by Ann Jacobs
One night she inserted the pearls the way he’d done, but that only made the longing worse. Needing to ease the yearning, she rolled her tingling nipples until they rose in rigid little points against the furs—furs that caressed her naked skin almost as though they had life of their own. She found the pleasure spot he’d shown her and circled it with a finger until it hardened and throbbed. Until her juices flowed hot and thick and copiously. And once, out of desperation, she removed the pearls and inserted two fingers into her sopping, throbbing cunt.
‘Twas a damned poor substitute for Rolfe’s huge, jeweled sword…or his mouth that brought such pleasure when he used it on her joy button. Even his callused fingers would have done more for her than her own.
Desperate for release, she inserted another finger and pressed her palm hard against her throbbing clit. Finally. Relief. But not joy or satisfaction. Jasmine counted the hours until Rolfe would return, for only he could give her what she needed.
* * * * *
On the fifth day of his absence, a messenger came. The siege was over, the attackers vanquished. Rolfe was unhurt, the man told her, and he would return soon—as soon as a christening could be arranged at Harrow for his brother’s newborn heir.
Jasmine looked about the hall the day before Rolfe’s expected return. Not without difficulty, she’d managed to establish her rule and order his servants to clean and lay new rushes. Old Martin deserved not the title of steward, for he did naught but laze about the hall while the servants had done as they would until she demonstrated that failure to obey would result in swift, painful consequences.
She watched with satisfaction while two servants whitewashed the sooty wall above the wide open hearth and another maid scoured the high table where Rolfe would eat. Finally the hall was clean, but it certainly looked shabby compared with her lover’s luxuriously appointed solar. Pity she could do no more with the tools at hand. Ascending the narrow curved stair, Jasmine looked forward to a bath, and to studying yet another page of Rolfe’s erotic picture book.
In the large oaken tub where she and Rolfe had bathed together before he’d shown her paradise, Jasmine let warm water lap against her while she inhaled the steamy scent of roses from the oil she’d massaged into her breasts and belly. As she stroked her slick skin and inhaled the warm, moist fragrance, she wished he were here. Especially when her motion set the water to lapping softly against the weathered wood, caressing her sex with its undulating motion.
She sighed and dipped her head, wetting her hair, then rubbed soft soap through the sopping strands.
How gentle had been his touches, how different they had been from the—
Suddenly cold despite the water’s warmth, she tried again to remember.
What memory could she have almost triggered by soaping her hair?
No matter. With Rolfe she would make new memories, sensual memories that would last a lifetime if whomever she had been fleeing should find her and lock her away.
Jasmine would not try to recall how she came to be alone in the forest of Harrow, for she sensed she had been running from something that would hurt too much to recall. She would mourn not for memories that weren’t worth her grief, but take pleasure in the present and the sensual possibilities in her future as Rolfe’s leman.
Concentrating on her bath and the sensations that surrounded her, she closed her eyes and rubbed her hands over her aching body. In her mind she pictured her fallen angel and yearned for his return. Yearned for his tongue to soothe her aching nipples, for his mighty cock to fill all her empty, weeping places…some still virgin but eager for his erotic initiation.
* * * * *
As soon as the baptism was over, Rolfe gathered his troop and rode out of Harrow. Twelve days was too long to have spent without a woman to warm his bed. Too long to have endured without drinking in the sight and feel of Jasmine.
As he and his men galloped past the clearing where he had found her, his excitement rose. Leaving the others far behind, he spurred Lucifer and made for Hedgewick.
For Jasmine.
He arrived in the hour before dawn, a thick coating of dust from the road upon him and his mount. Exhaustion warred with unslaked passion—and lost.
No other woman had ever enticed Rolfe the way Jasmine did. No other had ever ruined his taste for Harrow’s fulsome wenches, who had been as quick as usual to offer themselves for his pleasure. No other woman had ever made him so eager to fuck her that he’d have risked his destrier and his life the way he’d just done, to ride hell-bent through the night to her for no better reason than to ease the dull, persistent ache in his balls.
