"My lady… it's too open here. What if someone comes…"
"Then finish before anyone does."
.
.
The reply was soft—yet it snapped Busaba's senses in two.
Her breath caught.
She guided her mistress's body gently through the water, drifting them toward a cluster of stones beneath the shade of the trees. Their bare skin pressed together in the shallows, where sunlight danced across trembling flesh.
Busaba reached beneath the water. Her fingers slipped slowly between Chantra's thighs.
The soft folds below the surface were pliant—yielding beneath the chill, yet burning with need.
A sharp intake of breath broke the silence. Fingers dug lightly into her arm.
"Deeper… Busaba…"
Chantra's whisper brushed her ear as she surrendered—completely—to her servant's touch.
Though the water concealed them from sight, its ripples betrayed every motion. The soft splash, the broken breaths, made it feel more exposed—more wicked—than if they'd been fully seen.
Busaba pushed deeper with every stroke.
Her fingertips circled the most sensitive spot, adjusting her pace to match the way Chantra's body trembled in response.
And then came the voice—barely audible, breathless:
"Ahh… I'm coming, my love…"
Chantra clung to her servant's neck.
And in one final jolt, she came—body trembling violently, hands clutching at Busaba's back, lips pressed tight to stifle the cry rising in her throat.
Busaba leaned in and whispered, teasingly, against her mistress's ear:
"Your flower beneath the water… It clenched my fingers so tight…"
Chantra turned abruptly, face flushed.
But instead of scolding, she bit her lip and murmured under her breath:
"It clenches just as tight on dry land.
If you don't believe me…
Come prove it again tonight, Busaba."
.
.
That night, the soft chirping of crickets echoed beyond the windows.
Inside Lady Chantra's bedchamber, the lantern flame flickered quietly.
The door creaked open.
Busaba stepped inside—silent, composed.
"You're late tonight,"
Chantra said curtly, rising from the bed, hair cascading freely down her back.
The servant gave no immediate reply.
She walked slowly, step by step, until she stood close—almost touching her mistress.
"This afternoon… you said that even out of the water, your flower still clenches tight…"
Chantra raised a brow.
The corner of her lips twitched, ever so slightly.
"And do you wish to test it?"
"Yes, my lady."
But before the words had fully left her mouth, no further conversation was needed.
Their bodies met—pressing tight.
Lips collided in a breathless kiss.
Hands moved with purpose.
Chantra was guided down onto the platform, her silk cloth stripped away with reverent ease. Her pale, naked form lay open beneath the one woman she allowed to touch her.
Their breathing turned ragged.
Rough, calloused hands—hardened by years of labor—glided across her smooth belly, then moved upward.
Fingers pressed into her breasts, firm and possessive.
They squeezed… kneaded… not with tenderness,
but with need.
Chantra flinched, breath catching in her throat as those hands continued to work her—rough and unrelenting.
Moments later, Busaba's mouth followed.
She kissed… she sucked…
she bit down on the sensitive peaks with a hunger that sent shivers through her mistress's arched, trembling body.
"You're like a starving babe… desperate to nurse at its mother's breast."
Chantra's voice was breathy, laced with a teasing edge despite her panting. Her moans only made Busaba more ravenous. The servant's rough hands gripped her mistress's hips tightly, the other hand kneading one full breast—firm, insistent, as though she meant to leave her touch engraved into that flawless skin forever.
Her tongue trailed lower—from Chantra's chest to the hollow of her belly. The noblewoman's breath quickened, sharp gasps escaping as the heat of Busaba's mouth refused to relent, even for a heartbeat.
"You make a servant like me ache to taste the core of your womanhood," Busaba murmured against her skin.
Chantra arched beneath her, breath faltering.
Long fingers tangled into Busaba's hair, trembling as her body shuddered at every flick of the tongue brushing across her deepest place.
"Is my flower… clutching your tongue as tightly as before?"
