Wages of Sin (24 page)

Sir Edmund had watched it all without a word, his own cock stirring in response to every jerk and thrust until it pushed like iron against his codpiece. Moaning, Jane rolled over on to her back, her legs still parted to reveal the lips of her sex, red and swollen from Dickon's attentions. He licked his lips, his hands itching to explore her inner secrets, to caress those soft breasts and feel their nipples harden against his palms.

But there was more entertainment to come. One more humiliation to heap upon her head before he gave way to his own lusts. Grinning savagely he nodded to the crippled beggar, who hobbled eagerly forward to take his turn. Jane's eyes widened in horror and she gripped the sheets, her knuckles turning white as she tried to pull herself up the bed and as far away from him as possible. Dickon, still smarting from his over-quick performance, seized her ankles again and dragged her back.

‘You're a pretty one, and no mistake,' leered the beggar, cunning eyes glinting lewdly from beneath the matted black curls that hung over his low forehead. He flung his crutch away and crawled on to the bed, straddling her right leg so that his stump was between her thighs. She was powerless to resist as he reached out to fondle her breasts. She shuddered as his dirty fingers found her nipples, twisting and pulling until they stood up hard and stiff. He leaned forward, delightedly, sucking first one then the other into his slobbering mouth, as one hand searched lower and the other kept his balance.

Jane held her breath against his stench, groaning as her body responded no matter how she tried to control it. His filthy hand had found her vulva, still throbbing from Dickon's cock, and he thrust two fingers deep inside, his thumb toying with the hard bud of her clitoris. Biting her lip she tossed her head from side to side, moaning denial of the blood that pounded through her, greedily demanding more.

‘You likes that, don't you, my fine lady?' he chuckled. ‘What about this then, eh?' He shuffled forwards so that his amputated leg was pressed to her gaping cleft and began to rock backwards and forwards, the stump pushing against her with every movement. ‘How does that feel?'

She groaned in horrified revulsion, both at his filth and her own reaction. It felt vile...
deliciously
vile. It rubbed rhythmically, faster and faster, like some huge blunt cock, while his real member bobbed and swayed above her lower belly like a one-eyed snake. Despite her disgust her eyelids flickered shut and her hips began to move in time with his movements, forcing him harder against her.

Panting, he slid down so that his prick replaced his stump and, with one convulsive movement, pushed his cock deep inside her. It slid in easily, greased by the hot juices oozing from her and, for a few moments before he too shot his bolt, the beggar and the highborn lady groaned in mutual pleasure.

Jane groaned again, this time in dismay as he withdrew all too soon. Like Dickon before him, he had left her unsatisfied. Her sex ached for more, her nipples rigid with need. She whimpered with mindless frustration, arching her back as if swiving an invisible lover. How could she find pleasure in acts that should repulse her? The truth was that beneath the innocent face she presented to the world lay a whirlpool of dark desire.

Sir Edmund watched with a mixture of lust and grudging admiration, his cock so hard it felt as if it would explode. ‘Get out!' he snarled at Dickon and the beggar, not even taking his gaze from Jane's writhing body. ‘Keep your mouths shut and you'll be rewarded, but speak one word of it and I'll have your balls.' Exchanging frightened glances, they sidled from the room.

He leaned over her and ran one finger down her belly to her cleft where the nub of her lust jutted between the pouting lips. She jerked and moaned as if she had been scalded, raising her hips and parting her legs even further to allow him easier access.

‘You want it, don't you?' he hissed. She stared at him wide-eyed and nodded dumbly. His lip curled. ‘Then let me hear you beg,' he ordered.

‘Please, please,' she moaned, her head tossing on the pillow, her red hair sticking to her face in sweaty strands. One of her hands went to her breasts, urgently stroking her own swollen nipples, while the other reached between her legs. ‘Come into me now,' she whined.

‘Oh, I will, my pretty,' he said. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the sight of the beggar's seed still trickling down her thigh. ‘But I have never ploughed another man's furrow. I prefer virgin land.' Ignoring her protest, he rolled her back on her stomach and parted the still inflamed cheeks of her beaten bottom to reveal her tight, rosy anus.

