Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Only then do the plants seem to relent. The vine withdraws from her soft little pussy. The red bloom releases her swollen clit. The white blossoms detach from her nipples with faint, sucking sounds, leaving the peaks reddened, puffy, and glistening with some golden substance that looks like honey. All the tendrils retreat, slithering back into the leafy lining of the tub as if they’d never been.
Irena collapses against the tub, boneless and trembling, her breath coming in ragged pants. She looks utterly spent…utterly beautiful.
The scent of her desire—hot, sweet, and profoundly feminine—fills the room, mixing with the floral steam. It’s the scent of her pleasure, and it wraps around my senses like a fist. My cock is a rigid, throbbing ache against my trousers, demanding attention. The sight of her, the sounds, the smell… it’s too fucking much.
“Are you all right?” I ask, trying not to think of how badly I want to fuck her—to put my cock right where that fucking vine was a moment ago.
“I…I think so. But…” She looks up at me, her eyes wide and uncertain. “I think it…it left something inside me.”
“What?” I’m frowning, concerned for her. “What did it put in you?”
“I don’t know. Help me stand.”
I give her a hand and she stands on shaky legs. When she parts her legs, we both watch as more of the shimmering golden honey-like liquid the blooms left on her nipples leaks from her pussy and slides down her inner thighs.
“Fuck, baby—I think that vine came inside you,” I say, wishing it could have been me.
“Do…do you think it will hurt me?” She looks at me with frightened eyes. “You don’t think it could make me pregnant…do you? I can’t get pregnant—I can’t lose my virginity! I’ll be shunned at Court and I’ll have no value in a State Marriage.”
“Is that your worry—that you wouldn’t be worth anything if you weren’t a virgin?” I demand, frowning. “That’s not how my people think of women at all.”
“Well, it’s definitely how my people think.” She looks down at the golden honey coating her thighs. “Oh Goddess—what if I’ve already lost it? That vine…it was so deep inside me. And it came in me!”
“I don’t think getting fucked by a vine counts,” I say quickly, to dispel her fear. “You haven’t had a real cock between your thighs or deep in your pussy yet, Princess. That’s fucking—the vines were just having some fun with you.”
“Do you really think so?” she asks hopefully.
“Yes, I do,” I say firmly. “Though we should probably ask the Sorceress if there could be any, er, side-effects from all this goop it put inside you.” I nod at the honey on her thighs.
“I have to wash it off—wash it out of me!” she exclaims, looking panicked. “What if it’s getting me pregnant right now?”
“It’s not—how can a plant get you pregnant?” I ask, trying to calm her down. “Here—I’ll help you.”
She parts her thighs and I wash between her legs. The honey is sticky and clings stubbornly to her skin. Luckily, the magical tub seems to be willing to give us a constant supply of fresh, clean water. The used water swirls away and new water is pumped in as I wash her.
Finally I get the stuff off her thighs, but she’s still got it on her nipples and inside her tight little pussy. Irena realizes this and I see the look of fear on her face.
“It’s still inside me,” she whispers, and the look in her gorgeous silver-green eyes makes my heart fist in my chest. “How am I going to get it all out?”
“You know how,” I tell her. “Lay back in the tub again, Princess. Let me take care of you.”
Her eyes widen, a flicker of understanding and fresh panic warring in their silver-green depths. She knows what I’m offering. What I’m asking. It’s one thing to be ravished by enchanted flora—a passive recipient of pleasure. It’s another to actively submit to my hands, my fingers—to let me clean her out in the most intimate way possible.
“Valen, I can’t…” she breathes, but her protest is weak, already crumbling under the weight of necessity—and, if the renewed scent of her feminine desire is any indication, a treacherous thread of lust.
“You can,” I say, my voice dropping to a low, steady rumble. I keep my gaze locked on hers, projecting a calm I don’t entirely feel. My blood is still singing from the spectacle—my cock a persistent, painful throb against the confining fabric of my trousers. But this isn’t about me. This is about her—about the fear tightening her lovely features. “It’s just cleaning, Princess. Let me help you.”
My logic is sound and completely unassailable. The alternative—leaving the unknown substance inside her, letting her anxiety fester—is unthinkable. She searches my face for a long moment, looking for mockery or for predatory intent. She finds only concern and determination. I want to help her feel clean again.