by Zaide Bishop
“Rakin.” Lady Elsalane’s voice was sharp. “Stand behind them. Hold the girl’s arms.”
Lord Rakin nodded once, stepping up behind Kell and gripping her upper arms. He held them back firmly.
What are they going to do? She was caught between fear and her mounting humiliation.
Lady Elsalane took both of Kell’s hands and guided them to Eliza’s breasts. She felt him draw a sharp breath and stiffen. She didn’t want him to see her like this, displayed in front of dozens of lords and ladies like some common slattern, but his touch was a comfort. A pleasure. And it brought a rippling tide of warmth.
“Gently,” Lady Elsalane told him firmly. “A woman’s skin is much more sensitive than a man’s.”
Kell did nothing but cup her breasts, her nipples pressed in his palms. His hands trembled as if with fear, even as his cock fought a war with the fabric between them.
Lady Elsalane paid him no more heed—lowering herself carefully to her knees before Eliza, with her shoulders practically wedged between Kell’s knees. She lifted Eliza’s skirt, pushing it along her thighs until it bunched around her waist.
Eliza struggled then, gasping and wriggling, trying to cover herself, but Lord Rakin held her firm.
“It’s all right,” Kell breathed, his voice husky.
“A perfect flower,” Lady Elsalane announced. “With blushing petals.”
She leaned close, her nose and chin brushing Eliza’s lips. The touch made her jerk, sending thrills of sensation across her skin. The older woman inhaled deeply.
“The sweetest of perfumes. Now, let us see if we can bring the dew.”
Eliza had been about to say something, to ask what she intended to do, when the Lady Elsalane’s tongue burrowed between her secret lips. The shock of it made her cry out and Kell’s hands tightened over her breasts.
Lady Elsalane’s hot mouth worked across her quim, sucking, licking, teasing—questing in and out of her entrance, circling slowly around the opening. She shuddered, her whole body growing hot as an aching throb of pleasure began to swell deep in her hips. Her breasts heaved, held firm in Kell’s hands, and she whimpered and rolled her head back against his shoulder.
Lady Elsalane’s tongue swirled around her nub and Eliza moaned, her hips thrusting of their own accord. In the crowd, she could see a lord with his hand in his trousers, rhythmically stroking himself, his eyes locked on her shameless quim.
Another lord stood behind a lady, his hands down her dress and she rolled her head back, arching her body as he tugged her nipples.
They were all aroused by her. Watching as she helplessly fucked the face of another woman. Watching as she was held down and humiliated. What kind of girl was she? To let herself be displayed like this, to be enjoying it?
Kell’s hands tightened on her breasts again and he began to stroke her nipples. She gasped, her body jerking uncontrollably.
“Please,” she begged him. He began to tug and roll them, sending spears of pleasure into her belly. He lowered his mouth to her neck, kissing and sucking the skin. Between her thighs Lady Elsalane’s tongue was working faster and deeper, swirling around her nub, spelling arcane words, before dipping down to burrow as deep as it would go into her virgin hole.
In the crowd, she could see one of the ladies on her knees, sucking the cock of a black-haired man in a stag mask. His head was thrown back, the tendons in his neck sticking out, and when the lady pulled back, her chin was slick with his seed. Eliza realised it was the sight of her, giving them pleasure. They weren’t just watching her, vultures feeding on the sight of her flesh. She was arousing them. Driving them to act, to touch one another and pleasure themselves at the very image of her. They all wanted her. Or, maybe, they wanted to be her.
Eliza climaxed suddenly, her arms almost jerked out of her sockets as she doubled over with a cry that was half scream, half yelp of pain.
Her hips bucked like a wild horse, but Lady Elsalane kept her place, pressing her face firmly against her cunt, sucking another orgasm out of her. Then another. Eliza cried out with the shock of each one, shuddered and thrusting. Pleasure, greater than she thought was possible. How could there be so much of it? It was as if a whole new world was opening to her, one of flesh and pulse, skin and slickness.
