Free The Harlot by Saskia Walker

until his finger slipped easily into her hole.
    He inhaled a ragged breath.
    She was so deliciously slippery that his cock pressed insistently at his breeches. Then her flesh tightened around his finger and her mouth opened. He thrust his digit deeper and moved it around, learning her—learning the shape and texture of her, the intense heat, and how sensitive and responsive she was.
    Her body welcomed his hardness, and their hands began to move as one, until she rocked her hips, and the embrace of her flesh on his finger became crushing, and she grew wetter still as she neared her peak. She panted aloud and moved to steady herself by resting against his chest, her forehead against his shoulder. Her body trembled. “Oh, oh…”
    Her hips rolled, and she worked herself up and down on his finger, passionate and wholly feminine, sensual and lush. Gregor had no doubt that she could claim any man, no matter where his tastes lay. More skilled and lushly feminine than a courtesan she was, and devoid of shame.
    That did not excuse the fact that she thought herself beyond his instruction. She was about to come-off, but she had forgotten her task.
    With his free hand he gripped her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. “Not innocent enough, my dear. Not by any means…”
    â€œBut sire—”
    â€œYou look too brazen, too greedy and eager for a man to satisfy your needs.” And didn’t that make him all the more hard for her?
    â€œI cannot help it.” She wriggled and shifted, attempting to play the part and break the easy stride she had gained. Instead she acted as if she was unsure what she was doing. Her cheeks flamed, but it was not shame nor innocence, it was sheer, demanding lust.
    â€œNo.” Gregor withdrew his hand. “You must not break with the picture you have created!”
    She stared at him in disbelief, her lips parted.
    With a wry laugh, he shifted her away from the chair. “Now you will see how serious I am.”
    Sitting down on the chair, he pulled her quickly to him, forcing her facedown over his lap.
    â€œSire. Mister Ramsay!”
    With one hand between her shoulder blades, holding her in place, he hauled her skirts up and slapped her arse. The twin globes of her bottom bounced up in response, her body jolting.
    â€œYou are a cruel man,” she exclaimed. “I am on fire.” Anyattempt she had been making to play the part had now fully departed, for she glared at him.
    He slapped her again, several rounds on both buttocks in quick succession. When he paused, the attractive curve of her rump and the heat coming off her made him realize that there was, apparently, no easy remedy to this, for everything he did only seemed to pleasure her more and make his own situation more dire. Only the thought that his enemy would be totally unable to resist her forced him on.
    â€œI see no blushing innocent here,” he declared, with no small amount of relish as he delivered another stinging slap to her soft flesh.
    She clenched her fists and pummeled his thigh angrily, but her arse lifted higher still. He landed another smack on each buttock, noting with satisfaction how her pale flesh showed the imprint of his hand, and how her moans grew more wanton.
    â€œStill you sound brazen and demanding. You are like a bitch in heat.”
    â€œDamn you,” she cried over her shoulder, “I am trying, but you are making my situation even worse.”
    Gregor restrained comment, and for a moment he considered leaving her on the edge of release for the rest of the day, in order to make her earn it by getting it right. But for some reason he couldn’t quite muster that level of persuasion. Instead, he stroked his hand over the soft curve of her buttock.
    The flesh trembled and her head lowered, her posture submissive once more. Gregor smiled to himself, for he sensed they had reached a level of understanding at last.
    â€œThis?” He slapped her