Her heartbeat quickened.
She could sense that Vortigern had said something but she had no idea what. It struck her that she needed to keep her newfound knowledge from the warrior. If Vortigern learnt that she knew he had murdered Caleb and destroyed the fiefdom, he would not bother with the pretense of cordiality. And, George knew, it was only a pretense of cordiality that would allow her to survive this encounter.
“Y Ddraig Goch,” she said carefully. She forced herself to smile for him. “That is the Welsh dragon, isn’t it? The red dragon?”
“The very same.” Vortigern smiled. “It’s a gift from my people to Caleb. He said you would be able to make better use of it here.’”
“It’s a very generous gift,” George told him. “Thane Vortigern of Merioneth is clearly a man of immeasurable generosity.’”
For a moment she thought his frown was skeptical. She wondered if she had overdone the praise for his generosity and if he knew that she suspected his treachery. Then the expression of suspicion had disappeared. He was smiling at her bared breasts again with lecherous approval.
“I’m not a man of immeasurable generosity,” he admitted. “In return for the gift of Y Ddraig Goch, your laird said I could expect two things.”
“Two things?” George raised an eyebrow. She still held Vortigern’s hand and noticed that it grew warm in hers. The sensation was pleasant. Disquietingly arousing. “What might those two things be?” she asked.
“Caleb said my men could retrieve gold to the weight of Y Ddraig Goch to fill my ship’s hold.”
George nodded.
There was no way the wyvern would allow Vortigern to plunder the vaults of the treasury and he clearly knew as much. But, if George granted him and his retinue permission to take gifts, the lowland warrior would be able to steal whatever he pleased. Knowing that she had to play this carefully if she wanted to survive the encounter, George asked, “What is the other thing that Caleb promised you?”
Vortigern stared poignantly at her bare breasts. “He promised your hospitality.”
The words hung between them like a challenge.
“The pleasure of bestowing that gift will be all mine,” she told him.
Stepping closer to the thane, pressing her nearly naked body against him, she stood on toes to get her mouth close to his. The polished silver of his armor was cool against her bare body. Yet, when she shivered, she knew the response was coming from arousal rather than cold.
Being dragonmeister of Gatekeeper Island was a lonely existence. Aside from the annual visit from Caleb, there was no one with whom she could have a relationship. The apprentice hostlers were young boys – unable to satisfy the needs and demands of a woman’s body. The temple prostitutes made for interesting distractions, but the experiences they provided were more spiritual than physical. And there were times when George yearned for something that was purely physical.
Vortigern, male, powerful and domineering, offered the prospect of something that was physically satisfying.
His hand had returned to her breast. As they kissed she felt his tongue slide serpent-like into her mouth. She raised one leg, smoothing her thigh against his hip and urging herself close to him as she savored his arousal.
The thrust of his manliness jutted from the crotch of his pants.
“Thane Vortigern,” she murmured. Her voice had fallen to a husky whisper. “It feels like you’re ready to welcome my hospitality.”
“You’re comfortable with us fucking in a temple?”
She stroked the bulge of his excitement through his pants, enjoying the heat that radiated from him. He sounded doubtful about the prospect of sex in a temple but she supposed some of the lowland religions had strange attitudes about acceptable communion in plain view of the deities. She knew there were some churches that condemned sex as immoral, and others that deemed ecumenical orgies a necessity for proper worship.
Her personal belief was that sex was a gift from the gods. It didn’t matter where it took place so long as the experience was enjoyed by everyone involved.
“Follow me to the altar,” she insisted. She led him by the hand. “We’ll be more comfortable there.”
He unbuckled the harness that held his chest armor in place and then removed his hauberk. Beneath she saw his flesh was clean-shaven and glossy with manly perspiration. The sight made her inner muscles clench with greedy sexual hunger. When he removed his helmet, and brushed a hand through his sweat-moistened curls, her need for him intensified.
He glanced up toward the golden architecture.
