Regency Rogues Omnibus

by Shirl Anders

  Hellion stepped from behind the screen that had a direct view and was past the foot of the table. The implications of what Hellion had viewed shuddered through Joelle as she whispered with her mouth against Saxon’s shoulder and her gaze fixed on the two lethal opponents in the room.

  “What will we do?” she breathed. She desperately needed a direction, an answer, a plan . . . anything to follow or she felt she might crumble against the weight of where everything was leading.

  Incubus handed Hellion some type of red ball, saying, “Goats blood in thin intestine. Just break it against the slut’s inner thighs and a virgin is born again.”

  “Survive,” Saxon murmured, and Joelle felt his handless wrist caress the side of her bare waist. “Together,” he added lowly.

  “Silence!” Hellion ordered, turning partially toward them with the red ball in his hand.

  Joelle’s hands clutched with the need for a weapon to defend herself as she looked, but could not hold the rapacious look in Hellion’s pink eyes.

  “And always remember, firefly,” Saxon continued to murmur softly against her ear. “I would never willingly harm you.”

  “Guards!” Hellion shouted, and another door to the room sprang open. The two naked black guards marched inside. “Take her behind the altar. I want her wild and fighting, so have your way with her. But do not fuck her!”

  Joelle cried out, fighting the urge not to run. There was nowhere to go, but she did cry out to Saxon as the two guards forced her between them, and then from the room. “I believe you! I will always believe you!”

  Saxon staggered, then fell to his knees beneath the rage to do something. He had never felt less of a man than in that moment. He had never felt more impotent. Was a courageous man one who fought against the odds he knew at the time, ones that he could not beat? Or was a courageous man, a man that waited and calculated, trying to stay alert for the opening?

  “Broken so quickly?” Incubus murmured, and Saxon could hear Incubus coming nearer to where he knelt with his head bowed and tears stinging his eyelids.

  “He is all things sexual. Not a fighter, but he is similar to the great Bacchus like the one he will touch. He is a deeply sexual creature. I’ve never met a man with so much allure,” Hellion spoke.

  “You are pleased then,” Incubus stated, not a question. “And this cock of our young stud-stallion here, nearly convinces me to fuck men instead of exclusively women.”

  Saxon felt Hellion’s hand, with his overlong fingernails, stroking the top of his bowed head and Saxon wondered at the silent movements Hellion made.

  “Ah, Incubus, perhaps you will consider it after I am through. To touch the way to the Gods once. To saturate your cock inside the instrument of that ascension will only happen once!”

  “Yes,” Incubus paused. “I know that you believe he is your last piece, Hellion, yet this has become very lucrative for us and Gods need opulence. It is their right, I should think.”

  “What God must think of such things?” Hellion bellowed suddenly in outrage.

  “All right, all right,” Incubus back-tracked quickly. “Just keep the concept in mind. You know that I live to serve you, Lord Hellion,” Incubus said, finishing on an oily note.

  “As well you should, and more so when I ascend on midnight of All Souls Day.”

  “Of course, of course,” Incubus replied, and then he cleared his throat. “I know you do not want to hear of finances, however, we have fifty-thousand francs each from ten of the worshipers to spew their come on the sacrifices at the close of the ceremony. Baco will make certain they are the ones that are to be up that close, so you need not worry. But I did want to mention that one Count has gone so high as to offer one-hundred-thousand francs to fuck the mouth of the woman or the ass of the man afterwards.”

  “No!” Hellion charged. “He can see them as I display them at different events afterward. He can pay to decide on which sexual position of fucking he would like to see them perform in, but no one will fuck the sacredness of them, but you or I, who are the high priests!”

  “Our blackmail attempts become thin lately,” Incubus muttered. “No juicy morsels about which to extort money from. The finances are stretched. We need this larger sum we have been building toward, for the most grandiose of all ceremonies, to yield more.”

  “Money means nothing to me,” Hellion snapped. “You have my voice, the voice that will be a God!”

  “Yes, yes,” Incubus said, sounding hasty. “But just think of how much you deserve the riches of these mere humans who wish to bask in your presence . . . that is all I ask.”

