by Ann Jacobs
Carefully, Rolfe rolled her to her back. “Your eunuch has no seed. No cock. If he did your master would never let him near his precious jewel. But fear not. Your eunuch will fill you with this.”
He eased the beautifully crafted dildo into her sopping cunt until its flared base rested against her labia. With his hands he spread her thighs wide apart while he straddled her face. And when she dug her fingers into his ass cheeks and dragged him down until his cock sank into her open mouth, he tensed with the effort of holding back his climax.
“Like that. Oh, yesss.” He groaned when she took him deeper in her throat, swallowing convulsively around his cockhead while she cradled his balls and used her tongue to trace the prominent vein that ran up the underside of his shaft.
Wanting to enhance the sensual torture that already had her thighs quivering, he bent his head and blew gently on the glistening nub that begged for his mouth as he looked his fill at her drenched, swollen slit, held open by the bases of the rare glass toys that stretched and filled her cunt and the puckered hole whose virginity he’d taken with his cock moments earlier.
Rolfe had never seen anything so erotic as the vivid blues and reds, stained glass disks surrounded by the glistening pinkness of her slit and her lightly furred outer lips. Those lips pouted as he worked the dildo deep into her cunt and withdrew it, dripping with her fragrant, milky juices.
When he nestled his head between her thighs and feasted on her steaming nectar, she sucked him deeper down her throat. Her swallowing motions sent waves of pleasure down his spine, into his balls, and down his cock.
He’d never before filled a woman so completely. Never had one swallow his cock so sweetly while he fed on her honey and used his toys to fuck her cunt and ass in tandem. Power. ‘Twas a heady feeling.
Damn. She took him even deeper, Her breath tickled his balls. He wanted to hold out, keep savoring the intense pleasure. But he couldn’t withstand her erotic onslaught. He was coming.
He wanted her to come with him. Sliding the dildo deeper, then withdrawing it until its ruby head nestled within her pouting cunt lips, he took her hard nub between his teeth and flailed it with his tongue. When he slid the dildo back in, he felt the ripples of her climax in his fingers and his tongue, and in the convulsive swallowing motions of her throat around his spurting cock.
* * * * *
“Tell me about your time in the East,” Jasmine murmured hours later while she lay in Rolfe’s embrace and looked at the odd toys with which he’d filled her so completely. Sitting as they were upon the chest by the bed, they glowed red and blue and creamy white in the flickering light of a single candle. “And tell me more about these eunuchs who exist to bring women pleasure but who have no cocks or balls.”
Idly Rolfe stroked her breast, rubbing a callused finger over the nipple. “Eunuchs are made by the slavers, for it is against the faith of the infidels to make eunuchs. The slaves who live through their gelding are brought to the markets. The complete eunuchs—those who have lost their cocks as well as their seed sacs—bring high prices as harem keepers for the wealthiest of the infidel princes.”
Jasmine shuddered. “I’d not want such pain inflicted on any man to enhance my pleasure, or to deprive a lover of joy such as what you must feel when you spurt your seed into my body.”
“The purpose of a harem eunuch is not to pleasure the women but to guard them and ensure the masters that any children born to their women have come from their seed. Any pleasure the eunuchs bring the women in their care is tolerated—even encouraged—for powerful infidel men keep many women, so many they may never lay eyes on them all.”
“How came you to possess a eunuch’s tools?” she asked, her gaze settling on his softened cock that rested peacefully against his prominent hipbone. “‘Tis a fact you’re no eunuch. A fact for which I am most grateful.”
“When I was eleven years old I went to the East as my brother’s squire. The infidel prince who captured me about a month after we’d arrived ordered me chained to the dungeon wall by my cock and nipples. His plan was that when the wounds festered, he would have me made a eunuch to preserve my life, which apparently is not a violation of their religious laws. Fortunately my brother freed me ere my wounds festered beyond repair, but ‘twas not known for a time whether the wound from the piercing of my cock would heal. ‘Twas thought the only way to save my life might be to make me a eunuch. I bought the toys in the bazaar of Constantinople because I feared they’d soon be my only means for pleasuring a woman. And I insisted that the rings my captors had put through my nipples not be removed even though the piercings there had healed, because for a eunuch, ‘tis said the nipples are the only sources of sexual pleasure.”
