Passionate Pleasures (11 page)

He was going to take her from the rear like he had taken the blond slave. But wait! What was he doing? She felt a finger rubbing her asshole and gasped with surprise. “No!” she almost shouted, and attempted to turn about.

He laughed. “So there is something you do not like,” he said holding her in place.

His hand held her about the nape of her neck. “You will accept all I offer you, Ember, but your ass is tight, and needs several days of preparation before you can receive my cock there. We shall begin with a small dildo.” And she felt him inserting something into her body.

“There,” he told her. “ ’Tis no bigger than a man’s thumb. ’Twill not hurt you.” Yanking her up again by her hair, he dragged her across the tent to the bed of furs, where he pushed her onto her back. “Legs spread!” he commanded, and slid easily between her thighs.

Her eyes had fastened upon his cock. She had not been able to see much of it when he had taken the other slave girl but now she saw its full might. It was a massive thing, probably between nine and ten inches in length, and close to three inches around. Could such a penis fit in her vagina? She was obviously about to find that out as he rubbed the tip of it across her clitoris several times, and then touched the opening into her body, rubbing slowly, teasingly.

“Strapping you has made your juices flow copiously, Ember,” he said.

“You are too big,” she whispered. “You will kill me with that great cock.”

“Nay,” he said softly, brushing a finger across her lips, “you will take it in, and we will give each other much pleasure. It will take a moment or two to get used to my size, for your former master had a slender, delicate cock.” Holding himself with a hand he rubbed against her, and she felt herself almost trying to suck him into her body. “You’re eager for it,” he said, “aren’t you? You want to be impaled on this big rod of mine, don’t you?”

He pushed himself in just enough so that the head of his penis was inside her.

Kathryn whimpered. He was so very big, and yet she wanted him. Still she was a little fearful, and only the knowledge that she could stop the fantasy if she chose kept her from panicking. It was only a dream fantasy, she kept reminding herself.

He was slow and deliberate in his actions, pressing his huge cock into her inch by inch by inch. To her surprise her body stretched to accommodate his length and bulk. And then he was fully sheathed. He smiled down into her eyes. He had blue eyes. He waited for her to grow used to his great size, but when her vaginal muscles squeezed him he took it to mean she was ready to be fucked. “Now, my fiery Ember,” he said, “you shall learn what it is like to have a real man using you. Not some perfumed weakling!”

He began to ride her, his long, thick cock flashing back and forth within her heated body. Just having him inside of her gave her pleasure. She moaned with it, could hardly breathe with the thrill of it. She wrapped her legs about his torso and he roared with delight, going deeper and harder into her soft, compliant flesh.

Kathryn screamed with the pleasure he was giving her. “
More! More!
” she demanded of him. Her nails raked down his long back, digging deep, bloodying him.

She sank her teeth into his meaty shoulder and he howled with a mixture of pleasure and pain. “
More! More!
” she insisted. “Is this the best you can do? I want more!” But then Kathryn shrieked as his cock found her G-spot. The climax roared up, engulfing her, sending her spinning out of control. He shuddered above her, and she felt his cock releasing its tribute to her. “Nooo!” she sobbed. “I want more!”

The barbarian Temur fell away from her, panting. “By whatever gods exist, Ember, you are the first woman to ever defeat me in the battle of love. You are every bit as greedy for fucking as I am. I admit to you that I must rest a brief span, but then we shall begin again, and I will fuck you until you admit your defeat. Now get up and pour us two goblets of wine. The jug and goblets are on the table where Mina left them.” He did not tell her the wine was heavily laced with aphrodisiacs. The night was young.

Kathryn did as she had been bid, returning with the goblets, handing him one, and keeping the other for herself. They lay sprawled on the fur bed in brief silence as they drank down the wine. When he had finished, he began to play with her breasts, stroking them, then kissing them—licking, sucking, and gently biting her nipples. At one point he reached beneath her to take the circular handle of the little dildo, rotating the instrument first, and then fucking her ass gently with it so that she was squirming.

“You are so deliciously carnal,” he chuckled. “We will have many pleasant hours together. I do not think I shall sell you quite yet. I have not had my fill of you.”

