Barthomeloi POV
In the end, my surging desires overwhelmed all reason.
Without hesitation, I stripped her dress away, leaving her exposed as she slowly regained her clarity, shaking off the remnants of her drunken haze after I cast her onto the bed.
"Wait, Bartholomeoi..." She began to protest, but before she could voice her objection, I silenced her with a forceful kiss, stifling any words she might have spoken.
I grasped her breast firmly, my fingers kneading it with deliberate pressure, drawing unconscious moans from her as I roughly massaged her.
My hand gradually slid downwards, finding its way to her pussy.
With each stroke, I fingered her repeatedly, using my Sex Magick to stimulate her until she began to squirt uncontrollably, soaking the sheets before we had even truly begun.
When she attempted to resist, my aggression overpowered her, and my tongue ravaged her mouth with relentless intensity.
Despite her initial resistance, she eventually surrendered to the heat of the moment, kissing me back as she wrapped her arms around my neck.
When the reality of the situation dawned on her, a look of horror crossed her face, revealing the conflict within her—she was reluctant, torn between the intensity of the moment and her own hesitations about continuing.
"I'm married, Bartholomeoi," she uttered, pushing me away, causing my expression to darken.
Perhaps sensing the impending consequences, she offered a compromise.
"I'll use my hand. Please, do not ask for more than that, Bartholomeoi."
I nodded, accepting her offer. I placed a chair in front of the mirrored desk and positioned it near the bed.
As I reclined in the chair, she nervously reached for my erection, grasping it awkwardly.
"How am I doing, Bartholomeoi?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
"You're doing wonderfully, Helena," I responded, stroking her hair gently.
She nodded, visibly relieved by the praise.
The tension in the room eased considerably after my compliment, allowing her to relax as she continued her task.
Despite her inexperience and uncertainty, I refrained from pressuring her, giving her the freedom to explore at her own pace.
My simple gestures of encouragement seemed to make her genuinely happy.
"Bartholomeoi... why hasn't it came yet? Am I doing something wrong?" she asked, her confidence wavering after 15 minutes of effort without bringing me to climax.
"Perhaps if you used your mouth or breasts, it might be quicker," I suggested, my eyes gleaming with a hint of cunning.
"This... this is impossible," she gasped, surprised as my cock hardened even further at the suggestion.
"Nothing is impossible. Everything is fair in sex and war, after all," I replied with a wry smile.
"Hmph...! I'll allow you to rub against me here, but only rubbing, Bartholomeoi," she conceded, turning to bury her face in the pillow, perhaps too embarrassed to meet my gaze after her words.
Honestly, who talks like that in real life?
But who cared?
I followed her instructions, positioning myself behind her and rubbing my hardened cock against her buttocks, moving back and forth until I finally released on her back.
She turned to face me, kissing me passionately before disentangling herself from my embrace.
"Thank you. I know you could have forced yourself on me, but you didn't," she said softly.
"Well, I did force myself on you, even if I didn't go all the way... I think..." I started to reply, but she silenced me with another kiss and a firm glare.
"Hush... Less talk, Barthomeloi. Stay with me tonight."
"Okay..."
I guess this is how it ended.
I wrapped my arms around Helena Blavatsky from behind, closed my eyes, and drifted off as we spent the night together.
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