“Psyche,” he said.
I stared towards the house. The echoes of his voice died away.
“Yes?” I croaked.
“Come here,” he said gently.
I stiffened, peering into the shadowy corridor. He was in there, somewhere, but I couldn’t make out any shape or shadow that might be him. The low resonance of his voice strummed the air, thrilling me. I swallowed, feeling my sex swell wet and warm at the memory of the night before.
“Why don’t you come here?” I asked, my voice trailing off nervously.
I squinted hard at the tarry darkness, but still nothing emerged.
“Don’t make me ask you again,” he said.
I folded my arms and stood still. But he didn’t ask again. The halls were silent.
Then a cloth descended over my eyes, and pulled tight. I gasped, grabbing at the blindfold, twisting as he grasped me from behind. I clawed at the cloth over my eyes, but my wrists were pulled away and forced behind me. He leaned down, and I felt the soft caress of his nose against my scalp. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the blindfold again. But another firm pressure folded over my eyes. His hand stayed over my eyes, keeping the blindfold secure, as he lifted me. He tucked his arm beneath my armpit, pulling me with him as he strode from the courtyard.
I stumbled on the steps leading into the house, but he kept me from falling. His arm flexed around my breasts as he pulled me on. I followed as best I could; my vision was gone again, but at least he was enveloping me closely, replacing my sight with new sensations. He pressed firmly against my back, his thighs moving as he strode, his feet slapping on the cold marble. As I squirmed I could feel the hard rod of his cock, thrusting up against my back.
Then he threw me, and my stomach dropped. I landed on a soft cloud of blankets and pillows. Freed from his grip, I clawed the blindfold away, but it was too late. The door was closed and the room was dark as pitch. I sat up, clutching at the blankets, trying to discern where he was. The mattress bowed under his weight as he climbed onto the bed. I shuffled backwards.
“Why do you flee from me, Psyche?” he asked.
I swallowed. “The darkness frightens me,” I said.
“Then let me comfort you,” he murmured, and I felt a warm grasp on my ankle. I jumped at the touch, and a shudder of pleasure passed through me. My frightened excitement was changing again, as it had last night – his touches warped my fear into that strange pleasurable energy. I swallowed, trying not to give in to the aching want that pulsed between my legs. The creature that had claimed me didn’t deserve my devotion, not when he wouldn’t even show me what he was. But his touch was climbing up from my ankle to my calves. Soon the hand was groping hungrily at my thighs, and I trembled at the touch, so close to my sex. His hand brushed closer. My inner thighs prickled under his hand, my lips wet and warm, throbbing their plea for satisfaction. He gripped my legs, one in each hand, and pulled me suddenly so that I landed on my back again.
I gasped. I could feel his knees, pushing between my legs, forcing my thighs apart. I could hear his soft breaths growing ragged and harsh with desire. He lowered himself over me, his body lying flush over mine. I whimpered, feeling his warm soft-skinned erection pressed against my lips. He circled his hips, and his shaft sunk through the lips of my sex, pressing down on my clit. His mouth closed on my collarbone, and I quivered.
But while he kissed my chest, exploring the contours of my breasts, I slyly wrapped a hand around and felt his back. I slid over the peak of his shoulderblade. He caught my wrist swiftly, hissing his displeasure, but I had already felt…something. Something, spreading soft, arching up between his shoulderblades. It was only a brief touch, but it made me that much more curious to see him for what he was.
He rolled off of me, the mattress creaking as he left the bed. I heard the rustling of his motions. After a few moments the bed groaned again as he straddled me. His thighs clamped tight around my legs, keeping me down, and the soft parts hanging between his legs brushed my thighs. I quivered. He caught up my wrists in one hand. He wound a silken strip around them, tightly. I tugged, but my wrists were fastened securely. He lifted my wrists until they were stretched above my head, and rose up on his knees.
I felt a light pull on my wrists as he forced them closer to the headboard. The silken rope went taut against the hard slab of the headboard, fastening my hands in place. As he knelt over me, leaning forward, his erection bobbed near my face, brushing my cheek. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine the shape of it. It was hard and long as a club, the head bulbous and smooth. But as it touched my cheek, the skin of it was so warm and velvety that I felt a sudden urge to turn my head and kiss it.