Elena's Conquest

by Lisette Allen

  The kneeling prisoner laughed bitterly. ‘You’ll be disappointed then.’ His erection had subsided during his struggles; he felt coldly unaroused.

  ‘Oh’ said Sahild, T don’t think so. Freya - he’s yours.’

  With a little sigh of pleasure Freya sank to her knees beside the Breton and rubbed her palms against his hardening nipples; then she thrust out her ripe breasts, grinding their soft flesh against him. She then bent to touch his long, lazy phallus where it lay along his bent thigh; Aimery fought silently for control, and won.

  Sahild broke in. ‘It seems you have a certain amount of restraint, my fine lord Aimery. Either that, or you’ve got a problem. Let’s find out what really excites you, shall we?’

  ‘Not you,’ drawled Aimery, ‘that’s for sure.’

  She hissed in anger. Turning her back on him, she went over to her discarded clothes, and came back with her leather belt and another, unfamiliar object that gleamed in the moonlight. She handed the belt to the crestfallen Freya. Then she held out her hands, to show him what she carried.

  It was a thick bone, he realised with a shock; sun-bleached and pale, from some animal in the forest. At least, he hoped it was an animal, he thought wryly. As long as his arm from wrist to elbow, it had been carved and polished into the familiar, obscene shape of a man’s phallus, the knob at either end ground down and rounded smoothly.

  Sahild stood in front of him, her booted feet planted firmly apart, so he was looking up at her slender brown thighs. Gazing down at her captive defiantly, she gripped the thick bone phallus and slowly, licking her lips, began to slide the smooth, rounded head up between the pink, glistening lips that peeped from between her golden fleece. ‘Oh,’ she murmured lasciv­iously, ‘that’s good. So good.’

  Aimery said, ‘Is that what you use when your man can’t get it up?’

  She stopped, her face frozen with malice. Then she said, ‘Hit him, Freya - with the belt. Hit him hard.’

  Obediently Freya unfolded the belt and drew it down hard across his bent thighs, inches from his somnolent penis. Aimery jerked in his bonds and bit his lip; she hit him again, her face intent. Sahild drew the obscene bone phallus from her damp vulva and rubbed its glistening tip across her small pointed breasts, her lips parted in pleasure as she drank in the Breton’s humiliation.

  ‘Watch,’ she said, ‘watch and enjoy. You want me really, don’t you? You wish it was you, ramming up me like this …’ She stood almost astride him now, her vulva inches from his face; he could smell the musky, animal scent of her. She slid the bone phallus up inside herself again, her face glazed with ecstasy, and drove herself swiftly to orgasm, shuddering and heaving as the sweet pleasure racked her body.

  Aimery’s penis jerked hungrily, rearing up towards her, and he shut his eyes. Sahild gazed with pleasure at his darkly massive erection. ‘Do you still want to tell me, Breton, that you don’t find me exciting?’

  He forced a cold smile. ‘Is that the best you can do? I’ve seen old whores on the streets of Rouen that put up a better show.’

  Sahild’s eyes went very pale, and her eyes glittered. ‘Oh, you’ll be sorry for that, you bastard. Very sorry. Freya, do what you want with him. Afterwards, we’ll punish him properly.’

  With a rapturous sigh, the plump girl positioned her legs on either side of the kneeling prisoner, and squat­ted astride his lips. Her eyes half-closed already in rapture, she parted her swollen sex lips with loving care and rubbed her cleft juicily along the velvety tip of his hungry phallus, moaning softly to herself.

  Aimery clenched his teeth.

  Shuddering, Freya slid down on the full length of his penis, gasping with delight, caressing her bouncing breasts with fevered fingers. ‘Oh, Sahild,’ she whis­pered. ‘I don’t think I can last very long! He’s so deep inside me, so strong and cool. I’ve never known any­thing like it -’

  ‘Ride him, then,’ said Sahild sharply. ‘Take him with you to the brink. Make him spend himself inside you! I want to see him groan.’

  And Freya did as she was told, bouncing up and down in delirious ecstasy, her love passage tight and juicy around the Breton’s massive shaft.

  Aimery fought his own climax dispassionately. The girl would climax very soon; he could tell by the wild twitching of her hungry inner flesh; and he was nowhere near. He watched with narrowed eyes as she trembled on the brink and ground herself wildly against him, gasping and muttering in the delicious throes of orgasm.

