Thread: ____Pandora's Prize_____(OctopusPrince x Xinavee)

Samir closed his eyes when Arwen leaned close, lips parting a little with the inclination to allow the finger that had pressed to his lips inside, to taste the rough pad of Arwen's finger with his tongue-- he knew what this was, even though he had never experienced it with such quiet demand before. His previous master had been playful, romantic, nothing near this edge of dominance that Arwen displayed, and yet the feeling of heat that seemed to slither down Samir's back and pool in his hips was unmistakable. He was bared, and he thought, perhaps, that Arwen would have him-- he knew his own body well enough to know that it would not be forced on his part, and when he was brought to his knees, he stared up at Arwen, round eyes darkened with arousal as he listened and translated the words spoken to him. They would not eat, and they would not have each other. They would sleep, and they would lie together for as long as Arwen wished him near. That he understood, and in that, he forced himself firmly to ignore the surge of desire that had made his cock react, made it stir to half hardness at even such a small attention. Arwen was beautiful after all, and that calm level of command was as alluring as it was admirable. Samir contemplated that Arwen had said if and when, with an emphasis implying that, if he understood correctly, if he was unworthy, Arwen would never touch him more than in these mildly flirtatious, hinting ways. He ached at the idea of it, despite the situation of their meeting-- Already, he wanted Arwen to touch him. But he would obey, even in his want, he would obey. He rested his forehead against the powerful curve of Arwen's thigh, his lips brushing the skin. Yes master, as you wish. He promised, before he brought his oil slick hand along Arwen's skin, coating the leg that had brought him to his knees with the viscous liquid, his eyes lowered. How he wanted, just then, for some nonsensical reason, to glide his tongue and lips across that powerful flesh, to give thanks and worship where he knelt for a master that was honorable and chaste-- wherever Arwen had come from, he must have been a man of standing, he was not a brute or a simpleton, or Samir would have been on his knees underneath him long before this moment. He kept his eyes away from what also called to his lips and tongue between Arwen's legs, focused entirely and determinedly on the thigh and calve from the juncture of Arwen's hip down to the top of his foot. He reached blindly for the strigle, from his position, grasping it in his hand before sliding it with even, tempered strokes to remove the oil, the skin left smoothed. He was controlling his breath and contemplated Arwen's words. Service would not be enough. What else could he give? What else would Arwen want from him, but service? Perhaps, loyalty- that would be understandable. Perhaps companionship. Perhaps love. Even a man like this, a man who dealt in death and had slaves but was enslaved needed that. Samir tried not to linger the idea, instead switching to Arwen's other leg without moving from his position, Arwen's posture reliant on his spread thighs, on the placement of his feet near to Samir. He instead, took up the oil, and completed the the task of cleaning Arwen's body, oiling that leg with the same level of diligence he had done the rest of him, and sheering the oil away with the same careful, but firm pressure. When he was finished, he looked up at his master, eyes still cloudy, emotions there, but muddled and unknown. Thank you master, for allowing me to serve you... Shall I collect new linens for your bed, before you rest? He offered, since the ones on the bed then were crumpled and dirty. Samir paid no mind to the silks that were abandoned behind him, if Arwen wished it, he'd walk the halls nude to find the linens. His face was so temptingly close to Arwen's groin, and yet he stayed just far enough off to be respectful, batting his long eyelashes up at Arwen while waiting for instruction.