Hellfire {2/11}afterandalasiaOctober 17 2014, 22:21:56 UTC
"Stop that at once!" he snapped.
Esmeralda ignored him and finally drew her skirt high enough for her hand to slip beneath it. She was mildly surprised to realise how turned on she was by this, having this man watching her like this, and as she rolled her nipple between finger and thumb she let the fingers of her other hand brush over her warm, slick labia. An appreciative little moan slipped from her lips.
"I said stop, you slattern," repeated the soldier, now knocking with the hilt of his sword against the bars. But his voice had cracked.
"But sir," she said breathily, opening her eyes to look upon him but not stopping the slow circles of her fingers upon her clit, the rustling of her skirts that it created, "however am I to spend my last night, else?"
He made a vague noise of disgust and turned as if to walk away.
Esmeralda bought his attention back with another soft moan, arching her back. Her blouse was threatening to slip from her other breast, the darkness of her other nipple just visible at the top of the fabric. She bent one leg, sliding her foot up against the bar, tilting it outwards slightly so that the movement of her hand was almost - almost - made visible to him. The soldier was breathing faster now, and could not tear his eyes from her, and her fingers felt exquisite on her skin, hot with the desire of others on her.
"Do you want to fuck me, soldier?" she purred.
All that the soldier managed was a sort of strangled sound. Esmeralda withdrew her hand from beneath her skirts, to a flicker of disappointment on his face, but it faded fast enough when she put one finger to her lips and slowly, tauntingly, slipped it into her mouth. She tasted like salt. There was a definite sense of urgency to the soldier's stance, a change to the fall of his doublet.
She pulled her finger from her lips with a soft wet pop, and reached down to undo the knot that held her skirt in place.
It slid to the ground. There was a time that she would have been furious to think of it lying on some filthy cell floor, but it was not as if that could concern her now. They put you in a white dress for executions. She reached up and peeled down her blouse as well, then even reached up and undid the ribbon from her hair and let it twirl down to the pool of fabric at her feet.
Wordless, the soldier watched it all.
It was really remarkable, what a female body could do to men. The mere sight of one, the mere thought of one. As if half of the world did not have them. Esmeralda walked slowly across the cell, hips swaying, fingers still shining and nipples hard in the air. By the time that she reached the door in front of him, the soldier was still looking at her, slack-jawed. He was not a wholly unpleasant-looking man; perhaps a couple of years younger than her, with nothing more than peach fuzz upon his chin and wavy dark hair beneath his helmet. He was only just beyond arm's reach. She could coax him closer and grab his sword, she supposed, pull it from his sheathe and-
And what? Stab him? Stab each man that came for her until one of them bought a crossbow? Perhaps this way was better.
"Will you fuck me, monsieur gazier?" She leant forwards, bosom heaving, feet set apart on the floor. She could feel the cool air against her cunt, the heat curling deep in her belly, the ache to be fucked. She let her teeth trail over her lower lip. "They need never know. I would rather go to the grave," she leant forwards, letting something conspiratorial creep into her voice, "with a man's fuck dripping down my thighs, then dry as a nun's coney."
One hand crept down to slip between her thighs again, teasing light strokes over her entrance. She tilted her hips upwards a little more, putting an arch to her back and a curve to her breasts, and saw lust overtake sense in his eyes.
Esmeralda ignored him and finally drew her skirt high enough for her hand to slip beneath it. She was mildly surprised to realise how turned on she was by this, having this man watching her like this, and as she rolled her nipple between finger and thumb she let the fingers of her other hand brush over her warm, slick labia. An appreciative little moan slipped from her lips.
"I said stop, you slattern," repeated the soldier, now knocking with the hilt of his sword against the bars. But his voice had cracked.
"But sir," she said breathily, opening her eyes to look upon him but not stopping the slow circles of her fingers upon her clit, the rustling of her skirts that it created, "however am I to spend my last night, else?"
He made a vague noise of disgust and turned as if to walk away.
Esmeralda bought his attention back with another soft moan, arching her back. Her blouse was threatening to slip from her other breast, the darkness of her other nipple just visible at the top of the fabric. She bent one leg, sliding her foot up against the bar, tilting it outwards slightly so that the movement of her hand was almost - almost - made visible to him. The soldier was breathing faster now, and could not tear his eyes from her, and her fingers felt exquisite on her skin, hot with the desire of others on her.
"Do you want to fuck me, soldier?" she purred.
All that the soldier managed was a sort of strangled sound. Esmeralda withdrew her hand from beneath her skirts, to a flicker of disappointment on his face, but it faded fast enough when she put one finger to her lips and slowly, tauntingly, slipped it into her mouth. She tasted like salt. There was a definite sense of urgency to the soldier's stance, a change to the fall of his doublet.
She pulled her finger from her lips with a soft wet pop, and reached down to undo the knot that held her skirt in place.
It slid to the ground. There was a time that she would have been furious to think of it lying on some filthy cell floor, but it was not as if that could concern her now. They put you in a white dress for executions. She reached up and peeled down her blouse as well, then even reached up and undid the ribbon from her hair and let it twirl down to the pool of fabric at her feet.
Wordless, the soldier watched it all.
It was really remarkable, what a female body could do to men. The mere sight of one, the mere thought of one. As if half of the world did not have them. Esmeralda walked slowly across the cell, hips swaying, fingers still shining and nipples hard in the air. By the time that she reached the door in front of him, the soldier was still looking at her, slack-jawed. He was not a wholly unpleasant-looking man; perhaps a couple of years younger than her, with nothing more than peach fuzz upon his chin and wavy dark hair beneath his helmet. He was only just beyond arm's reach. She could coax him closer and grab his sword, she supposed, pull it from his sheathe and-
And what? Stab him? Stab each man that came for her until one of them bought a crossbow? Perhaps this way was better.
"Will you fuck me, monsieur gazier?" She leant forwards, bosom heaving, feet set apart on the floor. She could feel the cool air against her cunt, the heat curling deep in her belly, the ache to be fucked. She let her teeth trail over her lower lip. "They need never know. I would rather go to the grave," she leant forwards, letting something conspiratorial creep into her voice, "with a man's fuck dripping down my thighs, then dry as a nun's coney."
One hand crept down to slip between her thighs again, teasing light strokes over her entrance. She tilted her hips upwards a little more, putting an arch to her back and a curve to her breasts, and saw lust overtake sense in his eyes.
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