Nicholas: The Lords of Satyr (10 page)

She lay motionless, letting him look.

Her aunt had been her only source of information regarding what her husband would do tonight. “Don’t fight him,” she’d advised obliquely. “Lie calmly, and he will lead you in your duty. Whereupon, you must exhibit neither shameful lust nor repugnance.”

When Jane had pleaded for more information, her aunt had reluctantly shed further light on the mechanics involved in marital duties. From this, Jane had discerned her husband was going to somehow place that jutting male part of himself inside her.

Something brushed her mound, disturbing the curls covering her privates and igniting curious sensations. Blunt fingers searched with businesslike intent, quickly finding the untried slit hidden within her crisp-soft down. Without warning, a fingertip pricked and then delved inside as though a thermometer intent on taking her temperature.

A startled sound escaped her, and her grip bunched the coverlet.

He didn’t acknowledge her exclamation but merely continued to watch his hand work between her legs.

The vision that had come to her in the tent resurfaced. In mere seconds, it would be her beneath his sculpted, straining body. Copulating with him.

His finger probed deeper, chafing and stretching, feeling impossibly large. He drew it out and dipped in again, intruding farther each time. The invasive friction felt beyond uncomfortable, the intimacy of what he was doing virtually unbearable.

A sudden terrifying thought struck her. If a finger caused this much distress, what would happen when he performed the marital act? How would his huge other part—that thickened shaft—ever fit?

Her eyes darted to his lap, and she shuddered in dismay. Had it gotten bigger?

He exhaled on a note of frustration and drew his finger free of her. In one smooth motion, he left the bed.

Unease shot through her. Was he giving up? What if he decided to annul the marriage? If he sent her back to her aunt’s, she might find herself enduring this sort of treatment in the bed of Signore Nesta. Or worse.

Quickly she levered herself up on one elbow. “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave, signore. I won’t inhibit you further.”

He shot her an unreadable glance as he made his way to her dressing table. The clink of bottles and containers told her he’d begun to sort through the items her maid had placed there when she’d unpacked Jane’s things earlier.

Candlelight danced like butterflies across the sleek, well-formed contours of his back and buttocks. With covert fascination, she studied the column of sinew and bone that now jutted at an upward angle from the dark thatch of his groin. Its girth had swollen as thick as her wrist! Blood-rich veins roped its length, painting its bulbous tip a dusky red. The idea that he possessed such a barbaric appendage and would want to join it with her was so extraordinary as to seem ridiculous.

Seconds later, he returned with a jar she recognized. Jane lay back against the coverlet, watching him.

Removing the lid, he tilted the pot so she could see its contents. “Cream,” he informed her unnecessarily, “to ease my entry.”

Her eyes widened, but she only nodded.

Two large fingers scooped inside the pot and came away with a sizable dollop of cream. Again, he sat alongside her.

“Open your legs.”

Finding her knees clamped tightly together, she quickly complied with his instruction.

Long fingers massaged the cream through her intimate folds, occasionally dipping inside her with brusque, matter-of-fact movements. He seemed almost detached from what he was doing, as though he were a doctor and she a patient.

The slick movement of his hands felt soothing, oddly pleasant.

When his touch left her momentarily, it was to smear the remainder of the cream on his erection. Her eyes followed his stroking fingers, mesmerized. She blushed when she realized she was staring, and she looked away.

The mattress dipped, and his massive body levered over her, obliterating the light, like a dark cloud claiming her with shadow. His legs moved between hers, kneeing them wide to receive him.

A muscular forearm planted alongside her bore his weight as he reached low between their bodies with his other hand. Grasping his shaft, he stroked it along her creamy furrow until his blunt tip was seated at her opening.

He drew his arm back up alongside her.

Within the warm cavern of his chest, Jane held her breath, every fiber of her being taut with the awareness that a man’s thighs were entangled with hers. That his heart was pressed to her breast. That his male appendage was poised to imminently breach her most private feminine place.

How strange it all was!

Without warning, his hips flexed forward. Her slit parted valiantly at the initial incursion, struggling to envelop his crown. Jane silently cursed nature for designing men’s bodies with so little consideration. Shouldn’t the fullest girth of his male appendage arrive at the base of his shaft rather than the tip? Far more sensible to let the lesser circumference of the rod pave the way for the larger crown.

