He Calls Her Jasmine (6 page)
By all that was holy, he’d kill any other who sampled his woman. He’d allow none but himself to invade her silken flesh. Not even to enhance her pleasure. Rolfe watched Jasmine resting upon the furs on his bed while he used a soft, soapy rag to cleanse his cock and its adornments.
When Alfred knocked gently upon the solar door, Rolfe sent him away as he rifled through his collection of sexual toys looking for a blown-glass mushroom and the matching, eerily realistic dildo he’d purchased not long after his rescue from the infidel who’d held him. The bazaar had been teeming with exotically dressed men and veiled women trailed by their eunuch protectors.
At the time he’d thought the exotic toys might soon be his only possessions that could fill a woman’s cunt. Rolfe shuddered at the memory of his imprisonment and the months that followed when he woke each day to agonizing pain and the fear that the infidel surgeon who tended his wounds would give up trying to heal him and cut away his tortured manhood.
He laid the toys on the bed and dipped his fingers into a squat ruby-glass pot filled with the magical aphrodisiac cream an ancient crone had sold him in the bazaar. Its musky fragrance filled the room, and when he used some to anoint his cock and balls a hot, urgent need kindled and spread even though he’d spilled his seed moments earlier. Then he scooped up another measure of the aphrodisiac and knelt between Jasmine’s luscious thighs.
“I am sorry, sweeting, but I’ll not share you with another man. Not even my closest comrade in arms,” he murmured against her sweat-soaked buttocks moments later as he worked the cream along her slit, over the tight bud of her desire, into her dripping cunt, and finally around the puckered rosebud that protected her rear entrance.
“I do not mind. You are more than enough man for me.”
She lifted her ass, and he couldn’t resist bending to nip the plump pale flesh whilst he worked the well-lubricated mushroom past her anal sphincter until its flat iridescent foot rested flush against her slit.
“Ooh,” she said, wiggling her hips as if to acquaint herself with the unfamiliar sensation of the cold, smooth glass inside her tight rear passage.
“Picture us in a seaside villa, on a silken couch. Date palms swaying outside the open window, and your personal eunuch arousing you for me with his hands and mouth and sensual toys like these.” Rolfe rubbed the dildo along her hot, swollen slit.
Her eager cunt gushed its sweet, hot juices, inviting him to nibble the quivering, rock-hard nub beyond it. Her moan when he tongued her there reminded him of how she devoured his cock with her pretty mouth, the sensation of her darting tongue on his distended flesh, her hot wet breath tickling his balls while she sucked him deep in her throat and coaxed out his seed.
“May your eunuch drink of your honey? Fill your weeping cunt with this replica of your master’s great cock?” Then he tongued her again, lapping up more of her slick, hot honey.
“Oh, yesss. Fill me. Fill all of me. Please. Give me your seed.”
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.
“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 in 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. “
“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.
