Enchantress(Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 6)(MFMMMMMM)

by Georgia Fox

  * * * *

  He would happily have gone on eating her cunt, but the crowd wanted a performance and he always enjoyed showing off. So Nino quickly unlaced his chausses and let them drop to his knees. Rather than mount her pussy, however, he kept her on her back with her legs over her head and spat into her arsehole then laved it with his tongue until it gleamed wet. The woman began to complain, but he reminded her that she had not specified the manner of coupling— only that he could not spill within her.

  "I want your arse first," he muttered, "but worry not. Your pussy will be well filled at the same time." Thus he began to ease his erect cock through her very tight rim. She gasped and groaned under him, but her back alley opened slowly to accommodate his size. It was obviously not the first time she'd been had there, but she made a fuss of it, probably to please their audience who now fell quiet as they watched him mounting her in this crude manner.

  Nino's pulse raced as he forced his way deeper. Her eyes were open, staring up at him, angry and challenging. His gaze traveled to her breasts again and he bent his head to suckle one of those gold dusted pips. It swelled and then hardened against his tongue. Her body flexed under his, her skin coated with a thin sheen of perspiration, as was his now. He paused to fling off his tunic.

  Reaching between their bodies he used two fingers in her pussy, so it wouldn't feel neglected.

  Her muscles tightened on his long fingers, pulling him in. At the same time, her bottom opened further until his cock was more than half in with nothing more than saliva to ease his way. He flicked his tongue over her jutting nipple and felt her body trying to move under him. She could not, of course; he had her bent in a position that gave her no control.

  Now the crowd began to shout again, urging him on, marveling at the size of his cock and how far into her anus he had submerged it. Nino withdrew slightly and then forged forward again. The woman cried out in a foreign tongue he could not identify, despite being fluent in three himself. He suspected she'd cursed at him.

  He added a third finger to her pussy, forcing it into her, needing her subdued. The look in her eye was just as it had once been behind a clay pot in the hot marketplace, when she tried to claim that hiding place for herself. This damnably arrogant, proud woman would be his, would let him in.

  After all, he had won her game, had he not? She was a woman who fucked for coin now and he meant to get his money's worth.

  Despite her pretense at a pouting protest, her pussy was sopping wet and it pulled his finger in without difficulty. He could probably get his entire hand— his fist in there. The thought almost made his cock explode. Nino leaned back, sweating. He looked down at where his shaft plugged her anus. She was stretched around it, her bottom straining against the invasion. He studied his fingers moving in and out of her cunt above it. Slowly he tested the opening to see how wide he could pry open that trembling nether mouth.

  All around him men gathered closer still to watch, forgetting their ale.

  Nino withdrew all his fingers and looked into her eyes again. They drew him in just as firmly as the muscles of her cunt had pulled on his fingers and his tongue. He felt her bottom relax, letting his cock penetrate another half inch.

  Again there was a smug, superior expression on her face, despite the indignity of her pose. Apparently she felt no discomfort even with her legs over her head for this long. The fire in her eyes seemed to throw down a gauntlet. Daring him to try.

  He wanted her filled and at his mercy.

  He made his hand into a fist and then opened it again, stretching his fingers into the shape of a duck's bill. He knew her cunt was so wet that he would not need much additional lubrication, but he licked his hand while she watched with those knowing, insolent eyes.

  Then, slowly, he began inserting his fingers. His cock was ready to spend in her arse, but he held off with supreme effort as his hand moved carefully deeper into her sex.

  * * * *

  She'd had men try this before, but never with such steadiness and determination. Jesamyn decided to let him proceed. After all, she had to set her trap, did she not? And with his well-known repertoire of sexual exploits she would need something special to distract him. Something special by which she would possess his attention. And him.

  Even more than that, however...she was enjoying herself. The glorious friction of his large, heavy cock in her anus had already driven her to another quick, butterfly climax. The next one, she knew with feverish anticipation, would be a slower, deeper, more intense coming. The insertion of his fingers drove her uphill again.

