Lee chapter 28
Apr. 1st, 2008 11:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeThose of you who come here for the cock exchange should know there are Explicit Girl Bits in this part. If that's not your cuppa, you've been warned.
Inga's eyes had half closed again as the master stroked her hair, and she was squirming slightly against him. He watched her face closely for a moment.
"Does Valor allow you outside sexual contact?" he asked suddenly.
Inga opened her eyes again. "Sir?"
"Since she isn't sleeping with you, are you allowed to sleep with anyone else?"
"Oh. Yes, sir," she said. "Theoretically. She says I shouldn't feel-- restricted. But, well, none of her friends-- I won't say they don't want me, but they won't touch me either. And I wouldn't want to-- with a stranger."
"What about me?" the master asked.
Inga looked surprised, then a little regretful as she answered, "I don't think she'd like that, sir. She's been trying to-- the things you taught me-- she doesn't--" She trailed off rather unhappily.
"I don't want to retrain you, sweetheart," said Holden gently. "I'd just like to give you a hand. I hate to see you wasting away like this."
Inga shook her head. "I'm not wasting away, sir-- I'm just..."
"Starving?" said the master, cupping the back of her neck with his hand. "Inga, I know you care for Valor, and so do I-- but I'm really very angry with her about this. There are owners who use touch deprivation as a punishment. And I consider it a particularly cruel form of punishment. It depends on the person, of course, but I know Bran would rather take a flogging that would leave him sore for a few days than not be touched for the same amount of time."
Inga and Lee both glanced at Bran, who looked a little shaken at the idea. Holden leaned over, still clasping Inga with one arm, and took Bran's hand with the other hand, squeezing it tightly.
"Yves will tell you humans are tactile creatures," he said to Inga. "We need physical intimacy to thrive. It doesn't have to be sex, but it has to be something." He paused for a moment, still looking at Bran, and then said, "If not me-- Bran, you wouldn't mind helping out an old friend, would you?"
“No, master," said Bran readily, "not if you want me to."
Inga smiled a little nervously as the master ran his fingernails gently up and down her spine. "Don't let her hear you talk like that. Offering-- Bran."
"Considering the way her girlfriend has been talking to me and my household for the past two weeks," said the master, with a note of cold steel in his voice that made Lee shiver, "I don't feel particularly bound to tiptoe around Valor's delicate sensibilities. But I don't want to get you in trouble."
"I don't get in trouble," said Inga ruefully. "I just get sad looks. And she did say--" She pondered for a moment. "Sir-- if you really wouldn't mind-- and Bran wouldn't-- although, come to think of it, Lady Lisa will probably want Bran, too, when she gets home."
"She can wait her turn," said the master. Bran didn’t seem phased by this, and Lee remembered Bran mentioning “Lady Lisa” in the list of people he occasionally had eyes for. "When will she be home?"
“Oh, at the same time as my mistress,” said Inga. "She'll be at the same meeting. Thank you for sparing me that, by the way. It's the save-the-slaves group, and they are much, much too friendly to me. Without looking me in the eye."
"You're welcome," said the master absently. "So Lisa's devoted to the cause, too?"
"Not exactly," Inga smiled. "The mistress drags her along-- they love having a noble there. Not that her ladyship doesn't want slaves’ rights, but she isn’t very... confrontational.”
“Takes after her father, then,” said Holden with an odd small smile. “But she and Val are still getting along okay?”
“Yes, sir,” said Inga vaguely, her eyes closing altogether as the master used both hands to cup her shoulders and rub gently with his thumbs. “Oh, gods, it feels good to-- Sir, are you sure-- Bran and I--”
“Of course,” said Holden.
“Master?” Bran said tentatively.
Lee sat very, very still. Interrupting while your master was offering you to someone was bad, Lee knew that-- although maybe it was less bad when the someone was another slave-- and any sign of hesitation or reluctance over your intended use was very, very bad. Their master was very forbearing-- but Bran had been skirting too close to punishment today as it was, for his impudence on the train, and for whatever that throat-clearing had been about. Lee knew the master wouldn’t really hurt Bran, but he’d already threatened to spank him till he cried, and Lee’s stomach was churning with how much he didn‘t want to have to watch that.
But Holden didn‘t look annoyed when he said, “Yes, love.”
