Her hand could not help but curl around his shaft, still wet with her own saliva, and her face burned, her head twisting as if trying to bury against her own shoulder. A part of her was wishing for some protest, or some distraction that could delay this - but she knew better that if she tried anything, it could likely anger the man. The last thing she wished was to be subject to his rage.<br/><br/>Instead of a protest, she asked hesitantly, "Does my lord wish to... to be ridden now?"