head to me, he thrusts his tongue inside my mouth at the same moment something pierces down below. It’s too many things at once and yet not enough. I keep trying to find the elusive goal. My body seems to hunger for something. It strains toward it, but I can’t find it.
“Let yourself go,” he whispers against my lips. I’m trying to reach some unknown pinnacle. Pressing so hard my teeth are clenched. He seems to know what I’m striving for, so I let go. Nothing happens except for the pang of yearning deep in my belly, which clenches even tighter.
I don’t want him to think I’m stupid, so I don’t ask all the questions that almost fall from my tongue. His fearsome gaze is searching my face—for what?
“Are you okay? You feel good?”
I nod and grant him a small smile. I do feel good, but running the race without getting to the elusive finish line is frustrating.
Suddenly I realize everything is backward. I wanted to give him pleasure. This was supposed to be a gift for him, not focused on me. I may not understand a lot about sex, but I know enough to realize he needs something from me.
“I want to make you feel good, Vartan. How do I do that?”
“You don’t have to, Lyra. I can go into the refresher and take care of myself.”
This shocks me. I don’t know how that would work, but it’s not what I want. I want to thank him for buying me and feeding me and gifting me a beautiful necklace and for taking me to the museum. I know he can’t accomplish that alone in the refresher.
“I want you,” I say as I glide my palm up and down his muscular arm. His face is so familiar now after only two days together. I like the way he looks. Now that I know him, I can tell the difference between his regular face and his angry face. I realize he’s never been angry at me, just that reptilian at the bazaar. And the look he’s giving me now? It’s affection. And yearning.
“Promise you’ll tell me if you want to stop.” He’s kissing me again. Speaking one word between each kiss.
“Promise,” I tell him even as I know I won’t stop him no matter what happens. I’ll do anything to give him a gift.
He covers me, yet puts no weight on me. It’s all resting on his hands and knees. He moves me, rearranging me so I’m open wide. I try not to be embarrassed. This is what Vartan wants.
The cool air in the room fans my folds, then I’m covered by his cock. His shaft is hot against my flesh. I lie back and close my eyes, but the picture of that huge thing doesn’t leave my vision.
As he teases the head against me, I hear the wet sound of flesh on flesh. His touch is pleasurable, but every muscle in my body is tight with fear. I try to lean into the pleasure, just like I tried moments ago.
His cock presses against me, where his finger touched me before. It pulses there, just the tip. This feels good. I hold his shoulders and grow so bold as to sneak a look at his face. He’s looking at me, his eyes never leaving my face. I let him see my pleasure, which makes the corners of his mouth lift.
“That’s right, Lyra,” he rasps. “You like that?”
“Yes,” I answer truthfully.
“Deeper now,” he says as he presses harder.
The pleasure turns to discomfort. The muscles around my eyes tighten and my lips flatten together in response. Then I remember he’s watching me, paying attention to my subtlest expression. I school my features into a mask of pleasure, then tuck my face against his chest.
Vartan
I hadn’t expected this. I’d thought she might be a virgin, but she seems excited. Even eager. She’s tight. Perhaps her old master was small and only touched her on special occasions. This isn’t why I bought her. I never expected sex. I simply wanted to free her.
But her nails are digging into my flesh as if she’s enjoying this. I haven’t been with many females. I seldom earned female rewards as a gladiator, and have only bought the pleasures of the flesh twice since I fought for my freedom.
Both times, when they got a look at my face, they raised their price. It humiliated me and wasn’t worth the cost. I decided to rely on my hand from then on.
Yet here is pretty Lyra, so shy and soft-spoken. Until she asked for my cock. She was adamant about that. I’ll give it to her, make her feel good.
She’s so tight. I’ll go slow.
“Good, Lyra?” my voice is a raspy husk. I need to maintain control. The last thing I want is to hurt her.
“Good,” she says, her voice almost strangled. She must be in the depths of passion.
She’s wet from arousal. Although it’s clear she isn’t well-used like the prostitutes I paid, I should be able to penetrate her with no problem. No one has complained before. They cooed and said they liked my girth. Well, they said that after I paid their inflated price.
I keep pressing in. With each small thrust, her nails dig into me more tightly. She’s making little noises now. Small grunts and pants.
I’m so deep in passion I don’t know how I manage it, but I stop kissing her long enough to ask, “Still good, Lyra?”
She lifts her head from my chest, presses her lips to my ear, and breathes, “Feel good for me, Vartan.”
I take this as permission to thrust harder, then quicker. The room is filled with the sounds of our passion, the slapping of wet flesh, the guttural sounds of her grunts every time I pierce her more deeply.
My balls tighten, then I explode into her, kissing her deeply at the moment of release. The moan she makes into my mouth spurs me on to enjoy this even more.
Still panting, I roll on my side with Lyra still folded in my arms. I kiss her cheeks, her eyelids, her lips.
“What a gift,” I tell her, then press my lips to her forehead. “Let me grab you a washcloth.”
“I’ll get up,” she says. “I have to go to the refresher.”