“Maybe Lee could give me a hand with Inga,” said Bran.
Lee startled, suddenly a focus of attention instead of a spectator, and tried to pull himself together: showing fear or reluctance (or indignation: why had Bran dragged him into this?) was bad.
The master raised his eyebrows. “Think she’s too much woman for just one man?”
Bran smiled. “If I'm taking on her ladyship later tonight-- and you did say something about getting Lee used to women, master. And Inga might be a little less intimidating than-- well, the mistress, or even Greta.”
The master’s eyes went to Lee and lingered, thoughtfully, on his face, as Lee tried to breathe normally.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Lee’s had a pretty big couple of days as it is. I don’t want to rush things.”
Instead of being purely relieved, Lee found himself-- well, he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, except that it had to do with the same sense of overwhelming and inexpressible gratitude he’d felt on the train, and the desire to do something, anything, for the master to repay his kindness. Knowing he didn’t have to do anything with Inga-- like knowing his master would stay at home with him rather than leave him or take him on a train trip he wasn’t comfortable with-- made him think that maybe he could. After all, Inga didn’t have a cock, so she wouldn’t hurt him that way-- and she was a fellow slave, and one who didn’t technically outrank him, so even if she got angry at him, she couldn’t punish him. And if his master hadn’t punished him for infuriating Miss Robin, surely he wouldn’t punish him for disappointing Inga.
And Bran would be there. The way he'd been there yesterday. If Lee got scared--
“If it please my master,” he blurted. “I-- I don’t-- I mean, I could.”
The master examined him for a couple more moments before he said, “Hop up, Inga.”
Inga rose gracefully, and the master motioned to Lee to approach. Lee obeyed, and when his master pulled him closer, sank gratefully into the warm, sheltering lap. He met his master’s eyes, thinking of what the ticket agent and, later, Bran had said about the physical resemblance between himself and his master. Usually Lee was watching the master’s facial expression for danger signs too intently to get much of a sense of the face itself, but right now he was relaxed enough to just look at the master, and try to trace the resemblance to his own face. He’d have to find a mirror, sometime, and see.
"You don't have to, Lee," the master said finally. "No one will be angry with you if you say you'd rather not."
"I know, master," Lee said sincerely. "I don't mind. Really."
"You're a pretty amazing kid, you know," said the master, running a hand through Lee's hair, and Lee shivered with pleasure at the praise. "All right, then. But Bran, I need you to keep an eye on him. Inga, do you have your own room?"
"Yes, sir," said Inga, rolling her eyes a little. "Well, I have my mistress' room. She sleeps out here on the couch, now. She says it's the least she can do," she concluded, in a tone that made it clear what she thought of the logic of that last statement.
"Well, then," said the master, leaning forward to kiss Lee on the cheek, and then nudging him gently to stand up. "You three have fun. I'll see if I can find something to read out here that isn't about how I'm a filthy flesh trader."
In the small bedroom-- just large enough to hold a narrow bed, a bookshelf, and a number of unframed prints of impressionist paintings-- Inga undressed with a certain controlled eagerness and lay down on the bed on her back. Bran undressed too, folding his master's borrowed clothes meticulously and laying them down on top of the bookshelf, and Lee followed his example nervously. Inga held out both her arms to them, and Lee followed Bran onto the bed and knelt down on the opposite side of her naked body; Inga reached up and ran a hand over Lee's hair, as gently as Bran or the master could have done, and smiled at him. This close he could see that her eyes were a deep violet blue, her lashes and brows dark for a blonde, but tipped with gold in the dusty light from the one window.
"Hey," she said. "If you don't want to do this--"
"No, I do," said Lee quickly, and he did, he wanted to please his master. To be of use. "I just-- I might not be much good."
Bran grinned at him. "Just pretend she’s a peach."
Lee couldn't help smiling back. Inga’s golden-skinned body, all curves and softly rounded bits, did remind him a little of a peach, or some other sweet, juice-plumped fruit. He reached out a hand and cupped her breast; it yielded to his touch, and her nipple crinkled and stiffened, the little bead of it standing out temptingly from the contracting areole. Before he could think, he had leaned forward and taken it in his mouth.
