Igraine

by Jane Godman

  “I wonder how it will feel to have him inside me for the first time?” Igraine lay back in the scented tub and allowed Marigold to massage rose oil into her arms and shoulders.

  “They say his cock is enormous.” Marigold’s eyes widened. “Like a prize stallion.”

  “Aye, and he is happy to share it with every serving wench and dairy maid from Cornwall to Carlisle.”

  “Then he will know how to wield it well, my lady. I’ll warrant Lord Gorlois will know how to give you pleasure.”

  Marigold’s dexterous fingers worked their magic, and Igraine relaxed, allowing her head to rest against the back of the tub.

  “I can give myself pleasure,” Igraine stated some time later, as she rose from the water and went to lie face down on the bed. “I have no need of a husband I do not love.”

  “Dream you still of the Welsh king, the one they call Uther Pendragon?”

  Igraine sighed. “Of what use are dreams? I cannot give my heart to a man I have never met. Not when, today, I must give my body to another.”

  Marigold came to stand at the foot of the bed, spreading the oil on her hands and taking Igraine’s foot between them. Expertly, she massaged Igraine’s feet and calves, working her way higher up each leg until she kneaded her thigh muscles and then glided her hands over her buttocks. Some of the tension oozed out of Igraine as those magical fingers alternately squeezed her cheeks and then held them apart.

  She squirmed, her clitoris swelling and her channel growing wet as she pictured Gorlois’ hands taking the place of Marigold’s later.

  Marigold, lost in her task, ran a finger all the way along Igraine’s crack, circling her anus before continuing lower to press into her cunt. She repeated this action several times, teasing until Igraine moaned and lifted her rear from the bed, demanding more.

  She was so slippery from the oil and her own juices that Marigold’s fingers slid easily inside her. Reaching beneath Igraine’s body with her other hand, Marigold found her swollen nub. Driving her fingers in and out while flicking and teasing in the same rhythm, she quickly gave Igraine the orgasm she so desperately needed.

  “What will I do when I am wed, and we can no longer share these moments together?” Igraine rose from the bed and kissed her friend on the lips.

  “The duke is away with his armies much of the time, my lady.” Marigold held out a robe for Igraine to step into. “We will have time enough together in Cornwall, should you need me.”

  Igraine’s wedding gown was of a pale cream linen with an embroidered over-mantle. Her hair was worn loose and Marigold wove fresh flowers into its red-gold length. The bride rode on a donkey to the chapel, and the villagers walked behind her in procession.

  Gorlois, tall and proud in his fur-lined cloak and tunic emblazoned with his ducal crest, stepped forward to help her dismount. His eyes blazed with triumph as he tucked her hand into his arm. “I have thought of nothing but you since our last meeting.”

  The crawling feeling that was a mixture of repulsion and desire swept through her, and she tilted her chin. “You take an unwilling bride to the altar this day, my lord.”

  He laughed. “Do you think I care how I take you, my fine Lady Igraine…as long as I can take you?” His lips brushed her earlobe as he bent closer. “And I warrant you’ll not be unwilling.”

  The ceremony passed in a blur for Igraine, and soon the laughing, chattering crowd clustered around them, touching the clothing of the married couple for luck as they made their way back to her uncle’s home for the celebration. They sat together at the main table during the wedding feast.

  Ragnor had organized a sumptuous affair, fit to celebrate the nuptials of his niece to one of the noblest men in the land. There were roast meats, pies, custards, and jellies. A ham was carried into the hall by Marigold and one of the waiting women, and flagons of ale and mead circulated freely. Igraine’s tension increased with each passing minute, as her awareness of what was to come grew. Gorlois, drinking and eating his fill, never took his eyes from her face.

  During the feast, there were dancers and jesters to entertain the guests. When these were ended, Gorlois rose to his feet. Taking the purse from his belt, he scattered the coins upon the rushes, and an unseemly scramble ensued as guests and serfs alike vied to see who could gather the most.

  Turning to Igraine, Gorlois smiled and held out a hand. His fingers were rough and calloused as they gripped hers.

