Warprize (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 5)(MFMMMMMM)

by Georgia Fox

"It will not be easy to learn all your names," Cedney exclaimed, wishing then that she had at least some little bit of garment to shield her body from their lusty eyes. Dom was true to his word when he said he wanted to show her off and now she did not even have the cover of his cloak to hide behind. Yet the hall of their father's castle was warm and after the first few introductions she began to enjoy the way they looked at her.

  For twenty-one years she had hidden under manly garments, knowing she got not let her figure ever be admired this way. Now, finally, she knew what it felt like. Knew what she'd been missing.

  They all touched her, caressed her, kissed her, but Dom kept a hand on her waist, just to remind them all that he had brought her there. She was his prize and he was letting them share. His heat at her side was reassuring, his hand calming, protective.

  "Can we fuck her now?" young Nino demanded impatiently, crouched before her, his fingers parting her labia to inspect her private regions as if she was for sale at the market.

  "Have some manners, boy," Salvador grumbled. "Wait your turn. The lady needs a chance to settle in first."

  She was thankful for that. But Nino, arrogant and defiant, leaned in to lick her quim and his long tongue was up inside her, before Dom could push his head away. "Not until you're invited," he growled.

  Nino laughed, wiping his mouth. "Sweet cherry wine. My favorite."

  Sebastien and Ram were stroking her bottom, remarking on the fact that it felt firm, as did her thighs.

  "She rides astride," Dom explained. "And she hunts better than most of you." There was pride in his voice. She looked at him, amused, wondering at these bubbling, excited feelings she had for a man who meant to share her with his brothers. It should be wrong to be on display this way, and yet it was gratifying to be appreciated in her natural state at last. Almost normal to her already.

  "Splendid titties," said Alonso, weighing them in his cupped hands. "Have you seen Princesa's now she's nursing her babe? Our new wife's teats are almost as big as those. Almost." He held her right breast so that Sebastien could take the nipple in his mouth.

  Cedney closed her eyes and gave herself up to it as those men gathered around her. Although Salvador, the eldest, had decreed they could not have her yet, the air changed subtly after Nino took his sly chance with her. Dom moved around behind and she felt his cock unleashed, tapping her spine. Alonso now left his study of her plump breasts and knelt to mouth her sex, his hot, wet tongue, stabbing in and out, pausing to tickle her clit. Gasping and trembling, she parted her legs without being told and then he lifted one knee over his shoulder, opening her cleft further for his feasting. As if they'd now received a silent signal, Ram and Nino stripped off their breeches, their eyes never leaving her naked body.

  She groaned as the first waves of a climax shuddered through her loins, and while the quake continued, Dom lifted her from Alonso's mouth and onto Ram's waiting lap. Although she dare not look down, it felt as if several hands steered that cock up into her quivering twat. Ram's shaft was thick, forceful. It took her breath away as she was raised and lowered in a slow motion by the men who stood on either side of her, their arms under her knees. She could hear only her heart beating in her ears and then the slick sound of their bodies meeting, his staff penetrating, stroking her inner walls.

  "Look at that pussy," Nino exclaimed. "It's so pink and pouty. I want it next."

  But again he was pushed aside as Salvador took his turn. He too sat in a chair, thighs spread, waiting with his huge shaft erect. Again she was lifted and lowered by obliging arms. And thus it went on. Cock after cock. Brother after brother. She rode each of them twice before they began to release their cum, because they were intent upon her pleasure first. Nino, when he finally got his chance, spent thrice.

  Later, Dom carried her to a bath filled with warm water, herbs and dried rose petals. He apologized for the impatience of his brothers.

  "I suppose this was part of your plan to put me in my place as a woman," she muttered, not wanting him to see how much she'd enjoyed it.

  He looked wounded by that remark. "I begin to think I would have stolen you away with me whatever your sex was proven to be," he muttered slowly, as if coming to this conclusion even as he spoke. "What else could I have done when you stole my heart away with the point of your sword, Bloodwynne?"

