Everybody Loves A Bard (Raxillene's Rogues Book 1)

by Max Keith

  Report? was the only word written on the paper, in Poildrin Franx’ harsh script.

  “Gods,” Cashel groaned, glaring down at the impassive bird. “Where to begin?” He sighed, then leaned toward the owl and spoke in a low, rapid voice. “Well. I’m ensconced here, it seems, lodging at the Lady Wennowes’. I’ve got an informant in the house. I’m told the priest and his boy come here often, and are in fact expected to dinner tomorrow evening. I’m also aware there are suspicions here, unsolicited ones, that the boy is a woman.

  “The Lady Wennowes could well be the spymaster; she has a sea-captain called Niko Spavige, and the two of them have very frequent dealings with many sorts of people. She is abetted by a mage called Ledley Tighe and, sometimes, by a brute of a warrior named Brasher.” He shuddered. Meeting that one had been every bit as expected; the scarred man with the roving eyes had a killer’s air about him, that was certain. “There appear to be a few household servants, and I’m almost sure none of them are slaves.” He frowned, wondering whether he’d said enough to send the damn bird on its way and sink groaning into bed. It was while he was speculating about that that he heard the soft knock on the door.

  “Shit,” he hissed, and it would have to be enough for Franx; the bird understood this quite well, rustling straight out the window on quiet wings. “A moment, please,” Cashel called, scrambling to make sure he’d picked up the couple of feathers the creature had left on the duvet. He closed the window most of the way against the late summer evening, and then huffed a quick sigh as he felt to make sure his blades were where they belonged. He then crossed quickly to the door and pulled it open. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I –“

  And then he quite stopped talking, for the sight framed in the doorway took his breath. “Were you speaking with someone, Master Bard?” Lady Wennowes’ voice, tightly controlled, but still merry and still cock-hardening, spun forth from those full and luscious lips, still red and glossy and now twisted into a bewitching smile. The eyes were more calculated: twinkling and crinkled, sure, but with craftiness as well as mirth. Her hair tumbled down, totally unbound around her soft face, and at this angle Cashel did not even notice her nose.

  But he barely noticed the rest of her face either, for there was just too much else to gaze at. She had been wearing a monstrous dress at dinner, the sort that required pins and stiffeners and other assorted superstructure to keep its shape; the shoulders, he remembered, had been particularly impressive, guarding the sides of her face like twin fences. Underneath she’d been wearing a sheer silk chemise, straining to contain her bust and, in fact, failing; the neckline crossed just slightly above the nipples, leaving even the tops of her dark pink areolae visible. Beneath was strapped a completely unnecessary corset, in white kidskin. Wisping off the generous curve of her hips like a delicate fall of snow from a roof was the soft, translucent silk of a short sleeping skirt, the lace hem just barely long enough to hide the lips of her vagina. Dainty white stockings, tied to the base of the corset, outlined the sweeping curves of her gloriously sleek legs.

  It was not natural for a bard to know so well the undergarments of a noblewoman, and indeed he ordinarily would not have known what Lady Wennowes wore beneath that formidable dress. In this case, though, her undergarments were precisely what she was wearing as she stood in his doorway, on display for him, her hip cocked far out as she leaned casually against the jamb.

  With difficulty, he recalled that she’d asked a question, her dark brows raised for his answer. “I… I am working on a new song, m’lady. I write by muttering aloud; I apologize if I disturbed you.”

  “You did,” she confessed, her voice silky, “but I’ll forgive you, if the song is about me. Shall I step in and hear you sing it to me?” She did not wait, but then this was her house, and he was at least temporarily her servant, and so it was not a suggestion she made but a command. He watched, his mouth dry and gaping like a fool’s, as she strode with bold, graceful steps across the tiny room to take a seat upon the bed, reclining coolly, leaning back on her arms with her breasts high and proud. Her shoulders were smooth and sweetly rounded, and her bold blue eyes challenged him. She kept her legs crossed.

  He cleared his throat. “To what, m’lady,” he began, hoping his voice was steady, “do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” He was hardening already, but he barely noticed anymore; this house had made his dick hard more often than it had left it soft, and it did not matter anyway. A woman dressed as Wennowes was could hardly fail to raise his cock, and she plainly knew it.

