by Georgia Fox
"Take your finger out of me."
"But it feels so good inside there, Lady Isobel." He licked her temple, and she closed her eyes. "Don't make me stop yet. The rest of you is so cold and yet this cunny is so warm. Welcoming."
"Don't," she gasped.
"Don't what?"
"It will never welcome you. Never!"
He began moving his finger in and out slowly, rubbing the curved joint of his forefinger so artfully over her sensitive pussy lips that she felt the waves of pleasure coursing through her already. Then he bent his head and tongued her nipple through her gown. Her knees were weak and only his body, keeping her tight against the tree, held her upright now. "I'm going to fuck you, Lady Isobel, on your front, on your back, on your side. I'm going to use my cock in places where you never thought it could go. I'll leave you wet and dripping with my seed. Then you will never again think that... you," he pressed his words into her breast, "don't... need... me."
* * * *
Alonso was tempted almost beyond his endurance to take her there and then. Her body's response was surprisingly willing after all her terse words and insults. Dew dripped from her cunt and dampened his fingers, proving what she would never admit with her mouth. She was a sensual creature who tried to hide behind a frost-hardened exterior. In the same way as she rejected platters of food at supper, she denied her body its sexual pleasure. She pretended she did not want joy—that she was above it. But she could not hide the desire from him anymore.
He sucked harder on her tit and heard her moan. She liked a little roughness it seemed. Testing her, he pinched her labia, flicked her nipple, bit the side of her neck. Each gesture made the woman jump and gasp at first, but was met with another sound that came after—a purr that traveled from deep inside her throat and emerged seemingly against her will. The woman writhed against that tree like the serpent in Eden, and there was a pleasing flush deepening her cheeks.
Oh yes, she was ready to be plucked.
He wanted to tear off her gown and mount her there against the tree, but the Baron expected to watch him take her maidenhead. If there was no virgin blood on the sheet after the first time he might not believe Alonso responsible for any pregnancy that occurred afterward. The Baron was sly enough to deny him as the sire, and therefore refuse to pay his fee, if he did not see proof of her broken virgin seal with his own eyes.
Tonight, therefore, it must be. He could wait for tonight.
When he stepped away from her, letting the hem of her gown fall back into place, she opened her eyes and glared, recovering her usual icy demeanor. Alonso could see the frost sparking as it cracked across her green eyes.
"So where do you keep this straw effigy of Louvet? The one you hold over flames and prick full of pins?"
"I will never tell you."
"I only wonder why you have not put an end to him already," he sneered, "if you are so powerful a witch."
"Why would I want him dead? If I was a widow I could be sent somewhere far worse. I have many comforts and luxuries here. I am left alone and in peace most of the time. It suits me well enough."
He moved closer again and smoothed a dark frond of hair from her face. She was very still, glaring at him as if he might be frightened off. Didn't she know by now that he —unlike her milksop husband —was fearless?
"I do not believe you're a witch at all, Lady Isobel," he murmured, running his finger down her soft cheek. "If you were, he would have been rid of you." His finger reached her proud, elegant neck and felt her swallow. "But he uses the story of witchcraft to explain his impotency, does he not? Perhaps all his stories of bedchamber conquest are lies, fantasies. Perhaps his cock ceased to work long ago. But when he married a pretty young thing he was forced to find a scapegoat for his incapability. Thus he laid the blame upon his virginal bride."
She said nothing, her full lips pressed together, her eyes narrowed.
"Don't pout, my lady, you'll get me tonight and finally you'll know satisfaction as he can never give you." He paused, studying her angry face, her softly heaving breasts and the way her gown hung off her slender body. "Unlike your husband, I don't care how you starve yourself. Your slim shape does not put me off. That is why you fast so often, I suppose. Under the excuse of piety you keep yourself unattractive to the pitiful example of manhood that you were forced to wed."
She swung her hand and slapped him hard across his face.
For some reason he hadn't seen it coming. It stung and he tasted blood in his mouth.
