PETALS AND THORNS Read Online Free Page B
her breath. And gave a little cry when the cool leather touched her skin. With one fingertip, he traced 20
concentric circles around and around her breast, coming ever closer to the nipple.
Then stopped.
He repeated the pattern on her other breast.
Amarantha squirmed, tugging on the little silver chains. The Beast chuckled, then transferred to the other breast again. Incoherent whimpering sounds struggled out of her as he repeatedly tormented one breast, then the other. The music crashed and swelled around them, but the Beast never lost patience with his game. In the distance, the clock struck one.
The Beast seized her nipples in his gloved fingers and squeezed hard.
Amarantha screamed.
She pulled at the little chains, but they wouldn't give. She tried to kick, but the Beast's massive thighs imprisoned her. He simply maintained the pressure, pressing her nipples between his fingers until she subsided.
Then he began to roll them. Amarantha's breaths sobbed out as he massaged the nipples, pinching them until they throbbed. Had her breasts felt swollen from the relentless teasing? Now her nipples seemed as if they might explode from the blood filling them.
When he stopped, she sat quietly, panting. Her nipples stood out, dark crimson arrows.
With one gloved hand, the Beast lightly slapped the side of her breast. Then the other. The next slap bit in harder. Then they began to sting.
The beast would focus first on one breast, slapping it between his hands so that the round globe of it swung between them like a ball. Then he'd switch to the other, leaving the one he'd just tortured to flush and sting in the cool air.
Amarantha wept in earnest. Her sobs and wails rising and falling with the throbbing chords of music, she thrashed under the Beast's hands. It took her a while to realize he'd stopped. Gradually her sobs trailed off. Through the blur of
21
tears, she could see her breasts, bright red and trembling with each shuddering breath.
The Beast sat and watched.
“You delight me beyond measure, my Amarantha,” he told her, his voice rough, full of dark chords like the music.
“I can't bear this!” She nearly screamed it.
“Oh, but you can. And more. This is just the beginning, my love, of the games we can play.”
“I hate it! I hate you!”
“You may well hate me. Despise me. Feel horror for my cursed appearance.
But this , you love. Allow me to demonstrate.”
The chair grated a harsh noise as the Beast rose and kicked it back.
Amarantha cried out as the Beast flung her gown above her knees and wrenched her legs apart. She flailed, but he ran a gloved finger up her thigh and into her core.
Amarantha nearly convulsed when he touched her.
The Beast held up his gloved hand before her eyes. The leather shone slick with the moisture that frothed between her legs.
“This, my love, tells me more truly how you feel than the silly things you say.
For this next bit, I must remove my gloves. The sight of my hands may disturb you.
Would you prefer to be blindfolded?”
“Oh, please…”
“Please, you would like to be blindfolded?”
“Please… Isn't this enough punishment?”
“Only I can decide that, Amarantha. Now, blindfold or no?”
She imagined not knowing what he did to her. Trapped and without sight. She shivered.
“No blindfold, please.”
22
“I can see the idea arouses you. But we shall save that particular spice for another night.”
The Beast stepped to the side, out of her peripheral vision. Amarantha heard the slide of leather and tried to steel herself. Her skirts still rode high on her thighs.
Her breasts throbbed, painfully swollen, echoing each hard thump of her heart, her nipples contracting in sparking counterpoint. The music built again, the minor strains moaning beneath the surface chords.
When the Beast's cloaked form stepped in front of her, Amarantha closed her eyes. He chuckled at her. Hot hands clasped her breasts, and she moaned. Her sensitized skin
concentric circles around and around her breast, coming ever closer to the nipple.
Then stopped.
He repeated the pattern on her other breast.
Amarantha squirmed, tugging on the little silver chains. The Beast chuckled, then transferred to the other breast again. Incoherent whimpering sounds struggled out of her as he repeatedly tormented one breast, then the other. The music crashed and swelled around them, but the Beast never lost patience with his game. In the distance, the clock struck one.
The Beast seized her nipples in his gloved fingers and squeezed hard.
Amarantha screamed.
She pulled at the little chains, but they wouldn't give. She tried to kick, but the Beast's massive thighs imprisoned her. He simply maintained the pressure, pressing her nipples between his fingers until she subsided.
Then he began to roll them. Amarantha's breaths sobbed out as he massaged the nipples, pinching them until they throbbed. Had her breasts felt swollen from the relentless teasing? Now her nipples seemed as if they might explode from the blood filling them.
When he stopped, she sat quietly, panting. Her nipples stood out, dark crimson arrows.
With one gloved hand, the Beast lightly slapped the side of her breast. Then the other. The next slap bit in harder. Then they began to sting.
The beast would focus first on one breast, slapping it between his hands so that the round globe of it swung between them like a ball. Then he'd switch to the other, leaving the one he'd just tortured to flush and sting in the cool air.
Amarantha wept in earnest. Her sobs and wails rising and falling with the throbbing chords of music, she thrashed under the Beast's hands. It took her a while to realize he'd stopped. Gradually her sobs trailed off. Through the blur of
21
tears, she could see her breasts, bright red and trembling with each shuddering breath.
The Beast sat and watched.
“You delight me beyond measure, my Amarantha,” he told her, his voice rough, full of dark chords like the music.
“I can't bear this!” She nearly screamed it.
“Oh, but you can. And more. This is just the beginning, my love, of the games we can play.”
“I hate it! I hate you!”
“You may well hate me. Despise me. Feel horror for my cursed appearance.
But this , you love. Allow me to demonstrate.”
The chair grated a harsh noise as the Beast rose and kicked it back.
Amarantha cried out as the Beast flung her gown above her knees and wrenched her legs apart. She flailed, but he ran a gloved finger up her thigh and into her core.
Amarantha nearly convulsed when he touched her.
The Beast held up his gloved hand before her eyes. The leather shone slick with the moisture that frothed between her legs.
“This, my love, tells me more truly how you feel than the silly things you say.
For this next bit, I must remove my gloves. The sight of my hands may disturb you.
Would you prefer to be blindfolded?”
“Oh, please…”
“Please, you would like to be blindfolded?”
“Please… Isn't this enough punishment?”
“Only I can decide that, Amarantha. Now, blindfold or no?”
She imagined not knowing what he did to her. Trapped and without sight. She shivered.
“No blindfold, please.”
22
“I can see the idea arouses you. But we shall save that particular spice for another night.”
The Beast stepped to the side, out of her peripheral vision. Amarantha heard the slide of leather and tried to steel herself. Her skirts still rode high on her thighs.
Her breasts throbbed, painfully swollen, echoing each hard thump of her heart, her nipples contracting in sparking counterpoint. The music built again, the minor strains moaning beneath the surface chords.
When the Beast's cloaked form stepped in front of her, Amarantha closed her eyes. He chuckled at her. Hot hands clasped her breasts, and she moaned. Her sensitized skin
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