“Oh,” said Inga, in extremely encouraging tones, as Lee investigated the nipple’s texture and shape, its nublike suckability, probing its crinkles with the tip of his tongue and then pulling the whole thing deeper into his mouth. Bran was doing something else over his head, and Inga seemed distracted, so he just sucked, contentedly, for a minute; the size and shape of this seemed much more suitable for sucking than a hard cock, which was an awkward shape, even when it wasn’t trying to shove down your throat and asphyxiate you. The head of Bran’s cock had been better, more manageable, nice even-- but this was even nicer: soft and small and satisfying, and resting on a deep, soft swell that pillowed Lee‘s cheek pleasantly as he suckled. It felt good between his teeth, too, when he nibbled gently, and Inga definitely liked that.
“Bran,” she gasped, “do my other breast-- do what Lee’s doing-- oh, dear gods--”
Lee lifted his head and saw that Bran was complying; he nuzzled at Inga’s breast, lapping at the wet nipple, and then kissed, softly, the smooth warm globe of her breast. Eventually he nosed down the underside to the sharp crease where it met her ribcage and licked at that, a long, lazy, audacious stroke of his tongue, and then a series of shorter, more meticulous laps and kisses to the cool valley between her breasts. His groping hand found Bran’s side, then slid up to his back; Bran was warm, distracted, a comfort even though he didn‘t seem to be paying any attention to Lee. Lee’s legs were tangled in Inga’s, his groin at her hip.
He wasn’t sure where to go from here. Bran seemed to still be on Inga’s left breast, but there were areas lower down that Lee thought Inga might like someone to concentrate on. From his current viewpoint, though, the expanse between here and there seemed un-navigably vast and blank. He could see the gentle mound of her belly and the dip of her navel in the center, which seemed like a good halfway point, but without being shoved down by someone’s rough hand he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to proceed. Was he supposed to kiss his way down? Just wriggle downwards until he was at a more convenient spot? Should he skip the belly and go for the groin? And what, exactly, would he do once he got there?
He finally opted to squirm down the bed, down the length of Inga’s body, and bury his face against her abdomen. The rim of her navel was soft, rounded, and the tip of his nose fitted into it with unexpected neatness, prompting a giggle that juddered his head up and down. He pulled his face up slightly and replaced nose with tongue, lapping and then nibbling softly; the muscles of her belly tautened against his cheek and he tensed too, for a moment, but she was moaning, which had to be a good thing.
He glanced back up and saw that Bran was licking Inga’s neck and nibbling at her earlobe, prompting a momentary pang of regret that he hadn’t headed up instead of down. He would have liked to tangle his hands in Inga’s golden hair, the way Bran was, and Bran would probably be better at this whole groin area thing than he was. Still, there was hair down here, too, softly curled downy hair with glints of gold in it, and Lee nosed his way curiously towards it.
Inga spread her legs, putting exactly what was down there on full display, already wet and gleaming with her arousal. Lee could smell it, too, a complex, almost aquatic scent-- different from the smell of a man’s groin, certainly, but not unpleasantly so. And there was nothing to choke him, nothing to shove itself down his throat.
He climbed over her leg and paused for a moment, looking, before he licked, the way he would have licked an unfamiliar food offered to him by his master or Bran-- cautiously, but not fearfully, and with a reasonable hope of finding it good-- and found it intriguingly akin in texture to a fruit that had already been bitten into, tender juice-slick skin that made Lee want to find something amid the convoluted pink folds to suck on. He probed cautiously about with his tongue, which unexpectedly slipped, the way his nose had slipped into Inga’s navel, into an orifice that yielded deliciously to his suddenly fully extended tongue, and his soft sound of surprise mingled with Inga's "Oh--"
Just pretend she's a peach made a bit more sense now. Lee slurped and sucked eagerly for a while, rolling his tongue around inside Inga, and she pushed her hips back against him, bumping his nose, but not too hard. This was kind of fun, actually.
"My clit," she said eventually. "Lee, suck my clit--"
That was a new one. Lee looked up inquiringly in time to see Bran detach himself from Inga's throat and wiggle down the bed towards Lee, pausing at Inga's hip with one hand curled around her breast as if he needed a hand-hold. With his other hand he grabbed Lee's hand, which had been playing absent-mindedly with Inga's soft, feathery pubic hair, and guided it to a bit of Inga equidistant between its previous location and where Lee's mouth had just been. It seemed to be where the wet curves met, and there was a swollen little nub of flesh there; Bran's finger pressed Lee's finger down on it, and Inga gasped instructively.