The walls were lined with stone dragons. The altar was guarded by two wyvern who stepped aside as George led Vortigern past them.
“I’ve never fucked in a temple before,” he grunted.
She pushed him onto the altar and then tugged the pants from his legs. Exposed, his length was as formidable as she had hoped it would be. He possessed a broadsword of an erection that was long and thick and looked like it would be a fearsome weapon for the battle she intended.
Unable to resist the impulse, George leant close to him and drew her tongue against his exposed skin. He tasted of salt and desire. The smell of him filled her nostrils with animal hunger.
“Rhyfeddol,” he gasped.
She chuckled. She didn’t know the word but she could guess it was a term of approval. Placing her mouth around him she sucked on his swollen end for a moment until his eyes were wide and his grin was broad.
Then she climbed on top of him.
It was a slow journey. She made sure her bare breasts caressed his body as she moved. He had clearly been admiring them when she appeared from the catacombs. She suspected that he would enjoy having them stroke against his bare skin.
But she could see that he was also interested in her nether regions.
Tugging the crotch of her thong to one side she exposed the bare lips for him and moved closer to straddling his manliness.
“Prydferth,” he said, reaching out to touch her.
His fingers fell into the crease of her need-oily skin. One broad digit disappeared into her warmth. Another slipped beside it, stretching her wide. A fat thumb stroked against the nub of flesh that she considered the root of all sensation.
Her breath quickened.
She regarded Vortigern with new esteem. The explosion of sensation he inspired was more profound than anything she had enjoyed with any man previously.
She reached for the base of his length and clutched him tight. His fingers sparked bolts of delicious magic from the lips of her sex. She had expected their union would be perfunctory – a civic formality of dominance and acquiescence. But it seemed that Vortigern was one of those rare men who believed in the benefits of shared pleasure. Unable to resist the unspoken invitation of his lips, she pressed her mouth over his and kissed.
Slowly, they worked their bodies together.
She held his length and guided it toward the sopping need of her sex.
His fingers stretched her lightly, preparing her for the broad girth of his manliness. And, when he finally entered her, they both sighed heavily with the satisfaction of bliss. Vortigern allowed her to sit adrift his length as he toyed with the swell of one breast. His finger and thumb squeezed and rolled at an acutely responsive nipple.
“Dragonmeister,” he sighed. “You should give up your position here. You should come and live with me in the lowlands. You could care for my estates. I could rehome your livestock in my catacombs. And we could play like this whenever it suited your desires.”
“Sex talk,” she laughed softly. She knew a man would say whatever he believed a woman wanted to hear whilst she was straddling him.
Vortigern shook his head.
He continued to tease her nipple with one hand. His other hand slipped to her rump. His fingers smoothed over her rear and slipped saucily close to the union of their bodies. She could feel the syrupy lips of her sex bristling to the light caress of his touch.
“It’s a serious invitat
ion,” he promised.
She was pleased to hear that his breath was ragged with passion. Despite the import of his words, the pleasure she inspired was having an obvious effect. It was a testament to her skills in the womanly art of lovemaking that she was able to distract a thane from his purpose.
“Rescind your loyalty to Caleb,” he suggested. “Pledge fealty to Merioneth and I’ll install you as the fiefdom’s dragonmeister.”
George raised and lowered her hips. Sliding her sex along his length took her close to the impending eruption. She caught a breath and held it as the waves of excitement flooded through her flesh.
And she tried not to be tempted by the offer he presented.
The gift of second sight was showing her the future he promised. If she did as Vortigern asked she would be installed in the scenic splendor of a lowland country estate. There would be catacombs for her to patrol and countless weyrs of wyvern, víbría, and Y Ddraig Goch. She would spend her days with dragons and her nights with Vortigern. The sun’s pleasures would only be outshone by the intensity of the night’s passions.
All it would take was for her to renege on the loyalty she had once pledged to a man who had been her lover and was now dead. A tear trailed down her cheek.