Her voice trembled with restrained moans, her teeth sinking into a strip of silk cloth to keep her cries at bay. Her body quivered violently, thighs tensing as if her flesh itself rebelled against restraint.
Busaba slowly lifted her head, exhaling a hot breath against her mistress's inner thigh.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she plunged her tongue back in—deliberate, deep, demanding.
Wet sounds echoed through the chamber, obscene and soaked.
Chantra's body writhed on the wooden platform, hips lifting to meet the relentless rhythm.
"Ahh… B-Busaba… I—I can't take it!"
Her name broke from those reddened lips just as the noblewoman's body spasmed.
Her back arched, hair slipping loose from its ties, strands clinging to damp skin.
But Busaba didn't stop.
She circled her tongue slowly, then thrust again—deeper. The wet heat of her tongue explored every trembling fold, even the most sensitive hidden places. Sweet nectar overflowed, trickling down the edge of the platform.
And then—suddenly—
"Ahhh!"
A clear stream of fluid burst from the heart of Chantra's flower.
Busaba paused to take in the sight—awestruck. It was the first time she had witnessed such a release from her mistress's body.
"Your sacred nectar… flowing from your flower… sets my body ablaze,"
she whispered, as though confessing sin.
Chantra reached up to touch her servant's cheek.
Her fingers still trembled from the waves that had just crashed through her.
"Then… unleash your fire, Busaba," she whispered.
"I want to see you come undone from my body… just as I shattered under your tongue."
That one sentence unraveled every last thread of restraint.
Busaba's loincloth fell away with ease—like a single leaf blown by the wind.
Her hips pressed forward, seeking heat.
Chantra welcomed her with trembling arms, pulling her in fully—letting her take, letting her devour.
Her fingers slid up Busaba's sweat-drenched back, gripping the back of her neck hard—marking ownership with touch alone.
Their moans grew louder.
Bodies moved in rhythm.
The slap of flesh against flesh echoed in waves.
Busaba's abdomen tightened, her hips thrusting harder, faster—shaking the platform beneath them.
"My lady… I—ah…"
The words broke apart in her throat as the final surge took her.
She buried her face in Chantra's neck, letting the heat consume her.
Chantra held her close—stroking sweat-dampened hair with slow, gentle fingers, like a mother soothing a child from a nightmare.
She let Busaba tremble in her arms as the room quieted, filled only with the sound of breath—long, drawn, and spent.
Above them, the lantern's flame danced faintly.
"Tonight…" Chantra whispered near her ear,
"Don't even think of leaving. I want you here… in my arms… until the break of dawn."
She pulled the thin blanket over their tangled bodies beneath the flickering light, possessiveness thick in every word.
Chantra lay curled against her servant's chest, her body still trembling with exhaustion.
"Busaba," she whispered—soft, as if lost in thought.
"What do you truly feel for me?"
Busaba fell silent.
Her breath caught.
She longed to answer plainly, but the feeling inside her chest was too vast to be shaped into simple words.
At last, she murmured,
"I… want to be with you for the rest of my life. I want to care for you, to stand beside you—whether you're well or in pain. Whatever comes, I want to be the one who stays."
Chantra said nothing, but a faint smile bloomed slowly on her lips.
"That's called love… do you know that?"
Busaba turned her face slightly, shy.
"I used to ask myself—many times—whether what we share is born of love, or merely the lust of women in their prime.
But over time, I've come to understand…
I don't long for men.
And I don't desire every woman, either…"
Chantra looked at her then.
There was a shimmer in her eyes—something soft, something unspoken that had never been revealed to anyone.
"Because I only long for you, Busaba. I want to stay with you… to feel your arms around me, to have you listen when I am weary, to let you hold me when I falter. If I could spend the rest of my life as your wife… I would need nothing more."
Busaba tightened her embrace.
"I don't think I could ever want anyone else but you, my lady."
That night, neither of them said the word love aloud.
But what passed between them…
was beyond anything language could contain.