When he stepped inside and wakened a servant to divest him of his armor, he noticed the hall appeared uncommonly clean. “I see old Martin has finally taken the keep in hand,” he commented.
The servant snorted. “Not Martin, my lord. ‘Twas the lady Jasmine’s doing.”
Rolfe opened the solar door and spied her, curled up like a kitten in the middle of his bed. She must have been sleeping deeply, for he’d not been especially quiet in his haste to see her.
Who was this woman who’d enchanted him?
Though none passing through Harrow had spoken of a missing daughter or bride, Rolfe found it hard to believe any man would let a prize such as Jasmine slip from his grasp.
“Who are you, sweeting?”
Jasmine had captured his heart as well as his body. He would fight to the death to keep her. He would even wed her if he had not the need for land and titles.
He peeled away his dusty garments, then ran his fingers through his tangled hair while he watched her sleep.
The tub in the corner still held water from her bath.
Grateful to wash off the grime of the road although he shivered in the cold water, Rolfe caught a scent of roses. The fragrant oil left his skin slick, made him eager to run his hands and mouth over every inch of his sleeping prize.
Her tight little cunt should be healed now, he thought when he stretched out beside her and stroked along her sleek, damp slit. Rolfe felt her love juices begin to flow, saw her sleepy smile in the flickering flames of the fragrant candles that had lit his way to her.
“Awaken, my sweet,” he whispered against her silky throat.
Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. An expression of joy washed over her face as she reached up to encircle him with eager arms. “My lord. Your messenger told me to expect you on the morrow.”
“I could not wait. Cannot wait. Open your legs for me.”
Like a flower unfurling from a bud into full bloom, she clasped her arse cheeks with her hands and opened her thighs wide. When she dug her heels into the bed beside her slim hips, he positioned himself at love’s door and took her beautiful breasts in his hands.
“You have been studying the tapestries, my Jasmine.” He slid his cock inside her silken sheath.
She smiled. “And your book. With you away, my lord, ‘twas naught to do but dream, imagine how your great cock would fill me when you came home. I made myself wet contemplating the many ways we would bring each other pleasure.”
She shifted her hips, took him deeper, contracted and relaxed her inner muscles, coaxing out his seed. Stealing his resolve to make this last. His restraint destroyed, he braced his hands beside her face and fucked her hard.
“My lord, I prayed for your return. Needed you. Needed this. Oh, yesss.” Her soft moans inflamed him, encouraged him to go faster. The urgency in his balls intensified, spread, threatened to ignite.
When she brought her soft thighs higher and wrapped her ankles around his shoulders, he could hold out no longer. One mighty thrust seated him in her to his balls. Letting go, he spurted his hot seed deep into her tight, pulsating cunt.
He didn’t know how long he stayed in her, for his orgasm robbed him of reason. Eventually he rolled onto his side, his cock still nestled inside the mystery woman who had already come far toward stealing his heart.
Hours later sunlight was peeking through the arr
ow slits when he felt her wriggle out of his arms and leave the bed. This time it was she who returned with a soft, warm cloth with which she bathed his wrung-out cock and balls.
And ‘twas she who lifted the jeweled lid to the chest beside the bed and smiled when she drew out a soft, white ostrich plume.
Chapter Four
The days passed quickly, the only blight on Jasmine’s joy being the uncertainty of who and what she was. Fleeting, hazy memories plagued her, though they did naught to establish who she was or how she’d come to be traveling alone the day Rolfe had found her.
Harrow’s servants did long-neglected chores under her watchful eye by day while Rolfe trained with his men. And when evening came they explored the varied ways to pleasure she’d seen illustrated in the infidel’s picture book of sexual delights.
As she knelt before the fire in the solar one damp, chilly night while Rolfe combed the tangles from her flowing hair, a terrifying memory reared up from the deep recesses of her brain.