Head lowered and back arched, her husband watched their bodies couple.

She stared at the vein pulsing along the side of his neck, saw his jaw clench. What did he feel as he eased himself inside her by slow, deliberate degrees? His rigid features gave away nothing.

She squirmed beneath him, worrying at the increasing pressure and discomfort of penetration.

“Relax,” he rasped. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You already
are
hurting!
she wanted to shout. She folded her lips inward and held them firmly between her teeth.

Left little choice, her nether lips eventually gulped and swallowed, granting his plum passage into the vaginal throat beyond. The feeling of fullness intensified as he prodded onward, pausing only when he met the barrier inside her. She sensed his glance brush her face, but she didn’t meet it.

All her mental energy was focused on rejecting the body that was attempting to fully link with hers. On wishing him anywhere but in his current position.

God, it wasn’t going to fit! He must be made too large or she too small. Couldn’t he tell?

He battered against the pliable barrier with gentle force and then several more times with increasing urgency. Suddenly his buttocks tightened and his hips bucked forward. He took her by surprise, and she cried out as his thickness irrevocably punctured the fragile wall.

He tunneled deeper until the inky fur of his genitals mingled with the crisp curls of her own. Until bone met bone.

“Oh!” Her breath came and went in quick, silent puffs. She shrank into the mattress, trying to escape the stinging, burning, impossible pressure. The weight of his hips anchored her fast.

“Are you all right?” he asked gruffly.

Her fingers hurt. Why did her fingers hurt? She flexed them and felt warm flesh. Without conscious thought, she’d begun clutching his sides in a vain attempt to repel him. Yet she hadn’t melded! Her palms fell to the bed beside her.

“Yes,” she said, despising the quaver in her tone. “Is it nearly over?”

“Almost,” he assured her, sounding strained. “Are you ready for me to continue?”

Lie calmly and he will lead you in your duty.

She took a deep breath. “I—yes, my lord. Signore.”

At her words, his hips pulled back and then sawed forward. Again and again, he repeated the softly punishing rhythm. His man sacs thumped dully against her with each thrust.

Oh, God! In spite of the cream, the friction was intense. As the ceaseless stroking continued, she grew desperate. His solid length scraped every nerve ending she possessed. How long would she have to endure it? Her aunt hadn’t said how long.

Hurry. Finish.
Finish!
she silently begged.

Gradually she sensed a change in him. His breathing grew harsh, and he began to plunge and retreat with a more fixed determination. His thrusts turned sharp and forceful, almost brutal.

She lay under him unresisting, doubting he was even aware of her as a person as he worked himself in her with single-minded purpose. She was merely there to serve as a receptacle for his passionate emissions, as fertile soil in which his precious aristocratic seed might take root.

Hands gripped the cheeks of her bottom, lifting and grinding her hips to his. She gathered the impression he was hurtling toward some sort of conclusion.

At last, he groaned hoarsely, a harbinger of his finish. A strong burst of semen shot from him, singing her inner walls with its hot, fluid gush. More spurts followed, flooding her. He bucked again, one last time, as though intent on wringing the last of his seed into her.

For long seconds, his massive frame draped hers in the humid aftermath of his passion. An impulse to hold him to her, to comfort him and smooth the warm muscles of his back swept over her. She tucked her fingers tight to her sides.

When he recovered, he disengaged and eased off her to stand beside the bed. The fire in him was banked now, she saw, and his hooded gaze was unreadable.

His satiated shaft hung in smug relaxation from its moist springy nest at the juncture of his thighs. He stood without modesty, unconcerned that he was fully nude before her, a virtual stranger.

Cool air found the copious wetness between her thighs. She folded them together, finding her tired muscles slow to respond.

He’d worked so hard with her, and for nothing. She’d taken the preventive herbs daily for the past month. There would be no child born of tonight’s joining.

Bending, he twitched her gown down her legs and resettled its hem at her ankles. She sensed his attention drift from her and on to other matters.

