Page 15 of The Orc's Innocent Plaything

Myra paused with the bundle of material around her thighs, the cool air brushing her skin. I shook my head and managed to make my voice work.

“Higher,” I croaked, near desperate. “Let me see how wet yer sweet cunny is, Myra. I want ye to feel it.”

“I—”

“Ye agreed. When I say ‘tis time, ye’ll obey.” I managed to make my tone stern. “’Tis time, pretty little plaything. Touch yer cunny. Spread yer legs and show me.”

Myra’s eyes fluttered closed, and as she tipped her head back in surrender, I could scent her conflicting emotions. Excitement. Shame. Confusion. And above all, arousal.

She didn’t disobey me.

As her skirts inched upward, my lips curled in victory.

“Spread yer legs,” I commanded again, and she obeyed. Her cunny was wet and glistening, and I groaned in appreciation, desperately wishing I was close enough to plant my face there.

“Good girl. I want to touch ye. I want to use my fingers to stroke that sweet cunny. Ye ken how thick my fingers are?” She made a sound like a hungry little mewl as she shifted in her seat. “I want them on ye.In ye. Stroke yerself like ye want me to touch ye.”

She moved one finger toward her wetness and slid the tip along her cleft.

“Again,” I growled, yanking up my kilt to grasp my naked cock. “More.”

She was so hesitant. I knew this wasn’t the Myra myKteerrecognized.

“Two fingers, lass. Spread yer arousal around—good. If I were between yer legs right now, Myra, I’d slather it over my cock and jerk myself while licking ye.”

Her breathing was becoming faster.

“I’d spread it upward, around yer bud. Ye ken that special place on a female’s body, aye?”

Instead of answering, Myra did as I described, circling her clitoris with two fingers of one hand while her other held her skirts out of the way. I watched her face, watched her reaction.

“That feels good, aye?” I crooned, stroking my own cock, imagining how wet it would be if I rubbed it against her cunny right now. “But no’ quite right?”

It was the way her brows drew down, that little divot between her eyes, as she chewed on her lower lip that told me I’d guessed properly.

“My little plaything doesnae mind being teased. Tease yer clitoris again, Myra.” I watched her swallow as she continued to play with herself. “But ‘tis no’ what ye’re craving. Ye wantpressure.”

The little nod she gave was likely involuntary, and I wondered if she knew how expressive she was when she wasn’t thinking about controlling her countenance. When her eyes were closed in bliss and her muscles lax in surrender.

“Curl yer fingers.” My mouth was watering and my own strokes increased their pace. “Slide yer middle two fingers inside yerself.”

From the way her breathing hitched, she knew what to expect, and when she did, I hummed in approval.

“Aye, that’s the way. Use yer other fingers to spread yer lips. If I were kneeling between yer legs right now, Myra, my fingers would be filling ye. Thick and tight. Ye can imagine that?”

Her frantic nod was accompanied by a little moan.

“Then slide in another finger. Good lass, that’s so thick, and ye’re taking three fingers so well.”

My own breathing was faltering as my release—the secondof the evening, this one so much better because the scent of Myra’s arousal wrapped around me—approached.

“Stroke yerselfinside. My fingers are scarred and callused, love, no’ like yers. They would fill ye up, touch parts of ye that ye cannae touch.”

She whimpered, hunching forward to curl around her hand as her pace increased.

“Now use yer palm. Push it against yer bud—aye, like that, good lass. Rub it the way ye like. None of those soft touches, no’ for ye. Ye want pressure, ye wantstrength, do ye no’?”

Her tongue darted out across her lips as she used her fingers to fook herself.

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