Regency Rogues Omnibus

by Shirl Anders

  Their bodies swayed closer and closer as they moved and washed, until her breasts were lilting across his chest and their sexes were touching and caressing. Her mouth and tongue found his neck and his hand cupped over her buttocks, kneading and stroking the willing curves.

  Joelle’s throat ached with moans of pleasure as his cock hardened against her sex beneath the water. It lengthened and nudged between her thighs until she straddled it lightly with her soft flesh. Her lips found his jaw and their mouths moved close to each other, but not touching. Their breath heated the space between their lips as their bodies undulated. No words, just movements, light breathless panting and small moans. Then, Seducteur began pressing her backwards with his solid chest plied to her breasts and his arm across her spine.

  “Back, beautiful firefly,” he murmured against her lips, still not kissing, only panting softly.

  Joelle’s irises flared for one brief moment of recognition to the endearment that she remembered. But then, she was arched backward over Seducteur’s arm, bowing her spine until her long hair floated into the water up to the back of her head. Their thighs cleaved together with one of her legs bent at the knee over his hip, and the tumescence shaft of Seducteur’s cock burrowed between the lips of her aching sex.

  Joelle rubbed her loins against the rigidness as he washed water through her hair. She could feel the shaft of Seducteur’s cock throbbing in the tender cleft of her loins, as her breasts stretched upward with the arch of her body. Small moans trickled from her throat as Seducteur’s hips began to move slowly and the motion coursed the stiffness of his cock through the clinging lips of her sex.

  He made a sound of longing as he lifted her back upright with her hair running rivulets down her back. Their lips met then, urgently, as he used his hand lowered to her buttocks. He lifted her body upward against him. His cock cleaved between her thighs came upright, until the broad head was kissing the entrance to her core. A wild needy sound rushed from her throat as their tongues lashed passionately against each other. Seducteur’s chest heaved strongly against her breasts and she knew he was about to enter her aching womb, as a mewling of beckoning bubbled up from inside her.

  Suddenly, a bell rang once.

  Joelle’s body stiffened. Her mind abruptly went blank with her limbs tensing. The Marquis’ mouth shifted from her mouth as she wondered how it had been there to begin with, while her body seemed to be throbbing like the bass drums in a tormented symphony.

  “No fucking. Neither of you will orgasm. Is that clear?” The deep voice seemed to come from a long way off, yet it was all around them.

  Joelle found her mouth saying, “Yes.”

  Joelle heard the Marquis’ voice answering the same, as the distant voice said, “You will oil each other’s body thoroughly and shave each other’s genitals, then oil each other’s sex thoroughly again.”

  “Yes,” Joelle said stepping back from the Marquis to turn toward the steps leading out of the sunken bath and onto the table with oils set beside it.

  Before she took her first step though, a bell rang twice.

  Saxon’s penis ached as though the skin was stretched too tightly. It beat through the sacs of his testicles up into the meat of his buttocks, but most strongly it thrummed in the shaft, and rolled in throbs around the enlarged head. He sucked his ranting arousal inward as the bell rang twice again and the lovely, soft, iridescent Joelle reached her impassioned hands to his body again.

  Eluding, he bent and then he swept her up into his arms to carry her to the table. She still found one side of his chest, then his nipple with one caressing hand, while her other hand stroked his back and through his hair. Saxon set Joelle on the puffy linens covering the top of the table and he urged her and her erotic fingers to lie down, until she lay on her stomach. The view of her naked feminine sumptuousness had his prick vibrating with dominate chords from the base to the tip. Yet, something inside him kept him sane. It kept him from throwing himself on top of her, and then embedding his engorged penis to the hilt. It urged him to the oil. It urged him to saturate his senses with touch instead of the tactile feel of fucking. Of ramming over and over.

  He had never wanted a woman so much and it was not just his prick’s command. It was his soul. The sinewy molding of his body was tense with his desire as he reached for one of the small porcelain cups of oil set beside the table.

  “Lay still, Ardente,” he murmured as he swept Joelle’s hair aside, to fall like an undulating stream over the side of the table nearly to the floor. She made a disappointed needy sound, but lay quivering to his instruction, as he drizzled the oil down the beautiful slope of her spine.