“Buona notte,” he said softly. Throwing on his robe, he moved across the room. He’d left it unbelted, and it momentarily billowed behind him like a cape. With a
snick
, the door adjoining his bedchamber swept shut. He was gone.

Limp, sore, and vaguely dissatisfied, Jane turned on her side and curled into a fetal position. She tried to ignore that unfamiliar slickness between her legs, and the inner ache that was a result of the way her body had just been used. The pot of cream mocked her from her nightstand, a reminder.

Ducking her head, she tried not to dwell on the most mysterious aspect of their encounter—that it had left her with the disturbing desire for something more.

T
he following day, Nick secreted himself in his office at the edge of the estate. Nothing that might betray his family’s ties to ElseWorld existed here, where he conducted matters of commerce. The room was intentionally unremarkable, meant to proclaim Satyr wealth and status but not invite comment.

Due to his recent absences in Tivoli, he now found his calendar filled with a succession of appointments. Vendors arrived at his door in a steady stream. Coopers came offering freshly toasted oak barrels from France and Hungary. Cork sellers came from Portugal.

Messengers came bearing wedding gifts. News of his marriage had obviously circulated even beyond this world, for parchments of congratulation—some vaguely threatening—arrived from several of King Feydon’s descendants. They bore news that the the king no longer lived. Nick swore aloud when he read that no heir had been named. There would be a fight for his throne.

Having married Jane, Nick was satisfied that he’d largely fulfilled King Feydon’s request. Having mated her on Satyr land, he’d initiated the bespelling that would keep her from harm in all the years to come. With each successive coupling, ancient forces that protected his land and all who dwelled within would weave more securely around her.

Would it be sufficient against the threat to which King Fey had alluded? Time would tell.

For now, Jane was merely another piece of business he’d taken care of and would take care of again on succeeding nights as was his duty. Or so he told himself when thoughts of her crowded at him.

He could not allow her to cloud his mind. Especially not now that Raine had traveled to Paris on his bride quest. Nick felt the loss of him in the imperfect balance of the forcewall at the perimeter of their lands. He and Lyon must remain particularly vigilant during their sibling’s absence.

In the late afternoon, bottles were delivered by H. Ricketts & Co. Glass Works of Bristol, England. These new machine-molded bottles had been patented only two years earlier. He’d purchased some last year and been pleased with them. They were more uniform in size and shape than those of blown glass they’d used previously.

He pulled out one of the bottles and brushed the pad of his thumb over the SV insignia. The stamp helped set their wine apart from the typically unlabelled bottles of competitors.

The demand for their wine would be stronger than ever this year, due to the pox’s devastation in other vineyards. But he never took success for granted. His family’s very survival hinged on it.

Healthy vines would ensure that the secret aperture between ElseWorld and EarthWorld that was hidden on Satyr land remained secure. Healthy vines would ensure his children’s legacy. Healthy vines would allow him and his brothers to live on.

All three of them attended the vines throughout the year, involving themselves in overseeing the process of thinning, pruning, and the eventual autumn harvest. But there were hundreds of other duties involved in winemaking.

Nick’s particular expertise was in considering all aspects of the business at once and making certain that everything occurred in a timely manner leading to a productive harvest and auction. As the eldest, he felt a tremendous responsibility toward the family business.

Raine kept the necessary ledgers. But his true fascination was in the chemistry of fermentation, the racking of the wine, and the blending sciences.

Lyon’s passion lay with working the land itself and in supervising the workers. At the final auction, he charmed the guests, cajoling exorbitant prices for each bottle.

Like his brothers, Nick’s physical rhythms moved in time to that of the vines. Spring was a time of euphoria when his body particularly reveled in earthly pleasures.

With a will of their own, his thoughts drifted to his new wife. Giving her his seed for the first time last night had been surprisingly satisfying. His father had told him that much greater fulfillment would come with the first imparting of childseed. He was eager to find this out for himself.

Patience.

Thus far, he was well satisfied with his new acquisition. Jane had proven herself a virgin and gave every impression she was cultured and chaste, traits he required in a wife. Qualities altogether lacking in the woman with whom he’d lost his own virginity and others he’d dallied with over the years since his first sexual encounter.