When the Lady Elsalane rose to her feet, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Eliza was drenched in sweat and still pulsing inside. Kell supported her, his hands across her chest, holding up her weight and for a moment, it was a little like he was hugging her.
“I’m here.” His breath was a soft caress on her ear. “Be brave.”
Lord Rakin released her arms and stepped up in front of her before she even had time to catch her breath. He was struggling with his trousers and as his hips drew level with her face, he got them open and his cock lunged out, turgid and weeping.
He was large. Giant. Twice as big as Lord Kempsly had been and she recoiled, partly from the masculine scent of him and partly from fear. Did he mean to enter her with that? She started to struggle, and Kell was caught off guard. She might have escaped, but her legs were still trembling and Kell pulled her back against him, securing her with vice-like grip.
“No,” she begged.
“Shush now,” Lord Rakin scolded. “You can’t take pleasure and not expect to give it in return, fair maiden.”
He stroked her cheek gently. “You don’t have to be afraid. All I want is a kiss.”
He hoisted his massive erection so it was level with her lips. The head was reddish and swollen, the slit weeping a clear fluid. It was so big, she was not sure it would even fit in her mouth, but then she knew where it certainly wasn’t going to fit and she did not want to tempt him.
She leaned forward and kissed the tip. His fluid was salty and pungent. He nodded, urging her on and she stuck out her tongue to lick it.
He moaned, pushing closer, and she took the head into her mouth. It was hot and smooth as silk.
“No teeth,” he warned. “Just your lips and tongue. Like that. Suck it deeper.”
She took more of his cock in her mouth, swirling her tongue across the surface, following the lines and ridges. He groaned, baring his teeth. His hands found the side of her head and he held her steady as he thrust slowly deeper. She felt herself gagging, but he didn’t seem to care, his hips forcing inch after inch between her lips, down into her throat.
She whimpered and he groaned, pulling back only to thrust again, his fingers gripping her hair almost painfully.
“Your hands.” His voice was just a growl.
Kell let her go and she tentatively reached up to cup his balls in one hand and stroke his shaft with the other.
“Yesss,” he hissed. “Like that.”
One of Kell’s hands found her breast, cupping the warm flesh and rolling her nipple once more. The other delved between her thighs, gently questing between the sodden folds—still tender and aching. He stroked her wetness up and down her slit, distracting her from the thickness of the shaft of her mouth.
Lord Rakin thrust harder, gasping and groaning, his juice salting her mouth and forcing her to swallow. Kell’s hand switched breasts, back and forth, waking her need again—stiffening her nipples to stone once more. His mouth was on her neck again, kissing and biting.
Between her thighs, his fingertips quested into her opening and she jerked as he penetrated her. She pressed her hips down, wanting him deeper, more, faster.
“You hot little slut,” Lord Rakin gasped. “I’m coming, oh Gods preserve me!”
His seed filled her mouth and throat and his fists pulled at her hair as he buried himself as deep as he could. She gagged, then as he slid free of her, coughed and gasped. The taste was salty and strong, like some foreign delicacy, and the smell of it filled her nose.
Kell didn’t stop, his fingers delving into her with stead
y rhythm and she jerked helplessly in full view of the whole room as she tried to swallow Lord Rakin’s seed.
Lord Rakin stood back grinning; his spent cock still hanging from the front of his pants.
“I think she’s ready. Don’t you agree, Lord Kempsly?”
Her master nodded and Lord Rakin leaned forward and pulled her away from Kell, onto her feet. She could scarcely stand, her quim throbbing with need, her breasts aching to be touched. Lord Rakin held her up by the arm, dragging her across the room and pushing her onto a tabletop. The freezing wood flattened her breasts and dug into her hipbones. She gaped, but could do nothing to defend herself.
Lord Rakin gathered her skirts once more, tossing them over her back this time.
