by Fox, Georgia
She caught a startled breath as his oiled finger pushed deeper into her bottom.
“One day you’ll be ready to take me here,” he whispered huskily. “But you must be readied first.”
Deorwynn bit down on her lip and groaned as his finger stretched out the tiny opening between her buttocks. His thick cock throbbed inside her sex, as if to comfort for the other intrusion. And then, with his other hand, he reached under and stroked her filled pussy, his callused fingers exerting steady pressure. Soon she felt those warming waves again and she pushed back, her cheeks slapping into his groin. He laughed, deep and lusty, as his other finger played inside her anus.
“Splendid. You’ll soon be ready for all of me, but not yet tonight. For now this must suffice.”
A second wet finger joined the first, crowding into that small puckered hole.
He kissed the nape of her neck, holding his fingers inside her, keeping them still, giving her a moment to grow accustomed to this new sensation. Then he began moving them in and out, slowly fucking her tight backside with those two long fingers. The pain became a scalding rush with a flutter of fierce pleasure at the end of each forward parry.
She laid the side of her face to the furs on the bed and gave herself up to it, her bottom in the air, her knees spread wide. His cock now joined in the rhythmic motion, every rub of his engorged shaft passing in and out of her labia causing a quake that shook her entire body, making her cunny pulse, gripping his cock ever tighter.
He cursed, thrusting his fingers faster and deeper into her anus, unable to restrain himself it seemed. And she silently thanked those nuns for teaching her to withstand pain. Meanwhile he was balls deep in her pussy, his heavy seed-bags spanking her, making a wet, smacking sound to compliment his ferocious growls and her low gasps. She squeezed down again, trying to hold him in for longer, welcoming the burn in her ass because of the pleasure that quickly followed. He chuckled at her eagerness, marveling aloud at how well she matched his passion. He called her his beautiful little pussy cat and stroked her thighs, her belly, her breasts. He licked her spine, the fingers of his free hand mercilessly playing the hot pearl at the crest of her labia, making her come again and again, as his cock pushed in and out.
She was exhausted, shaking. Her knees no longer felt the fur coverlet; she was lifted, secured on his lance, his thick thighs under her, the muscles tense. She had no control. When she begged him not to make her come again, he merely kissed her nape and worked his fingertips faster, his sweating chest curved against her back.
“My wicked little cat,” he gasped into her veil. “I will do as I please because I am your master now.” He rubbed her aching core, taking her to pain and then beyond, while the fingers of his other hand finally slid out of her bottom and spanked her hard. “My naughty, naughty wench.”
Was he punishing her for something? Hard to tell when it made her entire body float blissfully into some other realm of more intense satisfaction than she’d ever known.
A second later, both hands gripping her hips, he jerked frantically and planted his seed in her, yet again, to overflowing.
She tumbled forward onto the bed and he came down on top of her, rolling almost at once onto his side, bringing her with him, wrapping his arms around her. She lay quietly, listening to his breath, trying to steady her own.
It was not fair. He was a glorious lover and she hated him for it. Her body was entirely at his mercy and he’d done things to her that she didn’t even know were possible until now. And then he’d spanked her! How dare he? Her backside must still be blushing from the sting of his palm. Suddenly she felt his lips there as he kissed her smarting flesh and ripples of pleasure trickled through her core.
Again she lectured herself—men like him had stolen her father’s land, her brothers’ birthright. Men like him had killed her brothers in battle.
If her brothers had the chance, however, would they not have done the same to him without a second thought? And did he have a sister who worried about him? Did he have other women, left behind to pine for him?
Suddenly she remembered Sybilia. His new bride must be growing impatient, waiting for the signal to assure her that Devaux was safely asleep and none the wiser.
He stroked her hip with one large hand. “Did I hurt you?”
“Yes,” she hissed, certain he’d killed her. Since she still breathed, it was probably a delayed reaction.
He gently cupped his palm around her buttock and squeezed. “I cannot resist this fine ass. I wish I could take it tonight. Take it properly.”
“You said it’s not ready,” she reminded him anxiously.
“Yes.” He sighed. “I suppose I need not be in such haste to try everything tonight,” he added with a drowsy laugh. “We have the rest of our lives together.”
That’s what he thought. She glowered into the shadows. His hand on her bottom, stroked in a soothing fashion and then his fingertips swept up over her hip again, down into the dip of her waist and along, under her veil to caress her arm. She jerked away.
“My lady is ticklish?” he cooed.
“No,” she lied.
He tried again, his fingers moving up her arm like a large, long-legged spider.
“Stop that. Go to sleep.” He must close his eyes soon, or Sybilia would never be able to creep back into his bed before first light.
“But I am not tired.”
She groaned. “I am tired. And aching.”
“I have overused you?”
Deorwynn sighed gloomily. “What else should I expect from a man? You are all devils. The nuns warned me.”
“But you seemed to enjoy it, my love.”
“I did not.”
“You did. Especially,” he licked her shoulder under the veil, “when I spanked you.”