  Knowledge was power, Saxon thought, and he hoped he could stay alive long enough to use it. The fact that Incubus and Hellion had spoken so freely in front of him did not bode well for staying alive being anywhere near the conclusion of their intentions for him. But he’d known that for some time. He was biding his time as well, looking for an opening, any opening before it was too late. Too late for what though, he wondered? Why, for death, he admonished himself. The rest of the humiliations he would deal with, somehow within himself. The possibility of a man . . . of men raping him, of sexual rites with him on display. Having sex with Joelle on an altar, in front of worshipers. His mind used worshipers with a vile form of inflection. Nevertheless, these seemed to be his fate. The question seemed to be what could a man endure. Saxon looked down at his handless wrist. A man could endure quite a bit, he concluded. Then, he thought of Joelle, Joelle of light and fire. She would need him and they would need each other. A man could endure anything, this side of death, for that.

  “Leave us, Incubus,” Hellion ordered. “I need to prepare him for the ceremony.”

  “As you wish,” Incubus said, and Saxon heard Incubus leaving the room, but before the door swished shut, Incubus said, “The ceremonial chamber will be filling with the faithful, they will be ready just before midnight as you wished.”

  Saxon heard the door thud closed as he breathed deeply. What he would not give for a brace of pistols at that moment. Alone with Hellion and not drugged. But a man without two hands could not even choke a man sufficiently. And, Saxon knew there were other guards outside the doors. A swift upper cut? Perhaps, he could knock Hellion out on the first blow. He wanted to try so badly...

  The bell rang once.

  “Your cock...” Hellion hissed reverently as he dropped to his knees in a billowing of his white robes. Saxon refused to look at him, his right hand lying on top of his thigh clenching tightly. Hellion continued, “Will become a part of the ultimate being. You will live forever, Seducteur. And your hair will be a tribute to the Gods. To find both in one man is a sign.” Hellion’s hand stroked the hair at the side of Saxon’s head. “Normally handmaidens prepare a sacrifices cock for worship. Beautiful young girls of Bacchus. But not this time will I allow anyone to touch you.”

  “You stroke your cock, Seducteur,” Hellion commanded, and Saxon let his breath out slowly. “Engorge it to fullness, so that you will be able to anoint it, and then I will anoint you.”

  Saxon’s fingers twitched as his hand moved as though forced on tugging strings to his limp penis.

  “Ardente is your right, Seducteur. She is yours to take, and when you see her next your only desire will be to fuck her.” Saxon’s fingers lurched as he stroked his penis. “You will think of nothing else but spilling your seed deep inside her womb. You are the power! She must submit to you!” Hellion’s hand stroked Saxon’s hair. “You feel it now growing inside you,” Hellion’s voice charged. “You feel your maleness heating and thinking of hot cunt, wet pussy.”

  Saxon groaned, feeling his penis fill and stiffen as his skin flashed hotly with . . .

  “Your cock demands Ardente’s pussy. It hungers for it. You will not be able to breathe once you see it, until your cock is deep inside Ardente’s cunt . . . raping it! You will be wild with it!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Joelle saw the chamber and the altar, and she struggled against the guard
s holding her by her upper arms between them. She tried to back up, to turn, to run, or fight against being forced into the chamber and behind the altar. The room was large, as big as a ballroom, hundreds could fit inside it. She tried to understand the altar, the stage it set, high up on the backdrop of Gothic arches. Then, she realized that it was a very old church and what she’d thought was a platform stage was actually a tomb inside an ancient medieval church. From what she knew about the legends of the standing stones, the Satyrs depicted on the tomb were from a time before the druids. Although Satyrs were usually seen as large-eared, horned, cloven hoofed, and partially human miniatures of man cavorting gaily. These were cavorting sexually with unclothed maidens. As she watched, other attendants were draping what appeared to be cathedral windows in black mantles and she wondered what lewd scenes might be depicted on those. The edges of the room nearest the altar were lined with huge torches leaving the latter part of the room in semi-darkness.

