The Ram pulls his hands away and flicks Amaya’s nipples to force another cry out of her. His chest rises and falls in a quicker rhythm. “I want to see the rest.”
“And you will,” she says, “when it’s yours. For now, I think it’s best if you look and don’t touch.”
“Show me,” he snarls, having no obvious intention to keep his hands to himself.
As soon as her arms are free, Amaya holds her tender breasts in her hands and shields them from view. She turns her body toward her as much as she is able with her legs spread. “That hurt,” she sniffles in her ear. Now is not the time for comfort.
“Hands down, Mia, on the armrests,” she commands and isn’t surprised to have her comply. Years of trauma have shaped Amaya. A part of her hopes she’s wrong and Amaya does have what it takes to pass her test—cruel as it might be to hope. She must learn how to separate her mind from the things she must do. “Bueno, mi amor. I’m proud of you.”
Now that she has her on display again, it’s easy to resume her seduction of The Ram. She uses her hands to rub, tease, and massage Amaya’s tits until she feels her relax into her touches with a deep sigh and a roll of her hips. She trails her hands down her corset and over her hips to her inner thighs where her fingers meet with damp fabric. Slowly, she hooks the panties aside with two fingers and gently slides the fingers of her other hand up and down her furry slit. She can appreciate a woman who doesn’t shave. Plucking gently at her wet, inner curls has Amaya hissing and pleading with her body for a firmer touch.
Amaya is a sweet girl. She’s kind and funny. If the odds had treated her better, allowed her to keep her parents, and kept her off the streets, she wouldn’t be here now. She doesn’t deserve what’s happened to her and everything that is yet to come. However, uncertainty is something she cannot entertain.
“Fuck her,” demands The Ram. “Or I will.”
Amaya whines her dissent but remains in place over her thighs with her pussy on display. Her respect and admiration for the younger woman grow. As a reward she swirls her finger around her clit, her other fingers drifting up and down her slit, slowly spreading her labia to get the warm, wet heat inside. “In or out, Mia?” She’s talking about more than fingers and Amaya knows it.
“In,” she sighs and nods her head. Sweat beads and races down her neck and between her tits. Beneath her mask, her hair is a bedraggled mess.
“Bellísima,” she whispers, and means it. She turns her hand to rub Amaya’s clit with her palm as she slides her center fingers into her heat. She holds her there, unmoving, and reveling in the contractions of her inner walls.
Amaya’s hips begin thrusting, and the younger woman’s wetness pours out hot and runny over the fingers inside her, sloshing in her palm and easing the glide against Amaya’s clit. “Fuck me,” she groans, “come on.”
The Ram wastes no time with verbal commands. Grabbing hold of Amaya’s arm, he flings her up and off her lap and turns her around to face the throne. One hard slap to her ass is all the command Amaya receives before she’s pushed forward and spread out with her ass in the air. The sound of Amaya’s panties being torn from her body gives her phantom pain.
“Do it. Or I will,” grunts The Ram.
She wants to kill this man. Perhaps he never would have made it on her radar if not for Amaya, but she has his scent now. The mere idea has her swallowing a surge of saliva. She reaches out and strokes Amaya’s thighs as she arranges her more comfortably over her lap. Her lovely tits are right in front of her face and she figures she may as well indulge in the lust she can satiate. An amuse-bouche. Hiding her face in the younger woman’s breasts she shifts her mask up enough to wrap her lips around Amaya’s sore nipple. She gently laps at it, stabbing the center with her tongue to rub away the ache of The Ram’s caustic treatment. She blows on it as she moves to switch breasts.
“This is boring,” growls The Ram.
“Relax,” she warns, then buries two fingers deep in Amaya’s pussy. She stretches her quickly, insufficiently,