by Georgia Fox
Meanwhile the Baron grew impatient. "Faster, man! Fuck her! Fuck her hard. Rough. Or I'll get another man to do it for me."
Suddenly he thrust and Isobel felt sharp pain. It flared under her eyelids—a brilliant silver flash. She cried out and so, to her surprise, did he. Now she felt his cock throbbing within her, stretching her narrow, newly breached sheath. Gasping for breath, she opened her eyes.
Had she just heard a whispered apology from the man who broke her maidenhead? Isobel couldn't be sure. It seemed so unlikely that Alonso d'Anzeray, "Blackheart" would apologize for hurting her, that she could not believe her own ears.
"I'm warning you, d'Anzeray...ride her hard and deep, or I'll find someone to do it the way I want it done."
In the next moment her husband was satisfied as Alonso began to move, thrusting his battering ram with speed. Isobel cried out as he fucked her virgin cunny. His cock felt enormous, filling her just as he'd promised. And then some. Her pussy struggled to take all of it, and her body bounced limply under him.
But the worst of the pain had passed in one breathless, blinding flash and her moans and gasps after that were those of strange, wild pleasure. Oh, Jeanne's timid little tongue could not do this to her. This...this was raw and merciless. Her darkest, most forbidden fantasies had come to life.
While he speared her pussy with his cock he began forcing a finger into her anus. Barely had her tight alley managed to accept that intrusion than he added a second finger, stretching her, claiming her. She wanted to scream but would not give the Baron his satisfaction. Instead she trembled and bucked under the hired mercenary stud as she felt the discomfort of that added penetration, but she could not get away and the more she lifted her hips and wriggled, the deeper he forced himself into both holes. The savage coupling had soon drained her of speech or protest and she could only pant for breath as her body was debased.
Her husband applauded, almost knocking over his wine jug. "Excellent, excellent. Go to it, d'Anzeray!" His voice was slurred already, she noted. Good. Her greatest fear had been that he might want to join in, but it seemed not. He was content to watch another man do his job. It was the same in bed as it was on the battlefield, it seemed.
Alonso worked his lower body with a steady, fast rhythm, his big cock pushing deep, his grunts pressed into her hair, his fingers spearing her backside. She writhed and arched under him, her nipples rubbing on the bed.
"I'm coming, my lady," he sputtered, his hot breath on her shoulder, and instantly she felt the warmth of his seed gushing into her body.
The first possession was complete. Lady Isobel was serviced.
Chapter Five
The Baron inspected the bloody fleece that lay under his wife and then he nodded. "You have done a good job, d'Anzeray. She is well broken in."
While the man stood over the bed, sipping his wine, Alonso fetched the washbowl to rinse her off. But the Baron held his arm for a moment, making him wait while he enjoyed the sight of thick semen oozing from the lady's vagina. He held her free ankle and moved her leg, stretching her wider while he observed the trickle of cum from her pink nether lips, marveling aloud at the rich quantity that dripped to the bed.
Eventually he stood aside and allowed Alonso to wash her.
The Baron clearly had no interest in his wife's comfort, for he turned away and hummed a tune to himself, opening the shutters to look out at the dark, rain-washed yard. Taking advantage of the man's inattention, Alonso treated her sex tenderly with the wash rag and whispered that he hoped he had not hurt her too much.
She turned her face, long strands of dark hair falling across her cheek. Her pale jade eyes were wide and sparking with fury. That was answer enough.
"You did not climax?" he whispered, frowning.
A quick, hard laugh spat out of her. He did not know what that meant and he could not ask further, for Louvet returned to his chair and commanded another round. "In case the first did not take."
Alonso was not, by any means, reluctant to go again, but he knew she would already be sore come the morning. So he delayed as best he could, untying her ankle, turning her over and then bathing her cunt with his tongue, hoping to soothe it somewhat after the roughness with which he'd claimed it before. This time he'd make damn certain the woman climaxed.