“I am glad you kept this,” she said, leaning down to give his ringed cock a tender kiss. “Though the pain…” Jasmine shuddered when she imagined how Rolfe must have hurt when they’d forced the molten metal through his most sensitive flesh.
“‘Tis all right, sweeting. ‘Twas long ago and all I lost was my foreskin. I gained much knowledge of the ways to pleasure, along with the pain and these metal reminders of how close I came to becoming the eunuch slave of that infidel prince’s favorite wife.”
When Jasmine slept in Rolfe’s arms that night, a vision came to her. Cloaked in a haze, a boy lay near death in an unfamiliar solar upon a richly carved bed while shadowy figures watched over him. A maiden, richly gowned and veiled as befit a grand lady, stepped out of the shadows, apparently wishing to give comfort and add her prayers to those being muttered by a wizened monk.
The boy moved—no, ‘twas a man full grown, she realized as the haze lifted and allowed her a clearer vision. He lay naked, as still as death again, chalky pale upon the bloodied linen. Suddenly the stoop-shouldered warrior who stood vigil beside the bed turned on the woman.
“Take her,” he said. “My heir lives. God has answered my prayers and she will be my offering of thanksgiving.”
A journey. Long, arduous, slow, the litter in which the woman rode boxed her in, confined her. Jasmine sensed her pain, her fear, the terror that fueled her scream when the knights who’d made up her escort finally handed her kicking and screaming through a forbidding stone curtain wall into the keeping of a sinister, disembodied voice.
When Jasmine woke, sweat poured from her trembling body, and her knuckles shone white from the death grip she had on Rolfe’s muscular shoulders.
“‘Twas as though I’d glimpsed my own horror…my past,” she sobbed when he pried her hands away and enfolded her in his strong arms.
Chapter Five
“In time you will remember, sweeting,” Rolfe told her a few days later as they rode through Hedgwick’s gates, an escort following some distance behind. He hated the fear in Jasmine’s beautiful eyes, the faint lines of exhaustion that ringed her mouth after yet another night of disjointed dreams, another day of not knowing who she was. And ‘twas clear she’d not be happy until they solved the mystery.
Part of him wanted to keep her memories shrouded, for he sensed her reality would cause her more pain than the upsetting visions she’d been having more often these past few days. But she wanted to remember…needed to face whatever had made her flee, and put an end to the uncertainty that plagued her.
“Whoever I am, I do not wish to leave you.” She tightened her hold on his waist when he set the old warhorse he’d chosen for them to ride into an easy gallop across the meadow.
“You will not, for I will never let you go.” Ever. No matter to whom you may belong. Rolfe let go his grip on the horse’s reins and squeezed her hand, tamping down the niggling fear in his gut that Jasmine might belong to one more powerful than he.
“Do you not need to hold the reins?”
“Rajah responds to the touch of my knees and heels, and to my spoken commands.” At that moment a hare crossed their path, but the old destrier paid it no heed. “He carried me home from the Holy Land. Took some arrows in his shoulder at the siege of Harrow. Now he lazes i
n the meadow and impregnates my mares, but I’d still trust him with my life. Our lives. Should you wish it, perhaps you may ride me while we both ride Rajah later, when we are not likely to be seen by all.”
“I would like that greatly.” Jasmine leaned forward, brushing her lips against the back of his neck as she slid her hands down and caressed his cock and balls.
“Cease, sweeting, lest I stop now, mount you before me, and fuck your sopping little cunt in plain sight of Sir Alfred and the others. Look. There is where you were when I found you. In that clearing just ahead.”
“I was here? Alone?” she asked, as though disbelieving that she had truly traveled through the dense deserted wood without escort. He felt a shudder go through her as he lifted her down from Rajah’s back.
The memory of seeing the filthy brigands’ hands and mouths on her made Rolfe’s blood boil. “Yes,” he told her through clenched teeth as he searched the ground for any sign that might remain to link her…anywhere.