  All around them, men watched, staring in disbelief as that d'Anzeray hand disappeared inch by inch between her nether lips. There was a moment when she thought it would be too much, a quickening of pain. But it passed quickly and then he folded his fingers inside her until his fist rested there. The fullness was exquisite, a throbbing, frenzied pleasure. He did not move his hand at all once it had reached his destination. He did not have to. His pulse shuddered within her, sent her over the edge into a feral orgasm such as she'd never known in all her years of experience.

  And as she came, jolting and moaning, her buttocks tightened, squeezing on his cock.

  He shot his cream deep in her arse, while she jerked and keened beneath him, his fist a ball of delightful pressure filling her pussy.

  The audience was too stunned by the sight to applaud at first. Some of the men were working their own cocks with rapid strokes, still staring down at her and the man with his entire fist submerged in her stretched cunt.

  Very soon the sounds remaining were those of their audience jerking off, seed falling with a splat to the tavern floor around them. Men grunting and panting.

  Finally, when d'Anzeray slowly slipped his fist back out of her, the drunken cheering and laughing resumed.

  Jesamyn sat up, still trembling from the rush of fierce pleasure coursing through her loins. She didn't know how pain could be so transformed into bliss. It was beyond the realms of anything she'd yet discovered.

  "I've never done that before," he muttered.

  She chose not to tell him that it was also a new experience for her. Must remain aloof. But her sweat had almost completely melted the cone of perfumed wax and it dripped down over her breasts, tickling her skin, drawing his gaze once again to her budding nipples.

  "I have you for the entire night," he reminded her, as if he thought she would try to renege on their agreement.

  She raised an eyebrow. "Best to pace horse's stride."

  * * * *

  He carried her out of the tavern over his shoulder, her bells jingling a merry tune with every stride. "What is your name, wench?" Nino supposed he ought to at least ask her that, although this was only rutting. He might want to call her by something other than "Wench" at some point in the night.

  "Je- sa-myn," she replied, blowing a lock of hair from her lips as he bounced her along.

  "I am Antonino. But everyone calls me Nino."

  She said nothing, apparently not interested.

  "I am a d'Anzeray," he added proudly.

  "Yes. Thank you." came the flat, strange response. He began to wonder if she knew what those words meant after all. So much for polite.

  He stood her on her feet once they were inside the stables. "I suppose you have heard the name."

  Her eyes glittered with something like bemusement. Or scorn. "You suppose."

  The woman was stunningly beautiful. Her skin was a soft, warm brown. She belonged among golden sands, where sun filled the sky and would play over her thick, dark hair until it shone like polished jet. She was out of place here.

  "Your seed drips out," she remarked abruptly.

  Nino pointed to the water barrel outside the stable door and suggested she wash herself, if it was a discomfort. For his part he enjoyed seeing his semen trickling slowly down the back of her thighs and so he made no move to help her clean it off.

  "Why did you let me do that?" he asked.

  "I did not permit.
Your cock emptied without my permit."

  "I meant, why let me fill you with my fist? I could have hurt you. Why did you trust me that way?"

  She looked over at him from the open stable door, her eyes heavily lidded as she splashed her lower body with rainwater from the barrel. "You not harm me."

  "How did you know?"

  The woman shrugged lazily and turned away again to finish cleaning herself off.

  Nino fell back into the stacked straw of an empty stall and watched her rinse his cum from her long legs. How flexible she was, he mused. Later he would have her dance for him again. For his private enjoyment.

  "Where are you from, wench?" he asked her again, determined to get a better answer than "far away".

  "My mother."

  "Ha!" He shook his head. "What land, woman?" He had to know if she was the same little girl with the whip marks.

  She was drying herself with straw as she came to sit beside him in the stall. "Over the seas."

  He squinted. "You don't know, do you?"

  "Yes. Thank you."