“You will never have your fill of me,” she told him boldly.

“Do you want to be whipped again?” he demanded of her.

“You don’t want to whip me, barbarian. You want to fuck me,” Kathryn said softly. She reached out to caress his burgeoning cock, her hand slipping beneath to fondle his balls in her hand. The sack overflowed her palm. “Don’t you?” she taunted.

He laughed. He had never had a woman who was so bold, so unafraid of him. He was Temur the Terrible. The mere sound of his name set strong men whimpering with fear. At the entrance to his camp right now, the head of a caliph, his genitals stuffed into his mouth, was displayed upon one pole. His vizier’s head was upon a second pole, his headless body nailed upside down to another. It had been the vizier who had advised his caliph not to pay a tribute to Temur the Terrible. People quailed when they heard the sound of his army’s horses on the wind.

But not this woman. She was strong and fierce. “Aye, bitch, I want to fuck you, and I will!” He thrust into her cruelly, and while she cried out, startled, she wrapped herself about him and urged him on until they were both satisfied for a brief time once again. After they had coupled four times he fell into a sleep. His features softened in his slumber, and Kathryn stared, shocked as she gazed closely at the barbarian for the first time. The handsome face beneath the rough stubble of his beard was that of Timothy Blair. No wonder the blue eyes had seemed so familiar.

“Fantasy end!” she cried out. What the hell was going on with her? She grabbed the remote and pressed B.

“I’ve brought a friend, Lady St. John,” Porthos said as he drew another musketeer forward. “This is my friend, Timon, of the queen’s personal guard.”

Kathryn stared in horror. It was Timothy Blair again! “Fantasy end!” she shouted, sitting back up in her bed and throwing the remote into the drawer of her bedside table.

What was going on? Why was Timothy Blair showing up in her fantasies? She wasn’t interested in the man. She barely knew him. She didn’t want to know him. This was simply terrible. Every time he came to the library he stopped in to say hello. She even saw him in the village now and again. After tonight she could never look the man in the eye again. A barbarian? He wasn’t a barbarian, but he certainly had been in her fantasy.

And God, she had loved every minute of it! But the barbarian Temur wasn’t the real Timothy Blair. What was making her put him into her fantasies?

Kathryn tried to sleep, but she couldn’t. She considered deleting this new fantasy from her remote, but she couldn’t do that either. She hadn’t had so much sexual excitement and fun in ages. Get ahold of yourself, old girl, she chided herself. You can put a different face on your barbarian. Who is the actor you like? The one who starred in
The Scorpion King.
The Rock. Dwayne something. Yes. He would be perfect. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Finally she dozed, but the next day was awful.

“You look like hell,” Mavis said, bringing her in her morning cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” Kathryn said. “I don’t feel much better than I look.”

“What’s the matter?” Mavis sat down.

“New fantasy last night. I deleted Rapunzel. I decided a barbarian-and-slave-girl scenario would be a good one. And it was, until I realized the barbarian looked like you know who. So I ended the fantasy, and switched to my Three Musketeers, and guess what. Porthos had brought a friend he said was in the queen’s guard. Guess who it was. I had to end that program too. How can this be happening, Mavis?”

“I’ve already told you how it’s happening, sweetie,” Mavis said. “Look, why don’t you come to Sunday dinner at my house this week? I’ll invite Mr. Blair too. Maybe if you actually get to know him you can get past your subconscious.”

“What if Hallock finds out?” Kathryn St. John asked.

“You’re having Sunday dinner at your best friend’s house, Kathy. Even your stuffy brother can’t object to that.”

“I don’t know if I can even look Mr. Blair in the face,” Kathryn said. “The barbarian and I really went at it big-time.”

Mavis giggled. “A St. John afraid?” she said mischievously.

“I am not afraid, but I’m going to be unable to stop wondering if his dick is as big as the barbarian’s. The guy was massive, and I really enjoyed it. I couldn’t delete the new program. But I’ll try and put a different face on my barbarian next time.”

“I can’t help but wonder what Mr. Blair would think if he knew about The Channel, and what you’re doing with him there,” Mavis chuckled.