A bloody dagger…the last vestiges of a young woman’s crowning glory tumbling onto the floor beneath her and mingling with the bloody locks of others who had gone before. More women kneeling on a cold stone floor with their shorn heads bowed. Their alabaster scalps dripped blood as they waited to be handed the wimples and veils that would hide their shame.
She shuddered when Rolfe laid down the comb and burrowed his long, callused fingers through the heavy strands of her hair. “Think you I might have been a holy nun?” Visions of hellfire and damnation ran rampant through her head.
“You’re no nun, sweeting. But you tremble like a leaf in the wind. What troubles you?” Rolfe pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in the secure cocoon of his embrace.
If only she could see more than mere snatches from the past…these disjointed visions that made no sense. Haltingly, she related to him all she had just now remembered: the cold, dank place. Of new brides of Christ wearing rough homespun robes, kneeling on a hard stone floor while a forbidding, dour-faced nun scraped away their hair. “I have no vocation,” she told him, her voice still shaky though he’d dispelled the chill in her bones with his nearness.
“That, my love, is obvious. No holy sister would take so readily to earthly pleasures. Perhaps you once attended the taking of vows as a guest. Come. Forget the disquieting vision and look at the picture book. Show me the scene that fires your blood this night, and then we will prove yet again that you were made for me and not the Church.”
Jasmine followed him to the window and opened the book to the page with a drawing that had titillated her since first she saw it. A woman lay between two men, one fucking her cunt and the other her ass while she sucked upon the tongue of the man she faced.
“Like that, my lord,” she told him, certain her cheeks were glowing in the dim candlelight though her cunt clenched and gushed out its juices at the thought of experiencing such complete fulfillment.
As though shocked, he stared at the pictures. “You are sure, sweeting?”
“Aye. Fill me completely, that I may drive away the demons in my poor addled brain,” she told him. “You are but one man and I would have no other, but…”
“You’d have your mouth and cunt and even your puckered asshole filled with cocks and tongues? Though I am greedy and loath to share you with another man, I would please you.” Rolfe yanked on the bell pull, then stared again at the drawing in which a woman rode one man’s cock and consumed his mouth with her own while another man knelt between their legs and enthusiastically fucked her ass.
“Send Sir Alfred to me,” he snapped at the sleepy serf who answered his summons.
Jasmine imagined the big, rawboned young knight who was captain of Rolfe’s guard, the thought bringing none of the anticipation that coursed through her veins when she fantasized about having Rolfe invade her body. When she looked again at the drawing she let her thoughts transform her, carry her to a silk-draped divan in a strange, exotic land where lovers had no shame…where they continually devised new, erotic games to enhance their pleasure. Where no act was unthinkable if it produced the all-consuming, mind-altering sensations she’d experienced more strongly with every shattering climax.
“What think you, sweeting?” Rolfe asked, the golden adornments in his huge, rigid cock glittering in the firelight when he shed his bedrobe.
“I think I was made for your pleasure. Does the thought of sharing me with your vassal arouse you?” She loved the way his seed sac drew up close to his body and his shaft quivered when he wet his hand with the juices from her sopping cunt and used the slick, hot fluid to lubricate his swollen cockhead.
“If I had two cocks, Sir Alfred would not be joining us in heaven tonight, my sweet. Your sweet cunt belongs to me alone, but I am too greedy to let him take the virginity of your pretty ass. Get on your hands and knees on the bed.”
When she did, she felt not Rolfe’s ringed cock but his big hands spreading her ass cheeks and his velvety tongue ringing the entrance to the rear passage she’d evacuated and cleansed earlier while he lingered in the hall with his men. Her cunt clenched with excitement—and no small degree of fear, for she imagined his huge purple head splitting her ass asunder…anticipated pain far worse than when he’d breeched her maidenhead.
More slick, hot honey poured from her slit, over the rigid nub of flesh Rolfe now nibbled while he slid first one sopping finger, then two into her virgin hole. With his other hand he reached beneath her and pinched her nipples to rock-hard pleasure points. When she whimpered and begged him for more, he rolled her over to give him better access to her honey.
