22. Milkor

22

MILKOR

I trail Meetha through the maze of her secret haven into her secluded bedroom—a room many have yearned to glimpse, though only a select few have been fortunate—or cursed—enough to witness.

A door within the chamber, shrouded in shadows and a seductive magenta haze that teases the edges, calls to me. Meetha leads me forward to a den of indulgence centered around a round, crimson bed that throbs with its own vibrant energy.

Meetha's eyes twinkle mischievously as she unties my tunic's laces. I stand stiff, a blend of anticipation and trepidation twisting inside me. Her touch is soft, but the resolve in her actions betrays her burgeoning confidence. She undresses me, exposing the tension in my muscles, the sign of my desire.

"Lie down," she commands, her voice a sultry whisper that brooks no argument.

I obey, the crimson silk of the bed cool against my skin. As soon as my back touches the surface, unseen forces clamp around my wrists and ankles, spreading me eagle, binding me to the bed. I test the magical restraints, feeling the give and take of their power, a power that now answers to her.

Meetha stands at the foot of the bed, her gaze roaming over my form with a possessive hunger that sends a thrill through me. The room's ambient light plays across her skin, casting her in an ethereal glow that only heightens her allure.

I watch, bound and eager, as Meetha's eyes flicker with a playful flame that mirrors the sudden burst of candlelight around us. The room transforms, shadows dancing across the walls, the flickering glow casting her in a warm, inviting light. She moves with a seductive grace, her every action deliberate and full of purpose.

She approaches the bed, her fingers trailing along the edge of the silk sheets, her gaze fixed on mine. There's a mischievous tilt to her lips as she reaches out, her hand wrapping around my cock with a familiarity that sends a jolt of desire through me. Her touch is firm yet tender, a tantalizing promise of the pleasures to come.

As Meetha's hand works its magic, a lit candle floats toward the bed. The flame's dance reflects in her dark eyes, a mesmerizing sight that holds my gaze. With one hand she brings the candle closer, her other hand still stroking me with a rhythm that makes my breath hitch.

With a flick of her wrist, she tilts the candle, allowing a drop of hot wax to fall. It lands on my nipple, the searing pain making me arch against my bindings. The shock of it is quickly followed by a cool breeze as she leans in, her lips blowing softly over the sensitive, wax-covered nub. The contrast of temperatures sends waves of pleasure rippling through me, a sensation so intense it borders on ecstasy.

She continues this torturous game, each drop of wax a brand, each breath a balm. My mind reels from the onslaught of sensations, the line between pleasure and pain blurring until it's nearly indistinguishable. I'm lost in the throes of her ministrations, my body aching for release, my mind a whirl of desire and anticipation.

Her hand releases its grip on my cock, and I nearly weep at the loss of her touch. But before I can voice my frustration, Meetha straddles my chest, her hips positioned just above my face. She leans back, bracing herself on my thighs, giving me an unobstructed view of her glistening pussy. The scent of her arousal fills my senses, a heady fragrance that makes my mouth water with desire.

I'm helpless to do anything but watch as she begins to pleasure herself. Her fingers dance along her slit, teasing and taunting, before plunging deep inside her core. A soft moan escapes her lips as she fucks herself with her fingers, her hips rocking in rhythm to each thrust.

The sight is maddening, a visual feast that I am unable to partake in. My own cock throbs with need, aching for release, but the magical bonds hold me fast. I am a prisoner of her desire, a captive audience to her self-indulgent display.

"You wish to feel pleasure?" Meetha purrs, her voice a seductive melody that resonates deep within my core. "Then show me what you can do with that wicked tongue of yours."

Before I can respond, she shifts her position, her wetness hovering just above my face. The heat of her radiates against my skin, and I can feel the anticipation coiling tightly within me. I am bound, helpless to do anything but accept the challenge she has set before me.

"Make me come," she commands, her words a decree that echoes in the silent room. "If you can bring me to ecstasy, perhaps I'll allow you the same satisfaction."

The threat of denial is as potent a motivator as the promise of pleasure. My aching cock pulses with need, a reminder of the stakes at play. I must succeed, for failure is not an option I am willing to entertain.