“See this virgin cunt, now see it filled. Come here, boy. It’s time for that lesson we talked about. Now you learn how little control men like you have over your life—and that men like me pull all the strings.”
She tried to turn, to see who was being summoned, but her skirts were in the way. It was only when she felt the warm, calloused hand on her smooth arse that she knew who it was. Kell—he was surely the only one in the room without hands as smooth as a rabbit pelt.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped.
But the knowledge that it was him sent a hot wave of need into her. She could hear him fumbling with his trousers as if he couldn’t get out of them fast enough, but the wait was killing her too.
She felt something smooth and domed pressing at the sodden entrance of her hole and then he lanced himself into her.
Eliza screamed and thrashed, the sudden pain slicing through her. He stilled, buried to the hilt in her hotness. The pain throbbed, her maidenhead obliterated in one swift thrust—but slowly the sharpness of it faded and she could feel the pressure of fullness, her tight virgin hole stuffed for the first time. For so long, Eliza had planned for her first time to be with Kell. That he would claim her, as a man claims a woman. She had never imagined it would be like this, here, in front of an audience, but it was still as she had dreamed. It was still him.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed again. “I’m sorry.”
He started to pull back, then thrust against her again. He can’t control himself. An hour of feeling her squirm and climax, her breasts in his hands, his mouth on her skin. He’d lost all sense now she’d been offered to him.
But he moved slowly. She could feel every millimetre of him, the ridges and veins along his length, the fat dome of his head as it burrowed into her over and over.
She whined in pleasure and he reached around her to clutch her breasts as he started to thrust harder and faster.
“Eliza,” he groaned. “Oh, Eliza.”
“Yes,” she urged. All around them the crowd was a silent wall of faces—wolves and bears, gods, saints and mythical things, their eyes glimmering beads in the dark holes of their masks. They were all watching. Perhaps even the gods themselves watched.
Kell’s gasps were mounting with hers. The tightness built through her body as they raced one another to the pinnacle of their pleasure. She felt his seed jet deep inside her and cried out, her orgasm shuddering through her as he jerked, again and again, emptying himself into her womb.
“A sacrifice,” Lord Kempsly announced. “For winter. For good tidings. For Halen, the God of the Woods.”
* * *
They celebrated with heady spirits in crystal glasses, drinking to the season, to winter and to the sacrifice. Kell was congratulated so heartily that he lost track of Eliza. They gave him port and brandy and the countess must have forgiven him, for she stroked his cock through his trousers, threatening to bring it back to life. But all he wanted was to leave. To find Eliza and see that she was well.
Perhaps she would never want to see him again. Perhaps he had ruined any chance of ever making her his wife.
A man should protect the woman he loves. He should have made Eliza run and lost his job, but then what would have happened to Nana? Would he kill his own sister to save Eliza? Perhaps that would have been the right thing to do.
Yet his body still ached from taking her. There had been no sweeter moment, even with all those eyes on him, even at the command of another. Thrusting himself inside her had been the most pure, perfect moment he had known.
He could never want any other and even now just the thought of her made his blood rise again. He would die if she wouldn’t have him, if she hated him. All he wanted was to make her happy; he must convince her he could do that.
The guests were leaving, speaking, as they went, of the glorious scene—describing to one another every moment, every inch of skin, every trembling gasping sound that had escaped Eliza’s lips.
There was going to be some good, solid rutting happening in just about every carriage that left the keep tonight.
Lord Kempsly and Lady Kempsly had said farewell to their guests and he found them in the drawing room, tucked tightly together on a love seat, sipping brandy and talking quietly. Lord Kempsly had his arm around his wife. Kell bowed stiffly. “My lord, my lady.”
“Good morning, Kell.” Lady Kempsly was right; morning would soon be breaking. “That was quite a show. For a moment I feared Lord Rakin had picked the wrong buck to mount the sacrifice, but you performed admirably. Was it a double sacrifice tonight, I wonder? Two virgins?”