Lee let Bran's hand pull his further down, back to where his mouth had been, and poke the tips of two of his fingers gently inside. Getting the general idea, Lee slid the fingers as far in as they would go and curved them slightly, finding they reached further than his tongue had; the texture of the inside wall changed slightly at a point he hadn't gotten to before, and Inga writhed when he massaged it with his fingertips.
With a quick, sweet kiss to Lee's wrist, Bran went back to the top half of Inga while Lee, still wiggling his fingers inside her, attached his mouth obediently to the hooded nub that was presumably her clit. It was even smaller than her nipple, and much more sensitive, judging from her gasps and moans and, as he continued playing with it and sucking at it, actual shrieks, on an escalating scale. Lee found himself smiling a little as he licked diligently. From his admittedly limited sample size, women seemed much easier to please than men.
The bridge of his nose did get a bit of a bump when Inga's hips bucked violently and Lee's fingers were suddenly drenched with what he thought must be the female equivalent of semen, accompanied as it was with a piercing cry of obvious satisfaction. But when he kept fingering her and put his mouth back on her clit, he realized he must have been mistaken, because it happened again in fairly short order. Not sure when to stop, he kept doing what he was doing, wrenching three more arches and yells from Inga before she clapped her thighs together, nearly smothering him; Bran pulled him out, laughing, by the scruff of his neck.
"Skuld, Urd and Verdandi," Inga moaned, flopping bonelessly onto her side. "I can't feel my feet."
When feeling had been massaged back to Inga's extremities, which was also fun, Inga sat up abruptly, grabbed Lee, startling him, and kissed him passionately on the mouth.
"Marry me," she said when she pulled away. "Bear my children."
"How long had it been?" Bran asked, laughing, before Inga grabbed him and kissed him as well, then pulled both their heads down on her chest.
Lee liked having his head pillowed on her breast, and he was a little tired, and he didn't wake until the room was much dimmer and the master's hand was on his shoulder, when he startled so badly he woke the other two as well.
"I take it things went well," the master said, grinning down at them, "but you should probably get dressed. It's getting around time for Valor and Lisa to be getting home."
"Sir," said Inga, dressed again and with her golden hair combed back to neatness, sitting primly between Bran and Lee on the couch, "I changed my mind. I want to come back and live with you again-- at least until Lee gets sold."
Holden was still laughing at that when the door opened suddenly and a girl came in, one Lee had never seen before-- sweet-looking, with chestnut hair pulled back in a braid from a heart-shaped face, and dressed in an oddly masculine knee-length forest-green tunic, with a brown belt and heavy boots.
"Hello, my lady," said Holden, inclining his head slightly, as Bran rose, and Lee followed suit.
"Hi, Mr. Larssen," said the girl, clearly unsurprised to see him. She looked serious, though slightly less so when she glanced at Bran. “Hi, Bran. My gosh-- look at you, all dressed up."
She smiled at Bran and offered her hand; he took it and bent his head to kiss it, smiling back at her.
"And you must be the famous Lee," she added, turning to Lee, who bowed his head, a little more deeply than Bran had. It took him a moment to realize what the young lady meant by famous. Being Miss Valor’s friend, she would know about the news story Miss Robin and Mr. Denys were doing. Mostly so far that story had involved sitting still and doing as he was told, and in one instance, totally failing to answer a series of simple questions without breaking down, and being soothed and cuddled and praised afterwards as if he'd done something impressively difficult and taxing.
It hadn't involved anyone calling him famous. He wasn't sure how he felt about that term; it gave him the same shivery but not entirely unpleasant feeling he'd gotten when he looked at the pictures of himself on the table. Before he spilled his tea and ruined them.
"Sit, sit," Lady Kareyeva was saying to him and Bran. Lee followed Bran's example and obeyed, gratefully; his legs had gone a little shaky. The lady sat down on the other side of Bran from Inga, keeping hold of his hand-- rather possessively, for Lee's tastes, and right in front of the master, too.
“Any idea when Valor might be home?” the master asked.
Lady Lisa looked uncomfortable. "Um. Yeah. Valor asked me to tell you. And Inga. She’s not coming home tonight.”
It was a moment before the master said, “What?”
