by Georgia Fox
He'd heard about the huge ransom the Comte was offering for his escaped whore, but he came upon her quite by chance when he went looking for a replacement horse. As soon as he saw that scar on her chin he knew who she was. A woman that stunning with brilliant sheer gold hair was rare enough, but the scar marked her unmistakably as the Comte's property. Rumor had it she was a witch who had enchanted the Comte. Raul did not believe in witchcraft any more than he believed in luck or promises.
But now, before he could get to Canterbury and hand her over for the prize money, she tempted him to touch her. And he could not resist.
Witchcraft. It must be.
His brothers, he thought grimly, would not hesitate to use her to slake their lusts. In fact they would probably take delight in stealing from the notoriously tight-pursed Comte de Tourlaville.
Seed hung heavy in his balls. Her hand slipped inside his chausses, cupped his sac and massaged gently. Holy Christ, now everything tightened, aching with raw need.
She writhed sensuously, arching her back, lifting her leg over his hips and giving him greater access to her treasure. How could any red-blooded man push her away? Raul bent his head to her breasts and breathed in the sweet skin, faintly flavored with perspiration, but more so with her sexual musk. Her hardened, pert nipple rubbed his bristled cheek and he moaned, opening his lips just enough to let it slip between them. He might almost have claimed it was by accident.
But further resistance was futile. He felt her slippery dew coat his fingers and it spurred his own arousal to new heights, so he clamped down on her tit and sucked, passion ignited, need overflowing.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to think of his reward purse again and repent for this moment of sin and deception. If repentance was even necessary. He doubted his father would think so. In Guillaume d'Anzeray's opinion, oft stated, a man with a conscience in this world may as well be a man castrated. And he'd raised his sons to believe the same.
In fact, Raul wondered why the doubt had even crept in.
* * * *
His roughened fingertip pressed between her labia with the intent of a man who knew his way around a woman. Joy skipped through her. He was seeking out her hidden gem and meaning to play upon it. So she knew he wanted to make her come. Usually the Comte was content with his own release and did not care about hers. She'd been told by other whores in the Comte's fortress that this was usual for men; they were selfish creatures.
But this man must be different. Again he surprised her.
Tempting as it was to give herself up to the pleasure he could conjure out of her, if he had everything at once there would be nothing left with which to tease him. So she pushed his fingers away, wriggled down his body and took his proud, hard cock in her mouth.
Now his hands cupped her head, damp fingers tangled in her hair, and she felt them tense as he began to gasp and grunt with a steady rhythm. She dug her fingers into his buttocks and slowly worked every inch of his tall, warm shaft with her lips and tongue. She suckled on the broad head and then slid more of it into her throat, inch by inch. Back and forth she went, creating the wet friction that would make him lose any last shreds of control to which he clung. He was large and she almost choked, but somehow managed to relax her throat enough until he was buried deep and there was only an inch perhaps from her lips to his root that she could not take down. He did not seem to mind. He thrust in and out eagerly now, fucking her mouth and throat while she sucked devotedly like a babe at the teat.
If she could keep him enthralled, he would let her stay at his side, at least for a while, she thought. She might even be able to help this man somehow in return for him keeping her and letting her travel in his company. The sexual favors would be fair trade, and she had nothing else to offer.
She stroked the tight dark curls of his pubic hair and noted a small mark in the shape of a rampant lion just to the left of his penis on the groin area. It was a brand, burned into the skin. Suddenly she felt the thrusting grow more forceful, and she tightened her lips and throat as he came and a hot stream of his cum flooded her throat. That didn't take long, she mused. It must have been a while since he was last pleasured.
"Princesa," he groaned, half-laughing, "pleasant as that was, indeed, it was not necessary to swallow my seed. I know it almost choked you."
"But I am your slave," she reminded him, sliding up on her side to face him.
He passed her the wineskin again and bade her drink. "Would you be an obedient slave, I wonder?" he muttered drily. "Somehow I doubt it, since almost every word from you so far has been defiant."
She drank thirstily and then passed it back to him. "I am the best slave you've ever owned."
"I've never owned a slave. I ride alone." His lean fingers swept hair away from her face. "Who was that old man? Not your lover, surely?" Slowly he drew a fingertip over her lips, tracing their shape. "Why was he giving you away?"
"He was not my lover, but he was kind. I had lived with him for many weeks. Alas he was ill and could not travel far. He said I needed someone younger and more vital to take me away."
"Take you away from what?"
"Troubles. My first master."
Fortunately he did not seem to want further details, for he was too busy examining her. He ran his fingertip over her teeth next.
Was he inspecting her as he would a horse? She was amused. He would find everything in order. She knew she had beauty, but her feelings on the matter were ambivalent at best. Her good looks had caused her only pain and misfortune until now, and there were many days when she wished herself ugly and bent as an old crone, for then the Comte would let her go gladly and no other man would try to bend her to his will. They would avoid her and she would be free.
But when Raul D'Anzeray touched her and she read the admiration in his strange, moonlit gaze, the slave girl felt, for the first time in her life, that there might be some value in capturing a man's attention with her looks after all. She wanted to please him and not to save herself from punishment, but because she liked that appreciative glow passing over her with every sweep of his black eyelashes.
