The Devil of Nettlewood (The Anarchy Tales) (15 page)

With a raised hand, Lord Devil immediately called a halt to the proceedings and backed away, pulling Nym with him. “If you do not wish any of this, Mitri, you have only to say the word and you are free to leave.”

Her bared breasts heaving, she glanced to the portal and just as swiftly returned her gaze to the overlord’s face.

His expression told her all she wished to know, and she realized she trusted him to hurt her only as much as she needed to be hurt and not one scream more.

Making up her mind, she squared her shoulders. “I am where I wish to be.”

He sighed. “I should like to collar you again. Collar and tether you. ’Tis for your own protection. Move during the shearing and you might be left with a nasty wound.”

Chapter Sixteen

“And I suppose, my lord, your enjoyment has naught whatsoever to do with the collaring and tethering,” Mitri replied.

Spur resentfully contemplated the young woman who had so exquisitely made him her slave. By her words, she had rendered him naked. Unfair! He had only stripped her of clothing.

Her voice sounded fearful and aroused, all at the same time. And beneath all of that was an unspoken challenge. Her silent words hummed inside his head:

Admit what I do to you. Admit I am everything you want and desire in a woman.

Or was that his own chastising voice he heard?

Deep within him was a terrible urge to make a clean breast of it now that she had called him on his hypocrisy. Deep within him was a mad impulse to tell her the truth, to admit that in her he had found a partner to fulfill him.

And what then?

After avowing the sentiment, what would come next?

Certainly not a betrothal, a promise of a future together. He could never plight his troth to her. They could have no life together. He was a nobleman, and she was a common peasant wench. The best he could do was keep her as his plaything, his whore until and, mayhap even after, taking a wife. Apart from the impropriety of offering her anything more, what he felt was lust, not love. He would never commit the irresponsible act of loving, of cherishing, of adoring a common serf. During these perilous political times, he must strengthen his ties with the king’s court with a royal marriage, a true alliance of nobility, not abandon them. And for what? A cunt?

The very idea was the height of self-destruction. He might just as well slit his own throat as well as the throats of his populace as permit this succulent wench to get in the way of a strengthened military defense he would make through the right marriage.

Nay, that he would not do. As anarchy reigned supreme, he would satisfy his prurient passions and let it go at that. Who knew what the morrow might bring?

Not he.

In the here and now, he had a flirtatious wench, naked and taunting him with her bold regard, at his disposal. Tonight he intended to lose himself in her dancing eyes, in her tight little body, in her creamy cunt and welcoming arse. In the future, he would make a respectable lady his wife.

“Drop down, lambkin.”

“Your wish is my command, my lord,” she said and fell to her knees on the rush-covered floor.

“All the way down,” he ordered. “No half measures. You are either in this or you are not. In which case, gather your belongings and leave with the agreed-upon recompense.”

“Why keep belaboring the terms of our agreement? I have done naught to gainsay you. Any prohibitions, any denials are in your own mind, my lord.” She reclined gracefully on her back, her small breasts pointed upward. “Like so?”

“Open,” he said sternly, frowning darkly at her closed-up-tight knees. “I want your pelvis raised and your thighs split wide. Seduce me. Naught held back. There is no place for female pride here, for maidenly modesty, for chaste morality. Become as an animal for me, my little excitable lambkin.”

She stretched her legs out wide, spreading her loins open, and then raised up her hips.

’Twas not good enough for him. Her total submission was what he required.

“What say you?” he demanded.

“I say, I am your cunt. Use me.”

Spur nodded to Nym. “Tie her with the leather restraints, then shear the little lamb’s wool.”

This time, she made no attempt to struggle but went entirely lax as Nym placed her in the leather bonds. With her arms and legs tied, her lovely throat collared, she was every bit as docile as a tethered lamb and now as open as a woman could be, her body—feverish with excitement—there for any man’s taking.

Without having to contend with a female’s natural modesty, his squire made quick work of scraping her pubic curls. When she was bald down below, Spur gave his vassal the next directive.

“Apply the oil.”

Once again, Nym carried out his order with efficiency and a minimum of fuss. When her folds glistened and she began to writhe at all the touching, Spur said, “Apply an all-encompassing stroke whilst I watch.”

