Chapter 11-Not so fast

Last year, or maybe the year before?

Margaret had accepted an invitation to a dinner party given by a certain countess. At the party, she accidentally drank the wrong wine, and shrunk dizzily into a deep red, reclining bench, looking through the curtain at the laughing, swimming figures outside.

The Countess came in to look after her. Sitting beside her, she rested her head on her plump thighs and stroked her long platinum blonde hair with perfumed fingers.

Poor little canary.

The Countess's voice was sweet and pathetic, like dark cocoa laced with honey.

O little canary of the white family, living like an ascetic. You're so young, you must learn to find happiness, Douglas obviously doesn't care about your feelings, and when you get married, you'll be very lonely.

The woman leaned close to Margaret's ear and told her that there are many ways to play with a man. You can have pleasure even without penetration. Learn to please yourself, my dear...

Margaret was confused when her older brother, with a sulky look on his face, burst in and took her by force.

Days later, in the garden of white roses, Margaret finally understood what the Countess meant by pleasure.

It was the delicate itch, the hot, wet numbness, and the airy, shallow lightness of the sensation.

Damon kept pumping his rod, the long, thick column spreading the red outer lips and repeatedly grinding the delicate inner petals. He stood up straight, unable to hold back any longer, his large, rough hands grasping Margaret's thin waist, almost lifting her in mid-air.

Margaret strained her toes and couldn't step on the soft grass. The rod in the center of her leg was like a red-hot iron bar, pressing against her lower body.Damon's movements were wide, plunging deeper and deeper, the upturned glans smacking against the opening several times, then sliding down to the slit of her femur, kissing the tightly closed, quivering rear pussy. The fine scales of the root, on the other hand, were rubbing against the fleshy beads of her front, bringing a cold and subtle tingle.

The sound of gurgling water was extraordinarily clear. Warm liquid gushed out of her pussy one after another, and was smeared into the crack of her ass by the fiercely pumping rod, or dripped down her thighs and onto the grass.

"Not so fast... ah..."

Margaret gasped, trying to take control of this sexual affair. She held onto Damon's chest, gripping his large, elastic breasts and tugging on the hard little grains of nipple. But the whimper in Damon's throat got louder, turning into the low growl of some flesh-eating beast. He braced her round, lovely ass-flesh and rammed it again and again, his heavy sac of sperm pumping against the flower-house with a nasty snapping sound.

Margaret was made to lurch, her pupils lax, her red lips slightly parted. She let out scattered and confused grunts and moans, slapping the orc's shoulders and cheeks in raging pleasure, her nails making long red marks on his neck.

"I told you to slow down... ah... ha... it feels so good... how..."

Damon's eyes were red and bloodshot as he kneaded both cheeks of his ass. A subtle struggle of pain showed on his face as he ground his head down against his master's neck.

"You can curse me, please curse me."

He opened his mouth, sharp fangs pressing against the fragile white side carotid artery, grinding gently. Beneath him, however, the rod pushed upward in a frenzy, poking the narrow opening countless times, feeling the tense, contracting soft flesh inside.

Margaret cried out in comfort, grasping at his short, damp, hard hair and screaming intermittently, "Crazy dog, asshole in heat for his master... bitch!"

Her front meatballs and sensitive pussy were hit hard at the same time, and she straightened her legs violently, screaming and shivering. A large amount of clear lewdness gushed out of her pussy and poured over the searing pole.

Damon gasped as he jacked several times, and a stream of hot cum shot out, soiling the pretty, clean, shredded dress.

He slowly drew back, the tip of his continuing ejaculation sliding over the center of his leg, caressing the inner lips as if it were a fond kiss. All that semen with its heat then shot into her pussy and lip flesh as well, dripping down in sticky drops.

After a while, Margaret was finally released by Damon. The moment her feet hit the wet grass, she almost fell to the ground.

Damon subconsciously tried to wrap his arms around her, but was stopped by a gulp.

"You clean these up." 

Margaret gestured to the tattered pieces of cloth on the floor and the bottles of pills scattered in the distance. 

She wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks, her expression regaining a calm, soft expression. A meaningful chuckle escaped as she glanced at the semen-stained rosebuds behind her.

Damon didn't understand her mood.

He stood alone in the darkened garden and watched Margaret leave. The young woman's steps were a little unsteady, but her spine remained straight, her back proud and lonely.

Damon looked intently at her until he could see nothing else, then he knelt down in silence and clutched the soft little piece of fabric into his palm. He kissed it surreptitiously, like a pardoned death row inmate.