Fortunately, when he was sixteen, a whore hired by his father had taught Alonso all he need know about pleasuring a woman. Now he set to work between Isobel's thighs and as he diddled her sensitive pearl with his tongue he soon heard those familiar moans. She was clearly reluctant to admit she got any enjoyment out of this, but he felt, heard, and tasted it. Her honeyed cream coated his tongue as he thrust it between her labia and when he unfurled its full length inside her twat he tasted her essence mingling with his seed. He slid his hands under her buttocks and lifted her to his mouth, sucking and licking until he had chased her up at least two steep inclines to rocky peaks.
By then his prick was hard again and the Baron restless behind him.
Alonso did not like the way the old fool kept threatening to bring someone else in to service his wife. This was his mission and he would see it through. No d'Anzeray ever failed to achieve victory. In this case, there was no way in hell he would let another man chosen by Louvet take his place.
"Here I come again, Lady Isobel," he growled, shifting forward to lick her nipples, his erection once again pressed to her wet cunny. "Can you take me here once more?" Not that she had any choice. Her husband wanted another mating and he would get one.
Since her wrists were still tied to the carved headboard, when he turned her over it crossed her arms over her head. This must not be very comfortable, but there was no sign of pain in her face. Her lips parted, full and damp. Those rich green eyes watched from beneath half-lowered black lashes, and he read something new there, looking out at him. He could not yet decide what it might be, but he would find out.
He slid farther forward, easing his way inside her tight cunt. It felt too good, much too good. As a man who never had trouble finding pussy, Alonso had not expected this event to pull on him in so many strange ways. It was not the first time he'd fucked another man's wife either, but the woman in this instance was very unusual.
He thighs moved against his flanks and then her legs were wrapped around him, her heels crossed behind his back. She was eager then, despite the sparks in her eyes and the scorn with which she treated him. Her sheath squeezed around his cock, pulling him deeper.
Alonso began the slick pumping in and out, her legs climbing up his back as she moved in unison this time, learning—it seemed—as this ravaging continued.
They were both sweating, their bodies slippery one moment and sticking together in the next. His balls rubbed against her, spanked her with every forward thrust and her breasts jostled, her nipples poking his chest.
* * * *
Isobel was melting. The heat conjured by this blissful friction was too much to bear. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out her pleasure as this wicked man—the one she was so determined to despise— had his way with her again.
She was bitterly ashamed of herself, but what could she do?
Her crossed arms ached and the ribbons cut into her wrists, but every other part of her body, sore or not, was wet, hot, consumed with desire. The beat of her heart was out of control, fluttering hard in her breast. Long strands of hair stuck to her perspiring brow and the side of her neck.
With each forceful thrust, Alonso d'Anzeray impaled her on his thick manhood and she felt as if it hit her womb. He would impregnate her. There was no doubt in her mind.
Isobel knew she wanted a child. A babe of her own, something to love that would love her in return and ease the loneliness in her heart.
But it would be his child. The child of this rapacious mercenary. It would bear his looks as well as hers. She did not know how she felt about that.
Still, the thought of bearing a child of Louvet's was disgusting to her. She wondered suddenly whether d'Anzeray
was right that day when he suggested she fasted so often to keep herself unattractive to her husband. It had not occurred to her before, but she was not the sort to consider her actions deeply. She'd never felt as if she had much control over her own life, therefore she simply existed for the will of others.
Perhaps she had unknowingly fought for some control after all.
Alonso pinched her nipple in his fingers and she yelped. "Do you like that, my lady?" he growled.
She clamped her lips tight, refusing to answer.
He did it again, harder, pulling on her nipple until it was dark and distended. A jolt like lightning buzzed through her, directly to her pussy, and he must have felt it on his cock for he exhaled a satisfied grunt. She groaned, betrayed again by her body, and he grinned smugly down at her.
"Next time I'll bring something special for your titties. Something we can all enjoy."