  “My friends, we thank you for your kind wishes.” He bowed to Ragnor. “And to you, sire, I am doubly indebted, both for your hospitality and for the hand of the finest lady in the land. And now, my duchess and I will retire to our chamber.”

  As they made their way to the grand staircase, there was much snickering and many ribald comments. When Gorlois swept Igraine into his arms and carried her up the stairs, a great cheer rang out among the guests. Glancing down as they turned onto the half-landing, Igraine caught a glimpse of Marigold’s face. Her friend licked her lips, clearly fantasizing about what would soon be taking place inside the bridal chamber.

  Once inside the room, Gorlois placed Igraine on her feet. Candles burning on each surface gave the room a warm glow, but she wished it might be darker, so she did not have to see that gloating look of possession on his face. A large, canopied bed awaited them, and Igraine stared at it, her heart hammering loudly in her chest.

  “Not so fast, my lady.” Gorlois noted the direction of her gaze. “We have all night.” He came to stand before her, his gaze traveling over her face, feasting on her like a glutton upon a banquet. “You are mine now, Igraine. All mine.”

  “I took my vows.” The words came out stiffly. What more did he want from her?

  “Do you remember what I said to you when we first met, and you spoke longingly of Uther Pendragon?”

  She felt the blush rise in her cheeks. How could he throw her foolishness back at her? “A girlish fancy of mine, my lord. Nothing more.”

  “Even so, never forget those words. If any man should look at you, Igraine, I will have him flayed. If he touches you, he’ll lose his hand. If he fucks you, I’ll cut off his cock. If you fall in love with him, he will die.”

  Igraine had never been in any doubt about this man—her husband—but her face blanched at these words. “Fine talk for the bridal chamber, my lord.”

  His wolfish smile gleamed. “My name is Gorlois. You will scream it when you come. Say it now.”

  She swallowed hard. “Gorlois.”

  “‘Twas not so difficult, was it? Come here.”

  Dutifully, Igraine closed the gap between them. She had taken a vow of obedience this day. The man before her was her master. Gorlois took her face between his hands, holding her for a few seconds before he kissed her.

  Igraine remained passive beneath his caress, and he raised his head. “Think you to resist me?” A demon of laughter danced in the dark depths of his eyes. “Think again.”

  Brushing his lips across hers once more, he slanted his mouth, pressing harder this time. Slowly, he coaxed her lips open with his, until she allowed his warm tongue access. Igraine gasped at the sensation before tasting him back, tentatively touching her tongue to his. Gorlois groaned and clutched her to him, his hand meshing in her hair.

  In an instant, wild, unbearable heat pervaded every part of her. A heat she didn’t want, yet could not deny. Gorlois pressed her to him, rubbing his huge erection against her stomach as he clutched her buttocks and lifted her closer against him.

  “Undress.” His voice rasped in her ear.

  She turned, and he brushed aside her hair, unlacing her gown with impatient fingers. Tugging the over-mantle down her arms and casting it aside, he turned her around and she stepped out of her gown, facing him in naught but her chemise. Her nipples poked through the thin linen and hardened as his gaze raked her up and down. Her heart pounded in her ears, partly from trepidation, but mostly from the fire in his eyes. She tugged the tie at her neck undone and the chemise slid from her body, poolin
g at her feet with the other garments.

  “Let me look at you. Turn around. I want to see every inch of you.”

  She dropped her gaze and complied with his demand, slowly spinning on her heel.

  Gorlois’ eyes roved hungrily over her body. “You are beyond compare. You, my wife, are indeed the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  Hurriedly, Gorlois shrugged aside his own clothing, until he stood tall, powerful, and naked before her.

  Igraine’s gaze traveled down his body and settled on his massive cock. The rumors Marigold had spoken of had not been lies. Any stallion would be proud of such an enormous appendage. It swelled further as her gaze lingered, the veins standing out bold and blue along its rigid length.

  In return, Gorlois stared at her breasts, and her nipples tightened painfully at the look in his eyes. Igraine wanted to cover herself, but she was unable to move. White heat tore through her body. Gripping his shaft with one hand, Gorlois pumped himself with swift, even strokes, making himself even harder as he came closer.