  She smiled, a dimple deep beside the curve of her mouth, the light cast by the one little candle leaving much of her in shadow. “Are folk so rude on the River Gethell?” she laughed softly. “Here, it is the custom for the lady of the house to check that her guests want for nothing by night. Besides,” she continued, twisting her body painfully around to look down over her own shoulder, “I admit to a silly error, Harlin. You see, your music this evening so enchanted me that I quite forgot myself, and let little Gitsey trot off to bed before she removed my corset.” She extended a languid arm, her fingers beckoning. “I should be much obliged if you could assist; I know how scandalous my request is, but the son of a knight would surely not take undue liberties…” She let herself trail off, and Cashel sensed nothing but peril here. This creature bid fair to be the Emperor’s spymaster here, a very dangerous woman. He temporized desperately.

  “Did m’lady not want me to sing for her?” he asked cautiously.

  Her eyes glittered in reply. “Shut your door, Harlin. And then come and remove my corset.” Her voice did not quite carry the whip of command, but her thick excitement was unmistakable. He found himself obeying at once, cursing once more the evening’s demands on his poor fingers.

  He was not sure how she wished him to do this, but as the Lady showed no sign of moving herself, Cashel found himself hesitantly climbing onto the bed and scooting behind her. “Your pardon, m’lady,” he murmured.

  “Not at all,” she purred, leaning her body forward over her legs; she sent her graceful fingers to her neck to sweep her hair aside. “I’m in your hands, Harlin.”

  The corset was an ordinary one, though expensive, with laces instead of hooks. Cashel plucked at the knot, wincing at the pain in his fingers, and watched the ripple of the muscles on her upper back, moving fluidly as she breathed. The laces came apart in his hands, the Lady sighing in exquisite relief. “Men like you are fortunate, truly,” she whispered, her head flopping sideways so that she could look back at him. “You’ll never know the joys of a woman’s undergarments.” She chuckled ironically. “The things we do to be beautiful,” she added.

  “M’lady’s beauty is beyond compare,” he said stoutly, shifting uncomfortably on his knees; his cock was very hard now. Wennowes’ hair smelled exactly like his, but she was wearing some sort of perfume on her neck. It intoxicated him. “She needs no assistance.”

  “I’m glad I can afford to pay men to tell me such things,” she replied lightly, plainly not worrying much about how she looked. “But it’s kind of you anyway.”

  “I’m pleased to be of service, m’lady.”

  She tutted. “Come now, Harlin,” she wheedled. “You’re in the process of undressing me in your own bedchamber. Under the circumstances, I think you may call me Tallora.”

  “As you wish, Tallora.” Cashel was torn. If there had been any doubt about where this was going, her invitation to use her given name destroyed it. And it was undoubtedly a fine opportunity, precisely what Franx had sent him to do. On top of that, she was making his cock harder than it had been since his teen years. But, gods, how tired he was! He sighed and let his fingers brush trembling across the skin atop her back.

  “You’re tickling me,” she breathed. “That’s impertinent in a servant. I’ll need to chastise you.” She lifted her arms high, inviting him to slide the corset up and off her luxuriant body, and he knew there was nothing for it now. So, giving up at last on his dreams of a plai
n, untroubled night’s sleep, he decided he might as well do his best for this new employer of his. He went silent, letting his hands and fingers drift up and down Tallora’s arms, listening carefully to her little gasps and soft moans; he dwelt briefly on her armpits, then allowed his fingers to trail down just behind her breasts, along the sides of the corset, and down to hook themselves underneath.

  At once he could see he would have a problem: the texture of the kidskin and the sweat of Tallora’s evening were going to drag the chemise right along with the corset when he peeled them both over head and arms, but when she did not object once he began, he shrugged, rose higher on his knees to haul harder, and with a mock-seductive slowness that was in fact just unfeigned effort he eased the sturdy garment high over her shapely arms, her brown hair flowing back down like a cascade, the Lady shaking her head and rolling her shoulders in her sudden freedom. “Mm,” she hummed. “You’ve made me feel better already.”