With a desperation born of desire, I extend my tongue, tasting her sweet nectar. I am ravenous, my movements fervent as I explore her folds, seeking out the sensitive nub that will bring her the most pleasure. I suckle her clit, my efforts rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a delicious shudder that courses through her body.

I delve deeper, my tongue darting in and out of her entrance, mimicking the act of lovemaking. I am relentless in my pursuit, each flick of my tongue, each suction of my lips, designed to drive her wild. The salty-sweet taste of her fuels my hunger, and I redouble my efforts, determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from her willing form.

Meetha's moans grow louder, her breathing more erratic as she grinds against my face. I can sense her approaching the precipice, the tension in her body coiling like a spring about to release. I focus my attentions on her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, just the right rhythm, to send her over the edge.

With a cry that resonates with the power of the purna she is, Meetha shudders above me, her climax washing over her in waves. The taste of her release is a victory, a testament to my skill and my unwavering determination to please her.

The moment Meetha's climax peaks, the magical restraints that bound me so tightly begin to wane. Power surges through me, a heady rush that calls to my baser instincts. I could escape, flee this room and its enchantments, but the thought is as fleeting as it is foolish. Why would I ever want to leave this paradise of pleasure?

With a growl that rumbles from the depths of my chest, I seize the opportunity and flip her onto her back. Straddling her, I lift her legs, placing them over my broad, demonic shoulders, angling her just right for the taking.

My cock, aching with a need that borders on painful, finds its home in her slick, wet pussy. With one powerful thrust, I bury myself to the hilt, relishing the gasp that escapes her lips. The feel of her, hot and tight around me, is exquisite torture, driving me to the brink of madness.

I withdraw almost completely before plunging back in, setting a relentless pace that is as much a claiming as it is an act of worship. My hips snap against hers, the sound of our flesh meeting echoing in the room, punctuating the symphony of our moans and cries.

I am wild, untamed, my movements driven by the feral hunger that claws at my insides. Each thrust is a testament to my need for her, a need that transcends the physical and touches the very essence of my being. I am a demon unleashed.

The ecstasy of our union builds to a crescendo, each thrust carrying me closer to the precipice of release. But as the familiar tightening in my groin signals my impending climax, Meetha's voice cuts through the haze of my desire.

"You belong to me, Milkor," she reminds me, her tone laced with authority that belies her youthful appearance.

A shimmering light, as if summoned by her words, encircles my torso, a tangible reminder of her power over me. The light is cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the inferno that rages within.

"You don't come until I come," she commands, her voice echoing in the room, resonating with the weight of her status as a purna.

The realization that my release is not my own to control is both infuriating and arousing. My body, honed by millennia of existence, is not accustomed to submission, yet here I am, a slave to her pleasure.

With a snarl that betrays my frustration, I flip Meetha onto her knees, her back arching beautifully as she braces herself against the onslaught of my desire. I position myself behind her, my hands gripping her hips tightly, and without preamble, I drive into her, hard and deep.

Her gasp of surprise quickly turns into a moan of pleasure, the sound spurring me on. I establish a punishing rhythm, each stroke designed to bring her to the brink. Her body responds to mine with an eagerness that matches my own, her inner walls clenching around me, pulling me deeper, urging me onward.

Meetha's cries of pleasure grow louder, more desperate, and I know she is close. I reach around, my fingers finding her sensitive nub, and I apply just the right amount of pressure to send her spiraling over the edge.

Her climax hits her like a tempest, her body convulsing around mine, her cries of ecstasy music to my ears. The sensation of her tightening around me is my undoing.

With a roar that shakes the very foundations of her sanctuary, I succumb to my own release, my seed spilling into her in what feels like an endless torrent. The pleasure is all-consuming, a maelstrom that threatens to sweep away all remnants of my control.

As the final waves of our shared climax ebb away, I collapse onto the bed beside Meetha, my breath coming in ragged gasps. She turns to me, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, her eyes gleaming with the knowledge of her own power.