  She collapsed against his chest, dazed with pleasure. Her weight hurt his leg, and he closed his eyes. At last she eased herself off him, still flushed and trembling. He was ramrod straight, his mouth set in a thin, hard line.

  ‘Is that it?’ he enquired with quiet scorn.

  Sahild was still fingering her thick bone phallus, stroking her lips with it. ‘No, it isn’t,’ she said softly.

  They rearranged his bonds roughly so that he was forced to turn around on his knees and face the tree; his arms clasped round its trunk, his cheek rasped by the rough bark. His naked hips were forced into exposure. Sahild knelt behind him and slowly ran her hand over his tight, muscular buttocks. Then she licked her fore­finger and slid it down the dark, hairy crease between his cheeks. She felt the little puckered hole tighten in shame; heard the hiss of the Breton’s indrawn breath as he pressed his face against the tree.

  ‘So,’ she said. ‘That’s what you like, is it, Breton?’ She lifted the bone phallus and gripped its cool length lovingly.

  Elena couldn’t sleep, for thinking about Aimery. Tomorrow the Saxons were going to kill him - slowly. Her dark longing for him burned in her blood, as it had from the first moment she met him. She couldn’t bear to think of his suffering.

  Holding her breath, she eased herself from the sleep­ing Leofwin’s arms. He snored gently and turned over in his sleep, still sodden with wine. Silently she slipped into her tunic and crept out of the hut.

  Sahild whirled round, hearing light footsteps coming through the trees. Quick as a flash, she slipped into the blackness at the edge of the clearing, dragging Freya with her.

  As the covent girl drew near, Sahild pounced on her, smothering her cries by putting her hand over her mouth and holding the knife to her throat.

  ‘One word, convent girl, and you’re dead! What are you doing here?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘You’ll never sleep again, if you breathe a word of this to the others. Worried about your Breton, were you?’

  Elena tried to fight down her panic. ‘I - I don’t know what you mean, Sahild!’

  ‘I may not know everything,’ said Sahild grimly. ‘But I’ve been watching you, and I’d hazard a guess that you and the Breton were lovers! And I still think you’re a spy. Coming to set him free, were you?’

  Elena tried desperately to order her thoughts as the knife pricked at her throat. If Sahild ever guessed how she felt about Aimery …

  ‘What are you two doing here, then?’ she challenged, trying to sound cool and calm. ‘Perhaps you’ve come to set him free!’

  Sahild chuckled, relaxing her grip. ‘Oh, no. You can see what we’ve been doing. Look!’

  And she thrust Elena forward to the edge of the clearing, where she could see Aimery, bound and naked, his face pressed to the tree so he could see nothing.

  Elena’s heart pounded painfully as Sahild dragged her across to the prisoner. ‘Now’s your chance to prove that you’re really one of us, convent girl. Otherwise I’ll tell Leofwin that you’re a spy! Here - take this, and use it on him!’

  And she thrust the long bone phallus into Elena’s trembling hand. ‘What do you want me to do?’ Elena whispered between white lips.

  ‘What do you think?’ hissed Sahild scornfully. She pushed Elena onto her knees behind the Breton. ‘Shove it up his arse, of course - go on. Go on. Slide it behind his tight cheeks - push - that’s it! Go on, make him whine for mercy!’

  And Elena, quivering with shame yet wildly excited at what she was
being forced to do, gripped the thick phallus in her palm. She slid its rounded end tentatively up and down the tight crease between the Breton’s cheeks; then, finding the brown, puckered little hole, she pushed blindly.

  Aimery swore aloud in Breton, struggling to twist his head to see who was inflicting this new torment; but the ropes caught him, restraining him. Freya kneeled low by his hips, excitedly watching his straining phallus as it pulsed into erection again. ‘Oh, he likes it, he likes it!’

  Elena slid it in deeply, surprised at how easily it went in, feeling him clutch instinctively at its cool length with his rectal muscles. The pleasure and shame swept over her at his proud helplessness.

  ‘Again!’ hissed Sahild. ‘Drive it in and out now -quickly - that’s it! See how he quivers and throbs!’ She leaned against the tree, next to the Breton’s head, and whispered viciously in his ear. ‘You like it really, don’t you, my fine lord Aimery? You’re nothing but a base-born mercenary, aren’t you? And it shows!’