  “Apologies for my clumsiness, Tallora,” Cashel whispered, right beside her ear now, rolling a series of kisses down her neck to her collarbone. There, right beneath his widened eyes, he beheld the heavy, solid glory of her tits, now shaking on her chest as she twitched away from his tickling. “It’s unforgivable for me to have left you so scandalously unclad.” He nibbled gently at her earlobe, feeling her body vibrate beneath his lips when she spoke.

  “I’m quickly becoming accustomed to your impertinence, Harlin,” she husked, making no attempt to cover herself; instead, she leaned back into his kneeling body, trapping his swollen cock behind her spine. “I shall certainly need to punish you.”

  Well, he thought, in for a penny, in for a roight. He snaked his aching fingers up underneath her arms and over her bare breasts, the flesh firm and soft at the same time, the angry dark nipples growing against his palms. Tallora arched her back, pushing hard into his hands while grinding her shoulderblades against his cock. Cashel, shaking off his tiredness with dispatch, thrust his hips gently forward to meet her, his tongue fleeting into her ear as Gitsey’s had into his. “And how,” he licked, “does m’lady intend to punish her servant?”

  Tallora’s breaths were growing deeper as Cashel let his passion grow; he could feel her growing warmer and more responsive by the second. She tipped her head far back, her blue eyes wide and staring just inches from his. “I’ll despoil you,” she growled, her naked back flexing madly against his legs and cock. “I’ll humiliate you.”

  “Humiliate me?” He was mauling her now, leaving angry red handprints all over her chest. He darted his head forward, nipping at her full lips, instinctively tilting his head to avoid that masterful nose. “How so, pray?”

  She laughed, deep and breathless, and sent an arm coiling up to hold his head in place while she pulled herself to him; the kiss was rich and hungry, a slippery tangle of tongues and lips, both of them panting hard into each others’ mouths. “I shall fuck you,” she explained, her other hand twisting painfully around her body to grip his thigh, “and then I shall leave you without letting you cum.” She kissed him again, needy and powerful, both their bodies moving rhythmically. “Then I shall find your friends and let them know you’ve got a tiny cock.”

  Through the red lust in his brain, Cashel hesitated. “My friends?” he asked harshly, tugging hard on both nipples. “What makes you think I’ve got any friends?” He returned her kiss then, pushing her right down toward the mattress with the impact of his body, feeling her pliant lips sucking his tongue. “Or will you journey down to the Gethell to find them?”

  “Be careful, bard,” she gasped, freeing an arm to brace herself against the bed. “I know a great many people.” I’m sure you do, he thought, and then he was on her, driving her flat against the duvet while he swiveled his body around to spring on top of her. She gasped again while they sorted their legs out, her breasts heaving, reaching blindly to get his tunic over his head. “You might be surprised just how many I know.”

  “I’m sure,” and as he ducked his head through the neckhole of his tunic, hearing her grunt as she tugged it off, he bobbed his head straight down to those poor lust-swollen nipples, hearing her shuddering moan as he gnawed, losing himself in the sweaty tastes and smells of her, reveling in the insistent pressure of her fingers along his bare ribs. “I’m going to eat you alive,” he promised fiercely. She brought her leg in between his, her thigh pushing gently at his straining dick.

  “Mm,” she sighed contentedly then, her legs going wide, allowing him to feast on her. “No, I’m teasing you. I’m a successful trader; my word is my bond. I cannot tell anyone your cock is tiny.”

  “No?” Both his hands were on Tallora’s hips, feeling the heat of her cunt, savoring her flesh. “I’m relieved to hear it.”

  “I never lie,” she pointed out, curling up to kiss the top of his head. “Gitsey tells me you’re nice and long, as I think I’m beginning to feel for myself.” She giggled then, her legs prying beneath him so that her toes could flex under his balls. “She was most impressed with you in the bath today.”

  He again sensed peril, pausing as he felt her hands search for his waist ties. “She is a… a lusty girl, m’lady.”