  He had never touched a woman so slowly and sensually before. Never immersed himself so completely into the contours of flesh, nor felt his irises flare over the sight of oil-kissed glistening female curves. It was like working on a supple piece of art, but the masterpiece was warm and trembling with arousal. When his hand cupped the curve of her buttocks and he felt Joelle’s slow undulations, his breath caught. How would he ever survive the guise, he wondered? Because you are a man and you must be stronger, the answer came back to him.

  Joelle’s skin shone like wet polished ivory when he finished the back of her thighs, calves, heels, and feet. Danger be-damned, he would have never known this moment, if it was not for the danger. Saxon lifted upright looking down at the oily contours of Joelle’s body. He pressed the wrist of his handless arm nearly into the small of his back, and then he said the fateful words . . .

  “Turn over, lovely Ardente.”

  Watching Joelle as she turned was a lustful event. Breasts swaying, then bouncing with taut dark-pink nipples. Hips turning, with small toes pointing, and glimpses of a rosy damp cleft. The curls topping Joelle’s pussy glinted in deep red against her white-satin thighs, as the gossamer flesh of her bottom lip pouted slightly.

  “I need to touch you,” she whispered with a soulful plea.

  “Soon,” Saxon murmured. Soon he would be fighting the tremendous battle even more.

  Saxon lifted the cup of oil forward and drizzled oil between Joelle’s breasts, while the black in her eyes deepened to onyx as she bit her bottom lip. He set the cup down, then he followed the dripping oil with his hand. He slowly skimmed the alluring line between the full mounds of her breasts. He could feel her heartbeat as her belly concaved inward with delicate tremors and his palm and fingers slid with a molding curve over her left breast. The prod of her nipple drew across the center of his palm and she gasped a needy moan, while a drop of seed squeezed out of the slit of his penis, with a pang of lust. The tartness of the throbbing made his balls ache more as his breath came more deeply, while his hand painted oil over the curving globes of Joelle’s breasts.

  A craving leached in his mouth as he gazed at her jutting and glistening nipple tips, while he lathered her breasts with oil. Each time that he thought he could stand no more carnal torment without positioning his penis for release . . . something stopped him. And it held him on the edge of pounding arousal with his hand the only outlet for the charge of passion reaching a fevered pitch through his body.

  Then, he reached Joelle’s pussy as her hips rolled on the table and her thighs spread partially with equal willingness. Small whimpers of hope panted from her throat and his eyelids closed with pure survival in mind. Perhaps if he could not see, then it would lessen his torrential need. Fool, nothing would but completion, and his arousal laughed at him like a sound he’d heard only once . . . the devilish sound of a laughing jackal, as his fingers caressed the silken lips of Joelle’s torrid pussy.

  Joelle moaned, half in passion and half in nerve-tingling frustration. The combination made her nearly senseless. She hung on the pinnacle of a great eruption. Yet, while the sparks flared and her loins rose higher and higher, she could not manage to topple over. Seducteur’s fingers petted rhapsody in her loins, stroking and oiling her passion to fevered heights and she undulated like a wanton. Then suddenly it stopped, with her thig
hs opened with lusty beckoning, but Seducteur’s fingers gone from their torment. Her loins and belly quivered with unrequited need for many throbbing beats that slowly began to ebb without the intimate stroking of Seducteur’s fingers. She wanted to touch herself. She begged herself inwardly to do so, or to beg Seducteur to touch her again to ripen the aches in her loins for climax. Yet, something held her back. Something urged her oiled and glistening nude body upright, to perform duties she had no understanding of...

  “Lay down,” Joelle whispered, standing beside Seducteur with his cock rigid and engorged, while his head was bowed.

  “I cannot,” he rasped, and the sinew of his back and buttocks rippled once with an erotic shiver.

  “Then, I will serve you standing,” she intoned, never wondering where the strange words came from as she reached for a small cup of oil.