  Her own heart felt very full at that moment. The poor man seemed forlorn by his own realization and the emotions he suffered. She knew exactly what he felt too.

  "I did not mean to do it," she said quietly, clutching her knees in the bath, winding her arms around them. "But from that first night...when you appeared before me...my womanly side suddenly refused to lie down any longer. I had to have you."

  "And I you."

  She tightened her arms around her knees and rested her chin upon them. "I did not believe love would ever exist for me. How could it?"

  Dom nodded, his eyes a very light quicksilver that afternoon. His features relaxed, his lips quaked in a smile that was boyishly eager and yet, at the same time, cautious. "Love?"

  Cedney smiled slowly. "Love. You bastard."

  Before he could respond, the door opened and the four other wives swept in, bearing dresses, blankets, perfume and various other implements that they apparently did not think he had a right to see. Her husband-to-be was briskly forced backward out of the chamber.

  Cedney was surprised to see the other wives getting along so well and pleased to welcome her. She would have expected jealousy, fighting, but the women were content, just as Dom had told her. Each woman was very different in looks and size, which she had also not expected. Princesa, fair and small, had recently birthed a son. Isobel, the third wife, was also pregnant. She was tall, slender, dark and elegant. Aelfa was a full-figured red-head with freckles and a coarse tongue that soon made Cedney laugh. Jeanne, the fourth wife, was petite and shy, but very sweet and caring. They gathered around her bath to wash her hair and rub her skin with perfumed oils they had distilled themselves.

  "Although your hair is not long it holds a natural wave," exclaimed Jeanne. "We shall dress it with pearls and ribbons for the wedding."

  Cedney had never had so much attention bestowed upon her— first by her the brothers and now by their wives. When she confessed to never having worn a woman's gown they were astonished and then intrigued. They listened eagerly to her history and then she heard each of theirs. The backgrounds from which these women came were as disparate as their looks, yet they had found a place here, a family. A good life.

  * * * *

  Dom had never seen her dressed thus, of course. As the wives brought her out for the ceremony and winter sunlight glistened on her pearl-strewn hair, he found his breath all gone, swept away by shock and then delight.

  Cedney Bloodwynne was a beautiful woman.

  The wives had dressed her in dark burgundy, which highlighted the pale, pearly tone of her skin. Her gold hair was arranged in curls, tied up with plaited ribbon. He noted, with a smile, that she still wore her father's etched cuffs. He would never take all the man out of her, he thought. Perhaps he had better not try.

  "My God, Cedney, you are a sight for sore eyes in that dress," he whispered as she took his hand. "Now I know for sure I am in love with you."

  "I am only grateful you allowed me to wear clothes," she replied drily, her eyes shining up at him.

  He winked. "Not for long. Make the most of it, Bloodwynne."

  Proudly he led her under the bowers of ribbon that marked her last walk as a woman alone. Or a man alone.

  * * * *

  Cedney had been warned of the branding that would take place. Now she belonged to the d'Anzeray and, after the wedding ceremony, it was tradition to mark her with their crest. They gave her wine with something very sweet and potent added. The combination made her float, not caring even that the residents of the castellany gathered to watch as her legs were spread wide and the small branding iron approached, held by Dominigo.There was a pinch against her shaved v
ulva, no worse than the nick of an arrowhead, and when she looked down she saw the small, tidy mark that now permanently decorated her sex. Thus she became a d'Anzeray. The transformation was complete.

  Her new husbands came to her eagerly for the mating that evening. She laid on a large, soft fleece by the fire and they petted her as they did before, seven pairs of hands caressing her body, following the curves and dips, seven tongues lapping her nipples, her hips and thighs, kissing her belly.

  Dom presented her with his cock to suck, reminding her in a whisper of their first encounter when she took him deep in her throat. She obliged again, hungry for that taste once more. This time there was no fear of giving away a secret, of course. She was free to enjoy to her heart's content.