  The altar was stone, and it appeared oiled, shining in the torch light. The top was flat with rounded edges. But more ominous was the length of chain with manacles attached on the ends. These were set in the four corners. The two forbidding guards remained mute but forceful as they wrestled her to a place behind the altar. She wished they would say something so she could scream at them, instead of the mewls of terror issuing from her throat. Her courage was completely daunted and tenfold without Saxon’s presence. The words, “I want her wild,” and, “Have your way with her,” kept pounding through her mind as her naked body thrashed powerlessly trapped between the two hulking guards.

  There was some small portion of her mind scratching for logic, and she thought that maybe if she remained wild enough, they would not touch her. She had finally fallen into the abyss with the immensity of what she knew was going to happen and now she knew the only way she could survive it was with Saxon and no one else.

  The guards stopped. The area was on the left side behind the stone platform and altar. One could see out into the arena, without being seen. Joelle saw phantomlike outlines of hooded and robed people entering the arena and beginning to gather around the altar. Just then, a wide scraping hand began groping the slick flesh of her bare buttocks, while another broad and forceful hand pawed her right breast. She screamed, tugging frantically on the two unyielding hands holding her upper arms. She intended to keep screaming at the top of her lungs, but the hand pawing her breast quickly lifted to clamp over her mouth. Only one hand free, she thought senselessly. Nevertheless, the two beefy guards turned her between them, until one was smashed into her front and the other into her back.

  Oh God. She whimpered, uncontrollably. She could feel their large rigid cocks sickeningly branding her skin, in the front and in the back. She writhed wildly between them trying to escape, but it only rubbed her body more indecently against their hot and invasive flesh. Her screams were muted beneath one guard’s palm as they both used whatever free hands they had to crudely grope the parts of her body they could reach. Her mind wrenched from cocks like stiff sausages grinding her shaved mound in the front and the cleft of her buttocks in the rear, to one hand roughly milking her breast, while coarse fingers tried to touch the lips of her sex. She felt her eyes roll back in her head as the heavier panting of the guards filled her ears. She was caught sliding and rolling against their hot and aroused bodies as they pinched her nipples and prodded lewd fingers through the cringing lips of her sex.

  “Oh, how deliciously smutty.” A woman’s accented voice slithered through the thundering in Joelle’s ears.

  “Dame Baset,” one of the guards grunted.

  There was a smacking sound as Dame Baset spanked one of the attendant’s hard buttocks. “Keep at it, slave! Baco and Cernno are bringing the stallion in now for this slutty mare.”

  ***

  Saxon walked naked with a hard prick between his thighs, and with Baco and Cernno holding his upper arms on either side. The Germans both wore black hooded robes, while Hellion, in flowing white, was walking in front of them, carrying a long silver chain that was hooked to the collar around Saxon’s neck.

  Saxon’s chest heaved and he stumbled on his bare feet as Cernno’s hand lewdly groped his ass. Stubby fingers feeling deep into the cleft, while Baco kept shooting warning glances at Cernno. Saxon tried not to gag. He tried to keep moving forward. Toward Joelle. He had to get to Joelle. He had to see her. He latched his mind onto those thoughts and those thoughts only, while Cernno furtively played humiliating bugger with his oil-slicked ass.

  He had to imagine how he appeared nude. Thick wavy brown hair, falling nearly to his waist. His tan skin oiled, his brown-shaded eyes dead, and a wide black leather collar around his lean muscular neck. His pubic hair shaved with his prick swaying heavily and rigid between his thighs in a bluish and pink-tinged red. Men purported they were never singularly embarrassed by their nudity. God, he wished that was the case. It crawled at him, snaking with reluctance over his naked flesh. It angered him also. It was a seething cauldron in his belly, and when he finally, after what seemed like years of disgusting supplicant waiting, saw his chance, he grasped it with everything he had left inside him, after playing the ultimate acting of his ever before played chameleon parts.

  It was simply a candle. A candle as wide as his hand perched on a three-foot freestanding iron candle holder, which was set in front of flowing black taffeta that was covering a wall. It was in an area behind and to the side of the main chamber where he assumed, “the event,” was about to take place. They had ascended a small flight of stairs and turned into a narrow short corridor, then into a smaller area.

