When She Dances

I shove the last cake into my mouth, my cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. It takes some creative chewing to get all the food down, but I manage and use my finger to get the last of the syrup off the plate. I'd bring the entire thing to my mouth and lick it clean if Zakoar wasn't looking. Instead, I just wash it down with some water and try not to think about how delicious it was or that I'd probably murder someone for another plate of it.

Zakoar's hand is on my hip, gliding over some of the bruises. "Turn around. Hands on the counter."

"Sex?" I ask, a little surprised. "In here?"

"What's wrong with in here?" He shakes his head. "But no. I'm going to take care of your wounds." He gives me an impatient look. "I don't feel the need to rut on every surface in my home, thank you."

Yeah, but he's felt the need to rut every time I seem to turn around, but I keep that thought to myself. I put my hands on the counter, leaning forward. It's a counter height for a mesakkah, so the “counter” itself hits me right in the tits, and the cool metal feels interestingly good against my nipples. I don't rub against it like a shameless wanton, because my nipples aren't bruised. He hasn't even touched my tits. It's like he doesn't quite know what to do with them.

Heck, he probably doesn't. I wonder if it'd be too bossy of me to show him the other pleasure spots on humans?

I wait impatiently as he uncaps the healing lotion (or whatever it is) and hope it's not smelly and sticky like the things I remember my mother rubbing on my chest as a child. To my surprise, the first touch of his fingers feels decadently wonderful. The stuff goes on smooth and cool and tingles wherever he touches me.

And immediately, it feels better.

With a little sigh, I lean forward against the counter, relaxing as he gently massages my hips. "Thank you," I murmur, eyes closing.

"Quit thanking me," he mutters. "It's my fault you're bruised."

"You didn't know. I sure wasn't going to tell you to stop."

"Because I'm your owner?"

"Because it felt good," I admit. I'm still a little flabbergasted that he bothers to care how I feel in bed. Even now, he's tending to me instead of making me wait on his needs. I've been a slave for long enough that instead of appreciating this, it makes me a little wary. Like I'm expecting the other shoe to drop. I fully expect to wake up tomorrow in chains again, at the auction block. Good things never happen to me…and so far, Zakoar and his strange kindnesses are very good things.

His fingers work over my buttocks in a massage, and it takes everything I have to remain still because his hands keep migrating toward the cleft of my ass. As he rubs, they skate against my cheeks, and I grow increasingly aware of his touch…and the rasp of his breathing.

"Spread your legs," he tells me.

Sex again, then. I wasn't wrong. I spread obediently, holding onto the counter.

Instead of his cock, though, his fingers glide through my folds and slick my pussy with more of the healing lotion. He works it into my skin and then into the entrance of my core, and I whimper, because I'm not sure if it's supposed to feel this good.

"I know," he whispers. "I bruised you here, didn't I? I'm too eager for you."

I squirm against his fingers as they dip into me. "It's not so bad," I pant. "Really." It's really downright delicious right now. A little sore, sure, but nothing I can't handle. Plus, the more he touches me, the more I want him to keep touching me. I want his fingers to go deeper. I want him to push me against the counter and fuck me hard. I don't care if it means I can't walk tomorrow. If being a slave has taught me anything, it's that you grab onto whatever immediate pleasure you can find and don't think about the next day. So I might be doing a little encouraging of my own. I push my ass out, just a little. "I'm yours, remember?"

"I know." His fingers skim over my clit, and I nearly jump, because oh god, I am incredibly sensitive. Turned on, yes, but sensitive. "I want to claim you again, but I've no wish to hurt you. You're too soft and tender."

That makes me moan, especially the reverent way he says it. It makes me want to keep fooling around, even if it means giving other parts of my body a rest. "We can do other things, if you want."

Behind me, Zakoar stills. "Other…things?"

He sounds so astonished. It's kind of cute. "Don't you ever watch porn?"