Jordan’s hips began to twist under the cruel teasing. He could barely stammer out, “Three months, Mistress.”
Three months! The idea filled Alcina with horror mixed with renewed arousal —partly at being subjected to that sort of torment herself and partly at the thought of imagining Jordan’s twitching c**k begging for mercy and being denied endlessly.
“Three months. And you’ve had an erection almost nonstop, haven’t you, poor Jordan.” He nodded, shamefaced. “And how much longer will you have to wait?”
“Until a year has passed,” he whispered.
“It wouldn’t have been so bad if you’d had more self-control,” she tsked at him. “You see, Archer, poor Jordan agreed to play a little game for his freedom —a week without orgasm, but a year if he failed. And he failed, didn’t you, poor Jordan?” she
