Chapter Twelve
“She’s Mine Now!”
“How bright the morning is!” Lady Josephine exclaimed as she swept through the Duke’s bedchamber opening the drapes to reveal a brilliant sun.
The man sat up “Woman, would you stop! Can’t you see I’m resting?”
“You’ve rested enough. We have merchants coming this way; we must prepare.”
“Prepare all you want! Just leave me be.”
“Oh, but I need the girl.” She referred to Roslyn who was sleeping in the Duke’s bed. She’d been sleeping with the Duke every night since her violent initiation many weeks before.
“And why the hell would that be?” He held his hand over his eyes, squinting, while his bedmate shivered under the covers.
“I want her opinion on the silks. She has such exquisite taste. Besides, you must send out a welcoming party to escort them on their way. You can fuck your lovely at night; she’s mine now. Besides, I like the way she combs my hair.”
The Duke gave up arguing and pushed Roslyn from bed. “I’ll see you later on, my dear,” he said, sweetly, now resigned to give her up for at least a few hours. “I think I’ll use your mouth tonight,” he added, as if she should be pleased. Roslyn hid her grimace and moved quickly to her feet. She’d learned since the day she was plopped in the lap of a self-serving Duke and his snappish wife that her role was to please them both, in whatever way they desired. But this was not an easy task. She was the rope in their tug of war; not the first, she learned, but one of many women who were called on to give succor and sexual favors to bickering rivals.
Most recently, she’d been buggered regularly by Lady Josephine; in fact, it had been her harness and cock that Celia used on her at the feast. When the lady wanted to use her body, she made Roslyn bend over the foot rail of her bed, then stretching her torso forward, tied her hands to the headboard. Josephine came at her from behind, breaching the well-worked hole until the woman was in a frenzy of sexual excitement. In the end, she would climb up on the bed, her crotch splayed wide, and bid Ledo’s daughter to come dine on her privates. With her hands still tethered, Roslyn would make the awkward climb to the top of the bed and bury her face in the sour-smelling snatch. Roslyn used her tongue vigorously, for minutes at a time laving the tiny bud between Lady Josephine’s labia—she’d think it would get sore from so much working, but the woman was insatiable. Obviously, the shrewish bitch had too much time on her hands with nothing to do but spend hours in bed with her lovers. When Lady Josephine came, she arched her back, threw her head back and reveled in a climax that shook every muscle, her cries lifting far beyond the walls of her bedchamber. Then for nearly an hour sometimes, the woman writhed back and forth in blissful ecstasy, consumed by multiple orgasms until she was too tired for more.
Sometimes, recognizing how uncomfortable the bound position could be for Roslyn, Lady Josephine would mercifully untie the ropes and give the girl some freedom to move or use her hands in acts of pleasure. Most often, however, the lady preferred the girl tonguing her crotch, even if it was awkward. It pleased her to keep the ‘deposed’ Lady Roslyn—as she liked referring to their conquest—ever mindful of her status as a lowly sex slave.
Afterwards, Roslyn would bathe her lady’s languorous body, perfume her skin with oils, then brush her hair to a gleaming shine and fix it in some fashionable manner, all before she would be free of the woman. Although Lady Josephine was constantly critical of the ‘deposed’ lady, she must have received some enjoyment, for the entire process would repeat in some fashion the following day.
Occasionally, the lady’s lover Louis would join them and Roslyn would be fucked simultaneously by the pair, atop the handsome young man, his organ in her love hole, Lady Josephine’s fake price embedded in her ass. She remembered that first time how amazing the moment of ultimate surrender became … something far more pleasurable for her than simply servicing her mistress…
“Come, my sweet lady,” Josephine had lured her from the doorway of her bedchamber with hooded eyes, a crooked finger and the promise of something special dripping from her red lips.
On another occasion, she might have been seduced, however, Roslyn had just been soundly fucked by the Duke and was quite sore—the man’s erection was quite sizeable. She had little desire for more sex so soon, but she’d been in the house long enough to know that her wishes meant nothing when she was the Duke and Duchess’s love slave.
“Come on, don’t hesitate or I’ll have you whipped and placed in stocks for the night.”