Rolfe sucked her clit while he finger-fucked her ass and tweaked her nipples with nimble fingers. Then he tongue-fucked her cunt until she shattered in a kaleidoscope of sexual sensation. He repositioned her on her hands and knees while her body shook with the intensity of her climax. The searing pain that followed when he eased his huge cock up her tight rear passage seemed trifling when compared with the orgasmic waves that were coursing through her body.
But the sensation of his hot wet seed spurting into her there triggered another wave of pleasure that left her limp and barely conscious.
How full she’d feel with two great cocks inside her, thrusting and pulsating and shooting out their seed in concert. The thought had her quim quivering with anticipation.
And… Nay, she wanted not another man, even though Sir Alfred was comely and the thought of being so filled titillated her senses. Only Rolfe.
Who didn’t want to share her with another man. She wished to please him…and him alone. “My lord?”
He stirred, his beautiful dark eyes opening slowly to meet her gaze. “Yes?”
“About that picture…”
“I’d hear no more about it now. Rest.” He rolled away, then got up as though troubled.
She dared not speak further, for from somewhere in the depths of her mind came the knowledge that one did not cross a man when he spoke thusly.
* * * * *
By all that was holy, he’d kill any other who sampled his woman. He’d allow none but himself to invade her silken flesh. Not even to enhance her pleasure. Rolfe watched Jasmine resting upon the furs on his bed while he used a soft, soapy rag to cleanse his cock and its adornments.
When Alfred knocked gently upon the solar door, Rolfe sent him away as he rifled through his collection of sexual toys looking for a blown-glass mushroom and the matching, eerily realistic dildo he’d purchased not long after his rescue from the infidel who’d held him. The bazaar had been teeming with exotically dressed men and veiled women trailed by their eunuch protectors.
At the time he’d thought the exotic toys might soon be his only possessions that could fill a woman’s cunt. Rolfe shuddered at the memory of his imprisonment and the months that followed when he woke each day to agonizing pain and the fear that the infidel surgeon who tended his wounds would give up trying to heal him and cut away his tortured manhood.
He laid the toys on the bed a
nd dipped his fingers into a squat ruby-glass pot filled with the magical aphrodisiac cream an ancient crone had sold him in the bazaar. Its musky fragrance filled the room, and when he used some to anoint his cock and balls a hot, urgent need kindled and spread even though he’d spilled his seed moments earlier. Then he scooped up another measure of the aphrodisiac and knelt between Jasmine’s luscious thighs.
“I am sorry, sweeting, but I’ll not share you with another man. Not even my closest comrade in arms,” he murmured against her sweat-soaked buttocks moments later as he worked the cream along her slit, over the tight bud of her desire, into her dripping cunt, and finally around the puckered rosebud that protected her rear entrance.
“I do not mind. You are more than enough man for me.”
She lifted her ass, and he couldn’t resist bending to nip the plump pale flesh whilst he worked the well-lubricated mushroom past her anal sphincter until its flat iridescent foot rested flush against her slit.
“Ooh,” she said, wiggling her hips as if to acquaint herself with the unfamiliar sensation of the cold, smooth glass inside her tight rear passage.
“Picture us in a seaside villa, on a silken couch. Date palms swaying outside the open window, and your personal eunuch arousing you for me with his hands and mouth and sensual toys like these.” Rolfe rubbed the dildo along her hot, swollen slit.
Her eager cunt gushed its sweet, hot juices, inviting him to nibble the quivering, rock-hard nub beyond it. Her moan when he tongued her there reminded him of how she devoured his cock with her pretty mouth, the sensation of her darting tongue on his distended flesh, her hot wet breath tickling his balls while she sucked him deep in her throat and coaxed out his seed.
“May your eunuch drink of your honey? Fill your weeping cunt with this replica of your master’s great cock?” Then he tongued her again, lapping up more of her slick, hot honey.
“Oh, yesss. Fill me. Fill all of me. Please. Give me your seed.”