Lisa gave him an apologetic look. “She went home. I mean, to your house. On the train. She said-- she said she wanted her mom.”
Inga's eyes had half closed again as the master stroked her hair, and she was squirming slightly against him. He watched her face closely for a moment.
"Does Valor allow you outside sexual contact?" he asked suddenly.
Inga opened her eyes again. "Sir?"
"Since she isn't sleeping with you, are you allowed to sleep with anyone else?"
"Oh. Yes, sir," she said. "Theoretically. She says I shouldn't feel-- restricted. But, well, none of her friends-- I won't say they don't want me, but they won't touch me either. And I wouldn't want to-- with a stranger."
"What about me?" the master asked.
Inga looked surprised, then a little regretful as she answered, "I don't think she'd like that, sir. She's been trying to-- the things you taught me-- she doesn't--" She trailed off rather unhappily.
"I don't want to retrain you, sweetheart," said Holden gently. "I'd just like to give you a hand. I hate to see you wasting away like this."
Inga shook her head. "I'm not wasting away, sir-- I'm just..."
"Starving?" said the master, cupping the back of her neck with his hand. "Inga, I know you care for Valor, and so do I-- but I'm really very angry with her about this. There are owners who use touch deprivation as a punishment. And I consider it a particularly cruel form of punishment. It depends on the person, of course, but I know Bran would rather take a flogging that would leave him sore for a few days than not be touched for the same amount of time."
Inga and Lee both glanced at Bran, who looked a little shaken at the idea. Holden leaned over, still clasping Inga with one arm, and took Bran's hand with the other hand, squeezing it tightly.
"Yves will tell you humans are tactile creatures," he said to Inga. "We need physical intimacy to thrive. It doesn't have to be sex, but it has to be something." He paused for a moment, still looking at Bran, and then said, "If not me-- Bran, you wouldn't mind helping out an old friend, would you?"
“No, master," said Bran readily, "not if you want me to."
Inga smiled a little nervously as the master ran his fingernails gently up and down her spine. "Don't let her hear you talk like that. Offering-- Bran."
"Considering the way her girlfriend has been talking to me and my household for the past two weeks," said the master, with a note of cold steel in his voice that made Lee shiver, "I don't feel particularly bound to tiptoe around Valor's delicate sensibilities. But I don't want to get you in trouble."
"I don't get in trouble," said Inga ruefully. "I just get sad looks. And she did say--" She pondered for a moment. "Sir-- if you really wouldn't mind-- and Bran wouldn't-- although, come to think of it, Lady Lisa will probably want Bran, too, when she gets home."
"She can wait her turn," said the master. Bran didn’t seem phased by this, and Lee remembered Bran mentioning “Lady Lisa” in the list of people he occasionally had eyes for. "When will she be home?"
“Oh, at the same time as my mistress,” said Inga. "She'll be at the same meeting. Thank you for sparing me that, by the way. It's the save-the-slaves group, and they are much, much too friendly to me. Without looking me in the eye."
"You're welcome," said the master absently. "So Lisa's devoted to the cause, too?"
"Not exactly," Inga smiled. "The mistress drags her along-- they love having a noble there. Not that her ladyship doesn't want slaves’ rights, but she isn’t very... confrontational.”
“Takes after her father, then,” said Holden with an odd small smile. “But she and Val are still getting along okay?”
“Yes, sir,” said Inga vaguely, her eyes closing altogether as the master used both hands to cup her shoulders and rub gently with his thumbs. “Oh, gods, it feels good to-- Sir, are you sure-- Bran and I--”
“Of course,” said Holden.
“Master?” Bran said tentatively.
Lee sat very, very still. Interrupting while your master was offering you to someone was bad, Lee knew that-- although maybe it was less bad when the someone was another slave-- and any sign of hesitation or reluctance over your intended use was very, very bad. Their master was very forbearing-- but Bran had been skirting too close to punishment today as it was, for his impudence on the train, and for whatever that throat-clearing had been about. Lee knew the master wouldn’t really hurt Bran, but he’d already threatened to spank him till he cried, and Lee’s stomach was churning with how much he didn‘t want to have to watch that.
But Holden didn‘t look annoyed when he said, “Yes, love.”
“Maybe Lee could give me a hand with Inga,” said Bran.
