She's like honey in my mouth, her tender flesh so willing and hot, and as she starts to grind back against me I give her more.  Her voice becomes throaty and desperate with the need and lust, and my body responds in turn.  I clench her thighs and steady her as I lap at her sex, my tongue dipping into her deeper and gliding out to the peak again and again, and again I hold back for long enough to suck her clit between my lips and to tug at it with my mouth's pressure as the tip of my tongue flutters at it.  Her breasts bounce free for a moment, and I'm staring up at her body, at the spasmic movements of her body's ecstacy, before my left hand cups her breast again and kneads it against her ribs.  The one who made her must have known how lovely she'd be, and how drawing her body to pleasure would be impossible to resist as breathing.<br/><br/>Baptiste returns to my mind.  How lovely he was, and how different-- how every contour of his body was so utterly in contrast to this well-proportioned girl, that suerly he was made the same way she was-- changed to be more than human, like a machine made for sex or killing or both.  It's funny how one can be so like the other.<br/><br/>There in the oil light, her body's glistening and ready, and the jasmine scente and sweet liquor of her sex are delicious.  My right hand barely slides under my chin with enough give to feel her out, to slip two fingers inside her.  I position myself higher on her and lap at her clit while my shot-nailed fingers delve within her, curling in a 'come hither' up inside her.  I can feel it myself, the same way she would, in my mind.  I want her to know that satisfaction before I start to push the envelope further... somehow, I think again on the gold chain around her neck, twinkling there like a mist of golden stars on her ivory skin.  It's sacred to her, I think.  But it reminds her of something, too.  Like some kind of collar, maybe.  But not one she simply fears... one that she fears in that way that makes the body respond with need.   ... am I guessing wrong, or can I take her over the edge like that..?  I think I want to.  And I'm going to take that risk, I realize... I'm going to let out the beast in me because I think the beast in her needs it.<br/><br/>I finger her harder, steadily drawing my hand back and forth like sawing a board, lapping at the wet sex she offers me freely.  Amid the sounds of our breathing-- mine is panting, and hers is coming in that sweet cacauphany of sexual throes-- the sound of my lapping at her wet sex and the slippery friction of my hand in her can be heard, as can the soft squeaks of the springs and the little creaks of the brass bedrails along the wood floor.  My mouth leaves her sex for the briefest moment so I can speak.  I have to swallow first, and my full lips are glistening with her sex. "Be a good girl and come for me."