The warrior stroked her neck, over the hectic pulse, along her shoulder and down to her breast. "You are a well made slave," he muttered, his eyes following the route of his hand, his breathing growing deeper again. "Exquisite, Princesa." It was almost a purr when he said that name. "Would you run away from me?"
"Not if you want me to stay," she whispered, hoping he would not hear the need and yearning in her voice.
His lips bent in a slow smile as he ran the pad of his thumb over her nipple. "I don't need a burden hanging around my neck. One that will slow me down."
"I would not!"
"But women travel poorly. They are always too cold or too hot. Always out of humor if they are not comfortable and well fed. And some," he tweaked her nipple, "are quarrelsome, despite their claim of being the best slave a man could have."
"Quarrelsome? I have not..." She clamped her lips shut.
Raul chuckled. "See?"
But suddenly he pressed her over onto her back and she felt his hand sweep lower to part her legs again.
"You did not even want me to bring you pleasure before when I fingered you. A good slave would not push her master's hand away and take over, as you did, Princesa. A good slave would not suck her master's cock until he commanded it. And she would let her master do as he wished with her body."
Oh, was this a test? She swallowed hard and made her limbs as still as they could be. "Then do to me as you will, master."
"Did I ask your permission?"
Her face felt hot. "No."
He nodded. "And I never would. If I kept you, slave, I'd have you when and where," kneeling between her legs her parted her labia with two fingers, "and how, I wanted."
She bit her lip and looked up at him as he knelt there, his form towering over her, his intense, molten-silver gaze leaving her in no doubt of his capabilities, his needs. If he meant to scare her off, he was in fo
r a surprise. She was drawn to this strangely thoughtful, clever, silver-eyed man who had shared his supper with her. Although she'd feigned reluctance to go with him in the very beginning, she'd soon warmed to the idea. A girl could do a lot worse and this was her life now, her fate.
Somewhere in her childish dreams of the future she pictured herself with a husband and a family. It was a foolish yearning for a captive whore and a slave. She had nothing to give any man but her body. Who would want her for a respectable wife? As he'd already pointed out to her, she was ignorant—could not even count.
She was only good for rutting. It was all she knew.
The handsome warrior bent down between her spread thighs and examined her cunt closely. She felt his breath on her roused flesh and then two long fingers easing their way inside. Still sensitive from the excitement of sucking on his splendid penis, it did not take long for her own shuddering bliss to build again. He was skillful with those fingers. She was almost annoyed to think of other women upon whom he'd honed his talent.
With his other hand he pressed down on her mound in a circular motion and the glorious sensation multiplied.
"How sticky you are, slave," he murmured, his voice low and husky as he moved his fingers inside her, teasing her swelling pearl as he exerted that careful pressure on the outside. "Don't you dare come until I say you can."
She opened her eyes wide and glared down her supine body to where the top of his dark head was visible between her wide-spread thighs. "But I can't stop, if you—"
He lifted his face far enough above her vulva to silence her with one fierce scowl. His fingers slipped out of her, leaving her throbbing inside. She pressed her bottom down into the fleece mantle and squirmed without dignity, losing her breath in little spurts of frustration.
* * * *
Raul watched her closely, knew she was near her peak. Her beautiful pussy had clung to his fingers so tightly, he could only imagine how she would feel on his cock. Her body was a treasure chest to be explored.
To his surprise she was clean and well kempt for a whore, and her body held no marks of mistreatment. A woman this fine must surely have been used many times. Where he came from she would be a popular whore indeed.
Yet she was almost...for want of a better word...pristino. Like a finely crafted sword that had been kept out of the battle for which it was wrought. A splendidly configured weapon, tended to, polished and kept sharp to please its owner who did not want it sullied by use. The Comte must have kept a tight rein on her and not shared his prize. There was no point asking her how many years she'd been with the Comte for she'd probably say fifty, he mused. She tossed numbers about without the slightest idea of their meaning.
So instead he asked, "Were you virgin before your first master took you?"
Her eyes clouded over. "Yes," she exhaled the word like a bitter curse.
Raul watched her lower lip tremble slightly, saw the sudden angry set of her jaw. "He hurt you? Forced you?"
Abruptly she snapped, "What do you think he did?"
"These things happen in war," he replied stiffly, not welcoming the compassion he felt creeping in. There it was again, pity. But there was no place for such an emotion in the life of a warrior. He must think only of his own needs and ambitions — and she was only a woman. Women were frequently spoils of war. It was simply the way of things.
This slave girl had the gall to glare up at him as if it was his fault. As if he might have helped save her.
In that moment, looking down into her eyes, he actually thought he might have done so, had he been there when the Comte captured her. Despite her humble situation, there was a certain nobility in the way she held herself— a strange dignity. Raul wasn't sure he could have stood by and watched when her virgin blood was taken, her innocence another casualty claimed in battle as many were.
But was that because he cared that she not be hurt, or merely because he would have wanted her first for himself? It seemed more likely to be the latter case. He could certainly understand why the Comte had taken her. Only a mad man would not.