  Reaching out a hand, he moved it slowly up her inner thigh. Pushing one finger between her folds, he teased her clitoris with his thumb. In spite of her determination to hold herself aloof, as his finger encircled the swollen nub again and again, Igraine became too consumed to care. Gorlois’ other hand moved up and settled on one of her breasts. Igraine gasped as his fingers brushed over her tightened peak. He plucked hard at her nipple and she uttered a soft groan.

  He laughed delightedly. “To the bed with you, my duchess.”

  Obediently, she allowed him to lead her to the curtained bed. Lying on her back, she opened her legs and Gorlois settled between them.

  “It will be best if it is this way the first time.”

  Although she didn’t understand his meaning, Igraine was too focused on that huge cock looming above her to ask what he meant. “You are too big. I’ll be split in two.” Her voice was a panicky gasp.

  “Your quim will take me, all of me, and learn to love it.” His voice was rough as slowly, he pressed against her entrance, pushing into her, and stretching her inch by inch. Instinctively, she arched upward, taking more of him as he thrust from the hips. “You’re so tight it’s killing me.” His voice was rough in her ear.

  His engorged cock filled her so completely she burned inside and out. He drove farther and farther in. She couldn’t bear this heat that coursed through her at being connected to a man she disliked so intensely, yet the sensation of him inside her was the most amazing feeling she had ever known.

  Encountering a barrier, Gorlois paused, leaning up on his elbows. “This will hurt, but the pain will not last.”

  Igraine bit her lip and nodded. “I am ready.”

  With a single mighty thrust of his muscular buttocks, he entered her, breaking through the barrier and filling her completely. Igraine cried out as agony seared through her. She clutched at his shoulders and tried to scramble away from the huge cock upon which she was now impaled.

  Gorlois held her in place with his hands on her hips. “Keep still. Give your body time to adjust.”

  Slowly, a feeling of warmth the like of which she had never known replaced the pain. It was as if this—Gorlois filling her this way—was what her body was made for. A curious lassitude came over her. She no longer cared who this man was. She needed more from him.

  Her eyelids fluttered down, and she sighed, stretching her body against his. “Please, Gorlois.” The sound of her own voice pleading with him shamed and inflamed her at the same time.

  “You like my cock in you, don’t you, my proud duchess? You’d like my great, big cock to fuck that pretty little cunt, wouldn’t you? Tell me you want me to fuck you, and I will.”

  Her eyes flew open as she glared at him, determined not to allow him any power over her.

  He moved slightly, reminding her of what she was missing. His eyes blazed with elation. Then he held still, watching her face. “Tell me, Igraine. If you don’t, I can wait all night.”

  The feeling of him buried deep inside her, the friction of his cock rubbing against her nub, his fingers tweaking her nipple, all of these things were exquisite torture. It was too much for her to bear. “Fuck me, Gorlois. Please, I need you to fuck me now!”

  At those words, he pulled out and pushed in again. Igraine gasped. It was even more wonderful than she had anticipated.

  “Is that what you wanted?”

  “Yes, Gorlois. More.”

  He did it again. Harder this time. Then he thrust in and out of her without mercy.

  Igraine had never felt anything so maddening or so wonderful. Each time he withdrew and drove forcefully back in, she lifted her hips, begging him for more, pleading with him to fuck her harder. Any thought of restraint or pride was gone.

  Gorlois quickened his pace as he continued to drive in and out. He brought his hands down beneath her buttocks to lift her higher against him, and as he thrust one last time, Igraine’s body burst apart in a series of powerful spasms. Gorlois’ own release followed, and he slumped against her, panting into her shoulder.

  Igraine slid out from beneath him, moving away to the other side of the bed. Breathing hard, Gorlois turned his head to look at her through narrowed eyes. “Still pretending?”

  “Did you think because we are married and I must allow you into my body my feelings toward you have changed?”

  He laughed. “Aye, you may tell yourself that if it pleases you, my lady. But we both know that in bed, behind the curtains, that is where you are truly mine.” He reached out a hand for her breast and rubbed his thumb across its peak.