  ‘You like feeling that cool shaft sliding deep inside your tight arse - filling you - fucking you. That’s what you’re used to, a slim young soldier’s eager cock shoved up inside you! I can see your balls twitching and tightening. Any moment now, you’ll be grovelling, pleading for more, before your hot seed shoots out. Then, if you’re very lucky, we’ll start again.’

  Aimery gritted his teeth, his eyes closed. ‘Anything you say. Just as long as I don’t have to do it with you, Saxon whore.’

  Sahild spat on him. It landed on his scarred cheek. She spat again; then she reached for her belt, and struck him across his broad, sweat-streaked brown shoulders so that he shook in his bonds.

  Elena, hotly aroused herself, saw how his proud penis reared and jerked against his smooth belly; saw how his heavy balls tightened against his body. Oh, how she longed to soothe him in his extremity, to bring him the wild comfort of pleasure in the midst of his degradation! With frenzied fingers, she drove the bone phallus swiftly in and out of that pulsing rear entrance; Aimery let out a great groan, and strained against his bonds until she thought they would break.

  His climax shook them all with its ferocity. His buttocks clenched tightly round the slippery bone phal­lus, almost dragging it from her grasp; his whole body shuddered, and the sperm jetted from his penis in great spurts, time and time again, until the soft earth beneath the tree was pooled with the milky fluid. Elena felt her own pleasure bud quiver hotly, wishing desperately that he was driving himself into her, instead. She leaned forward, greedily rubbing her hot breasts against his hard buttocks; her nipples hardened and peaked, and she felt the moisture gathering between her legs, long­ing for him.

  Gently, so as not to hurt his still pulsing rectum, Elena withdrew the phallus, and pressed its length against her cleft, rolling it gently between her legs. It was enough. She climaxed silently but ferociously, the hot pleasure waves crashing over her as the shaft of hard bone soothed her throbbing little bud of flesh.

  Sahild rolled up her belt, and nodded at her approv­ingly. ‘You did well there, Elena. You earned your pleasure.’

  Still dazed from orgasm, Elena nodded blindly, not realising what had happened.

  Then, she heard the hiss of Aimery’s indrawn breath, and she realised what Sahild had done. Aimery knew, now, who it was who had degraded him. He’d heard her name.

  She froze in anguish. He knew. What could she do? If he let them know, let Sahild know what had existed between them, then she was lost, and all her plans were in vain. Sahild would drag her back, and denounce her to the others.

  He was straining to turn his head, to see his tormen­tor, but his bonds stopped him. But she heard his voice, and it was dark with scorn. ‘Saxon scum.’

  Then he sagged in his bonds, lapsing into semi-consciousness.

  Sahild and Freya got dressed, chattering companionably as if nothing much had happened. Then they linked arms with Elena, not seeming to notice how pale and quiet she was, and wandered slowly back.

  ‘What a wonderful evening’ sighed Freya raptu­rously. ‘But what will they do with him tomorrow?’

  Sahild shrugged. ‘Whatever happens, they’ll make sure that it’s good sport for us.’ She turned companionably to Elena. ‘You did well tonight - really humiliated him. Maybe they’ll let you help tomorrow.’

  Elena, feeling sick and dazed, tried to smile. ‘Maybe,’ she acknowledged shakily.

  They left Elena outside Leofwin’s hut. She pushed the hide door aside and tiptoed in. She had already decided what she must do.

  Leofwin was still asleep. Thank goodness he had drunk so much wine. Taking a deep breath, she went over to where his discarded clothes lay in a heap, and picked up his tunic and his knife. Then she crept out again; dawn was starting to break coldly in the east. After checking that Sahild and Freya were nowhere in sight, she plunged back towards the sinister grove, her heart beating wildly.

  Aimery le Sabrenn was still slumped against the broad oak to which he was bound, his eyes closed, his face stubbled and shadowed with utter exhaustion.

  Swallowing hard, Elena drew close to him, the knife gleaming in her hand. ‘Aimery,’ she whispered.

  He looked up tiredly and saw the knife. ‘So you’ve come to kill me now, have you?’

  She flinched. ‘No! I’ve come to set you free!’

  His steely grey eyes narrowed in scorn. He grated out, ‘What game is this?’