Furious, he could only stare at her for a moment.
"And I suppose you expect to have everything your way, mercenary. But you'll find me very different to your usual prey."
He already did. "I like a challenge, Lady Isobel," he replied curtly, resisting the urge to rub his sore cheek. "I welcome a worthy opponent. Any time."
Her eyes flared. "Then we do have something in common." How beautiful she looked suddenly, with her dark hair loosened and tumbled in a sprawl over her shoulders. It shortened his breath and possibly, he thought grimly, his life too by several hours. Perhaps she really was a witch.
"You think to fight me in bed, Lady Isobel? Or will you make a doll of me and stick me full of pins?"
"The latter would be a cowardly way to fight you, and I am no coward."
No, he could see that. His heart jumped a few beats before it found a good rhythm again.
"You will never make me into one of your conquests, d'Anzeray. I do not have a fool's heart. Mine is as black as yours."
"I don't care about your heart," he assured her. "But your body promises me many hours of delight."
"My body is just as easily roused by my maid's tongue as it was by your finger. It matters not who touches it, the result is the same. Whatever you've been told by your many, indiscriminate and brain-addled hussies, there is nothing remarkable about you, Alonso d'Anzeray."
He stared.
"Perhaps we can go back now," she said, one eyebrow arched. "Since you are done proving your precious point."
Alonso bowed and gestured to his horse.
As she walked by the maybe-witch added softly, "And I shall prove my point tonight."
Chapter Four
"My lady, is there any advice I can give you?" said Jeanne as she helped her into the linen nightshift that evening.
Isobel shook her head. "I heard it all before I came here for my wedding. I was told what to expect by my mother." Not that any of it had ever come to pass, of course.
The maid finally placed a rabbit trimmed cloak around her mistress's shoulders to keep the chill off.
Outside the rain still fell. It had not stopped since her ride in the forest, and occasionally a swell of wind pushed it hard at the shutters. She shivered, but it was caused as much by the wicked excitement dancing restlessly through her blood as it was by the drop in temperature. "I am ready."
Jeanne opened the door. A page waited to take her to her husband's chamber. Just as she turned away, the maid reached for her hand and murmured, "For luck, my lady."
It was a four-leaf clover pressed into her palm. Isobel was more moved than she could say. After a quick embrace she left the chamber, stepping out into the drafty corridor. The flames of the page's torch fluttered and spat as they walked along. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, and her nipples felt extra sensitive as the pleats of her shift moved against them. At the last minute, as the Baron's door loomed, she thought of running away, back to her chamber and bolting the door.
But she was no weakling, and Alonso d'Anzeray did not frighten her. He would learn that tonight.
The door swung open as if their approach was heard, and there he was in a long, belted robe. With something in his hand.
* * * *
The Baron was settled in a chair at the foot of his large bed, a jug of wine and a platter of bread, cheese, and fruit at his side. Clearly he was settled in to be entertained. Alonso would have been amused by that if he was not too busy anticipating the pleasures to come and
thinking of his first moves.
When he saw Isobel approaching, surrounded by that flickering, darting light, it was not difficult to put the Baron out of his mind and focus on her.
His balls felt heavy. Christ, he'd been in this state of arousal since that morning in the forest. He did, indeed, feel like a stud horse tonight. One who had scented his mate and would soon hurt himself in the stall if he was not freed to tackle her.
She wore her hair tied back in a braid. Her appearance was innocent, maidenly. A lamb to the slaughter. He licked his lips.
"Lady Isobel."
Her eyes moved to the ribbons in his hands, but she did not ask what they were. Passing Alonso with no response to his greeting, she walked to her husband and curtseyed. So she meant to play the prim lady still. Never would she relent and confess she was aroused by him.
He closed the door and bolted it
The Baron was already ordering his wife to undress and lie on the bed. "I wish to discuss the rules of this...mating," he croaked from his chair, "before it begins."
