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The sub gets to be the mistress.
Words were not needed. Delightfully, her tremble grew in quick panting breaths in return, chest heaving. The blood surged in him.
"It would be well if you would leave her until tomorrow," the Mistress admonished quietly. "I will apply athil to soothe the entrance."
The words merely amused and aroused him further. He knew his bride was sore, but his blood was surging with the need to imprint himself on her, see her gasping with pleasure under his invasion again. And so he would be gentle, gently draw from her those desperate sounds of delight, ensure the same lush, wet, eager welcome awaited him as before. Tomorrow? Not a chance. "Your advice is noted," he murmured in reply.
Well, he would be as gentle as was appropriate.
The Mistress of the Chamber said no more. Her position in the court relied upon correct interpretation of the moods of the Great Tahl, together with teaching his many concubines and succession of brides to respond to them in the manner most pleasing to him.
"Enough," he growled. Xanir uncoiled swiftly from his position squatting beside his bride, stripping off his trousers and moving to stand naked, feet planted either side of the tub, directly in front of Alanna's face, voice quiet as he gave another order.
Alanna was relieved, despite the surging disappointment in her blood, when the intrusive fingers withdrew. A second later she drew in breath sharply, recoiling as the rigid, moist tip of his erect cock daubed her cheekbone. Her spine tingled at the feel, the smell of their mingled juices coiling heavy in her nostrils, repelling yet exciting, and her eyes leapt to his. The abandoned nub between her legs throbbed. That look. Eyes smiling, his hands closed gently yet firmly around the back of her skull and he pulled her toward him, until the head of his throbbing, eager member was millimetres from her forehead.
Alanna realised that the maid had untied her wrists, and now a warm, soaked sponge was being pressed into each palm. She sighed in relief at the freedom. The breath of air made the cock in front of her twitch, and the gleam in Xanir's eyes as he looked down at her deepened.
She flushed gently but didn't resist as the maid's hands closed around her wrists from behind, and lifted hers to gently stroke the sponges from base to tip of the rampant cock in front of her face. She rinsed them swiftly in the tub, then repeated the moves again and again in a swift, rhythmic massage, eyes never leaving his. She felt like she was being hypnotised, mesmerised by the throbbing power dabbing at her face. And in his eyes. The ache to feel him inside her.
The maid took the sponges from her, and lathered up Alanna's hands with yet another different-scented soap, then she was taught to rub gently on the heavy sack under the root of his member, teasing bubbles across every inch of the sensitive skin. His cock twitched, and he let out a sigh of pleasure. Deep blushes stained her cheeks. The pulse in her neck was throbbing in time to the stroke of her hands, the deep tremble within her belly tightening again as his fingers in her hair guided her lips to run gently against the moist tip facing her. Her nipples stretched towards him, tingling almost painfully.
The maid closed Alanna's grasp more firmly around the shaft straining towards her, and she was taught a different rhythm, squeezing as she stroked both hands up and down the long pole while the woman poured water along the hard length. It grew in front of her eyes, straining towards her, and Xanir thrust his hips forward, the smooth tip pushing between her parted lips, painting her tongue with a salt-sour, strange taste.
He bent, and a firm grasp clamped around her damp ribcage.