  No matter how hard she tried to resist the impulse, her treacherous body betrayed her. Her nipple hardened and a soft groan escaped her lips. Dear God, how can I want him inside me again already?

  “Any time I choose to have you. And now we both know how much you love it.”

  Chapter Three

  Tintagel, Cornwall 463 AD

  Igraine hung her head. “I didn’t know the horse was unbroken. Indeed, my lord, I am most truly sorry.”

  They had been married a month and, although she had heard the servants whisper of Gorlois’ legendary rages, she had never witnessed one. Until now. His face was suffused with rage, his whole body tense with coiled fury as he paced up and down her bedchamber.

  “Even I would not dare to ride that horse. Yet you decided to take it along the cliff top. Do you know how close to death you came?”

  Igraine attempted to reassure him. “I was in no danger. I have often ridden unbroken horses. It is a talent of mine, even the wildest of creatures become tame with me.”

  His anger seemed to abate a little at that and he regarded her thoughtfully. “Why is that?”

  “Mayhap it is a talent inherited from my mother, who some say was fae.”

  “Who was your mother?”

  “I do not know,” Igraine replied truthfully. “It is said she was either faerie or witch who cast a spell upon my father. She died giving birth to me.”

  Gorlois regarded her thoughtfully. All trace of anger was gone now and he smiled. It was not a reassuring expression. “I think you weave your own spells, Igraine. But I cannot disregard this matter of the horse.”

  “I won’t do it again. I promise.” Would that be sufficient? Something in his face told her it would not.

  The smile widened. “Promises won’t work with me, Igraine. You must be punished.”

  She swallowed hard. “Punished? How?”

  “Come here.” Hesitantly, she took a step closer. Gorlois sat on the edge of the bed. “Lie across my lap.”

  “You are going to spank me?” She stared at him in astonishment before tossing her head proudly. “I am not a child to be chastised in such a way.”

  “And I am not going to treat you like a child.” His hand snaked out, gripping her wrist. Pulling her to him, he smiled into her eyes and repeated his earlier instruction. “Across my lap, Igraine. Now.”

  With her cheeks flaming
. Igraine draped herself face down across his muscular thighs. Gorlois’ hands hauled up her skirts until her buttocks were exposed to his gaze.

  I hate him. With every fiber of my being I hate this man. Furious, she stared at the rushes on the floor.

  His big warm hands slid over the globes of her bottom, squeezing them together and then apart. One long finger pressed against her anus, and she squirmed at the intrusive sensation.

  “Not now,” he murmured. “Not this time.”

  A yelp of surprise escaped her when, without warning, his hand came down hard in a stinging slap. Mingled tears of pain, humiliation, and anger stung her eyes.

  “These sweet cheeks look even prettier with my handprint branding them.” Gorlois voice sounded thick with lust and she squirmed to get away from him. “Not so fast, we’re just getting started.

  As he continued his assault with one hand, each blow increasing in severity, his other hand moved beneath her to probe her slit, holding her outer lips apart and examining the warm flesh between them.

  Drilling his finger deep into her cunt until she was fully impaled, he withdrew it again and then repeated the action. Over and over. The burning pain of the continuing slaps in contrast to the pleasure of his leisurely probing of her channel made Igraine gasp. Her head spun with a heady combination of emotions.

  There was a fire in her buttocks and a matching fire in her cunt. Despite the pain, her thighs quivered and her stomach muscles tightened painfully. Her breasts were crushed against Gorlois’ thighs, her nipples rock hard and hurting. She heard her own voice groaning and felt Gorlois erection pressing against her side.

  Abruptly, Gorlois stopped. Tugging her skirts into place, he placed her back on her feet. His smile was pure devilry. “Your punishment is over, Igraine. Next time you want to take out one of my horses, ask me, and I will let you know which are suitable for you to ride.”

  She barely heard the words, such was her arousal. How could the pain in her buttocks be so pleasurable? Why did she long for Gorlois to take her in his arms and kiss it better? “But…”