He looked surprised.
“Have you never touched yourself here, my lady? Never explored your sweet little pussy and stroked your Goddess pearl?”
“No, never!” I confessed. The pleasure was increasing now, making it more difficult to talk and think. “As I told you, it was forbidden. An area meant only…only for my husband.”
Or the man my husband had hired to touch me, I supposed—but I chose not to think of that. After all, Sark was a thousand times better at this than Baslik had ever been.
“That’s bullshit.” He frowned. “It’s your body, sweetheart—you should be able to explore it. Does this feel good?” he asked, as he continued to rub the sensitive spot slowly over and over again. “Do you like it when I stroke your little Goddess pearl?”
“Yes!” I gasped, bucking upwards again. “But please, Sark, I feel…I feel as though something…something strange is about to happen to me. Wonderful but strange,” I told him.
For it seemed as though some pressure was building up in me—as though someone was tightening an elastic band deep in my belly—winding it tighter and tighter until it must soon snap. And what would happen then, I did not know.
“It’s all right, sweetheart.”
His blue-gray eyes were half-lidded as he looked at me, continuing the slow, delightful torture with just one fingertip circling the part he had called my “Goddess pearl.”
“It’s all right,” he said again. “You’re just getting close to coming—to having a release. Just relax and let yourself go with it—let the pleasure take you.”
“Oh…Oh!” I could hear myself moaning. My hips were moving in a new rhythm but somehow he stayed with me, that one gentle fingertip never leaving my Goddess pearl.
And then, I felt it—the most enormous rush of pleasure I have ever experienced. It shot through me like…like I don’t know what! I felt as I had that one time when I went sailing and the boat rose to the top of a wave and then rushed downwards. That was such a thrilling sensation, and this was a little bit like that but so much more. For there was pleasure too—a deep, incredible pleasure I had never felt in my life before and it seemed to radiate all through me like the rays of the sun.
Oh, I am making a mess of describing it, but all I can say is that it felt so good. I could hear myself moaning Sark’s name and my muscles were tense and my toes were curling. I was writhing all over the padded table so much I nearly fell off of it!
Sark caught me and cradled me in his arms, holding me as though I weighed next to nothing—which I greatly fear is not the case.
“Gods, you’re gorgeous when you come,” he told me, his deep voice a hoarse growl.
“Is…is that what you call it? The pleasure?” I had caught my breath enough to speak by then, though I could still feel the trembling tingles of pleasure running through me like little electric shocks.
“Well, the technical name for it is an ‘orgasm,’” he rumbled. “But I don’t suppose a polite lady like yourself has heard that word?”
“No, indeed.” I shook my head. “So this ‘orgasm’—can it be, er, repeated? Perhaps with your help?”
He rumbled with laughter, which I found I quite liked.
“Sure, sweetheart—but you don’t need me. You can do it yourself.”
“Oh, I couldn’t touch my forbidden areas!” I protested as he lay me gently back down on the table.
“Why not?” he murmured. “It’s your body—you have every right to explore it.”
This was the second time he had said something along these lines, and while the idea was quite surprising, I found it equally intriguing. After all, why shouldn’t I touch myself for pleasure? All my life I had been told this part of me was only for my husband to explore, but Baslik had done nothing but hurt me. Why should I not give myself the pleasure he denied me?
“Go on,” Sark urged me softly. “Just try it, sweetheart. Try touching yourself.”
Slowly, I slid my hand down my body, trembling a little as I did so at the wrongness of it. I felt the smooth softness of my belly and then the crinkly nest of curls that covered my mound.
“That’s right—cup your little pussy,” Sark murmured. “Feel how soft she is—how warm and sweet.”
This part of me did feel soft, I thought. Maybe like a little creature I would like to stroke.
“Now part your outer lips—your petals,” Sark instructed me. “And feel how wet you are inside.”
I did as he said and moaned softly as my fingertips made contact with my slippery inner core. My hips bucked as I touched that part of me he had called my “Goddess pearl.” It was incredibly sensitive from the pleasure he had just given me, but it felt good too—better than good, in fact. Just barely touching it made me twitch my hips and moan.