Knowing the woman was vicious enough to live up to her threat, Roslyn conceded, and smiling falsely as she followed Josephine to her bedchamber, she climbed into bed beside her mistress. “Oh, take off these clothes. I don’t know why Wilhem lets you have them, but take them off!” She pushed Roslyn to the floor with a mighty shove—the woman was amazingly strong—and there Roslyn struggled to disrobe as quickly as she could, so as not to upset the woman further. Josephine was a villainess, but she could be kind, and once Roslyn was naked beside her bare body, the lady’s mood quickly changed.
“Suck my breasts,” she ordered with a lusty smile. Smiling back, Roslyn dove into the fine and fragrant bosom. This was her favorite part of making love to any woman, a fact she discovered while servicing the Duchess. The soft feel of a woman’s flesh warmed her; the nipples were sweet playthings, and as her tongue made rounds of the lovely buds, she even enjoyed the way they tasted. Sometimes Josephine pressed honeyed oils that she purchased from the merchants into her skin and Roslyn lapped those sweet tastes with undisguised relish. On this particular day, she became so enamored with the lady’s skin that she moved on her in the same loving way she’d reserved for Celia alone—those hours of pleasure with her maid seemed like ancient history now. So consumed by the intimate contact, she was unaware of Louis moving into Lady Josephine’s boudoir, where, with a broad smile on his pretty face, he began to remove his shirt and his pants.
“Ah yes!” the Duchess interrupted the lovemaking seeing her boy lover leave his clothes on the floor and emerge like a god. His slim hips curved into a tight behind and from his groin a sizeable, and fully erect spear emerged out of a nest of pale curls.
Roslyn looked around, seeing the surprising sight with a delightful fascination, which she didn’t dare reveal to her mistress.
“Take him in your mouth, girl,” Josephine ordered.
This was an easy command to follow. Louis moved quickly to her side and Roslyn’s mouth opened to receive him. Her tongue moved about the luscious organ, running its way over the cock head, then under the rim and down the stalk. She took the meaty thing in her hand and rubbed it in her fingers while her mouth continued its playful tease. Sometimes she swallowed the organ deeply, until she nearly gagged, although Louis’ lavish grunts inspired her to accept every bit of the demanding erection—at least until Lady Josephine pulled her away.
“Fuck her, my darling,” she told Louis. “Come here on the bed, while I take her pretty arse. How tight she’ll be then and how brutally taken!” The woman was awash with desire, caught in that dreamy sensuous place where nothing sexual was impossible and her love slave would do anything on command.
Louis gave the lady no argument; he’d been eyeing the girl for days, hoping that he’d join his Mistress’ sex party. The Duchess might not be as young as the Duke’s pretty maids or this captured noble girl, but she was inventive and generous with her favors—particularly this one!
Caught up in Lady’s Josephine’s rapacious spirit, Roslyn straddled Louis’ hips and let her cunny slide down the impaling stalk. Ah! The feel of a virile man inside her was like no other—and Louis was like no other man she’d had. Unlike the Duke and the others she was required to service, Louis’ youth and comely body could be divine inspiration! She wiggled in, giggling in the process, her lips forming a sensuous smile before her naked torso sank down atop the young man’s muscled chest and she rubbed her sensitive breasts against his skin. In tur
n, the young man craved Roslyn’s beauty, her luscious red hair, and the sweet womb that seemed to suck the whole of him inside her. They moved flesh to flesh, while their open mouths met for the first time and their tongues groped greedily. They might have remained so clenched and so absorbed in their activity that they shut out the woman who devised this randy show, but that woman was not to be denied her pleasure. After gazing at the pair for several minutes, enjoying the subtleties of their youthful bodies, Lady Josephine at last pulled in close behind Roslyn and grabbed her arse. Her harness was already in place, the cock ready, and with a swift plunge, hips thrusting forward with an unwavering attack, she impaled the young woman’s ass.
“Aghhhhhhhhh! God!” Roslyn cried, as she collapsed deeper into Louis’ chest; his cock had nearly jerked free of her tight quim. Taking note of the lapse, the boy immediately grasped Roslyn’s hips with both hands and shoved deep, so that both pricks were now lodged securely in Roslyn’s crotch.