  ‘No game, I swear!’ Her small face grimly determined, she started to saw through the rope that bound his wrists. ‘Aimery - I didn’t want to hurt you, earlier. But I thought that if I didn’t join in, the others would suspect!’

  The knife sliced through the thick rope; one of his hands was free. She started on another cord; Sahild had been thorough.

  Aimery said, his voice hard with scorn: ‘You expect me to believe all this? What does your lover, Leofwin, think of your nocturnal wanderings?’

  She caught her breath. ‘He doesn’t know. Quickly -oh, quickly! They’ll be awake soon.’

  Her knife severed the last strand of rope. He got slowly to his feet, testing his injured leg; he seemed big and naked and muscular in the grey light of sunrise. Elena shivered and pushed the clothing she’d brought towards his hands. ‘Here - put these on! And go, please go. Don’t you realise that they’re going to kill you?’

  The thought had crossed my mind.’

  Swiftly he pulled on Leofwin’s tunic. He buckled the belt and looked at her suddenly, his familiar grey eyes burning into her. ‘I thought you would be glad at my death.’

  She gazed up at him, drinking in those strong, proud features; the cynically curved, beautiful mouth; the lean, stubborn jaw darkened now by stubble. Her small fists clenched round the knife; she burned for him, remembering the dark, glorious pleasure he’d revealed to her with his powerful body. ‘Would I be here now if I wanted you dead?’ she whispered in a low voice. He hesitated, suddenly uncertain.

  ‘Please, please go, Aimery!’ Daylight was spreading its cold light across the forest - someone might come, any moment now.

  Too late! She moaned aloud at the sound of crashing footsteps plunging through the forest towards them. She whirled round. There - at the other side of the clearing: Gyrth, Leofwin, and Sahild! All heavily armed.

  There she is!’ shouted Sahild triumphantly. ‘See, she’s cut him free - she’s a spy - I knew it!’ She raised her bow and took aim.

  Before she could even cry out, Elena felt Aimery grab her. He held her in front of his body like a shield; then he snatched the knife from her nerveless hands and held the blade tight against her throat.

  ‘Move any closer’ he called out ominously to the outlaws, ‘and I’ll kill her. Shoot, and you’ll kill her.’

  Sahild pulled her bowstring taut. Then I’ll kill her, Breton, never fear! She’s a spy, a traitor to her kind! After that, I’ll kill you - you won’t get far, with that leg!’

  Elena, trapped tightly against Aimery’s powerful body, saw Sahild’s arrow
aimed straight at her heart.

  Then Leofwin moved. Before Sahild could release her bowstring, he swung his arm fiercely, knocking her over; then he turned to glare in helpless impotence at his enemy. ‘Let her go, Breton!’

  Aimery smiled chillingly, the white scar pulling at his mouth. ‘Oh, no. I’m taking her with me, Leofwin. If you try to follow me, I’ll kill her - slowly.’

  Leofwin lurched forward blindly; Gyrth grabbed him and used all his strength to hold him back. ‘Let her go, Leofwin - she’s not worth it.’

  Sahild, lying winded on the ground, gasped out, ‘Fools! You should have let me kill them both!’

  Swinging Elena round, Aimery pinioned her arms behind her back, gripping both her slender wrists in one strong hand. Then, the knife gripped ready in his other palm, he pushed her into the darkness of the forest, away from the clearing, away from the helpless outlaws. ‘Move,’ he hissed. ‘Move, damn you!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Serfs toiled in the fields, wearily gathering in the JL last gleanings of the wheat harvest. Hard-faced reeves moved amongst them with whips. Taster, faster!’ All eyes were on the heavy rain clouds piling up above the bleak moors to the west.

  Elena worked blindly, beyond weariness. Last night, when they got back to Thoresfield, she’d been herded in with the other serfs, and at dawn she was sent to the fields with them. At least she’d not been thrown in the dungeons and flogged, as other runaways were. Or handed over to Isobel.

  She shivered as the cold wind blew across the field and the first heavy raindrops started to fall from the leaden sky. Her back ached with stooping, and her fingers were raw from the stubble, but she scarcely noticed.

  It all seemed like a dream now, yesterday’s flight through the forest with Aimery. They’d sped breath­lessly along the secret, grassy tracks beneath the trees, further and further from Leofwin and the outlaws. Aimery’s injured leg dragged slightly, but otherwise his lean, hard body seemed untouched by his ordeal. He never once let go of her arm.