The ripple of pleasure flooded through her body. She bit back a scream, knowing the gods of the temple did not approve of such demonstrations of satisfaction. Vortigern’s length erupted inside her. The copious rush of his molten seed flooded her womb.
Another surge of raw delight rushed through her flesh. This time, uncaring as to whether or not the gods approved, George screamed.
Trembling, she peeled herself away from Vortigern. She gave his spent length a kiss of gratitude. He tasted of their mingled pleasures. It was a flavor she savored as she licked her lips. And she knew she had already made her decision in response to his invitation.
It was an easy decision to make.
“There is the temple doorway to the fiefdom treasures of Caleb the wolf slayer,” she said, pointing. “Take your retinue with you to collect your gold,” she added quickly. “Carry as much as you can. Break your men’s backs with the weight of the gold they carry because the wyvern will only allow safe passage the once.”
Vortigern nodded as he dressed. First he donned his pants. Then his boots. Then the hauberk and finally his armor.
“Your honesty is appreciated,” he admitted. “And my offer to you is an honest one. If you pledge fealty to Merioneth, you can reside as dragonmeister in my fiefdom. Your skills would be appreciated and well rewarded.”
And I would be whoring my skills to the man who slew my lover and the laird who trusted me with the safekeep of his dragons, she thought bitterly. Aloud, she asked, “May I consider the generosity of your offer whilst you’re retrieving your gold?”
His retinue approached. They held torches dripping with the burning tar.
“Consider the offer and know I’ll stay true to my word.” He strode to the doorway she had indicated. It was barred by a pair of wyvern.
George gestured for the wyvern to stand down.
Obedient, the beasts relented from their stiff posture.
His retinue started toward the doorway but Vortigern stopped them. He fixed her with a warning finger. “I get the impression you’ve lied to me.”
She shook her head. “We’ve lain together, Thane Vortigern of Merioneth. You’d know if I’d lied to you. I can place my hand on my heart and say I haven’t lied to you once.”
He considered this and then seemed appeased. Brushing her cheek with an apologetic kiss he motioned for his retinue to continue. A true leader, he snatched a torch of burning tar and led the way.
George watched him hasten into the shadows.
A sad smile played on her lips. She hadn’t lied to him once. She had lied to him at least three times.
She had lied when she said the wyverns would only allow safe passage once. That had simply been a ruse to ensure that Vortigern and his entire retinue followed her instructions and went through the doorway.
She had lied when she said she would consider his offer. Her loyalty would always be to Caleb the wolf slayer, even though the laird was now dead and his fiefdom destroyed.
But, most importantly for Vortigern, she had lied by sending him to retrieve treasure through that particular doorway. There was no treasure in the easternmost catacombs where he was now headed. In the easternmost catacombs there was only the mortal danger of the orientals. It was a mortal danger that, she knew, neither Vortigern nor his retinue would survive.
Suffer for Me
Teresa Noelle Roberts
Martin said, “I want to suffer for you.”
I smiled. I tried to make it an aloof, catlike one, but my heart ached with a combination of tenderness and lust and I’m sure it showed on my face. “You’re such a good boy,” I said, continuing to stroke his long brown hair. “And so beautiful. Why would I want to make you suffer?”
He was sitting at my feet, his head in my lap. He looked up at me, his eyes huge and lost, almost tragic. “Please . . . I want to be worthy of you, ma’am. I want to suffer for you.”
Martin was younger than me and new to admitting his own submissive nature. The admission had released a streak of dark romanticism, abetted by much erotica read with too little grounding in reality. I could chuckle about it, remembering my own early, fantasy-fueled explorations ten years ago – and yet his leather- and hemp-scented romantic fancies, his yearning devotion, had swept me off my feet just as much as my firm but sensual control had swept him off his. Now we were trying to figure out where to go from here. I was the experienced one, and I had definite ideas where I wanted things to go with my beautiful, biddable Martin – but a responsible domme finds a balance between her own needs and those of her sub. This is especially important at Martin’s delicate exploratory stage, where a wrong move could sour his fascination not just with me but with kink.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, tugging cruelly. “If you weren’t worthy of me, you wouldn’t be here,” I said, dropping my voice to a low, ominous register. “Do you question my judgement, or my taste?”