Lee startled, suddenly a focus of attention instead of a spectator, and tried to pull himself together: showing fear or reluctance (or indignation: why had Bran dragged him into this?) was bad.
The master raised his eyebrows. “Think she’s too much woman for just one man?”
Bran smiled. “If I'm taking on her ladyship later tonight-- and you did say something about getting Lee used to women, master. And Inga might be a little less intimidating than-- well, the mistress, or even Greta.”
The master’s eyes went to Lee and lingered, thoughtfully, on his face, as Lee tried to breathe normally.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Lee’s had a pretty big couple of days as it is. I don’t want to rush things.”
Instead of being purely relieved, Lee found himself-- well, he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, except that it had to do with the same sense of overwhelming and inexpressible gratitude he’d felt on the train, and the desire to do something, anything, for the master to repay his kindness. Knowing he didn’t have to do anything with Inga-- like knowing his master would stay at home with him rather than leave him or take him on a train trip he wasn’t comfortable with-- made him think that maybe he could. After all, Inga didn’t have a cock, so she wouldn’t hurt him that way-- and she was a fellow slave, and one who didn’t technically outrank him, so even if she got angry at him, she couldn’t punish him. And if his master hadn’t punished him for infuriating Miss Robin, surely he wouldn’t punish him for disappointing Inga.
And Bran would be there. The way he'd been there yesterday. If Lee got scared--
“If it please my master,” he blurted. “I-- I don’t-- I mean, I could.”
The master examined him for a couple more moments before he said, “Hop up, Inga.”
Inga rose gracefully, and the master motioned to Lee to approach. Lee obeyed, and when his master pulled him closer, sank gratefully into the warm, sheltering lap. He met his master’s eyes, thinking of what the ticket agent and, later, Bran had said about the physical resemblance between himself and his master. Usually Lee was watching the master’s facial expression for danger signs too intently to get much of a sense of the face itself, but right now he was relaxed enough to just look at the master, and try to trace the resemblance to his own face. He’d have to find a mirror, sometime, and see.
"You don't have to, Lee," the master said finally. "No one will be angry with you if you say you'd rather not."
"I know, master," Lee said sincerely. "I don't mind. Really."
"You're a pretty amazing kid, you know," said the master, running a hand through Lee's hair, and Lee shivered with pleasure at the praise. "All right, then. But Bran, I need you to keep an eye on him. Inga, do you have your own room?"
"Yes, sir," said Inga, rolling her eyes a little. "Well, I have my mistress' room. She sleeps out here on the couch, now. She says it's the least she can do," she concluded, in a tone that made it clear what she thought of the logic of that last statement.
"Well, then," said the master, leaning forward to kiss Lee on the cheek, and then nudging him gently to stand up. "You three have fun. I'll see if I can find something to read out here that isn't about how I'm a filthy flesh trader."
In the small bedroom-- just large enough to hold a narrow bed, a bookshelf, and a number of unframed prints of impressionist paintings-- Inga undressed with a certain controlled eagerness and lay down on the bed on her back. Bran undressed too, folding his master's borrowed clothes meticulously and laying them down on top of the bookshelf, and Lee followed his example nervously. Inga held out both her arms to them, and Lee followed Bran onto the bed and knelt down on the opposite side of her naked body; Inga reached up and ran a hand over Lee's hair, as gently as Bran or the master could have done, and smiled at him. This close he could see that her eyes were a deep violet blue, her lashes and brows dark for a blonde, but tipped with gold in the dusty light from the one window.
"Hey," she said. "If you don't want to do this--"
"No, I do," said Lee quickly, and he did, he wanted to please his master. To be of use. "I just-- I might not be much good."
Bran grinned at him. "Just pretend she’s a peach."
Lee couldn't help smiling back. Inga’s golden-skinned body, all curves and softly rounded bits, did remind him a little of a peach, or some other sweet, juice-plumped fruit. He reached out a hand and cupped her breast; it yielded to his touch, and her nipple crinkled and stiffened, the little bead of it standing out temptingly from the contracting areole. Before he could think, he had leaned forward and taken it in his mouth.