Alonso watched the woman slip out of her cloak and then her shift. Both garments pooled around her feet. She stepped out of them and lay on her back, her eyes staring up at the ceiling beams. Not once did she look at the man who was to fuck her.
"The two of you will not kiss," the Baron continued, his swollen fingers clasped around a goblet of wine. "You will never couple when I am not here to watch. You, d'Anzeray, will not spend with any other woman while you are servicing my wife and until she is with child. When she is impregnated these visits will end. You, Isobel, will not touch yourself improperly or seek release in any other way until you have conceived." He paused for a sip of wine and then added, "You may begin."
Alonso walked up to the bed and looked down at her small teardrop breasts, her long legs and the dark, tight curls of her vulva. She was well-made, despite the lack of "cushioning" that so appalled her husband. Alonso understood now that it was all part of her character—this denial of food and pleasure. Somehow she thought it would make her a better person if she was miserable all her life. He thought only nuns believed that, but apparently others did too.
He would teach her otherwise.
"Turn over, Lady Isobel."
"Aha!” The Baron chuckled, hitching forward to the edge of his seat. "He means to take his first thrust betwixt my lady's cheeky pillows."
The woman on the bed rolled over and Alonso took each of her wrists, tying them to the carved headboard. When she felt the ribbons tightened he heard a small questioning sound and her breathing quickened.
"I must have you relinquish all control to me, Lady Isobel," he explained, tugging on the ribbons to be sure they were secure. "You are in my hands. Completely. Utterly. Now you must trust me."
Slowly he untied her long braid, letting her glorious hair fall free down her back. Then he took a horse-hair stuffed bolster and slid it under her hips, pushing her lovely bottom high.
"Legs apart, Lady Isobel, so that your husband can see his property." To drain her of all that haughty pride tonight she would be allowed to keep nothing hidden. She must be undone thoroughly, before he could put her back together again as a woman who knew how to enjoy herself. A woman who had learned to trust him.
"Excellent angle, d'Anzeray," the Baron exclaimed. "I have a good view of her quinny and her proud little bottom. You must take them both tonight. I think I see her blossoming already, yet she does not know what you mean to do with her. Splendid!"
Alonso shrugged out of his robe and wrapped the end of the leather belt around his fist. "First she needs a spanking, my Lord Louvet."
He saw the woman tense, pulling on her ribbons until they were taut. But they were strong. Of that he'd made certain. Although he'd left her legs untied he now had second thoughts, for she was capable of kicking like a rabbit, as he knew already. He passed his leftover ribbon to the Baron and asked him to tie her right ankle to the bedpost nearest his chair. With one leg secured she could not wriggle away and he could deal well enough with one kicking foot.
"Did I just hear you curse into the mattress, my lady?"
She bristled with indignation. Already a little perspiration shone in the small of her back, and there were goose bumps along her arms. Whatever she'd expected tonight, this was not it.
Alonso smirked. "Good. For the more you curse and defy me and call me names, the more punishment you will get. Are we clear?"
He sincerely hoped she would bite her tongue and behave because he wanted to begin fucking her soon. The smooth, high orbs of her tight bottom lured him in and the soft, blushing pink of her cunt competed with a siren's song of its own.
Her husband sat back, sipping his wine, eyes intent upon the scene, lips turned up in a lecherous grin.
"Now, Lady Isobel, for calling me a barbarian today..." Alonso swung the belt, and it cracked hard across her cheeks. Her arse bounced, and she squealed.
Watching her reaction his shaft lifted and thickened.
"For calling me a fool." He smacked her again and this time he knew she did indeed curse, although she tried to smother it in the bed. Her husband chuckled and shouted words of encouragement, but Alonso barely heard him now. His eyes were fastened on her pinkened arse and the first sight of dew on the rosy lips of her cunny.
His arm swung the belt again and he could have sworn she raised her arse to meet the lash of the leather. "For calling me insolent...." crack, "and creature..." crack, "and bastard son of a whore!"