He could feel his cheeks growing hot and he ground his teeth, saying nothing. Lady Kempsly smiled. “No matter.”
“Is something amiss?” Lord Kempsly asked.
“Eliza.”
“I have given her two days off,” Lord Kempsly said. “No doubt she is on her way home.”
“She’s not missing,” Kell said. “She’s in the garden. I just—I want…”
“What is it, boy?” Lord Kempsly asked.
“Her.”
“You want Eliza?” he chuckled. “I dare say you’ve had her and there is a crowd of lords and ladies who can attest to it.”
“With your permission,” he said stiffly. “And her father’s permission, I’m going to marry her.”
“Of course, dear,” Lady Kempsly steepled her fingers. “We all knew that was what you wanted. And you’d be hard pressed convincing anyone you’ve had no carnal knowledge of her now.”
He was speechless a moment, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He wondered, briefly, how far in advance Lord Rakin had made his selection of Eliza and Kell. Lord Kempsly must have known about it even before he sent him to fetch Eliza.
“You best go and tell your girl,” Lord Kempsly said. “It’s very late and I, for one, would like to retire.”
“Of course,” Kell bowed again. “Thank you. I shall do that. Tell Eliza.”
He turned to leave, closing the door carefully behind himself. He was halfway down the corridor when Lady Kempsly ran after him. “Wait.”
He stopped, turning to face her. She had something small in her hand and held it up for him to take. A ring. The band was yellow gold and the setting was an emerald surrounded by a tiny cluster of diamonds.
“Have this. Consider it an extra bonus for taking part in the festivities.”
He stared at the gem, wide-eyed. He could never have afforded something so fine, not if he saved for the next ten years. It was a lady’s ring. It would match Eliza’s eyes.
“I couldn’t.”
“Of course you could.”
She took his hand, closing it around the ring. The metal was warm and he could feel the precious stones digging into his palm. Eliza would be overwhelmed. She deserved a ring this precious.
“Thank you.” He blushed.
Lady Kempsly smiled and petted his cheek. “I was young and in love once. Now I am old and in love.”
He nodded mutely and Lady Kempsly returned to her husband. There was only one place for him to go next. He went to find
Eliza.
* * *
Eliza sat on a wide patch of clover behind the stables, looking out across the moor to the bracken-topped hills of Lorneswood, all dotted with sheep. The sky was grey, burning pink at the edges of the world as dawn threatened. It was cold, but she didn’t really feel it—her gaze was distant and unfocused, her thoughts swirling so fast they were just a blur—empty noise in her mind.
All the fancy carriages began to depart. The lords and ladies in their dramatic costumes were going home and the keep staff, now sleepy and overworked, were beginning the clean up inside. Lady Kempsly and Lord Kempsly would be in bed by now and she had been given two days off with pay, to rest and recover as she saw fit.
She heard the crunch of footsteps—boots on the frost—but didn’t look up. Someone hoisted himself over the fence and shuffled through the clover to stand beside her. After a moment of silent, he sat too.
She could smell Kell without even looking—his warm earthiness: leather, musk and boot polish. He put a blanket across her shoulders. For a time, they sat in silence, watching the mist rise across the vale and the light creep back into the grey morning.
“I spoke to Lord Kempsly,” he said finally, his voice low. “And if you don’t mind, I’ll go and speak to your father and ask him too.”
She glanced at him, surprised. “Ask him for what?”
“For you.” He brushed her hair back off her face with his fingertips. “To marry you.”
She stared at him a long moment. “You want to marry me?”
“I’ve always wanted to marry you,” he confessed.
“But, last night…after you saw me like that…”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t think you’d want a girl who acted like that.”
He looked out toward the hills, eyes unreadable. “To be honest, I didn’t think you would want me. After I let the others touch you, after I took you like that. But I want you. More than before, I think. So if you’ll have me, I’ll be a good husband. I promise. I’ll look after you like you deserve.”