Her body screamed in rebellious anger at the stunning assault—and yet, she managed to keep her cries to herself. Breathing labored, muscles clenched, she poured every bit of physical energy she could muster into keeping both her lovers satisfied. In her fledgling sex-life this was a first. Never would she have believed this possible, but she made it so. It seemed unbearable at first, but in time, her inner body adjusted to the powerful feelings, and as the minutes passed, she began to feel a deeper pain and greater satisfaction than she had known before. In a thoughtless stupor, her senses overwhelming her mind, she let go, allowing the two to have her—as she knew they would. Their bodies moved together in an uneasy gait, for it seemed that Lady Josephine in the ascendant position was determined to take charge, and yet, the boy was just as determined to have his way with the lovely young woman. Neither was about to give, so that squashed between them, Roslyn could do nothing but let them jerk her this way and that. Finally, after both Lady Josephine and Louis had come, the three collapsed into a heap of naked flesh—Roslyn sated, yes, but still happy that the fitful competition had come to an end. That was the first time the trio were together, but it was certainly not the last.
Now, in an odd turn of events, it wasn’t sex that enjoined Lady Josephine to pull Roslyn from the Duke’s bed; she quite honestly wanted her to examine the silks that the merchants brought for her inspection. Roslyn had done the same with her mother, when, like two giggling children, the pair had once reveled in the expensive finery Duke Ledo was generous enough to give them. Bittersweet were the memories of those intimate tête-à-têtes, and now sad thoughts returned to her when Lady Josephine demanded Roslyn’s company for such an activity. Though pouring over the exotic finery was less demanding than sex, and was certainly not as physically painful, the girl sensed her anger rise whenever Lady Josephine insisted that she join her for this sort of womanly conference. For many hours, she might forget the true reasons for being in this foreign place, but in the midst of such a familiar domestic scene, the injustice of being ripped from her ancestral home and bandied about like a common whore returned with poignant force.
“You like this one?” Lady Josephine held up a beautiful purple silk for Roslyn’s approval.
“It’s beautiful!”
“You really think so?” She held it up to her chin and let the fabric drape her body. She even swirled girlishly, letting the cloth billow out on the breeze. Roslyn could hardly bear to look at her.
“I was thinking I might have a new dress made in this. Trim it with gold. The bodice will plunge deep, barely cover the flesh, barely.” She gleamed with haughty pride, gazing down at her milk-white breasts. “Too bad yours are so small. Perhaps they will develop in time, when you have a bit more girth, I suppose.” She sighed.
“I don’t believe it’s been a problem for the men here,” Roslyn retorted.
“Oh? Certainly Wilhem wouldn’t complain now, would he?” Josephine responded sharply.
Having meant no harm by her remark, Roslyn was taken aback by the spite in the woman’s voice and she didn’t know how to respond. Somehow, she’d offended the woman—easy to do, but difficult to figure out how. Enough had been said already to indicate that Lady Josephine was jealous of her husband’s keen attention to his new conquest. Perhaps that was not so impossible to figure out; since the day Roslyn first arrived, she’d spent every night in the Duke’s bed. In the privacy of his room, Roslyn heard intimate exclamations about her nymph-like body and the sweet perfume of her flesh. She heard, as well, his unconscious thoughts when sleeping, times he muttered about the battles he had planned and thoughts on his domestic life. She knew he found his wife a shrew and hated how she made love. As interesting as these private matters might be, she found it dangerous knowing the secrets of a powerful man. And what Lady Josephine had heard from the Duke in lavish praise of his new bedmate, Roslyn was sure would settle unpleasantly with the self-absorbed Duchess.
On matters of sex, Lady Josephine was particularly sensitive. Apparently Roslyn had touched a nerve. The woman sauntered forward, standing directly in front of her, her lip curled upward and quivering, her eyes like arrows aimed at Roslyn’s heart. “You think he loves you, but you are wrong! The man woos women skillfully, but he throws them off with no qualms when he tires of them. He’ll tire of you too, including those pubescent titties of yours.” A little spittle shot from her lips as she spoke her bitter words. Roslyn’s breasts were certainly not as robust as Lady Josephine’s, but hers were hardly pubescent. Certainly, there was much more to the woman’s complaint.
