Chapter Eighteen
I do not recall being untied or carried into bed. I wake but keep my eyes tight closed, happy just to bask in the warmth of the body I am curled against. I feel sore within, but it is an ache I will wear like a triumph. My head also throbs, like I’ve had a beaker or three of ale too many. I presume this is from the henbane. Did it have me lose control?
Dim memories begin to flit from the shadow corners of my mind. I have visions of mounting him, riding him blissfully, milking him, his prick as hard and as big as the carving on Zlata’s staff. But I have had such thoughts before. Did this really go on last night, or would he feel too emasculated by such dominance to allow me this treat?
I have sensory memories of a mouth and tongue lashing my too-sensitive cunny-bud in th