  She oiled his body like a passionate worshiper, fondling, petting, and feeling intimately every edge, slope, bound up muscle, and lean curve he had. Seducteur remained tense, his sinewy body tight and firm to the touch. She moved his hair aside whenever she needed to, glorying in the heavy damp feel of it. She found that her fingers were magically talented as she stroked and massaged his buttocks, finding so much pleasure there. More pleasure to kneel at his feet and lubricate his legs from top to bottom. She rose and applied oil to his chest as he looked down on her with his breathing deep and the nubs of his nipples taut. She moved to his right arm, circling the mound of his biceps with her oily fingers. She leaned forward, sliding her nipples over his chest, as she did, a moan curved from her throat. But then, when she reached for his left arm, he resisted.

  “No, not that one,” he whispered tightly.

  Her head lifted with deeper commands inside that she must oil his entire body. But suddenly, Seducteur’s lips covered her lips and the urges of the inner command fled beneath his heated mouth. Then, their mouths instantly moved from tender to wild. Her breasts slid over his chest, pressing deeply, while their turbulent lips burned over each other’s and her slippery fingers found the turgid and heavy spike of his cock.

  “Ah hh,” he groaned, with his piping breath billowing into her throat as his hips pumped instantly, and her fingers curled tighter.

  Their heads turned with their lips twisting feverishly and he pressed her back into the edge of the table. His fingers slipped over the lips of her sex, impatiently burrowing between the lips to strongly rub her clitoris. She surged against him, mewling passion, while her fingers began pumping his large cock with vigorous motion.

  “Mm. Mm. Mm,” she whimpered over his tongue as her buttocks edged upward onto the table with the pressure of his body and cock. Her thighs fell open, while her hand plunging hotly on his cock lifted the oozing head to the entrance to her core.

  They groaned and moaned as one. Her fingernails scraped his back and his finger flicked her clitoris with hard strokes five or six times before his hand rushed to her outer thigh grabbing hold and lifting her leg high. She careened at the explosion nearly bursting in her clitoris, while she began to fall back and he came with her, just as his penis started to push and burrow its way inside her.

  “Saxon! Saxon!” she panted.

  Ring.

  Saxon nearly fell to his knees with the ringing of the bell. He staggered back, while Joelle lay panting with an unfocused quality in her dark eyes.

  “You will not fuck, my panting sluts! Shave each other’s come-soaked genitals, then put the collars on!”

  A band gripped Saxon’s chest as he staggered forward. It was as though his body were a puppet on the strings of a Marionette Master. His thighs and groin were on fire as sweat beaded his nude flesh. Joelle lay whimpering helplessly on the ragged edges of passion, while her curving body trembled. Saxon knew his touch alone would bring her to the agonizing heights of renewed passion-pain again.

  “Show her your handless arm, Seducteur. And, Ardente, my sopping wet, little slut, you will kiss and lick the stump as though making love to Seducteur’s mouth!”

  Saxon bowed beneath the agony, unsure he could overcome it. This was his mind’s point beyond too far and tremors lashed his body with the vicious war inside him.

  “Do it!” the voice commanded.

  And, just before he would break, Joelle grasped his arm, tugging his handless wrist from behind him. Her lips caressed, her tongue soothed, and her mouth tasted his agony. He was shamed and it was nearly his complete undoing.

  Then, the bell rang twice again...

  Soft, sweet, and loving Joelle urged him onto his back. Her strength awed him as she carefully shaved his pubic hair, gently lifting his now limp penis, when she needed. Then, when she started to shave his balls, he had to raise his knees in a submissive and uncommon fashion. And . . . he knew Hellion watched him, although he could not see him. He felt it. Joelle raised his balls gently as his thighs gaped with his knees bent upward, and his chest laboring for breath. The feel of the razor on tender places beat deep tremors in his rigid prick. Then, she was through and urging his legs down as she oiled the tight swelling of his shaved balls and the come-soaked shaft of his penis. He ground his teeth, stiffening, but the stimulation of her soft hands left quickly with sympathy, perhaps.

