Chapter 70
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Burying her face in her pillow for a moment to steady herself, Fiona recalled her previous encounters with Caligo.
Their couplings had been, for the most part, an ordeal. Yet, oddly enough, there were moments when her body would grow inexplicably hot, and she would find herself moistening despite herself.
In the underground chamber. Upon this very bed just last night. As she endured the sensation of that brutishly large member probing her insides, there would come a point when a pleasure almost painful would overwhelm her, and her mind would go white.
It was then that a dampness would seep from their joined flesh, as though she had been indecent. And when, after her climax, that tautly swollen glans and shaft would stroke her sensitive inner walls, a fresh wave of sensation would…..
Fiona wrenched her thoughts back from their wanton trajectory with difficulty. The conclusion, however, remained unchanged: she must moisten herself.
To do so, she would have to touch herself, to rouse her own desire. That much she understood. And that was precisely the source of her profound self-loathing.
‘But to simply… do it….’
Her earlier imaginings had brought a faint dampness, but compared to her usual preparedness, her body was still arid.
When she considered the size of the thing that would be thrust into such dryness, a vague terror washed over her.
In the end, feeling thoroughly cornered, Fiona curled up and pulled the quilt over her head. Shame and a lack of composure made her wish to burrow away and hide.
Yet after a brief internal struggle, she at last hitched up her skirt. The sensation of groping, of slipping her hand beneath her undergarments, was profoundly unfamiliar and mortifying. For someone like her, whose life had left no room for carnal concerns, it was a deeply distressing process.
Nevertheless, with a certain desperate bravado, Fiona began to tentatively explore her still-arid flesh with the tips of her middle and ring fingers. A sense of sin and shame tormented her mind, yet at the same time, a strange, tingling feeling began to bloom.
‘Damn it…!’
With her face buried in the pillow like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand, she used her fingers to part the folds and locate the most sensitive spot. Pressing her advantage, she used her other hand to cup her own b****t.
Swallowing her humiliation, she pinched and twisted her flat, hidden n****e. The firm nub rose to meet her touch, and a sharp, creeping pleasure began to stir.
It was unbearably degrading, having to caress herself in ways her husband would not. But since she could hardly ask Caligo to do it, a thirsty woman must dig her own well.
“Ah….”
Yet through it all, her body’s arousal was diligently obedient. A trace of moisture clung to the fingers she had been pressing between her legs. Fiona began to tend to herself with greater focus.
Soon, she located the place where sensation gathered. A firmer press, and her belly clenched tight, a jolt of electricity coursing through her lower body. Instinct told her that if she continued to stroke there, the dull, itching want that bloomed within her might finally be appeased.
With her fingertips, now deliberately firm, she rolled and rubbed the little nub that had swelled beneath her touch. A lewd, sticky sound accompanied the movement as the honeyed fluid seeped from her core, tracing the creases of her flesh.
“Ah… nngh…”
It was not long before she crested a small peak. It was weaker than the climaxes wrenched from her when filled with Caligo’s length, those near-forced releases, but the concentrated pleasure was enough to make her grit her teeth.
Between her thighs, the longed-for slickness had gathered. Inferior to the oil, perhaps, but sufficient, she hoped, to spare her injury.
As if summoned by her readiness, the familiar rattle of chains announced Caligo’s arrival.
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