The Ravager 3 (Patreon)

Bond’s hands moved to her with the fleetness of a magician. He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing over her lips as if to check that they were strong enough to withstand his kisses. Then his hands moved down her throat, enjoying a squeeze at her breasts before continuing down her hourglass outline. Stopping at her hips and circling along her waist—Penelope’s breath came faster, feeling his touch so close to her sex. Like hot water rising, about to engulf her in its heat.

But, with that cardplayer finesse, he went to her belt instead. Unbuckling it as ably as a thief would pick a lock, then uncoiling it from her skirt. Bond tossed the leather onto an easy chair, then placed his hands on her shoulders, rubbing fire into the bare flesh as he kissed her.

“Oh, James—you’re impossible to figure out.”

“Oh? I would’ve thought I’d been rather direct this evening.” He brushed the straps of her blouse down from her shoulders, then teased her with more kisses while he let the blouse drop down as it wanted, rather than undressing her himself.

As with all Bond had done that evening, the man seemed to have the Midas touch. He made Penelope shudder with his lips and the blouse wound its way down her lean torso like it was trying to get away from her.

“You must’ve done this a lot to be so good at it—I shouldn’t be attracted to a man like that—some kind of serial womanizer.”

“A diamond isn’t worth any less when it’s one of many.”

He turned her around and unhooked her bra. It took him so little time that it would’ve been comical if he turned her back around so quickly, so he brought her head around to face him and kissed her over her shoulder. She shut her eyes and knew she’d let him do anything to her, no matter how practiced the routine was.

“Another notch on the bedpost,” she said, just to be argumentative.

“A notch worth putting on the bedpost,” Bond corrected her. “And breasts like yours should feel a man’s hands far more often than a brassiere.”

Bond’s breathing didn’t precisely rush as he bared Penelope to his eyes, but it came detectably in and out of his nostrils. A sensuous purr as though he were breathing her in, much as she could imagine him savoring a fine cigar or a good cologne as he applied it to himself.

His fingers took hold of the billowing fullness of her bust, weighting her breasts and molding them as small as her grip could make them, which wasn’t much. Penelope squirmed heatedly in his pleasuring embrace. She shed her blouse and bra on her lover’s behest. Leaving her wearing only her skirt, panties, and full-length hose.

Her knees turned to jelly, as though her body only held so much strength and all of it was needed to express the volcanic passion she felt. Bond turned her around to face him—he now seemed capable of playing her willing body like a virtuoso’s instrument—and bent his head down to mouth her tingling cleavage.

“What about the rest of me?” Penelope gasped. “Should the rest of me feel a man’s hands more often than clothes?”

“The rest of you should never feel clothes at all,” Bond informed her. “And I plan on seeing to it that you don’t.”

“In the bedroom,” Penelope said. “If you’re going to strip me, I’ll need a bed nearby for what I do to you.”

Naturally, Bond didn’t argue. He guided her to the bedroom; Penelope wondered if she could break free of his skilled control, should she want to.

The room was dark—Bond didn’t bother with lights. The moonlight streaming through the unveiled windows was enough to see all that needed to be seen. What was shadowed was much better felt anyway.

He took her to the bed and sat down on it, with her standing before him, her luscious breasts now the perfect height for him to devour. Which he did, kissing and licking and biting in a never-ending barrage on Penelope’s nerves. Her breasts had always been tender, but Bond stirred them to a zenith of sensation that had her feeling as ravenous as the man feasting on her succulent curves.

She stood there, running her hands through Bond’s hair, then down to the marvelous shoulders that filled out his jacket like some imposing mountain range. Still, she did not feel like she was matching him for desire—Penelope was submissive in receiving her pleasure, giving herself over to Bond’s ministrations to reach a height she was incapable of achieving on her own.

Bond unfastened her garters and worked her gridle down off her hips. Penelope preened with a little pride. It had taken a feverish amount of work to reduce her belly to the almost hollow state it now held, an expanse of taut muscle that was featureless save for her navel. Bond clearly appreciated it, moving down to kiss the faint stirrings of abs along her tummy, then he was back up suckling at her breast while his fingers moved between her legs.

“Oh my Lord,” Penelope groaned, sure that her feelings couldn’t go any higher, that she couldn’t take experiencing anymore of this bliss.

Bond whipped her around, pressing her down to the bed while his mouth and hands took full possession of her. Everywhere they moved—breasts, belly, thighs—her flesh sang in appreciation. Penelope quaked expectantly, a little fearfully. The feeling would only get better, she knew.

Her fingernails clawed at the bedspread on either side of her. When the finish came, it would utterly overwhelm her. Penelope knew she’d be ruined for other men by the culmination of Bond’s efforts. She couldn’t wait.

Bond would brook no delays either. He stopped only long enough to undo his fly and throw back the bedspread—that was as long as he could wait for their first coupling.

Penelope backed away from him, beaching herself on the sweet-smelling top-sheet and watching with panting breath as Bond mounted the bed, shucking off his jacket with practiced ease. His only concession to being naked with her, as they both wanted but would do without. He was as muscular as she could hope for, all but a bodybuilder, with an ultimate masculinity that more than matched his athletic physique.

It may have been her fevered imagination, but it looked a foot long to her, girthy as a blunt instrument, the head red and swollen like a flaring beacon. Penelope thrilled—not without fear—at the thought of him forcing all of that upon her. She knew his determination would not let him stop until every inch was sheathed inside her.

***

Bond was equally enthused with Penelope’s nudity and the knowledge that he had brought her to this state of lush eagerness—plied and aroused her with nothing more than his own wit and manners. He tried not to be prideful to the point of obliviousness; dangerous in his profession. But he knew he’d greatly enjoy the opportunity to show her he was as capable as his ego implied.

As any champion did, Bond gloried in his own prowess, knowing he’d trained it to its maximum. He could see no hobby more worthwhile than that of Woman. And the fact that he was indulging in his hobby on behalf of the Crown—technically being paid for it, even—provided a secret amusement that truly perfected the evening.

His eyes trailed over Penelope’s shapely physique, enjoying the thrill of conquest, his newly minted capture of her round breasts, smooth stomach, even the exquisite little cameo of her diminished pubic hair and warm, wonderful vulva. It was a secret, a promise, a brisk haiku summarizing all the femininity of Penelope’s body in a few inches of flesh.

His manhood grew to its full throbbing length. He knew he was worthy of this goddess-like figure. With her eyes fixed on his towering size, it was clear that she knew it too.

Bond dropped down on her like a weight, one that Penelope desperately needed to keep from skyrocketing straight up into the atmosphere. His powerful arms wrapped around her, enclosing her golden flesh in the sheer warmth of his ardor.

Bond closed his eyes to fully feel her trembling body against his, hampered only slightly by the cloth he still wore, and near overwhelming at his exposed member. Her breasts flattened against his broad chest; her hands splayed on his back with the same crushing need.

“You’ll take care of me, won’t you James?” Penelope whispered, and he could hear her hushed delight with being able to nestle her chin into his shoulder and speak directly into his ear.

“I’ll take care of everything,” James promised her, though his eyes flashing to hers said it more vehemently than mere words could even attempt.

Then the animal took over, in both of them.