  Then, Joelle came to him with a wide black leather collar. It buckled behind his neck and enclosed his throat with captive feelings. There was a gold circle attached to the front, which he knew could be used to hook a leash to. They were nearly made into the sexual treats they had been kidnapped for. He had only to shave Joelle and attach her collar. But the shaving would be difficult, nearly impossible with one hand. Yet, Joelle sensed this and she lifted his handless arm upward as she laid down, then bringing the end to her mouth to kiss. He had no courage left to stop her and he let himself believe, for a moment, that she did it freely.

  “I will help you,” she murmured with her lips against the rounded surface of the cleaved flesh.

  Surprise inched down his spine. Could she mean this? And, foolish hope flared in his chest, yet it did serve to bolster him, then she bent her knees sideways, letting them drop open widely, and she reached down, flattening out the curves of her pussy for shaving. Saxon was humbled beyond measure, even as his penis throbbed. And then he vowed many things savagely, to Joelle and to himself. He vowed he would seek vengeance! Vengeance here, and on all that served to enslave and humiliate them, and he would get them both out of this alive.

  So, he shaved his woman, and she was his. She trembled with it. She exuded juices of arousal with it. She bared and exposed her inner heart to him and he carefully shaved the tenderly swollen flesh of her pussy lips and the mound on top.

  His penis felt the power of it, throbbing with it again as his razor strokes revealed the nude edges of ruby-pink. He could see Joelle’s clit leave its hood and jut upwards. His mouth ached to suckle it as she lay trembling and trusting, holding her pussy open to him. And then, it was done. He oiled her soft throbbing sex once more, as she undulated against the stroking of his fingers, and he tried valiantly not to linger, before he finally reached for the collar.

  He had always known that difficult times were better taken in increments. Smaller slices of strife were easier to manage than the whole at once. In numerous dangerous situations it had always been odd to him which ones in the end caused him more discomfort.

  Suddenly, he found that this perilous, yet erotically heightened situation was no different. Of all the increments he and Joelle had been through so far, putting the collar around her neck caused him the most adversity. It seemed to him to seal her fate and that he should be the one to do it tainted his soul. It seemed to make him in alliance with the cult. And he knew Hellion knew that. And he knew Hellion wanted him to feel that.

  The bell rang three times...

  Chapter Eleven

  It was as if she’d been slapped in the face. Joelle remembered everything. Every last detail. It was the first moment Joelle realized that her mind had been tricked. Her mind had been altered in some way
. It had to have been. She fought the urge to try and cover her nudity with her hands as her stricken gaze looked up into Saxon’s troubled frown and the fire-daggers piercing his cherry-wood colored eyes.

  Damn Hellion to hell! Damn them all to vilest purgatory, her mind swore, while her body throbbed with unrequited passion. Then, Hellion’s laughter rolled forth with pleasure and lewdness combined. Joelle lost her attempts to stay strong and still defiant as she leaped upright to embrace Saxon, and stand cowering against him, while Hellion’s malicious laughter circled around them.

  “You are mine, my salacious sluts. You will crawl for me!”

  Joelle realized then, that Hellion stood behind one of the ornate screens placed around the room. She was not sure which one, but he had watched them throughout the preparations he’d orchestrated. The horror of the situation, what had been done, what was still to come, tumbled through her emotions, leaving her with the forceful feeling of sobbing. But she held Saxon instead, taking strength from his nearness. He was the only real thing in the nightmare of events. She had to be brave.

  A door opened abruptly to their left and Joelle pressed the front of her nude body into Saxon’s side as Incubus entered the chamber. Incubus was dressed in black robes like a priest only without a collar and with a long curling black-haired wig to match; he carried something in his right hand.

  “Ah, I see our human offerings are prepared,” Incubus said. “These sluts are going to be spectacular to watch. The assembled worshipers will be enthralled.”

  Incubus strode toward Hellion, but Joelle saw Incubus’s sharp gaze lingered on her and Saxon. Her oiled nudity flamed with embarrassment even as part of her mind wished that her body could undulate against Saxon to culminate the pangs of her arousal. Incubus’s gaze slid over her nude buttocks and she could not stop them from quivering at the exposure.