And of course he wanted to fuck her now. She was not his property, but that had never stopped a d'Anzeray before.
"I must taste your pussy. Don't come. Not yet. Your new master forbids it. I will drink my fill of you, and you will feed me without reaching your own release."
He watched her swallow. Finally she nodded.
Raul lowered his head again and rubbed his bristled chin over her juicy nether lips. He heard the excited hitch in her breath, saw her thighs tense.
"Draw up your knees." He wanted her at a better angle so he could rest on his elbows and sup leisurely at her creamy dish.
She obeyed with only a slight sigh of complaint. Then her hips were turned up and she was splayed for his enjoyment. Desire spurred his blood again as he looked down at her, smelled her musk and anticipated that first taste of heavenly nectar. This wench had sucked his prick with more skill than he'd ever known. Briefly she'd rendered him powerless at her hands. So she must have been well trained.
He would repay the favor, but in his own good time. She would learn which of them was slave and which was master.
He settled his lips over his slave girl's pretty cunny and swept his tongue up and down her slit, licking up the wetness of her arousal, slowly, deepening his reach with each pass. The woman under him began to pant, her hips swaying, so he slid his hands under her and held her bare bottom steady.
"Don't you dare come, or I'll take my belt to you," he muttered into her vagina, rubbing his facial hair on her again, knowing it would tickle and itch. "You're here to serve me. Not yourself."
"No, master," she gasped out, trembling. "I mean, yes, master."
He grinned. She really wanted to impress him as a good slave. Why? Anyone might think he was the only man left alive in this land. But she did not know anything about him, of course. Nothing about his merciless reputation.
She would learn.
Slowly he drew her pouty labia between his teeth and sucked. She moved under him, her breathing shallow and quick. Her released the tender flesh and forced his tongue between, licking at her honey with long, prying laps, delving deep into her cunt. Between every other sweep of his tongue he paused while she calmed herself. Then, to torment her, he dug the tip of it back in and diddled her clit for a moment. Just enough to bring her back to the boil. When he heard her moans grow raspy and felt her hips swing slightly, he stopped again, blew on her wet pussy and waited until she stopped tensing. Then he resumed his greedy licking. As he brought her to the quivering precipice for the seventh time, Raul stopped abruptly, sat back and cupped his hand over her pulsing pussy. "No more for tonight," he grunted, looking into her wide brown eyes. "You fed me enough, and I am no longer thirsty. If you are good as you say you can be, and don't cause me any trouble, I might drink from your cup again tomorrow." With two fingers he pinched her swollen labia together and tugged just enough to see her flinch. "I might even let you finish until you scream with pleasure tomorrow."
Her lips parted, and he saw the pink tip of her tongue sweep out to dampen them. Pressing his palm to her sex again he still felt the thudding tension of her unsated arousal. At that moment he knew an animalistic lust was holding her in its thrall. She would have done anything to get her release. Her pupils were huge, her cheeks flushed, her hair like spilled harvest wheat spread across the ground.
"This is what it means to be my slave, Princesa. This is how things are. Can you devote yourself to my will? Are you sure you want to?"
Slowly she nodded, unblinking. He kept his hand on her, his palm wet from her sweet juice and his own saliva. It was minutes still before the waves of her excitement began to dissipate and her twitches calmed, but she held herself still, determined, it seemed, to obey his command. Finally he squeezed her cunt and gave it one firm slap before he lay down again and pulled the mantle over them both.
After a moment, deciding he might not yet be able to trust her not to touch
herself if he fell asleep, Raul sat up again, took the piece of rope she’d worn tied around her waist and used it to secure her wrists behind her back.
If she got through another day without complaining, he just might delay his journey to Canterbury and the Comte. Why shouldn't he have a little pleasure with this ripe, succulent peach before he handed her back to her owner?
He had got himself a temporary bondslave. May as well make the most of this curious acquisition.
Chapter Four
The next day he kept her wrists tied. Feeling herself fortunate to be taken with him and not given to another or left to fend for herself in the forest, she said nothing about the discomfort. He had lifted her up so that she rode on the horse with him, her shoulders leaning into the firm curve of his muscular chest. This was salve enough for the itching rope around her wrists. To feel his body around her, his broad thighs encasing her slender hips, more than made up for anything less pleasant— except for that bloodied sack he had attached to the saddle and which now swung beside the horse, banging occasionally into her foot. It had begun to smell and attract flies. It was also of a curiously squishy texture when it hit her toes. She had seen it yesterday and wondered what it contained. Today she found the courage to ask.
"The head of someone who disagreed with me," came the reply.
Instantly she moved her foot, disgusted. Well, that explained the stink and the dark blood seeping through the bottom of it. "Who?" she gasped.
"Just a man."
Grim now, she kept her face on the road ahead. Best not think about that then. "How far to that place...Canterbury?"
"Another day or so." When he spoke his breath blew against her hair. Although she'd braided it again when she woke that morning she had not replaced her woolen scarf. Her new master said he liked to look at the color, but if they came upon a town she would have to cover it again for she could not risk being found by the Comte's men. She did not know if they still searched for her, but it seemed likely. The Comte was not a man who gave up his property easily. After all, he had chased her down twice before.