“Oh,” said Inga, in extremely encouraging tones, as Lee investigated the nipple’s texture and shape, its nublike suckability, probing its crinkles with the tip of his tongue and then pulling the whole thing deeper into his mouth. Bran was doing something else over his head, and Inga seemed distracted, so he just sucked, contentedly, for a minute; the size and shape of this seemed much more suitable for sucking than a hard cock, which was an awkward shape, even when it wasn’t trying to shove down your throat and asphyxiate you. The head of Bran’s cock had been better, more manageable, nice even-- but this was even nicer: soft and small and satisfying, and resting on a deep, soft swell that pillowed Lee‘s cheek pleasantly as he suckled. It felt good between his teeth, too, when he nibbled gently, and Inga definitely liked that.
“Bran,” she gasped, “do my other breast-- do what Lee’s doing-- oh, dear gods--”
Lee lifted his head and saw that Bran was complying; he nuzzled at Inga’s breast, lapping at the wet nipple, and then kissed, softly, the smooth warm globe of her breast. Eventually he nosed down the underside to the sharp crease where it met her ribcage and licked at that, a long, lazy, audacious stroke of his tongue, and then a series of shorter, more meticulous laps and kisses to the cool valley between her breasts. His groping hand found Bran’s side, then slid up to his back; Bran was warm, distracted, a comfort even though he didn‘t seem to be paying any attention to Lee. Lee’s legs were tangled in Inga’s, his groin at her hip.
He wasn’t sure where to go from here. Bran seemed to still be on Inga’s left breast, but there were areas lower down that Lee thought Inga might like someone to concentrate on. From his current viewpoint, though, the expanse between here and there seemed un-navigably vast and blank. He could see the gentle mound of her belly and the dip of her navel in the center, which seemed like a good halfway point, but without being shoved down by someone’s rough hand he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to proceed. Was he supposed to kiss his way down? Just wriggle downwards until he was at a more convenient spot? Should he skip the belly and go for the groin? And what, exactly, would he do once he got there?
He finally opted to squirm down the bed, down the length of Inga’s body, and bury his face against her abdomen. The rim of her navel was soft, rounded, and the tip of his nose fitted into it with unexpected neatness, prompting a giggle that juddered his head up and down. He pulled his face up slightly and replaced nose with tongue, lapping and then nibbling softly; the muscles of her belly tautened against his cheek and he tensed too, for a moment, but she was moaning, which had to be a good thing.
He glanced back up and saw that Bran was licking Inga’s neck and nibbling at her earlobe, prompting a momentary pang of regret that he hadn’t headed up instead of down. He would have liked to tangle his hands in Inga’s golden hair, the way Bran was, and Bran would probably be better at this whole groin area thing than he was. Still, there was hair down here, too, softly curled downy hair with glints of gold in it, and Lee nosed his way curiously towards it.
Inga spread her legs, putting exactly what was down there on full display, already wet and gleaming with her arousal. Lee could smell it, too, a complex, almost aquatic scent-- different from the smell of a man’s groin, certainly, but not unpleasantly so. And there was nothing to choke him, nothing to shove itself down his throat.
He climbed over her leg and paused for a moment, looking, before he licked, the way he would have licked an unfamiliar food offered to him by his master or Bran-- cautiously, but not fearfully, and with a reasonable hope of finding it good-- and found it intriguingly akin in texture to a fruit that had already been bitten into, tender juice-slick skin that made Lee want to find something amid the convoluted pink folds to suck on. He probed cautiously about with his tongue, which unexpectedly slipped, the way his nose had slipped into Inga’s navel, into an orifice that yielded deliciously to his suddenly fully extended tongue, and his soft sound of surprise mingled with Inga's "Oh--"
Just pretend she's a peach made a bit more sense now. Lee slurped and sucked eagerly for a while, rolling his tongue around inside Inga, and she pushed her hips back against him, bumping his nose, but not too hard. This was kind of fun, actually.
"My clit," she said eventually. "Lee, suck my clit--"
That was a new one. Lee looked up inquiringly in time to see Bran detach himself from Inga's throat and wiggle down the bed towards Lee, pausing at Inga's hip with one hand curled around her breast as if he needed a hand-hold. With his other hand he grabbed Lee's hand, which had been playing absent-mindedly with Inga's soft, feathery pubic hair, and guided it to a bit of Inga equidistant between its previous location and where Lee's mouth had just been. It seemed to be where the wet curves met, and there was a swollen little nub of flesh there; Bran's finger pressed Lee's finger down on it, and Inga gasped instructively.
