Instead, I gave permission for Jasmine to suck him off, to give Tor the orgasm he has successfully resisted for so long.
"Yes, Madame," she assented demurely, eyes downcast.
She knelt unhesitatingly in from of Tor, whose own eyes clearly showed he understood what treat was in store for him now. She took his cock deep into her mouth; accommodating though she is, she could not take his entire meaty shaft inside her. Instead, she stroked his thick cock, moist from the juices of her pussy and my mouth, with one hand, and cupped and massaged his balls with the other.
I laid back on the cool stone altar, my legs wide and wanton, unable to resist touching myself as I watched my servants performing for my pleasure, and theirs. I found myself slipping first one and then two dark-nailed fingers into my own vagina, using the creamy moistness within as lubrication. I ran my fingertips in circular movements over my clit, first softly but very soon with increasing urgency.
Tor's breathing was now coming in short ragged gasps, interspersed with moans and grunts, no longer able to articulate the simplest words. As I watched, Jasmine expertly ran one talon'd fingertip over the tight sphincter of his anus. His penis twitched involuntarily, hardening still further at her touch. She would milk him dry, I could see, and very soon.
He came explosively, filling Jasmine's mouth with his sticky fluids, overfilling it, so that his juices dripped onto her chin and breasts and belly and thighs. His cries reached a wild animal crescendo, a bellow echoing from the irregular ceiling far above our heads. Watching, excited beyond any containment by their performance, I came too, my back arched, my fingers frantic against my clit. My cries joined his as we share a long moment of pleasure.
The bats, once again disturbed from their roost by our cries of release, fluttered above us.
My dinner companion, her eyes bright in the candlelight, listened to my tale with rapt attention, the wineglass in her hand forgotten. When I had finished, she sat quietly, contemplatively, for a long moment. Then she leaned forward over the table, the heavy silver cross on her necklace swinging free and drawing my eye momentarily to the bat-shaped tattoo on her breast.
"I think," she said carefully, looking me directly in the eye, "you need to explore those fantasies of yours, in a place outside of your head."
She tossed back her long black hair, her face suddenly breaking into a wicked grin. She put down her glass of blood-red wine and reached over the white linen tablecloth to take my hand in her own.
"And I'm just the woman to help you."
If you have enjoyed this story, why not explore the other stories in the Fantasy and Science Fiction collection?