  Meanwhile Ram and Sebastien battled over her pussy, holding her legs apart and playfully dueling with their tongues over and betwixt her labial folds— even venturing into her anus— until she came with a hard jolt, trembling, just as Dom shot his cream in her mouth. While she lay there, still writhing with pleasure, Alonso rolled her onto her side, oiled her anus and entered her swiftly, nestling her bottom against his warm groin. Salvador stretched out on her other side, lifted her leg around his waist and penetrated her cunny at the same time.

  Between the two strong men, she let herself fall into the part of their pet.

  "She feels like hot silk," Salvador grunted as he fucked her slowly, and Alonso, already coming behind her, agreed with a shout of pleasure.

  Then came Nino, entering her bottom as soon as his brother had left it empty. She stroked Salvador's shoulders and he kissed her, his tongue slipping over hers. Nino pulled her hips back as he mounted her with the impatience of youth. She wondered idly at his age for she knew he was the youngest and Salvador the eldest. There must be ten or fifteen years between them.

  Oh, their skin was hot, their scent so masculine, filling her nostrils like fine, rich spice from the orient. And it surrounded her.

  She looked up and saw Dom watching as he worked his massive cock with one hand, his eyes dark with lust. But also with love. She licked her lips and smiled up at him as his elder brother's cum spurted deep inside her and was joined immediately by that of Nino's in her bottom. She clenched her muscles hard, pulling them both in as they jerked and shuddered on either side of her.

  Ram and Raul, she knew, were already kneeling in readiness on the fleece, awaiting their turn with her. Raul wanted to spend in her mouth, but he lay over her to return the favor at the same time, licking her creamy pussy with such a long, expert tongue that she would have screamed the walls down, if not for the hearty sucking she was giving his sturdy shaft.

  But always there was Dom, standing over her, handling his balls and his cock, possessing her with his eyes.

  And he lay down with her last of all, slipping his cock into her wet pussy again and riding her while his brothers looked on, cheering and toasting to their new bride, the latest for these seven handsome bastards.

  She knew they were impressed, but they had yet to see her real talents. That she would awe them with later, on horseback, when she out-rode and out-shot them all in the hunt. There would be no letting anyone win this time.

  Except perhaps for Dominigo, she mused happily. She would never mind giving up her victory to him.

  * * * *

  It was said that Guillaume d'Anzeray had a favorite among his son's brides. Not that he would ever admit it. Nor could he ever admit there was anything to admire in a bold woman who rode and fought and hunted like a man. One who, very occasionally, when she felt the need to lay down a few commands of her own, wore breeches.

  The End

  While you wait for Georgia’s next Seven Brides for Seven Bastard’s title … check out the first chapter of The Studfinder General, the first book of her For the Manor Bred Victorian series.

  Prologue

  March 1888

  She marveled at how each of the three penises were different and how they matched their owners in looks.

  The first— she called him "Tom" for the sake of discretion—was thick, heavily veined and with a broad, prominent cap. Tom was a plodder, a steady, reliable worker with wonderful attention to detail. The second, "Harry" was long and lean with a curious left-leaning quirk. He was always in somewhat of a rush and usually the first to finish a job, if a trifle sloppily. The third—"Dick", naturally— was the prettiest. Like his owner, "Dick" was a jolly fellow, blush pink, stout and eager with a sprouting thatch of sandy curls at its root. Dick possessed a great deal of energy, was adventurous and slightly mischievous.

  These cocks belonged to her three studs, and they had served her proudly so far. Today would be their third mission, and they were primed in readiness.

  Satisfied the room was ready, Rowena opened the door and ushered in a short, nervously fidgeting creature who immediately opened her mouth to speak. But Rowena pressed a finger to her lips and glared. As usual black blindfolds were secured around the eyes of the young men before their client came into the room, for they were never to know the identity of the aristocratic women they serviced. And voices could always give people away. It was best for everyone concerned to keep the anonymity.

  Rowena gestured to the bed.

  Silenced, her eyes indignantly protesting the fact, the other woman climbed onto the bed and lay on her back, plump hands clasping at the pleats of the bed cover.