“Indeed I did not.”
“Admit it.”
“How can I, when ‘tis not true?”
He was still for a moment and then he sprang, tickling her under her arms and her belly, all those sensitive spots he’d already discovered. Panicking that her veil would be dislodged, she fought back, grabbing a pillow and smacking it hard against the side of his head. It split open and moonbeams rode on a flurry of goose feathers that speckled the air, drifting all around them. He grabbed his pillow likewise and swung it, but she was up on her knees, beating him back. Laughing, head ducked against her blows, he circled one arm around her waist and brought her back down over his body, her shape sliding easily against his long form, her legs astride one of his broad thighs. She found his ticklish places, just as he found hers and it was one way to distract him from removing her veil.
“You win, my wife,” he chuckled, trying to fend her off as the feathers floated to the bed around them. “This once I surrender. I give you victory. I will let you sleep.”
“And will you sleep?”
It seemed unlikely. His staff was semi-hard again already as he lay stretched out on his back, speckled with fallen feathers.
“I will try,” he muttered, not very convincingly.
She touched his cock in the semi-darkness and felt it twitch, like a napping pup awoken by her caress. “Does it hurt?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“Only when it doesn’t get its exercise regularly.” Moonlight revealed his teeth in a slow grin.
She moved her hand slowly up and down, holding his shaft loosely.
“I thought you were tired?” he purred, low.
But she had to wear him out first, didn’t she? Couldn’t risk falling asleep before he did.
Leaning down, she lifted her veil to let it fall over his groin area and then opened her lips on the fleshy head of his cock. He raised one knee, half turning toward her. She could smell her own musk on him and something else—the scent of man. He was still slightly sticky, but it was not unpleasant and as she began to suck his cock under the tent of her veil, it grew, stretching to fill her mouth. His sac hung beneath like two goodly sized eggs in a nest. Already they had released their load
twice. How much more did he have to give before he might fall asleep and make it safe for her to leave his bed?
Moving restlessly beneath her, he pushed his hips off the bed, sliding his shaft in and out of her mouth, while she suckled cautiously at first, her tongue exploring the taste. Then she took control. Sitting on his thighs, she pressed her hands down on his hips and held them still while she milked his organ with a hungrier rhythm, listening to the harsh sounds of his breathing. His balls were hard again, gathered up at the root of his shaft. Each time she paused her sucking to nuzzle and kiss them gently he let out a groan that shuddered the length of his body, and then she licked back upward to work her tongue over the little slit on the head, lapping up the salty bead of his liquid. He grunted a warning, but she smiled and took him fully into her throat again, massaging with her lips, stroking with her tongue. It was not difficult to learn. She simply copied what he had done to her.
When he came, his hips and his shoulders rose up off the bed. He grabbed her head with both hands and tried to pull her away, but she wanted to swallow him down. The last thing she needed was yet more of his seed in close proximity to her womb. So she clung on, tightening her hold, sucking greedily. His body flexed under her as he cried out, as if in agony, shooting a creamy load into her throat.
She almost choked, but swallowed it and then finally released his cock.
He lay there panting. A shaft of moonlight, drifting through the nearest arrow slit, found his eyelids closed.
“Are you asleep?” she whispered, hoarse. No reply. “Have I killed you?”
She touched his lips with her finger and found them smiling.
“Not yet,” he said.
Deorwynn flopped down on the bed, struggling to claim some of the furs. She turned onto her side. So did he.
They lay together, his front to her back again, his strong, heavy thigh laid over her legs, as if he thought she might make a run for it. Just like a bear, she thought again, remembering her first impression of his powerful size. He swamped her in that bed and the way he held her made Deorwynn feel prized for the first time in her life.
He had called her “my love”. She’d tried to block it with her shield, but it kept swinging back to hit her in the chest.
It was easy to forget he was not her husband. Easier still to forget he was the enemy.
Until he said suddenly, “Your handmaiden, Derwyn. I like the look of her.”
She froze, her eyes opened wide, staring at that one blob of fluttering yellow—the candle across the chamber. “Oh?”
“She must join us in bed one evening.”
Deorwynn could not believe her ears.
“Make the arrangements as soon as possible,” he added.
She wriggled, turning over to face him, fighting against her veil and his hard arms. “Firstly, my lord. Her name is pronounced Deorwynn. And secondly…am I not enough for you?”
“Why settle for one wench when there are two to be had?” Unable to see his features fully, she just caught the gleam in his eye, as he added, “Besides, wife, your place is not to question.”
“But… Deorwynn is….”
“Mine now.” He leaned closer to the veil, almost biting her nose through it. “My property. My serf.”
“You don’t understand,” she said carefully. “Deorwynn is a proud Saxon. You are her enemy.”
He had the gall to sound surprised. “I have done nothing to her.”
“The Normans have ransacked, raped and pillaged all across this country. Of course she hates you.”
“The Normans? You speak, my lady Sybilia, as if you are not one yourself.”
