Yes, but she makes him earn it.

She took her hand off of his belly for a moment. Then, finally, he felt her soft hand wrap around his cock. His hips quivered when he felt her strong grip on his hard dick, and he lay there in a pool of sweat, gasping. He cried out when she began stroking his dick, slowly, almost torturously.

“Look at me, Martin,” she said, using her husky, commanding voice once again. He opened his eyes and saw her. Her wide green eyes were bright in the darkness, almost glowing. She spoke another word in that arcane language, and he felt his cock throb. Something had changed, but what?

She took her hand off of his cock, spat in it, and then continued stroking him, twisting her hand as it squelched up and down his pole. She paid special attention to the head. He moaned, gripped the sheets with his hands still pinned behind his back, bucking his hips in time with her big, soft hand. Soon, he was staring up at the ceiling, panting heavily, eyes out of focus and face deeply flushed, gasping for air.

“I.. holy… fuck…” he said. She giggled again.

“What’s the matter?” she cooed in a lightly ironic seductive voice, “Are you going to cum?”

“I can’t,” he said breathlessly. Then his eyes popped wide open as he realized what her magical charm had done to him. He couldn’t cum without her permission. He moaned loudly and continued thrusting into her hand, badly wanting to cum but not wanting it to end.

“Don’t stop,” he said, bouncing his hips on the mattress. Her hand made a wet slapping sound each time it hit his crotch. His dick was hard to the point of pain, aching with need. The head was bloated, puffy, and purple. He had never been this hard in his life. Each throb was almost painful. The skin of her hand rubbing over the sensitive head of his penis was unbearable. His eyes bulged and he gasped and wheezed. He squeezed his eyes shut, head craned backward on the pillow until his back arched. He bit his lip until he drew blood.

“Please let me cum,” he said, barely able to manage more than a whisper.

“Why?” she asked, in a mocking voice.

“Please,” he said, his voice cracking, “Please let me cum! Please! I’ll do anything”

“Look at me,” said Brunhilde.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Her green eyes were ablaze, actually glowing with magic, and sweat was running down her face. He stared into her luminous eyes, feeling as if he could fall into them. She was smirking down at him.

“Please,” he begged weakly, his face flushed and eyes bleary.

“Cum,” she said simply. As soon as she did, she took her free hand and clamped it over his mouth to keep him from waking up the whole ship. He screamed into her hand as his cock went into spasms, his prostate squirming inside of him as he pumped ropes of thick cum into the air. His hips bucked upward with each spurt and he continued screaming into Brunhilde’s strong palm, feeling each wad squeeze through his dick. They landed on his torso, more than he’d ever cum before. His whole body tensed up, every muscle rigid. Waves of pleasure rippled through him and his eyes rolled back up in his head, going totally white as he drooled on her hand. He was still moaning frantically for a moment after he finished, his balls tight against his crotch as she slowed her pace and finally let him go. His tensed muscles relaxed all at once and warmth spread through his body. He felt as if he were melting into the bed. His eyelids fluttered and his eyes were not longer white but once more bleary, out of focus. He lay there twitching, hands shaking spasmodically every few seconds. He made no sound but his ragged breathing and a confused moan here or there, as if he were trying to speak but had forgotten how.

Brunhilde took a rag from the drawer beside the bed and cleaned him off with it. Martin said nothing, but only looked up at her with a distant expression on his face.

She took him by the shoulder and gently pulled him up onto his knees. He obediently kept his hands locked behind his back, even in his present state. Kneeling in front of him, she put a hand under his chin and tilted his face up as she had when they had first met. She stroked his cheek with one hand.

“Martin,” she said softly, “Come back to me.”

He blinked, sucked in a deep breath, and then his eyes slowly came back into focus.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“My shoulders. They hurt,” he said.

“You can take your hands out from behind your back.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, but then yelped when he moved his arms. He’d been stuck in that position for a long time and his shoulders were very stiff. Brunhilde put her arms around him and drew him into a tight embrace. He buried his head between her breasts and let his arms hang at his sides as she squeezed him close.

“On your stomach, Martin,” she said. He turned and slowly lowered himself down, feeling a bit clumsy from being so drained. She put her hands on his back once more and began rubbing him down, taking out some of the stiffness from his poor, hurting muscles. Her hands rubbed the tension out of his shoulders, then moved down to his lower back, working out the knots as if smoothing out the wrinkles in a rug. Finally, she put her hands on his bottom and gave him a good squeeze, smiling with satisfaction when he made a small “Ah!” sound. She lay down on one side and then drew him in close. It was his first time spooning with anyone, and he was the little spoon. She pulled the blanket up over them both and put her arm around his waist. When she squeezed him again, he sighed contentedly.

She waited for him to fall asleep, but he didn’t. Every once in a while, he’d move his legs a little. Evidently, something was bothering him. Finally, he spoke.

“....Brunhilde?”

“Yes, Martin?”

“Are you… still going to sell me?”

There was a long silence, and finally she whispered back: “No. I’m keeping you.”

“Good,” he said breathily, “Good. I’m safe.”

Moments later, she felt his breathing change. Slow, steady, and deep. He was asleep. And yet, even in his sleep, he reached for her hand. She was on her left side, with her right arm around his waist, and his left hand sought out her right, slipping between her fingers. She smiled in the darkness. A kitten. He was like a little kitten.

But… not entirely. A bit too strong to be just a kitten. She had thought he was pretty to begin with, but he was more than pretty. Brunhilde was aggressive but also perceptive. She could see the latent strength in people, and it was there in Martin. Perhaps a leopard kitten. Her smile broadened. Yes, her little cub, her little leopard kitten. Soon, Brunhilde, too, slept.