As a young man, he’d learned there were two distinctly different kinds of Human women in EarthWorld. Some were lusty and welcomed men between their legs. Others took no pleasure in sex.

His father had taken great pains to make him understand that wives were to be chosen from the latter pool. That conversation had ensued after he’d unexpectedly stumbled upon his father dallying with a kitchen maid in the cellar. He’d been a young lad then, but the memories were fresh….

Fifteen-year-old Nick froze, unable to look away from the sight he’d come upon while taking a shortcut through the kitchen cellar. He’d been on his way to the caverns on Satyr land, where he planned to expand his collection of fossils. But all thoughts of his expedition left him at the sight of his father crowding a maid into the corner between two pie safes.

As his father’s fingers had freed the maid’s generous blue-veined breasts and begun kneading them, Nick’s hands had flexed on his spade and bucket.

The maid lifted her skirts.

Nick’s nostrils flared. His olfactory sense was already well developed, and the aroma of her cunt, mingled with cinnamon and hot apple from the cooling pies, teased at him.

His father worked the front of his trousers free and then insinuated himself between her thighs. At his first mighty shove, she gave a curt shriek. It was followed by feminine sounds of discomfort that quickly turned to groans of enjoyment as his father’s hips established a steady rhythm.

Feminine giggles and encouragements joined with masculine grunts as his father heaved into her with growing force.

Nick knew he should go but found he couldn’t look away. The earthiness of it fascinated him.

When they’d finished, the maid spotted him over his father’s shoulder. She whispered something, causing the older man to whirl around in dismay, inadvertently displaying his cock.

Chagrined, he fastened his trousers and stuffed his tunic inside the waist, speaking ruefully to his son over his shoulder. “Caught us at it, eh, Nico?”

He swatted the maid’s rump, and she took herself off, still buttoning her blouse and straightening her skirt. She tossed Nick a saucy look he imagined meant she might enjoy having him between her legs one day. His cheeks burned even as his young loins involuntarily tautened.

As he set his clothing to rights, Nick’s father noted his fascination with the maid. His appreciative gaze followed his son’s to watch her shapely backside disappear down the hall.

“A lusty woman such as she welcomes a man between her legs,” his father said. “Not all women do.”

“How does one know for certain when a lady is that type?” Nick asked with increased interest.

His father sighed, placing a companionable arm across his shoulders. “I suppose it’s time we had a discussion about such matters.”

Nick found himself ushered upstairs to the study. There, amid the ledgers and books, his father proceeded to tell him about the two types of women to be found in EarthWorld.

“You’re yet too young for such dalliances, but one day you will experience the overwhelming desire to dip your flesh into feminine honey. You’ll find many obliging women such as yon kitchen maid with whom gentlemen such as ourselves may slake our lust. But her type are so separate a being from those ladies we must marry as to be another species.”

Nick felt a surge of manly camaraderie at his father’s willingness to discuss such adult, masculine subjects as lust and fornication with him. “In what ways are they different?” he asked.

“As a rule, wives welcome their husbands in the marital bed, only as it is their duty to procreate,” his father explained. “A husband’s taking of his wife should be a brief exercise, and she will take no pleasure in it. However, it is necessary to couple with one’s wife at regular intervals in order to weave the protection of Satyr Will around her.”

“And the other kind of women?” Nick prodded.

“Ah!” His father grinned. “Those are the ones with whom we may slake our baser, carnal urges.”

“Servants?”

“Where they are willing,” said his father with a shrug. “And without fear of contracting a pox or siring a bastard, thank Bacchus.”

Nick looked confused.

His father leaned forward. “You will come to greatly appreciate the differences between us and Humans in this area. Unlike Humans, we aren’t troubled by the various diseases communicated through fornication. And while the cocks of Human men issue seed that takes root as it wills, it’s only possible for the Satyr to put a child in a female’s belly during the Calling. Even then, we can decide whether or not our seed will be potent.”

His father turned reflective for a moment, and Nick sensed he was thinking of his own wife, Nick’s mother, who was long dead. She’d been Human, but a strain of Satyr blood had touched her family in the distant past, giving her the ability to bear the children of his father, a full-blood Satyr.