Nym of the nimble fingers knew his way around female genitalia, but he had never pleasured any of his partners before. “My lord?” he asked in obvious confusion. “Her passion bud too?”

“Aye. Of course. Naturally.”

And so his squire began. His fingers slipping on her slick flesh, Nym brought Mitri to a frenzied state. When her murmurs changed from purrs to mews, then from gasps to moans, and her hips were lifting and falling with his vassal’s petting, Spur stepped away from his observation point at the wall.

“Thank you, Nym. That will be enough. You may leave. Make sure to close the portal after you. My men-at-arms have had enough entertainment for one evening.”

“I care not a whit who sees me,” she interrupted. “Please, my lord, finish it.”

He now stood over her, looked down upon her. “Why should I?”

“You would never be so cruel as to leave me yearning this way…”

“Oh, would I not?”

She thrashed her head on the floor, her loosened brown hair flying over her face, the thick strands sweeping across her eyes. And with her wrists tied over her head, she could make no repairs. Sightless, she sobbed, “I beg you. Give me release!”

“Very well.” He went to a small table and removed a squat wooden ax handle he had not yet had the opportunity to attach to a blade. The wood was smooth and seasoned, a nice thick handful to grip when he felled timber.

He returned to her and untied a bound hand, into which he placed the tool. “Use this to find your pleasure.”

Her small breasts swelled over the sides of the crisscrossed leather strapping Nym had used to corset them; the hardened nipples stabbed the air. “Aye. All right.”

Her folds were wet, slick with the oil, swollen with her lust and all Nym’s fingering. Although the handle was too thick for this particular activity, with only a little cajoling on her part, she was able to do as told.

An “Ah” left her gaping lips on a whoosh as she made that first thrust. Then another. And another after that. When she hovered at the chasm, he removed her hand from the handle, finger by finger.

“No more,” he said softly.

“But I need, I need to…”

“I know what you need,” he reassured her and retied her hand. “And now that you are nicely stretched, you will get it too.”

“You?”

He repaired her hair so that she could see. “In a manner of speaking.” He pushed up the sleeve of his tunic. “At least a part of me.”

“Your cock,” she panted.

“Nay. My fist.”

Her eyes widened to the size of trencher plates. “’Twill never fit. The span is too wide across the knuckles, a swordsman’s grip. I cannot accommodate such a calloused hand as yours inside me.”

“Oh but you will.”

She tossed her head. “Nay, I say. Nay!”

“Do you deny me due to a fear of pain?”

“Would that ’twas so simple. ’Tis not the pain. I relish the pain.”

“Then what do you fear?”

“Failing you, my lord.” She keened like a woman bereft.

“You will not fail me, lambkin. And I will never ask you to do something beyond your abilities.” He laid his palm on her belly. “Your body vibrates with receptivity. And the knowledge thrills me to the marrow. Never have I had such a lusty partner.”

He oiled his hand with the oil Nym had left behind. “You please me greatly. Now look at what I do and know this—you can do anything you set your mind to.”

Reaching beneath her buttocks, he gently tilted her pelvis to ease the entry and then proceeded with a single-minded purpose. After this, she would never doubt herself again.

All warriors must go through such trials of fire.

He pressed against the full lips of her denuded loins, watching his scarred knuckles sink in that first little bit. He narrowed his folded fingers and then allowed them to slowly enter, the wet sounds of her loins welcoming him.

He would not rush this. Not for her sake. Not in the interests of his own enjoyment. He would have this first time last.

“Such a sweet cunt,” he whispered. “See how the slit accepts the intrusion of my fist? No trespass will be off-limits after this. When you leave here, you will be able to ply your trade wherever you go.”

Her chin jutted. He had hit a sore spot. “I shan’t do this when I leave here. I shall become a chandler in London and make my way with my skill.”

“But this is your skill. You are made for this,” he said, speaking calmly even as he wanted to crow with the possession. His folded hand was inside her passage. Though only barely.

Barely was not enough for him. He would have her know she belonged to him in every fiber of her being.

He moved his hand higher.

“Oh-oh-oh,” she sobbed. “The pressure. I am about to burst from the pressure.”

“One small push and ’tis done,” he said. “Shall I?”

A tear rolling down her cheek, she hiked her lovely jaw. “Do it. Please, do it.”