"Look how her cheeky pillows glow like bashful maidens!" the Baron exclaimed. "Again, d'Anzeray. Spank the wench as she deserves."
Alonso regarded her twitching bottom, knew she was waiting expectantly. He left her waiting while he strode around the bed, his cock arching to his navel now. Only when she was still and apparently trying to see where he'd gone, did he lash her trembling cheeks again with the belt. She yelped in surprise.
Another lash and then another quickly followed while her arms strained against their ribbons.
"You will not go out riding tomorrow, Lady Isobel," he growled, kneeling on the bed. "Your arse will sting too much."
"You bastard," she hissed. "There, now do it again! See if I care."
"Oh, you will care tomorrow when you cannot sit on this fine derriere." Alonso leaned down and licked her quivering, heated arse cheeks. He drew the red skin into his mouth and sucked. "Such a sweet taste, my lady." He let his tongue slip into her crack and touch her anus. Her heard her whimpering, felt her buttocks clenching, trying to keep him out, so he dropped his belt and used his hands to part her cheeks, then he resumed his licking and tickling of her most private places while her husband looked on.
* * * *
Isobel's first thought was that she would never forgive him for this. She would hate him forever. Loathe him. But as the last lash fell against her bottom a new sensation overtook her anger and humiliation. She was afire with it—and not just where her skin smarted from the crack of leather. It spread within like a forest fire catching on dry leaves, whispering and spitting.
When he knelt beside her and his wet tongue passed over that same tormented flesh she felt relief, and when he sucked on that skin it was a moment of vivid pain again, followed by more relief. Splendid, soothing respite. And heightened sensitivity, so raw that she was glad to be face down on the bed, her countenance and her blushes hidden. As he laved her arse-hole with his forceful tongue, his rough hands holding her buttocks wide apart, she felt the shreds of dignity torn away from her and with it went everything else to which she'd clung. She could not believe he would do such a thing—that anyone ever would, but there was no hesitation in the steady motion of his naughty tongue.
She had expected to hate this from him.
However, much to her distress, her pussy began to feel neglected.
Isobel squirmed, trying to lift herself from the bolster upon which he'd propped her lower body. She kicked with her free leg. All was in vain. She was rendered powerless.
"Have patience, Lady Isobel," he muttered huskily. "I'll be there soon enough." He blew gently on her labia. "I'll be in there, filling you up, nice and tight." His words shivered through her like wind through the trees, and she muffled her wanton cries in the bed.
He held her down with his hard hands and focused all his attention on her bottom and her anus. He tormented her deliberately, of course, and her husband chuckled to see her frustrated twitching.
At last, d'Anzeray moved into position between her legs and his hard cock tapped her arse cheek.
She heard her husband pouring more wine, then scuffing his chair along the floor for a better view. "I daresay she'll scream when you get that magnificent cock of yours all the way in her, eh, d'Anzeray?"
"Oh, I think this lady will purr, my lord."
His fingers were on her pussy now, prying her lips open. Isobel held her breath, but he whispered at her to relax.
"Be at ease. Don't tense."
She groaned, tugging again on her tied ribbons, yearning to turn over.
Then came his cockhead. It was broad, about the size of a plum. She gasped.
"Ram her, d'Anzeray! Why do you wait? Ram her!" The Baron banged his fist on the bed for emphasis.
But the warrior did not force himself in. He played with her, tapping his crest on her labia, rubbing his shaft and balls up and down in the crack of her smoldering arse, letting her feel the length and thickness she was getting. He leaned over her back and whispered into her hair. "Breathe, my lady. Breathe deeply. Let you body fall open. Give yourself up to me. Trust me." His lips brushed her hair as he whispered, and it was the closest thing to a kiss that he could give her under the Baron's rules. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, felt herself falling into the bed.
Carefully he began inching his cock inside her pussy. His knees were between hers, his body arched over her back, his hands flat to the bed on either side of her shoulders.