“I’m sure the Duke loves you very much, milady” she tried to reassure the woman.
Again offended. “Of course, he loves me!” She looked as if she was ready to strike Roslyn’s face.
What could she say?
“Oh, be off with you!” The Duchess shooed her on as if she could hardly bear the sight of her anymore, and Roslyn was glad to be gone.
That night, the Duke made love to Roslyn as he often did. He lit candles and loved her on his large bed. Roslyn wore silk to seduce his eyes—hardly necessary, but the man did love her in sensuous garments. Taking her into his arms, his hands gently caressed her body, then laying her on the bed, he hovered over her, showering her with kisses across her breasts; then he moved down her belly and along her thighs, and finally, with Roslyn’s legs naturally parting, into her sweet-smelling crotch. He was moved to devour her, to believe that he actually loved her—indeed, in his most private thoughts, he looked for a way to throw off his wife, and take Roslyn as his bride. But no one, not even Roslyn knew of this.
Although she sensed the Duke’s growing affection, she could garner little enthusiasm for him. His kindness was betrayed by his ruthless villainy, the way he sometimes tugged at her nose ring, or the clitoral ring until pain surged through her in waves. Small acts of torture were typical and his rapacious energy was only satisfied if he had sex with her several times a day. Survival dictated her actions when she was in his presence, so she was careful about what she said, and remained dutiful to his physical demands.
Still, he could arouse her, as he did this night when his loving tenderness sent her body into a fit of spasming pleasure before he even once jerked a ring or squeezed so hard it hurt, or bit deeply into one of her nipples. By the time he started the more mean-spirited tortures, her cunny was pulsating and on the verge of crisis. She clenched sharply when he pinched her nipple and let her body ride through the feelings; gasping loudly, her head thrown back as she let out a mighty wail. Even when he slapped her pubis with some force, Roslyn fed on the feelings, overjoyed that she could conquer the pain so easily.
“Oh, milord, you have me going wild,” she said when she came up for air and was breathing with some effort.
“Ah, yes, that is where I want your body, my darling girl. I have a bigger purpose in mind tonight.”
This scared her. She’d endured his often quixotic behavior more times than she could count, and was suspicious of the vile gleam in his grey eyes. He liked to
whip her for no crime at all, and she suspected that this was exactly what her master had in mind this night.
Although he whipped her in many ways, he most liked to have her stand unbound in the center of his bedchamber, where he’d use a whip or a braided cat ‘o nine tails, chasing her about the room, while lashing her body until the first sign of blood. Sometimes, she ran for the corner and hid, though she learned that this would only anger him. When she cowered against the floor, covering her head in her arms, he’d be furious and punish her even harder. The best tactic was to let him chase her about, Roslyn dashing here and there, squirming to miss a blow—though he rarely missed. This could go on for minutes, sometimes a half hour, sometimes longer, when the man would take breaks to drink more ale, or just rest until his desire renewed. Afterwards, after he’d finally calmed, he would caress her welted body with soothing creams and kiss her lovingly.
Still poised inside his arms, Roslyn waited for the verdict. How would he beat her tonight?
“Up, up!” He pulled away. “My poor arm is just dying for a little vigorous activity.” This was strange; he hardly seemed as agitated as he usually was on these occasions. Perhaps, she would fare better this time.
Roslyn moved to her feet, then to the center of the room where there was plenty of space for him to work his terrifying theatre. He strode about her for some time, eyeing her pretty body, smiling. She thought for a moment that this was all he wanted to do, but then he picked up a cane in one hand and took his whip in the other—she already knew that he was ambidextrous and what lay ahead would prove painful. Continuing his measured pacing, he began to work her flesh, at first quite inconstant, waiting long seconds after one cut of the whip or cane before he very deliberately laid on another. As he stared into her wary eyes, she saw there was no anger, no emotion at all; he seemed cold as a granite statue. No smile, no whimsy, no cruel stare, just a blank face, almost as if his spirit wasn’t even with her, but was elsewhere involved, and her body was not Roslyn’s anymore but some other woman’s.
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