“Well, he doesn’t know, and he’ll never know,” Kathryn St. John said. “I just have to get past knowing it if I’m not going to behave like a blithering idiot on Sunday.”

“You’ll do fine, sweetie. I’ll do that stuffed loin of pork you like with apricots,” Mavis said soothingly. “We’re empty nesters. It will just be grown-ups. We’ll eat, we’ll drink good wine, and get to know Mr. Blair better. I’ll bet no one has asked him to dinner yet either, although I hear that Michelle Baron has been making a fool of herself at the school of late. You would think two divorces by the time she was forty would be enough for her.”

Kathryn giggled. She couldn’t help herself. Michelle Baron for all her two divorces was one of those very proper women who appeared to do everything just right.

Neither of her husbands had been able to live up to her exacting standards. If Michelle had seen the barbarian lord Temur with Timothy Blair’s face, she would have been shocked. Or would she? “Does she have The Channel?” Kathryn asked Mavis.

“Who knows?” Mavis shrugged. “But if she does, you can bet her fantasies are all very Martha Stewart and Julia Child. I heard her last husband say she was like a dead woman in bed. So, you’ll come to dinner on Sunday?”

“I’ll come,” Kathryn promised. “I need to get Mr. Blair out of my fantasies. Maybe becoming acquainted with the real man will help me with that.”

On Sunday morning Kathryn went to the late service at St. Luke’s. There was a vestry meeting scheduled afterward, and she was the Junior Warden on the vestry.

She had her own pew now, across from the St. John pew. She sat quietly before the service as Hallock strode down the aisle with the very pregnant Debora, and the other five children in his wake. Kathryn noticed he did hold the pew door open for his wife. Her brother nodded in her direction before stepping into the pew, and Kathryn nodded back.

Everything was exactly as it should be in Hallock Kimborough St. John’s world, his sister thought, amused.

She walked home. It was a beautiful late-October day, and the maples lining the street were at peak color. The meeting had been blissfully short with no new business. Mavis had asked her to come at three. Kathryn would change into something more casual than her Sunday dress with its matching coat. Dinner at Mavis’s house was never a formal affair, which was why she always enjoyed it. She stopped at the library to feed Dickens, who was hungry enough to give her a purr as he rubbed her ankles.

“You’re a shameless beastie,” she said scratching his ears. “But the library wouldn’t be the same without you.”

By ten to three she was ready to walk over to Mavis’s house. Kathryn had changed into a pair of light wool slacks in the Gordon plaid, and a thick white cotton-and-silk turtleneck sweater. She clipped a pair of simple gold earrings shaped like leaves onto her ears. She had oxblood leather low walking boots on her feet, which were clad in dark green cashmere socks. Slipping her keys in her pants pocket she picked up the bottle of wine she was bringing and left the cottage.

It wasn’t a long walk, and the sun was warm. Someone was burning leaves, and the pungent smell wafted around her as she walked. The houses were decorated for autumn with cornstalks, pumpkins, and gourds. There were children in the Sunday street playing touch football. They called to her as she walked by. “Hi, Miss Kathy!” And Kathryn waved back at them. In some of the houses Sunday dinner was being served, and she could see families at their tables.

She was expected for dinner at her brother’s on the first Sunday of each month. Hallock considered it a familial obligation to host his sister, and although she could have done without his hospitality, she went. She liked her young sister-in-law and had to admit that her nephews and nieces were nice children. Hallock wouldn’t have had it any other way, Kathryn thought with a smile. Having a family wasn’t such a bad thing, even when one had a brother like hers.

Mavis’s house was a big old colonial. As she reached the house’s front path she saw Timothy Blair coming from the opposite direction. He was carrying a bottle of wine too. Kathryn chuckled. How would Mavis solve the problem of whose wine to drink? She stopped, watching him come. He was really a very big man, and then she blushed at her own thoughts. Was he big all over, like her barbarian? She hadn’t played that fantasy again, and wasn’t certain what she was going to do with it.

“Hello, Miss Kathy,” Timothy Blair greeted her.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Blair,” she answered, and they went up the path to the house together. “I see you brought wine too.”

“What else do you bring for a dinner invitation?” he replied with a chuckle. “And if the meal is bad at least you know the wine is good.”