As her hugely elongated nipples pointed upward, he did, he did do it, and he was damned too for the pleasure the unnatural possession gave him. He pumped his closed hand inside her. Not once. But once, then again.

As she screamed, a scream that seemed to go on and on, he kissed her lips, pulled back like a woman giving birth. There was a beautiful quality in the feral baring of her teeth. “’Tis done,” he said on a hush. “You did it. And the next time will be easier. And the time after that, you will plead with me to give you both fists.”

When he made to take back his hand, she shook her head. “Stay awhilst inside me.”

“Are you very sure?”

“I like it. The fullness. The pressure. The pain. I like it. Why do I like it, my lord? Can you answer me that? The reason bewilders me so.”

“You like it for the same reason I enjoy dispensing it. In this thorn-ridden hell, I say we are well suited.” He smiled. “You feel so soft around my wrist. And the heat. The wet heat is like a Turkish bath. In this, you own me. I cannot seem to get enough of you,” he admitted, his candor frightening him. What more might he reveal to her before the eve was through?

Whilst keeping his fist lodged inside her, not moving it, just burrowed within her clasp, he pinched an erect nipple straining out from between the leather strapping.

Piercing her would come next. Sometime before dawn, he would have to ring her in gold. Her breasts. The delicate folds between her legs. He would
have
to do it! The compulsion to have her wear tokens of his possession was too strong to withstand.

She would not deny him. He knew she would not. She would consent to the piercings. All through the long night ahead of them, she would consent to it all, for she was just as caught up in this crazed thing as was he.

“Even now, I plot our next foray into decadence,” he gritted out.

She took a deep breath, a woman preparing for her next crucible. “Make me come again like this first.”

He flinched away from her request—nay, her
order
. Once was enough. But the reality was, he wanted to do it to her again too. He had not the capacity to wait for another time.

And as he had no choice in the matter, he did do it again. It took but one tempered pump of his fist and her body snapped against the leather straps and metal buckles. Jerking off the floor, she came on a ragged cry.

Afterward, and to her abandoned sobs of “Please, Master, stay inside me,” he took back his hands. It cost him, that severed connection, but he forced the brief separation upon them. ’Twould make their next joining all that much sweeter.

As the night ahead of them portended to be a long one, he stripped off his sweat-soaked garb. As he had forced her to return to a primitive state, so too would he.

There, he thought when he was naked, stripped of his fine nobleman garb. All trappings of civilization are gone. We are now just two animals coupling in the dark.

His cock stone hard, he mounted her as she lay restrained on the floor. He dragged his sac over her heat-moist skin. Crouched over her, up on his haunches but sparing her his substantial weight, he fed his cock between her mobile lips.

“Milk the head, lambkin, only the head, and then drink my ejaculate down.”

Like a well-trained houri, she did, her throat strenuously working to relieve him of the burden of his lust for her. Not all his lust, but some. Enough so that he could do her justice in future penetrations. ’Twas difficult for a man to concentrate on a woman’s rapture if his own had gone too long unsatisfied.

The pleasure of her milking mouth was deep and abiding and rich. He stole himself from coming. But alas, he was only a man, and eventually, after a goodly length of time had passed, he reared back and exploded, his cum a hot shot against the back of her working throat.

Afterward he kissed her deeply, tasting his own salt in her mouth. “You do that like you have had years of practice,” he complimented. “Talon will be well pleased.”

She licked her lips, swollen from her suckling of him. “Your brother?”

“Aye. I shall enjoy watching you with him. And I shall gloat over having had you first.”

“But, my lord, what we have, the heat of it, is surely not interchangeable with anyone else.”

“Less than a year separates us. We are very much alike, my brother and I. You will most likely come harder for him than for me. All our shared partners do.” He massaged her splayed legs to prevent the muscles from cramping. Not that she complained. She took to her new trade like a duck to water. When she left him, she would be the concubine of foreign kings and princes. He could see her now, bedecked in jewels and silks, a group of besotted patrons lining up for the privilege of kissing her toes. Such was the power of her allure over males.

Still kissing her mouth, her lips clinging, he next moved his perch lower. Kneeling astride her now, his cock butting her belly as she opened her jaws more fully to receive the thrust of his tongue, he stretched a hand to her raised buttocks and rubbed his fingers between them.

He rimmed her there with a finger. Round and round the digit went before slipping inside.