  Just as they left the entrance from the corridor into the small area, Saxon staggered to the left toward the candle. “Ah, do it harder, Cernno, it makes my cock throb,” Saxon mumbled.

  He judged he had enough length on the leash to reach the candle without Hellion, whose back was turned to them, being aware. Cernno’s hand on his upper arm let go with a spasm as Cernno’s other hand groped his ass more lushly, nearly prodding a blunt finger into the entrance of his asshole. Saxon moaned as though he were receiving pleasure as he leaned more into Cernno like he might be trying to embrace him. The motion dragged Baco along on the other side and propelled Cernno back toward the standing candle holder and the burning fat candle.

  But he was on the wrong side and he had to use his handless wrist to swipe at the candle holder. Nevertheless, Cernno’s back tapping the holder aided his swipe. The candle and flame fell backwards toward the material. Saxon had to imagine the material had been hanging for ages, dry and full of cobwebs. Instantly, the thin spider fortresses began to flame, the first willing fodder for the beginning blaze of the material.

  “Stop dallying,” Hellion ordered. His exclamation came when the leash stopped him, instead of following easily behind his turned back.

  Saxon was jostled between Cernno and Baco, who were quick to gather him upright between them, before Hellion was able to turn fully around and see. The two Germans did not notice the fire starting behind them right away, but Hellion would as soon as his gaze turned. It could not matter, Saxon thought, with satisfaction finally lifting his chest. He could not imagine where they could discover water quickly enough to put the flames out. He kept his gaze riveted to where Hellion’s would be. He wanted to see Hellion, when Hellion understood the portent of the fire.

  Hellion’s gaze swept past him, then returned with a jerking motion, to his dark-eyed stare. Something like the flash of a question, then perhaps dawning understanding worked over Hellion’s skeletal white face. Hellion seemed to just barely grasp what it was that he wanted him to grasp in that moment. The possibility that Saxon was not hypnotized after all.

  Abruptly, Hellion’s gaze jerked upward, then back and forth on either side of where Saxon and the two Germans stood. “Imbeciles! Fire! Fire, you idiots! Behind you!”

  Cernno and Baco released Saxon with a rush of exclamations as they turned. “The consecrating water, you fools! Get t
he urn quickly!” Hellion shouted.

  Saxon did not really comprehend the meaning of Hellion’s shouted words, because he had a more urgent demand driving him as he balled his fingers into a fist. He staggered toward Hellion, whose white robes billowed in agitation. At first Hellion seemed unaware of his approach as Saxon drew his arm and fist backward. Nevertheless, at the exact moment Saxon swung his fist forward, Hellion’s face turned toward him and his fist connected with Hellion’s jaw with an audible cracking sound. Saxon felt the pain explode into his hand as Hellion’s pink eyes bulged, and then Hellion staggered and began to go down.

  Saxon followed, crouching with his lips hissing and his arm swinging back for another strike. But then, out of the blue, it seemed to Saxon’s centered mind, a strong hand caught his swinging arm. And then, more forceful hands than he could overpower, tugged him backwards.

  It was both of the black attendants, Saxon realized, as they wrestled him, bowed forward to his knees. Their strong hands crushed the back of his neck and shoulders, barely allowing him to look upward. Nonetheless, he could see Joelle also forced to her knees beyond where Hellion was rising to his feet.

  “Da fire is out!” Baco’s exclaimed. “Da water in the urn was enough. Good thing it was there!”

  “Damnation,” Saxon cursed with a suppressed bellow. His body jerked hopelessly against the hands holding him down.

  “What is it? What has happened?” Incubus exclaimed, with his voice suddenly entering the fray.

  “Nearly a fire, but only some smoke to put up with,” Dame Baset said. “The stallion appears more untamed than we envisioned,” she added.

  “I thought he was well controlled. Totally hypnotized,” Incubus started to say.

  “Quiet!” Hellion’s voice snapped, and then Saxon felt Hellion’s robes slap against him, before Hellion grasped his jaw roughly, tugging his chin upward and holding it at a painful angle, straining his neck. Hellion’s pink eyes and ashen face twisted with murderous rage as he stared into his irises.