She unclenched, both teeth and body, nipples still tight with pleasure, pussy still weeping with it. “Yours,” she whispered meekly, then, remembering, “Ralen. Ralen.” “Better,” he murmured, seemingly more to himself than to her, as he resumed gliding the crop down her other leg. “Who is your ruler, vixen?” Her father was the Ruler of all Caralon, of all who lived here—but she knew that, truly, this man did rule her now. “Ralen.” The crop slid sensually back up her inner calf, her inner thigh. Oh, the severe pleasure of it! It was all she could do not to moan. “Who does your pussy throb for?” “Ralen,” she replied shakily, unable to deny that truth even to herself. When he raked the soft fringed end of the tool up through her open cunt, she let out a trembling cry, the sensation skittering all through her like nothing she’d ever felt—a tiny earthquake inside her body.