She sucked on her tongue, damning herself for the slip. “I was merely repeating what she says. To demonstrate how heartily she despises men like you.”
“Despises us?” The glint in his eyes sharpened into a silver blue flame that licked at her through the pewter shadows. “She should be grateful for the order we bring to this country. This island was an uncivilized, lawless place before we came.”
She rolled over quickly, turning her back to him again before she might be tempted to curse.
“Sounds as if your handmaid, Derwyn, has a dangerous streak of rebellion in her heart.” He snaked an arm around her waist, settling back down into the pillows. “She thinks all Normans are here to do her harm. I shall spare the time to teach her differently.”
“How noble of you. I wouldn’t put yourself out. And it is Deorwynn for pity’s sake. Can you not pronounce it properly?”
His laughter blew gently through the veil against her hair. “Something troubles you wife,” he muttered. “Anything you wish to tell me?”
“No,” she snapped.
“Nothing you wish to confess?”
Deorwynn struggled with her emotions and now, too, with the horrifying thought that she’d given the game away, simply because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “No.”
“No?”
He could not possibly have realized the truth. Everyone knew men had only narrow attention spans. One woman was much the same to them as any other. “No. My lord.”
His big hand slid down over her stomach and between her legs. “Good. Then you will make the arrangements for my entertainment in bed. The sooner the better.”
“Deorwynn will not be willing.”
“I care not whether she is willing.” He squeezed her sex, rubbing his broad palm against her nether lips, his fingers tracing that sticky seed, where it trickled out of her. Then he clamped down again, his great, greedy bear paw enclosing her entire vulva. It felt as if he had locked her in a chastity belt made in the shape of his own hand. And she didn’t mind it. God help her, but she didn’t mind.
Breathless, she exclaimed, “She is not afraid to fight you.”
“I look forward to it,” he whispered, nuzzling her nape through the veil.
“She could stab you in the heart while you sleep.”
He laughed and she felt his strong, hard pulse throbbing in his wrist where it pressed on her mound. “But I don’t sleep when I have two women in my bed. There is no time if I mean to keep them both pleasured.”
Deorwynn lay stiff with anger. Perhaps she had said too much and given the game away with her habitual mouthiness. The nuns always said her tongue would get her in trouble one day, when she crossed the wrong man’s temper.
“I welcome her fiery spirit,” he added gruffly. “Not many women would dare challenge Guy Devaux, but these Saxons are primitive people. They fight for the sake of it and they know of no other way.”
This was sweet indeed coming from the lips of a heartless warrior known for his complete lack of mercy.
For a long time they lay like that. She almost became accustomed to his hand holding her intimately, one finger slipped between her swollen labia, locking his sperm inside.
* * * *
He fell asleep eventually, rolling over and sighing contentedly into his pillow, his great length stretched out beside her. Now freed of his flesh and bone chastity belt, she waited until he snored; then, creeping from the bed, she took the lone lit candle to the arrow slit and fluttered her hand across the flame three times. Hopefully Sybilia had not fallen asleep waiting in the barn across the yard.
After a moment of anxious watching, she saw a dark, hooded shape hurrying across the cobbles, skipping around a pile of drunken soldiers.
She’d only partially exhaled a relieved sigh when the rush of air stopped, trapped mid-way over her tongue.
Because she felt a touch on her shoulder.
She spun around, almost dropping the candle, her heart beat ceased. No, she’d imagined it.
Devaux still laid in the bed, his eyes closed, one foot and one arm dangling off the edge. Asleep, the Bear of Brittany looked deceptively harmless. He let out one loud snore.
Deorwynn exhaled slowly, her heart resuming a steady trot.
Sidling around the chamber, warily watching the man in the bed, she hurried to the door and put her ear to it. A
fter a moment she heard quick, light steps approach. The guard outside the door murmured something. The door opened and Sybilia crept inside carrying a tray of wine and two goblets.
“Well? How was it? I thought he’d murdered you it’s been so long.”
“It was horrid. I do not wish to talk of it,” Deorwynn replied with a grimace. “Make haste before he wakes again.”
The two women swapped the veil and the hooded cloak. Deorwynn placed the tray on the floor beside the bed and watched Sybilia slide under the skins to lay beside the Norman.
“Good luck,” she whispered, thinking they’d both need it, and then she left the chamber, closing the door quietly behind her. The guard stood to attention and asked if everything was well with her mistress.
“Oh yes. She was thirsty.”
He smirked. “From the screams I heard all night long ‘tis no wonder.”
Deorwynn rolled her eyes. “Your master is fast asleep. My mistress wore him out.”
That wiped the smirk off his face. “Not my master. No single woman ever wore him out. He can take a hundred wenches to his bed and never tire.”
She snorted. “That was before he met my mistress. She tells me he begged her to stop before his prick fell off. Now she waits for your poor master to regain consciousness so she can go at it again. She’s like a bitch in heat.” She sighed gustily. “I don’t envy the wretched man. She has shriveled his balls to walnuts.”