“But do take care not to become enamored of one woman to the exclusion of others,” his father went on. “It’s unsafe to reveal too much of what you are even to a wife.”

Nick had often seen his father’s wistful eyes follow his mother and had wondered why he kept himself from showing more affection toward her. Now he began to understand.

“Where are willing women other than servants to be found?” he asked, hoping to turn his father’s attention to happier things.

His father eyed him. “There are establishments where carnal women can be had for coin. But it’s too soon for such talk. When you’re of an age, I’ll show you such a place.”

Eventually his father had made good on his promise. But not until after Nick had already seen to the losing of his virginity.

That event had occurred some years later with an especially bold upstairs maid. After Nick had achieved his full height, she’d begun to flirt openly with him, often finding occasion to brush her body against him in the hallways. She’d pretended such happy accidents were unintentional, but the coy looks she’d given him said otherwise.

One morning, she dared enter his bedchamber while he lay slumbering. She’d feigned chagrin and said she’d meant only to change the bed linens. But her eyes were keen as they lit on his penis, distended with its customary morning fullness. He’d seen the spark of lust in her eyes before she’d made her apologies and departed. Afterward he’d noticed several other maids eyeing him with increased interest.

When she chanced upon him one afternoon in the hall outside his bedchamber, she boldly took his fingers and lay them full upon her bosom. Covering his hand with hers, she stroked it over her bountiful flesh.

Leaning close, she whispered at his ear. “Would you care for a poke, young lord?”

She hadn’t needed to make her offer twice.

Nick glanced around in search of a suitable dallying place. The linen closet? His bedchamber? Surely they couldn’t couple in those locations. Anyone might chance upon them as he had his father that day in the cellar.

“Meet me in an hour near the knot garden wall,” she’d told him. Then she’d withdrawn his hand from her bosom and given his cheek a playful tap. “Naughty boy.”

Meet her he did, feeling nervous and excited and wondering how it would all begin. She’d been there, waiting for him as promised, and had shown him a nook in the garden where they could be hidden. She’d loosened her blouse’s ties then, lowering the neckline so he had unfettered access.

Obliging her, he’d rubbed and fondled her breasts, marveling at their fullness and thrilling at his good fortune. She’d hastened matters herself, unfastening his trousers with her plump fingers and pulling forth his stiffened cock.

Her wide eyes and coarse compliments bespoke of amazement at his male endowments. Later, her lavish groans and lusty giggles had followed the reception of his shaft inside her.

He’d spent himself within her quickly and thrice more that afternoon. They met in secret by the garden wall almost daily thereafter over the next weeks. She was eager and appeared to require nothing of him other than their fleeting fornications amid the lemongrass and thyme.

Belatedly she’d often expressed concern he might have gotten her with child. His father had explained his first Calling would occur when he achieved another year of age. Until then he couldn’t impart childseed. However, he offered her no reassurances. His half brother Raine had warned him that Humans were afraid of such abilities they didn’t understand.

The maid’s furtive, scheming glances had soon caused Nick to wonder if she secretly hoped to conceive his bastard so as to give her some sort of hold over him. When his father discovered the affair, he was relieved to put an end to it.

Afterward his father decided to introduce him to a similarly accommodating group of women more befitting his station in life. The promised trip to a brothel had occurred.

The bawdy establishment was awash with scantily clad women, but none so forward as the maid had been. Nick quickly discerned that sexual matters were conducted more subtly in such establishments. After a low-voiced negotiation with his father, an attractive lady had taken Nick’s hand. She’d ushered him into a private chamber, sunk to her knees, and slid his trousers to the floor.

“You have a fine cock, Master Satyr,” she’d complimented. Then she’d placed the aforementioned appendage between her rouged lips and proceeded to attend him in a way that was new.

He’d been ready for her again almost immediately. Before he put himself inside the passage between her legs, she’d inserted a sponge moistened with vinegar she’d explained would prevent conception.

A thin string attached to the sponge allowed her to easily remove it after they copulated. Before their second coupling, he did the honors with the sponge, curious to experience all aspects of this most pleasurable activity. There was no way to explain to a Human that there existed such an oddity as a man who could control his childseed. So he continued the deception he would carry on with all Human women he mated with thereafter.