Owen Llewelyn
Owen was a relatively devout and pious Presbyterian, although acknowledging he perhaps (no, more than perhaps, certainly) had a number of faults, he conducted himself with gentlemanly aplomb, made sure to properly worship once a week, gave what he could to the church in Cardiff, and was certainly better off than the Irish Papists or the French atheists and regicides who had started this whole unfortunate mess back when he had still been a youth. Owen was certain he was one of the chosen who would rise into Heaven when his time came to leave this Earth.
That certainty that he was one of God's select was what made him wonder if perhaps the inn might have been hit by French artillery, or if perhaps the assassin had killed him as well as the Spaniard, or if perhaps the food had been bad and led to his demise. Heaven was said to be a place where the just were rewarded with delights beyond those of Earth, and the woman between his thighs, ever-so-painfully-slowly drawing his manhood into her wet, small mouth, was certainly making him feel things that he doubted could have been experienced ever before. But Owen doubted that oral pleasuring by a young girl was the sort of reward Reverend Whitefield would have had in mind, and Susannah did not fit the archetype of an angel. At least, not when she was naked, kneeling between the legs of a man such as himself, performing such miracles with her tongue and mouth.
Owen let a quite undignified whimper as his member was slowly taken into her mouth, Susannah quietly accepting his hands' guidance. He lessened the pressure as she took in a few inches, not wanting to overwhelm her, but she continued downwards even further, further than he would have thought possible for such a petite, inexperienced girl. Oh, what a treasure she was. His hands remained on her head, no longer pushing down but rather stroking her cheeks and hair, wanting to touch her but not knowing how else to do so, and to be honest far too lost in the feelings of her attentions to him to be able to do anything more complex.
Then, Susannah began to pull out, and a full-blown groan of ecstasy as his member dragged along the soft bed of her tongue, clamped by her tight lips, catching just at the tip of his sensitive crown, before returning to lowering down. Oh, God, where had she learned something like this? Was it truly possible that an innocent like her could have such innate knowledge of how to please a man? Perhaps it was a sign of their destiny with each other. Surely the fact that they each could pleasure the other so well with no foreknowlede could mean nothing other that their joining was part of the supreme being's plan?
His hands ran through the long red curls that were draped along his thigh, curling them around his fingers, brushing them along his skin, as Susannah's head continued to move up and down, tantalizingly slowly, her tongue and lips and mouth so tight and warm and wet along his member. He could feel the precursor fluid leaking from his tip, and he hoped that she was not too disgusted - though the fact she had not yet stopped was a good indicator. His member felt almost impossibly tight, and he knew that, if he did nothing, within a few minutes, he might...expend himself. And he did not want to do that, at least without giving her a warning - and a choice.
"Susannah," he spoke, his voice coarse, his hands slowly and regretfully pulling her from his member, tilting her chin up to look at him. "If you keep this up, within a minute or two I'll...climax. If you, ah, wish to continue that is fine, but, ah, if you, um, wish to...to...take me elsewhere..." Owen trailed off, even now finding it difficult to ask what he wanted to, and knowing that, innocent that she was, Susannah probably would have little idea of what he was saying.
Owen was a relatively devout and pious Presbyterian, although acknowledging he perhaps (no, more than perhaps, certainly) had a number of faults, he conducted himself with gentlemanly aplomb, made sure to properly worship once a week, gave what he could to the church in Cardiff, and was certainly better off than the Irish Papists or the French atheists and regicides who had started this whole unfortunate mess back when he had still been a youth. Owen was certain he was one of the chosen who would rise into Heaven when his time came to leave this Earth.
That certainty that he was one of God's select was what made him wonder if perhaps the inn might have been hit by French artillery, or if perhaps the assassin had killed him as well as the Spaniard, or if perhaps the food had been bad and led to his demise. Heaven was said to be a place where the just were rewarded with delights beyond those of Earth, and the woman between his thighs, ever-so-painfully-slowly drawing his manhood into her wet, small mouth, was certainly making him feel things that he doubted could have been experienced ever before. But Owen doubted that oral pleasuring by a young girl was the sort of reward Reverend Whitefield would have had in mind, and Susannah did not fit the archetype of an angel. At least, not when she was naked, kneeling between the legs of a man such as himself, performing such miracles with her tongue and mouth.
Owen let a quite undignified whimper as his member was slowly taken into her mouth, Susannah quietly accepting his hands' guidance. He lessened the pressure as she took in a few inches, not wanting to overwhelm her, but she continued downwards even further, further than he would have thought possible for such a petite, inexperienced girl. Oh, what a treasure she was. His hands remained on her head, no longer pushing down but rather stroking her cheeks and hair, wanting to touch her but not knowing how else to do so, and to be honest far too lost in the feelings of her attentions to him to be able to do anything more complex.
Then, Susannah began to pull out, and a full-blown groan of ecstasy as his member dragged along the soft bed of her tongue, clamped by her tight lips, catching just at the tip of his sensitive crown, before returning to lowering down. Oh, God, where had she learned something like this? Was it truly possible that an innocent like her could have such innate knowledge of how to please a man? Perhaps it was a sign of their destiny with each other. Surely the fact that they each could pleasure the other so well with no foreknowlede could mean nothing other that their joining was part of the supreme being's plan?
His hands ran through the long red curls that were draped along his thigh, curling them around his fingers, brushing them along his skin, as Susannah's head continued to move up and down, tantalizingly slowly, her tongue and lips and mouth so tight and warm and wet along his member. He could feel the precursor fluid leaking from his tip, and he hoped that she was not too disgusted - though the fact she had not yet stopped was a good indicator. His member felt almost impossibly tight, and he knew that, if he did nothing, within a few minutes, he might...expend himself. And he did not want to do that, at least without giving her a warning - and a choice.
"Susannah," he spoke, his voice coarse, his hands slowly and regretfully pulling her from his member, tilting her chin up to look at him. "If you keep this up, within a minute or two I'll...climax. If you, ah, wish to continue that is fine, but, ah, if you, um, wish to...to...take me elsewhere..." Owen trailed off, even now finding it difficult to ask what he wanted to, and knowing that, innocent that she was, Susannah probably would have little idea of what he was saying.