Amber looked like a pornographer's dream, and she knew it, from her curling red hair, tumbling over her slender shoulders to her narrow waist, to her heavy, swaying breasts, which were almost too large for her frame. She'd shaved her pussy putting her plump genitalia overtly on display. Her labia were swollen, her clitoris peeping through her folds. She was in a high state of arousal and she teased herself, sliding a forefinger between her labial lips, gasping as she touched the tip of her erect clitoris.

She licked her juices from her finger, watching his face. The air around them was heady with the scent of her arousal. She returned her fingers to her genitalia and closed her eyes as she slid into her cunt. She was very wet and when she withdrew, strands of stretchy juice clung to her fingers. She leaned over him and smeared her juices across his lower lip.

"Do not lick your mouth," she ordered, knowing that it would be nearly unbearable for him, wanting to taste her as much as he did.

Amber guessed he'd always managed to avoid cunnilingus, yet female juices delivered in such a provocative manner would be almost impossible for him to resist.

"Stand up," she snapped."

Solomon stood, his hands submissively behind his back, his eyes downcast. She took hold of his cock, and using it as a leash she tugged it and walked him to the center of the room.

She stood him on a large, circular Chinese rug and walked slowly around him, examining him, assessing him, as if he were a stallion, or a bull she was bringing to stud. She spent some minutes studying his broad shoulders, examining the old scars and welts that marked him as a masochist. There were recent wounds too. She was certain that he had flagellated himself, probably that same morning; it wouldn't take a lot to open up the wounds and make them bleed again. He flinched and let out a small gasp as she dragged a sharp fingernail over a wound that was hardening into a scab; she breathed a satisfied sigh when speckles of blood appeared. She gripped his upper arms and leaning into him, traced her tongue over the bleeding wound, lapping up his blood like a vampire.

She made no comment and walked around to face him.

The flickering candlelight hollowed out his face, showing the tension there.

"You may meet my eyes," she said.

He did not falter.

She could see fear in his face, but hope was there too.

"You may speak."