“No . . . I . . . I . . . I’m sorry.” He froze, his entire body rigid with tension. I was sure his cock was rigid as well, caught up in imagining the painful punishment he was sure was on its way, half dreaded, half longed for. “I just thought . . .” His voice dropped off and he almost whispered the end of the sentence, “I thought maybe you wanted me to beg for it, ma’am. I mean, you control me, and you tease me, and you make me take care of you in different ways, but you’ve never really hurt me and I thought . . .”
“That’s your problem, Martin. You think too much. I’ll make you suffer when I want to – in my way, in my own time. Meanwhile, sweet boy, put that tongue of yours to better use than saying silly things out of bad porn.” I lifted his head off my lap long enough to raise my skirt. He didn’t need further encouragement, and whether or not the delightful alchemy between his tongue and my clit stopped him from thinking, it stopped me.
But not before I’d come up with an idea. He wanted to suffer for me, and a delightful, obedient, clever-tongued morsel like Martin deserved to get what he wanted. I wasn’t that fond of inflicting serious pain, though – too much work for too little enjoyment on my end. It was only worthwhile for me if a boy really craved pain, needed it to be fulfilled, and my gut instinct was that Martin didn’t. He just thought he should, based on the one-size-fits-all lesson of porn.
But there was more than one way of making a man suffer exquisitely. And the way I had in mind we would both enjoy exquisitely – in the end.
“You look so good like that,” I purred, running my nails lightly across Martin’s straining abs. I surprised myself with the husky, lusty quality of my voice, but he took my breath away. I was no mistress of intricate shibari, and the way I’d tied him to the bed wouldn’t earn any prizes for beauty or elegance. The way his body looked, spreadeagled and taut with desire, was
another story. He was so gorgeous in his helplessness, yet at the same time, he didn’t seem helpless at all. Martin had gentle hands and a quiet demeanor, at least around me, but he also had muscles, and the way I’d positioned him made those muscles stand out. He looked like a bound, tattooed young god who’d chosen to be exactly where he was for mysterious reasons of his own.
Maybe not so mysterious. The straining cock was a pretty good clue. But he looked no less divine for his obvious desires. Hell, he looked more so.
I couldn’t keep my hands off Martin, but luckily I didn’t have to.
That was the whole point of this exercise, the whole point of having my beautiful boy tied so securely to the bed – to touch him, to tease him past what he thought he could bear and prove to him that he could bear it, and to make it end in pleasure that was also almost past bearing.
I began with his nipple.
When I caught it in one hand between my long red fingernails, he braced himself for a twist, a cruel pinch. I could see in his wide, entreating eyes that he both feared and hoped for it.
Instead, I caressed first one then the other with all the delicacy I could muster, applying just enough pressure that it pleasured rather than tickled. Then I took one into my mouth, licking and sucking and teasing the little nub, nipping down enough to vary the kind of pleasure he experienced, but not enough to push it over into real pain.
It occurred to me as I did that I’d never played with his nipples this way. I’d bitten them, put clothes pins on them, dribbled a bit of hot wax on them, but never simply caressed them. In fact, it had been a long time since it had occurred to me to do this to a man, and I was surprised by how much I was enjoying it.
“Ma’am . . .’’ he said, something in his tone sounding like the beginning of a protest, as if he didn’t think it was right I lick and kiss his body.
I shut him up with a kiss. “I don’t want to gag you,” I explained as I pulled away from his luscious lips. “Not today. But I swear I will if you if you say something stupid, like you’re not worthy of this kind of attention.”
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 12: Over 40 outstanding pieces of short erotic fiction (Mammoth Books) Page 22