His fingers were long, strong and firm and aristocratic. They would probably snap like twigs.
"Don't dare bite," he murmured, voice trembling between growl and laugh. "It won't go well for you."
Jasmine laughed. "Sure it won't. I've heard, Jafar. They've told me since last time. Those hired dancers of yours - not awfully occupied, were they?"
"They were occupied," he said, "dancing, of course. I have aesthetic interests, Princess." A tongue lapped her neck and as her eyes rolled he whispered: "I am a connoisseur." Another thoughtful lick. "I love arches."
The fingers rolled along her lips again, but they didn't move inside. It was a small victory, but his large, bony hands were skimming her belly and her sides in ways that she could barely keep from provoking squirms; his tongue roved restlessly over her skin and down to run the length of the border of her skin and bodice.
Inexhaustible, without intent or direction, without change of pace or tone, except that as she squirmed and moaned he would breathe, at times turning to look at her shadow as it moved on the wall, at times pausing to run the ghost of a hand along her spine and groan as she arched her back.
"You, Princess," he murmured, and she wanted to scream. She would scream, only there was an ache now and he pulled his knee away when her hips bucked.
"I should unchain you," he murmured in her ear, "I don't think this does you justice. I have powers again - when I could control your movements, dear, I could feel every inch of you. I wonder if I shouldn't make you dance for me, or bend, or ... but then, you seem occupied already."
"Let me," she managed, "let me go."
"Wrong choice of words," he answered, and she felt lips over her mouth. He breathed, "Of course I can't free you. Your captivity integral to my plan. The rest is not - this is recreational." He shivered. "Though I don't hope to stop that either. You move as deliciously as I dreamed, dear. And I think," as she groaned and bucked, "your diction is quite conscious. Once all the politics are over I really must make you dance in veils."
"Don't dare bite," he murmured, voice trembling between growl and laugh. "It won't go well for you."
Jasmine laughed. "Sure it won't. I've heard, Jafar. They've told me since last time. Those hired dancers of yours - not awfully occupied, were they?"
"They were occupied," he said, "dancing, of course. I have aesthetic interests, Princess." A tongue lapped her neck and as her eyes rolled he whispered: "I am a connoisseur." Another thoughtful lick. "I love arches."
The fingers rolled along her lips again, but they didn't move inside. It was a small victory, but his large, bony hands were skimming her belly and her sides in ways that she could barely keep from provoking squirms; his tongue roved restlessly over her skin and down to run the length of the border of her skin and bodice.
Inexhaustible, without intent or direction, without change of pace or tone, except that as she squirmed and moaned he would breathe, at times turning to look at her shadow as it moved on the wall, at times pausing to run the ghost of a hand along her spine and groan as she arched her back.
"You, Princess," he murmured, and she wanted to scream. She would scream, only there was an ache now and he pulled his knee away when her hips bucked.
"I should unchain you," he murmured in her ear, "I don't think this does you justice. I have powers again - when I could control your movements, dear, I could feel every inch of you. I wonder if I shouldn't make you dance for me, or bend, or ... but then, you seem occupied already."
"Let me," she managed, "let me go."
"Wrong choice of words," he answered, and she felt lips over her mouth. He breathed, "Of course I can't free you. Your captivity integral to my plan. The rest is not - this is recreational." He shivered. "Though I don't hope to stop that either. You move as deliciously as I dreamed, dear. And I think," as she groaned and bucked, "your diction is quite conscious. Once all the politics are over I really must make you dance in veils."
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment