Tamed by the Sheikh by Emily Tilton

Author:Emily Tilton [Tilton, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stormy Night Publications
Published: 2017-03-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

How could she? How could she obey? She looked at it, and saw how hard, long, and simply present his penis was, in front of her, so close to her face. She could smell a soapy aroma; Sheikh Diyab had washed himself before coming to claim his concubine. Beatrice felt strangely grateful for that, because under that clean smell she also caught the scent of something darker and muskier, and she knew with a flush of heat to her face that it must in some way be the essence of him, and of… of it: of her owner’s—no, her sire’s—cock, and of the little wrinkled pouch below that Beatrice knew held his balls.

The clean smell still dominated, but she had the overwhelming feeling that the wicked, musky one, which reminded her in a terribly shameful flash of recollection of what she had smelled once on her own fingers after touching herself, somehow meant more. That aroma suited the sight of a penis rising hard from a nest of wiry black hair, a cock an obedient girl must kiss and suck, putting away her innocence and submitting to her master’s commands.

She looked at it, and she pursed her lips, because the thought of the cane came to her. Her heart had skipped a beat when the sheikh had said it, that he would cane her if he had to. Images of ancient justice, delivered to girls bound over wooden blocks, had risen in her mind, and rose again now.

He had said he wouldn’t punish her for not doing it right, but hadn’t he made it so very clear that not doing it—refusing to do it—would earn Beatrice the cane?

Master Samuel had whipped her this morning, and then he had spanked her so hard, over his knee, when she looked him in the eye. It had hurt so much, and her bottom still made her wince a little when she moved, a reminder of her punishment for disrespect. This man, who had so casually joked—or, it seemed, not joked—about purchasing Beatrice, believed in using the cane on girls’ bare rear ends, just as his ancestors must have done in the desert, after sacking a peaceful village and riding away with the young women they had found.

His manhood seemed to give a little jump, as if at his sight of her getting ready to kiss him in that shameful way. She couldn’t suppress a little whimper at the evidence that it apparently had a life of its own—a mind that didn’t care at all that Beatrice was a modern young woman who shouldn’t kneel in front of a naked man who had paid good money for her and expected his pleasure.

“Shh, darling,” he said, his voice still quiet but perhaps a little less patient. “Go ahead. Kiss the tip, then open your mouth and stick out your tongue. It’s time for your first lesson.”

She whimpered again, but somehow she did bend forward, because she couldn’t bear to be caned. The images of

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