  Chewing on a piece of straw he observed her annoyed face, watched her brow ruffle indignantly. Should he remind her of the souk and the day she kissed him? "How long have you been here?"

  "A year. Perhaps. Longer than I desire."

  "Who brought you here?"

  "A lover."

  Nino spat into the straw. "And where is he now?"

  "She is dead." Her chin jutted high. "A fever took her. She too was dancer. We danced together."

  He was even more interested now. "You licked pussy for the audience, eh?"

  "We did much thing for the coin."

  Nino reached over and moved aside the colorful rags that made up her skirt, so he had the fine view of her shaved cunt as she sat cross-legged before him. "You like women more than men then?"

  She shrugged. "I like pleasure. Man, woman, not important. There are much ways to climax. Many roads for pleasure."

  That certainly made sense to Nino, although personally he enjoyed cunny, not dick. He did like to see women together, however. It was most arousing and also relaxing since all he need do was observe. He often watched some of the wives pleasuring one another, while he handled himself to a leisurely climax.

  He slipped a finger up into the wench's soft pussy to see if she remained wet. She did. He smiled. Christ, she felt like heaven. He didn't think d'Anzerays would ever get to those holy heights, but this was surely the next best thing. "Soon I will fill this again, but with my cock this time. As soon as I am hard again, I'll have more of you. It shouldn't take long before I'm raring to ride once more. Will you be ready to welcome me in again?"

  "Why? Would it matter to you if I not? If I sore?"

  "I can be patient."

  Her reply was scathing. "You a boy. A cub. Cannot be patient."

  Affronted, he snapped, "I am one and twenty. You are younger, are you not? What are you seventeen? Sixteen?"

  "I have lived nineteen winters," she replied.

  "Good." He was glad to find her younger than him, but not too much so.

  "My knowing of the world is great. Large much than my years."

  He laughed. "And you will gain even more knowing tonight, wench. For the coin I've paid, I will fuck you as many times as I choose tonight and in many different ways."

  She said nothing, but watched him with her tigress eyes. Yes, she was like a prowling, watching tigress with her lean strength and powerful gaze.

  "Touch yourself," he hissed. "I want to see you come by your own hand."

  Leaning back in the straw, arms crossed behind his head, he waited and watched, half smiling.

  The woman slowly removed her garments, each gesture elegant and graceful. Teasing. His cock twitched. He crossed his ankles, stretching out to be comfortable.

  "Work your cunny and let me see the dew trickle down."

  Now completely naked but for the bells around her wrists and ankles, she stood over him and caressed her pussy while he stared up at her, marveling at her beauty— her smooth, dark skin and her long, sensual fingers sliding over, then between, her sticky labia.

  Her spine arched and she threw her head back, all that shiny black hair swinging down, stroking her rounded buttocks back and forth.

  Nino watched the drops of moisture form and coat her fingertips, saw her pussy blossom like a rose bud in summer, witnessed her muscles tensing as the orgasm wrenched its way through her. She was exquisite and a wonderful performer, knowing how to tease, how to hide and then reveal.

  "I should like to bring you home with me. My brothers and our wives would enjoy you very much, I think." Grabbing her hand, he drew her sticky fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.

  "Wives?" She sat beside him in the straw.

  "We share our women, even our brides. It makes life simpler."

  The woman frowned. "Not simple. Tangled like too much snakes in basket."

  "It is not. Sharing is good. It keeps jealousy and possessiveness at bay." He pushed her down in the straw and burrowed his face into her wet pink quim to lick up the remnants of her masturbation. "Does it ache from the fisting?"

  She opened her legs wider for him. "Yes. It is... pleasing ache."

  "Good." He kissed those pouty lips. "I do not know whether my brothers have ever fisted a wench. They will probably never believe me when I describe it."

  "How much brother you have?"

  "Six." He settled his mouth over her and lapped leisurely at her naughty spring. She gasped and twitched, but did not try to close her legs.