  “Tallora,” she corrected, finding the knot. Deft fingers tugged at it. “And she’s not ‘lusty,’ Harlin; she’s a slut. I found her as a whore of twelve, already a woman. She’s remarkable, but she’ll be an ugly hag before she has twenty-five years.” She pushed him away then, arching her back to show herself off. “Not like me, Harlin. I’ll still be a sexy bitch into old age, I swear.” She had her hands inside his breeches now, grasping his gummy cock, grinning in triumph. “Can you feel what I can do to you?” she crowed. “I’ve made you hard enough to stay inside me for hours,” she snarled, kissing him again, “and I’ll make sure you do.”

  “Yes, m’lady.” He emphasized the phrase as he slipped nimbly aside to land on the far side of the bed, just beneath the window, giving her the chance to take over. He lay still, his lean body slicked with sweat, and Tallora swung her legs off the bed and got lightly to her feet.

  “If you fuck me right,” she told him with a feral smile, “I’ll have Ledley pay you extra.” She slid the sleeping skirt down her legs, but the silk hung up on her stockings; impatiently, she shoved them down too. When she straightened, her legs spread at shoulder width, he could see a bare cunt in the weakening candlelight, her juices rolling down her thighs. “I’ll tell him it’s for the song.”

  “The song?” Cashel said lightly, swallowing his lust as he smelled deeply of her body. He was worming out of his breeches, his hard dick waving like a flagpole. She stopped, cocking her head.

  “The song you were writing,” she said slowly. “When I came to your door.”

  “Ah.” He shrugged, drawling deliberately. “A doggerel. It’s irrelevant now; I’ve seen you naked.”

  “And I, you.” She was gazing hungrily at him. “Can you tell me, Master Bard,” she began, once again thrilled with lust, “whether you’ve ever had your dick sucked by a noblewoman?”

  A dozen times. “Never.” She grinned at the lie.

  “Then make yourself comfortable,” she hissed, kneeling on the mattress as he kicked off the last of his clothes. “I don't intend that you forget me.” Sure, smooth hands found his legs and his belly, rubbing lightly as she glared down at his wildly trembling penis. She flicked a careful finger up through his crotch and over his scrotum. “I think Gitsey may have played a bit too much in the bath. You might not last as long as I could wish,” she reflected quietly. “Still, you’ll just go longer later,” she shrugged, “but do try to hold on; I’m a woman who prefers not to take a man’s load in my mouth,” and then she licked her lips and opened them around his shaft, and Cashel leaned his head back with the sheer dirty pleasure of this.

  She must have been a whore, he reflected as she worked; she had to have been, back before she met Lord Wennowes. Either that, or she’d had talented sisters who had taught her well; Tallora sucked with an efficienc
y and discipline he’d never felt from an amateur. Cashel had to concentrate hard to avoid spraying himself down her throat; he knew, from long experience, that if he could just hang on for the first few minutes, he should be able to tolerate another five or ten, at which point he could respectably pull her up, roll her over, and fuck her.

  But oh, those first few minutes…

  Tallora tried hard. She slurped first at his head, her lips powerful as her tongue played with his pisshole; Cashel groaned, and found he needed to shut his eyes, so sexy was the sight of naked, golden Tallora kneeling over him in the dying candle. “Gods,” he groaned when he felt her fingernails toying absently with his balls. She giggled, her breath a warm hum along his shaft, and then she was up off him. She licked daintily at his head, like a cat.

  “You taste like a man who’s been sitting with a harp for hours,” she observed. She began with some longer, wetter licks, all up and down from head to root, and when at last he dared to look he saw long strings of her saliva and two mocking blue eyes. He groaned and closed them again. “We’ll need to have Gitsey bathe you again tomorrow,” she laughed. “I’d let her have you, but I’m sure there’ll be little left in those balls after you drain them into me tonight. Still, we’ll let her groom this unruly thatch of yours, for a start.” She kissed at his groin. “I prefer a smoother man.”

  “You’re an excellent hostess,” Cashel managed as her tongue found its way down under his scrotum; she held his cock high as she lapped at his asshole. “Would m’lady object if I return her favors?” His entire world reeked of pussy, his hand moving with a mind of its own over her sleekly powerful ass, around to burrow into the soaking hole he knew he’d find beneath.