Lee let Bran's hand pull his further down, back to where his mouth had been, and poke the tips of two of his fingers gently inside. Getting the general idea, Lee slid the fingers as far in as they would go and curved them slightly, finding they reached further than his tongue had; the texture of the inside wall changed slightly at a point he hadn't gotten to before, and Inga writhed when he massaged it with his fingertips.
With a quick, sweet kiss to Lee's wrist, Bran went back to the top half of Inga while Lee, still wiggling his fingers inside her, attached his mouth obediently to the hooded nub that was presumably her clit. It was even smaller than her nipple, and much more sensitive, judging from her gasps and moans and, as he continued playing with it and sucking at it, actual shrieks, on an escalating scale. Lee found himself smiling a little as he licked diligently. From his admittedly limited sample size, women seemed much easier to please than men.
The bridge of his nose did get a bit of a bump when Inga's hips bucked violently and Lee's fingers were suddenly drenched with what he thought must be the female equivalent of semen, accompanied as it was with a piercing cry of obvious satisfaction. But when he kept fingering her and put his mouth back on her clit, he realized he must have been mistaken, because it happened again in fairly short order. Not sure when to stop, he kept doing what he was doing, wrenching three more arches and yells from Inga before she clapped her thighs together, nearly smothering him; Bran pulled him out, laughing, by the scruff of his neck.
"Skuld, Urd and Verdandi," Inga moaned, flopping bonelessly onto her side. "I can't feel my feet."
When feeling had been massaged back to Inga's extremities, which was also fun, Inga sat up abruptly, grabbed Lee, startling him, and kissed him passionately on the mouth.
"Marry me," she said when she pulled away. "Bear my children."
"How long had it been?" Bran asked, laughing, before Inga grabbed him and kissed him as well, then pulled both their heads down on her chest.
Lee liked having his head pillowed on her breast, and he was a little tired, and he didn't wake until the room was much dimmer and the master's hand was on his shoulder, when he startled so badly he woke the other two as well.
"I take it things went well," the master said, grinning down at them, "but you should probably get dressed. It's getting around time for Valor and Lisa to be getting home."
"Sir," said Inga, dressed again and with her golden hair combed back to neatness, sitting primly between Bran and Lee on the couch, "I changed my mind. I want to come back and live with you again-- at least until Lee gets sold."
Holden was still laughing at that when the door opened suddenly and a girl came in, one Lee had never seen before-- sweet-looking, with chestnut hair pulled back in a braid from a heart-shaped face, and dressed in an oddly masculine knee-length forest-green tunic, with a brown belt and heavy boots.
"Hello, my lady," said Holden, inclining his head slightly, as Bran rose, and Lee followed suit.
"Hi, Mr. Larssen," said the girl, clearly unsurprised to see him. She looked serious, though slightly less so when she glanced at Bran. “Hi, Bran. My gosh-- look at you, all dressed up."
She smiled at Bran and offered her hand; he took it and bent his head to kiss it, smiling back at her.
"And you must be the famous Lee," she added, turning to Lee, who bowed his head, a little more deeply than Bran had. It took him a moment to realize what the young lady meant by famous. Being Miss Valor’s friend, she would know about the news story Miss Robin and Mr. Denys were doing. Mostly so far that story had involved sitting still and doing as he was told, and in one instance, totally failing to answer a series of simple questions without breaking down, and being soothed and cuddled and praised afterwards as if he'd done something impressively difficult and taxing.
It hadn't involved anyone calling him famous. He wasn't sure how he felt about that term; it gave him the same shivery but not entirely unpleasant feeling he'd gotten when he looked at the pictures of himself on the table. Before he spilled his tea and ruined them.
"Sit, sit," Lady Kareyeva was saying to him and Bran. Lee followed Bran's example and obeyed, gratefully; his legs had gone a little shaky. The lady sat down on the other side of Bran from Inga, keeping hold of his hand-- rather possessively, for Lee's tastes, and right in front of the master, too.
“Any idea when Valor might be home?” the master asked.
Lady Lisa looked uncomfortable. "Um. Yeah. Valor asked me to tell you. And Inga. She’s not coming home tonight.”
It was a moment before the master said, “What?”
Lisa gave him an apologetic look. “She went home. I mean, to your house. On the train. She said-- she said she wanted her mom.”
