Sark growled approval.
“That’s right, baby—stroke your soft little pussy. Make yourself feel good.”
He had begun to caress my breasts again, especially the sensitive peaks of my nipples. I found that the pleasure added to the sensation of desire and need that seemed to be filling me as I continued to caress my core.
“Oh, Sark!” I moaned, arching my back as I felt the pleasure beginning to climb upwards again.
“Does it feel good?” he rumbled, his eyes half-lidded as he watched me. “Does it feel good to touch that part of yourself, sweetheart? To stroke your soft little pussy and make her purr?”
I didn’t know about that, but there was no denying the pleasure coursing through me as I rubbed and stroked the special spot between my thighs. I experimented and found that the right side of my Goddess pearl was slightly more sensitive and concentrated my efforts there.
Sark was right—I was incredibly wet and slippery between my legs—my forbidden area was positively drenched with my juices. I hadn’t even known that this part of my body could get wet, other than my monthly courses, obviously. Certainly it never had when Baslik had been poking and prodding me.
Again I pushed the thoughts of my cruel husband away and tried to concentrate on the pleasure that was building inside me. But it wasn’t easy—I kept thinking of how Nana had said this place was forbidden—only for my husband. And I kept thinking of Baslik and way he got that mean, laughing sneer on his face when he—
“Stop.” Sark’s big hand on mine made my fingers still at once.
“Oh…was I doing it wrong?” I asked uncertainly.
He shook his head.
“No, baby—you were touching yourself just right but you were getting too much in your head—I could see it in your eyes,” he told me.
“Oh, well…yes, I was,” I admitted. “Bad thoughts…bad memories keep trying to intrude. But I want to feel that pleasure—that ‘coming’ again!”
“You will,” Sark promised me. He leaned closer. “Just look at me, look in my eyes and listen to my voice. Concentrate on that and nothing else while you touch yourself,” he instructed.
“All…all right,” I whispered, looking up into his eyes.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he murmured, as my fingers began to move again. “You’re Goddess-damned gorgeous! And not despite your curves—because of them. You deserve pleasure, Isla—you deserve to be able to make yourself feel good.”
“I…I do?” I asked uncertainly.
“Hell yes, sweetheart,” he murmured. “So go on and stroke yourself. Open your soft little pussy and pet your Goddess pearl—make yourself feel good.”
“I…maybe I shouldn’t,” I was panting by this time.
“Oh yes, you should—it’s your body,” he reminded me again. “Touch it however you want to—make yourself feel good, baby.”
There was something in his deep, soft voice that seemed to touch me—not as I was touching myself but touch me deep inside. I felt that he really meant what he said. And because he said it was true, I felt that I was beautiful and deserving of pleasure.
“So soft and sweet,” Sark murmured, still caressing my breasts. His fingers were circling my nipples now, teasing me gently, making them tighten and ache with pleasure. “Gods, your wet little pussy is so beautiful, baby. Go on and touch her—give her what she needs.”
His encouraging words spoken in that deep, rumbling voice and the way he was looking into my eyes seemed to push me up the hill of pleasure again. I felt myself getting close to that peak Sark had showed me—only this time I was getting there myself instead of relying on him.
“Oh, Sark—I feel it!” I gasped. “I’m so close—so close!”
“That’s right, baby,” he growled softly. “Pet that little pussy and make yourself come. Make yourself come nice and hard.”
As he spoke, he held my eyes with his own and at last I felt my pleasure crest.
“Oh!” I moaned. “Oh, Sark, yes—yes, I…I’m coming.”
“Gods, baby, yes you are,” he growled, his eyes lazy with lust. “Damn, you’re so fucking gorgeous when you come!”
“Oh…ohhhh!” I could only moan as a second wave of pleasure—this was even stronger than the first—overwhelmed me. It felt so good there is almost no describing it—like a thousand sparks of light had exploded all through my body at the same time and I was floating on a river of stars.
Nothing I write does it justice. But the next thing that happened rather surprised me. When I finally took my fingers from my inner folds, Sark caught me gently by the wrist and raised my hand to his mouth.
With a low rumble of pleasure, he sucked my fingers—all sticky as they were from my juices—into his mouth and licked them clean.
“Gods,” he growled, when he at last released me. “You taste so fucking good, sweetheart! Your pussy makes such sweet honey.”
His words gave me a shock, for they reminded me of something else my Nana had told me. Was this another of the three signs, I wondered? But I don’t think that it was, for I am not so wet and slippery between my legs as I was. Though I confess, writing about the incident last night has certainly made me feel weak in the knees and it has made my “pussy”—I like that name better than “forbidden place”—quite hot.