  "And all share your womans?" she asked, slightly breathless.

  "Yes." Nino raised his head and let his tongue play over her shaved mound. "So smooth," he muttered. "How do you keep it so?" It looked so clean and unmarked, as if it had never had hair, not a single sign of stubble.

  "It is Egyptian recipe. My mother give the secret on to me."

  Her accent was charming. "Your mother was a whore too?"

  Her eyes sharpened and were suddenly as black as her hair. The charm was gone. Nino felt a chill sweep his body and brush against the back of his neck— like a door opening somewhere to let in a draft. "I am not whore. I am dancer and foreteller of destinies."

  He was amused by this. Not a whore? She certainly appeared to be exactly that, but if it made her feel better to call it by another name he would not argue. "Foreteller of destinies? How so?"

  She flicked hair out of her eyes where it had tumbled as she sat up so abruptly. "I read cards. That is how I knew you harm me not. I saw it and I saw you...in the cards."

  Nino was intrigued. In fact, he'd never before been so enthralled by a woman. She had just closed her legs to him without his permission, but he would let it slide. This time.

  Chapter Four

  She took her pack of cards from the small leather sack she had hidden in the stables before entering the tavern.

  "You shuffle the pack," she said, handing them to Nino.

  The cub's eyes were warm and amused. He sat cross-legged before her, shuffling her cards, eager to know the fortune she would read for him.

  How strange he was, she mused. Jesamyn would not expect a d'Anzeray to take much interest in this skill of hers. She had heard they were men of no religion, no particular beliefs, and so she assumed he would think he made his own destiny, that he was in control of his own future.

  With a smile he passed the cards back to her and waited keenly.

  Of course, he was young. And full of vitality. He would have no apprehension to make him hesitate. Apparently his life had been a sunny one.

  When she hatched her plan to find a weak link and draw him in, she had not expected there to be much conversation involved. She did not want to know much about him— nothing more than she need know for her purposes. Yet he wanted to talk. As if this was to be more than sex.

  Should she tell him the truth of what she saw in the cards, or should she lie and make light of his fortune? Before she found him there she had
, of course, consulted the cards to reassure herself of the path ahead and of her certain victory against his infamous family. If she read them again now, to tell him the truth would be to warn him.

  On the other hand, he may not take it seriously. He seemed defiant and arrogant enough to disbelieve what the cards foretold and thus move deliberately into her clutches. The cub thought himself immune to danger. That was clearly read in his face— without the aid of Tarot.

  Jesamyn dealt nine cards, face down between them, with eight circling one central significator. Then she handed the pack to him again and advised him to lay two more cards atop each of the eight in the circle. When he was done she turned over the center card.

  Yes. She smiled a little. It was just as it had been before.

  The Fool.

  "This," she pointed to the card, "you." Her heart was beating harder though, as if she had expected that card to change. Not that they ever did.

  He squared his shoulders, hands resting on his thighs. "That is not correct. Deal them again."

  Jesamyn swallowed a chuckle and resumed turning the other cards, one by one. There was an equal showing of all four Minor Arcana— Cups, Wands, Pentacles and Swords.

  "The three of cups suggests you are to make an unwise choice. And here, the six of cups, shows a weakness in body. Or else a nature too generous. Some will take advantage of this youth, this... impulse."

  He sniffed. "Nonsense."

  Aha, just as she thought— he would deny the truth. "Your brother, perhaps. Your father. They see you as boy still and treat you so." She looked into his eyes although they tried to avoid her gaze. "This chafes like sand under your robes and in your shoes. You desire to show them—"

  "Enough," he snapped. "Move on, woman. What does the next card say?"

  Smiling inwardly she turned another card. The two of Pentacles. Her smile, even though it was tucked away out of his sight, died as abruptly as a snuffed flame.

  Wait...that was wrong.

  A great love affair. No. That card had not been there before when she read his destiny.