Nothing. Not a shred of cloth, a stray bauble. Not that he’d expected to find anything. He trusted his men to have looked thoroughly when they’d stayed behind to bury the bodies of Jasmine’s attackers. “Does this place bring back any memories?”
Her expression sad, she shook her head. Then she smiled. “I remember waking to see you staring down at me. And you wrapping me in your surcoat and setting me upon your great black destrier.”
“You knew not the men who attacked you?”
“Nay. At least I don’t think so.” Her nose wrinkled, as though the stench of the unwashed bastards still hung in the warm spring air. “I’m sorry.”
“‘Tis all right. I’d hoped…”
“What is near here?” she asked.
Rolfe remembered the nearby cloister, and Jasmine’s panic a few days earlier when she’d visualized what he gathered was a taking of nuns’ vows. Could she…
No. He’d not risk frightening her again. “The land for miles around is part of Harrow,” he told her, feeling no guilt for having neglected to mention the forbidding Convent of St. Benedict that sat beyond a bend in the road, less than a mile from where they stood. “HarrowCastle lies less than a day’s ride to the east.”
“You are certain I did not come from there?”
Rolfe shook his head. “I had my lord brother make inquiries. No one has reported a missing beauty with raven hair and eyes a man could drown in.” Lowering his head, he took her mouth as he drew her lush body close. “Do not despair, sweeting. You are my gift from the angels,” he murmured when she looked up at him.
“I cannot remember. Rolfe, make me forget everything but the pleasures we share.”
He could not deny her. Not when she wet lips still swollen and reddened from sucking him to completion this morning. Nay, he could deny this woman nothing.
After setting her up onto Rajah’s saddle, leaving both her legs draped over the horse’s side, he reached up and ran a hand along her firm, shapely thigh, his balls tightening painfully when she spread her legs and bared her cunt to his gaze. It glistened in the sunlight that filtered through the branches above them, all pink and wet and nestled in her soft muff of raven curls.
His mouth went dry, and his cock twitched with anticipation. God’s blood, but she tempted him to stay between her pale, satiny thighs and devour her. Spreading her labia with gentle fingers, he leaned in to sip her honey. Her swollen bud stood out, a tiny bit of flesh that quivered and elongated when he worried it with his teeth and tongue.
Her hot wet slit felt slick and slightly salty to his tongue. Saddle leather, horse hide and the damp, rich smell of the forest in springtime mingled in his nostrils with the erotic scent of aroused woman. Sounds of forest creatures and a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees that curtained the clearing gave accompaniment to Jasmine’s soft moans when he inserted two fingers in her cunt. Her juices flooded his hand and mouth.
More blood slammed into his cock. His balls tightened. Carefully, for he was so hard he barely dared to mount, he pulled away and heaved himself into the saddle.
“Free my cock, sweeting,” he ordered even before he’d finished swinging her around to drape her legs across his rock-hard thighs.
Jasmine didn’t hesitate. Her cunt wept, she wanted him in her so desperately. His braies posed little impediment but for the knot at the waist of his braies that didn’t want to let go under her trembling fingers.
Finally it gave way. Cupping his heavy sac in one hand, she used the other to free his big, throbbing cock.
A sunbeam reflected off the gleaming ring, heightened the contrast between rigid gold metal and his purplish, swollen cockhead. He wept for her, too. A pearly drop of lubrication glistened in its dimpled eye.
He lifted her, impaled her inch by inch until she rested in the saddle. Her labia cradled his balls while her cunt eagerly took in the full length of his cock. She held onto his muscular shoulders, her gaze locked with his. Her entire being focused on the delicious sensation of fullness. The feelings coursed through her body one nerve to the next until she trembled with the intensity of them.
Jumbled feelings. Love for this strong knight who saved her from rape and certain death, took her in, and gave her pleasure beyond her wildest fantasies. Desire so intense that every time she clasped his cock within her body she wished she never had to let it go.