He tweaked both of them now between his long fingers, tugging on those sensitive peaks until she wanted to scream. Next time, oh yes, yes! There would be a next time. She hoped the excitement and joy did not show upon her face.
"You had better confess that you like me fucking you, my lady."
She shook her head back and forth against the bed.
Alonso lowered his mouth to her breast and slowly licked each areola, pausing to mutter, "I wonder which titty is most afire? Which titty is the most eager? The one that will betray my lady for the naughty, wanton hussy she truly is."
She arched her spine, breathing hard, swallowing the urge to laugh. After staring down at her for a few moments, he bent his head, grunted fiercely and took the pointy nipple of her right breast between his lips. And sucked.
Isobel came so violently she stopped breathing for a moment.
As her body keened under him, her pussy working his cock with a maddened, shuddering contraction, d'Anzeray chuckled breathlessly. "Seems I guessed correctly. Right titty it is."
Suddenly, Louvet was out of his chair and at the side of the bed. He slapped Isobel hard across her face. "You're not supposed to enjoy this, slut," he hissed drunkenly. "You will get no pleasure from this, whore. If you do so then you have committed adultery and I'll have you pilloried."
He must have seen something in her face, she realized. From then on she lay still, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, her face stinging not only from his slap but from shame and confusion.
Once again she felt the warm flow of the mercenary's seed shot deep into her body and suddenly she wanted to weep.
Isobel had not cried for years and she refused to start again now, so she smothered it and blinked back her tears.
When it was over, d'Anzeray left the bed and turned away to wash himself in the bowl. His shoulders were stiff, his manner angry. She'd seen the look he gave her husband after the slap, but she hoped he would not feel it necessary to say anything. If Louvet was questioned or annoyed in any way he would not allow another night like this.
"Get dressed and go back to your chamber," the Baron snapped at her, his eyes glazed with drink. Apparently he had ceased to enjoy the entertainment at some point.
She pulled on her shift and cloak. Sore and beset with a rush of strange emotions, Isobel stumbled back to her own bed, escorted by the same silent young page.
Jeanne was there waiting for her, anxiously wringing her hands. "Oh, my lady, you were gone so long!"
"Do not fuss, Jeanne."
"He has hurt you!"
"Yes...no...I do not know what he has done to me, but I—" As she cast her eyes around the familiar chamber, she found the surprise addition of a large platter piled high with cheeses, meat pie, plums, cherries, and custard tarts. There was also a flagon of sweet wine. "Where did that come from?"
"It arrived here just after you left, my lady."
"I did not ask for it."
"No, my lady. It was sent here for you. From the Blackheart."
She stared, nonplussed. Why would he send this small feast to her? What a strange man he was.
Even stranger —she was, for the first time in many months, extremely hungry. Starving, in fact.
* * * *
The next evening he did not see Lady Isobel until dinner in the great hall. All day spent on the training field, putting the Baron's soldiers through their paces, he thought of her. Just as she'd told him, she was not afraid. She had great inner strength and the will of a survivor. He admired her for that too, not just her delectably welcoming body. She was a woman whose silences meant as much as her words — if not more. There was intelligence and wit behind those startling green eyes and her husband mistook it for witchcraft.
Alonso, seated on his horse to watch overfed soldiers gallop up and down a field wielding clumsy swords at bales of straw, wished suddenly that he was a man of more learning and wisdom. Something more than a plain-spoken warrior. Lady Isobel made him experience self-doubt for the first time in his life when she looked at him with scorn upon her face. He wished he might impress her in a manner she could appreciate, but he was no poet or minstrel. Therefore he must hope to melt her proud exterior in bed.
It was unsettling to feel this much uncertainty and desire, yet the newness of it was alluring and kept him looking forward to the night ahead of them.
At dinner her husband made a toast to "fertility", but that was the only reference made to what had occurred. And what would occur again that night.
