Honey Flava

She cried out and rocked herself forward onto him.

Fingers moved, shaped to her, so her clit had something to catch, to make its wish come on, to bloom into fullness. The other hand snaked around the side of her and caressed her breast, teasing the skin, until the nipple drew tight. Those talented fingers drew her nipple out and plumped it, before reverently holding her in his hand.

The dual sensations made her body whimper its pleasure as she made small moans of delight.

“Yes, my sweet Ginger, bring your crystal-covered pearls for me.”

Her body rocked to his command and spasmed in a rush of need.

“That’s my sweet. Thank you for answering my call.”

He came to stand in front of her. With one hand, he dropped the robe that had covered him. This handsome former monk brought a hand to his mouth and tasted her.

She arched toward him, as if her lips might be where that hand had been.

His lips gleamed with her cum. His tongue licked the length of that succulent mouth and he smiled, one of those rare boyish grins. “Sweet. Like my Ginger, all sugary with a bite of fire at the end.” Lowering the hand to his cock, he rubbed the rest of her wet against him.

Her dark gaze locked to that gorgeous cock. It bounced in delight and she licked her mouth reflexively in want.

He tilted her chin up to him. “Soon, my darling, it will come. For now, you will do as I wish.”

She nodded and lowered her eyes.

Fingers squeezed her chin. Her gaze snapped automatically to his. “It is not subservience I want or seek, it is your intelligence, wisdom, and grace. Only a strong woman—one who is the mistress of her own destiny—might make a gift such as this so precious. Nothing less than the gift of your best is welcome here. So bring me the heat of your passion, the fullness of your desire, and the most exuberant of your need and then let me slake of my own desire.”

The beat of her heart was racing. Never had a man wanted so much, and more. Her body arched toward his as her gaze gave him everything she was.

“Yes. That is my Ginger; full of spirit and fire. Give me it all.” He stepped behind the pillar to his right and came back with more ropes and a box. He set the box gently on the ground and began to unwind another gold length.

Her body was roped from center to collarbone and down each leg. She hadn’t noticed the rings in the floor until she was secured in this spread-eagle position.

He stepped back from her, seemed to admire his workmanship, before he took the dais again. He leaned down and took the box from the floor. Inside was a small jar full of powder and a delightful pink puff. Blotting the strands in the fine grains, he shook the excess off. Ever so slowly, he approached her and teased the tips of her nipples, brushed the powder over her belly and again between her thighs.

Heat bloomed almost instantly and she strained forward toward him.

“What…” she began before her breath was taken away.

He moved in and whispered in her ear, “Ginger.”

Heat bloomed into heat and the dragon’s breath took form. She arched in titillation and almost pain, as a hand gently loosened the grains.

Moans escaped from her mouth, one after another. He drew himself against her and rubbed his body into the fire. His flesh joined hers and cock entered cunt. Together, they became joined as his body moved with hers.

She was on fire with the heat of the powdered ginger and him, and as his body rubbed, it drew the dragon onto him. Together, they shared the fire, and her gaze steadied into his, her body grabbed his cock and milked his seed from him. As she cried out her sheer pleasure, she climaxed on him and the dragon. But still she grabbed him, her body seeking more, needing more than heat.

“My hungry lady of fire, I see that want in your eyes. Do you trust me to bring you more than desire?”

“Yes, master.” The words tumbled from her lips fast and tight.

His lips caught hers and rewarded her bravery, her truth, and her desire.

He pulled out and clapped his hands in a short burst of sound.

She didn’t jump this time, only looked around.

Men streamed from the doors, young and old alike. They stood reverently in the center as if she were a goddess to be praised and was already so adorned. Then they bowed down, and something in her mind and between her legs gave. Perhaps it was the appearance of being so vulnerable, rawly displayed—her emotions on her face and her body open—but the men bowing to her made her body begin to tighten and moisten, making wet drip down her leg.

Breath caught in her throat as he—the master—took to the stand. With boldness, his hands stroked over her, owned this moment in front of them.