  Outside the window a sparrow chirped merrily, innocently, and turned a small, wondering eye to the scene within.

  Rowena quickly closed the lace curtains, muting the daylight and shrouding the room in sensuous, gently swaying shadow. Despite the cold—for there could be no fire lit in the hob-grate, which would produce smoke from the chimney—a sultry, expectant aura hung palpable in the small room. It would soon warm up.

  The three naked, blindfolded young men, moved closer to the bed, feeling their way to the woman laid upon it.

  Chapter One

  The week before

  "I have been married seven years, Lady Rowena, as you know. All is well but for one thing. The one thing my husband has not been able to give me." The woman in the veil spoke softly, her words halting and fearful, her gloved hands clasped tightly around the jet-beaded reticule in her lap. "So I come here in hope, risking all for this last chance. Can you help us?"

  The light in the parlor was dim, the drapes half drawn. Dusk still fell early at that time of year, for spring was slow in coming to the Yorkshire moors and what slight, listless sun had visited that day was now a distant memory, leaving the sky sour and bereft of cheer. Since the outside temperature failed to garner any warmth worth speaking of, no windows had been opened for weeks and the air in the parlor was stale, thick and unmoving.

  A solitary oil lamp on the table between them cast only a muted glow upon the two figures present, but since this conversation must be conducted in absolute secrecy it seemed fitting that no other light be cast upon them. In this still, quiet, brooding air, in this place of only pensive light and encroaching darkness, a bargain would be struck, a scheme set in motion. One that held dangers for both women. The menacing shadows, therefore, were appropriate.

  But despite the gravity of the situation, Lady Rowena Collingwood currently struggled with a burst of laughter that churned unseen within. Sitting very straight in her chair, her shoulders rigid under the dark plum silk of her gown, she ruthlessly thwarted the urge to exhale that wayward chuckle. If she let it out, the sinister mood would be ruined, and she was rather enjoying the funeral-like solemnity.

  And the cause of her amusement?

  That ridiculously theatrical veil.

  It wasn't as if she didn't know the identity of the woman hiding behind it. Apparently Lady Wynton —the woman who appealed to her for help—was carried away by the drama, or else she wanted to believe the veil made her anonymous, despite the fact that they'd known one another for more than a decade. Warts and all. Today they met under formal circumstances, and what they discussed was a matter of
extreme delicacy. So delicate that Rowena and the woman with whom she'd often hunted for tadpoles in her father's lake, the woman she once pushed headfirst into a dung heap for calling her "Freckles", pretended they barely knew one another.

  "I put myself in your hands, Lady Rowena, and if you are able to help me you will have my undying gratitude." Oh, how demure and polite Lady Maria Wynton - nee Maria "Porky" Ashworth - was today, in her moment of desperation.

  "You have consulted a physician, madam?"

  Rowena heard her friend swallow. "I have, but he tells me there is nothing to be done. Simply that we must let nature takes its course. I fear, however, that the issue lies with my husband's age and infirmity. In which case, time will work against us and against nature."

  "Indeed."

  Nature, Rowena mused, was often a harsh mistress and could alter a person's circumstances as easily as it changed the weather on a capricious whim. Turning her head slightly, she looked out on the bleak, wind-buffeted landscape of the moor, parts of it still visible in the dying light through the half drawn curtains. Here, she had lived for twenty-four years and yet the ominous beauty of that stark view never became commonplace and dull, never ceased to thrill her. Always there was something new to find in the rugged, savage beauty.

  "When you first suggested it to me," Maria added, twisting her gloved hands in her lap, "I did not think I could ever...I would never have imagined...I mean to say, the sanctity of marriage, and all that. I thought, if we are meant to have a child the good lord will provide."

  "The good lord provides for no one, Lady Wynton. We are responsible for making the most of our opportunities. He doesn't harvest the fields for us, or drop pennies from the sky, does he? Men—and especially women—must be resourceful and help themselves. If we sat about doing nothing, waiting for god to provide for us, we would simply keel over and die."