Impatient to finish dinner, Alonso drank little and ate quickly, his mind traveling constantly to thoughts of fucking her again. If only Louvet did not insist on watching. An audience had never bothered him before. Indeed, he was accustomed to sharing women with his six brothers. But the Baron's comments and commands were intrusive. If he struck Lady Isobel again tonight Alonso was not sure he could hold back his venom. Of course, if he did not, he would be replaced. Louvet had made it plain that he must follow orders completely or he would not be required again.
It was difficult, frustrating.
In order to try and forget the Baron's presence at the foot of the bed, Alonso decided to concentrate his thoughts on taming Isobel, making her trust him completely. She was a woman bound up by invisible ribbons that kept her from enjoying life as it should be enjoyed. Such a waste of a beautiful woman.
Yes, she was beautiful. Even when she frowned and tried not to be. It might surprise her to know it, but he would not care if she was a witch. He found her intriguing, like a riddle. Usually, once he'd had a woman Alonso could quickly forget her and any mystery she might once have held. It was not so with Isobel. A man might never get to the bottom of all her secrets.
But he could damn well try.
* * * *
When she laid upon her husband's bed that evening Isobel noted there were extra candles lit. Apparently Louvet had complained he could not see well enough the night before.
Alonso tied her wrists again to the bed, but this time she began on her back.
"I have the gift I promised you," he said as he knelt over her. "Something for the little cherries atop your sweet titties, my lady."
He had two wooden clamps, little devices that looked as if they belonged in a torturer's dungeon.
"That's a gift?" she exclaimed skeptically.
Grinning, he leaned down and took first one nipple and then the other between his lips, teasing and tugging on them until they stood proud. She wished it was possible to stop her body from reacting to his touch this way. Her nipples, however, submitted eagerly to his wretched sucking and tonight, as he licked around her dark areolas, he whispered, "One day my babe will suckle here."
Behind him her husband grumbled, "It won't be your babe, d'Anzeray. It'll be mine. Just get on with it."
The man leaning over her looked deep into her eyes, and she read his thoughts there as if he spoke them aloud. Mine, they said. My babe. My woman.
Isobel caught her breath and looked away, anxious that her thoughts might appear on her face too.
"Make haste, d'Anzeray! There is too much of this useless
preparation. Who cares if she's ready or not? Fuck her, spill your seed."
"Perhaps you'd like to show me how it's done," Alonso snapped over his shoulder.
Isobel froze. Alarm swept through her. Oh, no. This was not good. Not good at all. Her husband could end this here and now. Her heart almost ceased to beat and before she could stop herself she had looked into her lover's dark eyes again. Deep into them.
There was a heated pause.
Finally, Alonso muttered an apology and blamed his terse words on his own impatience to rut. "You are right, my lord," he added. "I spend too much time preparing the wench. I thought that was what you desired to see, but I will do as you wish. Whatever you wish."
"Good. Get on with it." Louvet stumbled around the bed. "Give those titty clamps to me and I'll put them on her. You just do the fucking."
Isobel took a careful breath and closed her eyes. Almost instantly she felt her husband's rough, swollen fingers fumbling at her sensitive nipples, his ragged unkempt fingernails scratching her tender skin. He clamped first her left nipple and then the right. Fierce pain ensued. He had clamped them too tight, of course, and when he laughed and jostled them with his clumsy fingers her breasts ached, her nipples throbbed. She wanted to scream but somehow bit it back. Now he shouted at Alonso to fuck her.
She opened her eyes as she felt his hard cock pushing between her legs again. At least that sensation would soon overcome the pain, she thought hopefully. But Louvet remained at the side of the bed, pulling on the clamps while Alonso did his task. She groaned, her nipples burning, the screams building.
Then, to her intense relief, her tormentor decided he needed more wine. Losing interest in her breasts, he fell back to his chair. While he was busy pouring his wine, Alonso speedily and efficiently loosened the screws on the wooden clamps.