“Rajah…” Rolfe spoke softly to the horse in a strange, melodic language Jasmine had never heard before, and Rajah began to plod slowly along the path they’d taken moments earlier.
“Oh!” The horse’s motion jostled them, just enough to heighten the delightful sensation of being filled beyond full with her lover’s huge, hard cock. “Fuck me harder…yesss. I want to touch you.” She burrowed beneath his tunic, seeking contact with warm, satiny skin.
“We could be seen along the road, sweeting.” He glanced about, as though looking for their escort. “Even now my men may be close enough to see what we do.”
Rajah picked up the pace, setting off vibrations that began where they were joined and radiated through her with every contact of the destrier’s hooves upon the firm surface of the road. Even the thought of being observed heightened her erotic pleasure. “This feels so delicious, I care not.” She tasted the firm, slightly salty sweat at the base of his neck and down the slit that left a tanned strip of his massive chest bare.
“Use your cunt like a fist. Yes. God yes. Squeeze me.” Rolfe gasped, as though the effort it took to speak had stolen his breath. “I thank God I found you, sweeting. Oh, yes. Like that. Milk out my seed.” He groaned, a loud, guttural sound that seemed to rumble from somewhere deep in his chest.
When his cock spasmed and began spurting his scalding seed deep inside her, the sensations triggered her own shuddering climax. Her quim clenched with every spasm. Shards of sensation spread, then burst in tiny explosions. Each explosion came stronger than the last, and they kept coming. More and more waves wracked her body until she slumped on his chest, limp and spent.
‘Twas only when they came in sight of Hedgewick as the sun was setting that he lifted her off him and arranged their clothing. “We will sample yet another of life’s pleasures in the privacy of my solar.”
* * * * *
That night Rolfe noticed Jasmine’s withdrawal. ‘Twas almost as though her mind had fled, toward some place where he could not go. Though she’d bathed him and herself, she now stood, her luscious body still wrapped in a linen drying cloth, staring out an arrow slit into the darkness.
“Sweeting?” He hated times like this, when he couldn’t reach her. “Do memories trouble you again this night?”
“Nay. ‘Tis the lack of them that plague me. To have no past and no future—”
“Your future is here, with me.” When Rolfe came near and enfolded her in his arms, he realized mere words would not convince her. “I love you, my Jasmine.”
“Yet you cannot wed with me, for I have naught but myself to recommend me. Any children I give you will be
bastards. I wish…”
Rolfe wished, as well. “I would wed with you. But you deserve more than a landless knight who holds this rotting pile of stone in his brother’s name. Be assured that you hold my heart in your soft, talented hands. Forever.”
A cool, damp wind gusted through the solar, making the candles flicker in their sconces. Jasmine shivered as she pulled the linen tighter around her shoulders.
“Sweeting, come to bed before you catch a chill.” Rolfe shepherded her toward the big bed, wishing he could dispel her melancholy mood. “Will you pick a scene for us to re-enact this night?” he asked when she stopped by the window seat and stared down at the book that lay open there.
“Nay.” Turning away, she went to the bed and crawled between the covers.
When he joined her, he found her curled up tightly like a babe, totally still but for the regular motion of her breathing. If only… If only she were the heiress he needed to secure his future. If only he had more to offer her and any children they might have.
He lay behind her for hours, until dawn’s light began to filter through the arrow slits, stroking the gentle curve of her back as the breeze ruffled her raven locks. The faint tremors that flowed into his fingers infuriated him. By the bones of St. Jude, he’d help her find her past and keep her in his bed, against all who might come to challenge him.
“Marry me, Jasmine,” he said, his words muffled against the silken strands of her hair. At that moment Rolfe cared not that she brought him no estates or title.
A great sob erupted, so deep it seemed to have come straight from her heart. “I cannot. For all I know I may be the meanest serf, unfit to bear your heirs…or, saints forbid, the wife of another.”
“You came to me a virgin, love, a condition no serf who looks like you would be able to maintain for long around her masters. A state no sane husband would allow to continue longer past the saying of the vows than the time it took for the briefest of appearances at his own wedding feast.”