Realising his intention, she squealed in outrage and tried to wriggle from his grasp. He brought his hand down sharply on her quivering buttocks and she subsided into muffled sobs. Ignoring those too, he spat on his hand, wet his throbbing cock and pushed it against the softly puckered opening. Slowly it gave way and he eased the swollen head inside, gasping at the tightness and the dark heat that seemed to radiate from her forbidden centre. Slowly, remorselessly, he sank inside until his shaft was buried to the hilt in her arse.

Her groans of pain turned again to moans of pleasure. Thrusting her fingers inside herself, she could feel the huge length of his cock against them. As he began to move so did she, pushing herself back until she was impaled on his thrusting prick, her fingers working busily, feeling the unbearable sensations mounting until she stiffened and screamed her release.

Her clenching muscles gripped him like a vice, and he groaned out his own pleasure as she milked the seed from him. He half fell across her and lay there, motionless, his skin sticking to hers with the sweat of their exertions.

Trapped beneath his heavy body, she closed her eyes and bit her lip. Once again he had brought her to her knees in shame, and she could see no end to the torment that lay ahead.

 

 

 

When Jane woke, she was alone - and the day already well past, judging by the failing sunlight stretched across the floor. She was soul-weary, aching in both mind and body. Snippets of the night before threatened to force themselves into her consciousness, but she dismissed them to some dark closet in her mind, and closed the door firmly on them. All she wanted was to sleep - and forget.

She rolled over, burrowing beneath the sweaty sheets and closing her eyes against the world.

Rough hands shook her out of her drowsiness and she batted them peevishly away. ‘Leave me alone,' she moaned. ‘What do you want now?' The hands continued their shaking and, reluctantly, she opened her eyes.

Martha's broad face scowled down disapprovingly. ‘Are you ill, mistress?' she demanded. ‘You have lain abed all day.'

‘Yes,' Jane muttered. ‘I am sick at heart.'

‘Hah!' snapped Martha, folding her arms. ‘Is that all? If we all lay abed when we felt sorry for ourselves the world would go to rack and ruin. Anyway, you must get up and dress.' Her already ample bosom puffed up with the pleasure of being the harbinger of exciting news. ‘We have a guest.'

Jane groaned, burying her face in the pillow. ‘The king himself could come a-visiting, for all it matters to me. Go away, Martha, and let me be.'

‘Oh, I think you'll want to see this guest,' said Martha slyly, one eye closing in a lecherous wink. ‘Any maiden would. As pretty a young gentleman as I've seen in many a long day. And he's keen enough to see you. Practically champing at the bit, he is!'

Despite herself a flicker of interest stirred in Jane. ‘Oh yes, and did this “pretty young gentleman” give his name?'

‘Robin Attwood,' announced Martha triumphantly. ‘Your mother's steward.'

Jane sat bolt upright in bed. ‘Robin?' she gasped, staring at Martha closely. ‘What brings him here? And are you sure he said steward?'

‘As sure as I'm standing here,' said Martha, smugly.

Jane's mind raced. Robin her mother's steward? He had been a mere groom when she left. Admittedly, he had some education. He had been a bright child and their local priest had made it his business to encourage him in his learning. He could read and write and reckon almost as well as she could. In fact, had his family not been so poor, he might even have gone into the church himself - but a steward? What had happened to her stepfather? He would not lightly have relinquished control of her mother's estates.

‘Lay out my blue gown,' she ordered, swinging her legs out of bed. ‘The one with the gold embroidery round the neck. And hot water to wash with.'

‘Certainly, madam,' Martha replied. She took the gown from the chest, shook out the silken folds and laid it neatly at the foot of the bed, then dropped into a curtsey. ‘I shall send a maid with water, immediately.' She was grinning as she left, delighted that her titbit of news had produced such a gratifying affect.

Half an hour later Jane had washed, dressed, and was sitting impatiently as the maid dressed her unruly hair into a sleek mass of ringlets that cascaded down her back beneath her head-dress. She gazed into the mirror, then pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to heighten their colour.

She hurried down to the great hall as quickly as her dignity would allow. At the door she paused, her eyes searching for Robin's familiar figure. They lit on the tall man seated beside Sir Edmund, carried on for a moment - then stopped and returned. It was Robin! But how he had changed in such a few short months!

He was taller than she remembered and his shoulders had broadened. But those were not the only changes. He carried himself with the confidence and surety of a man who knew his own worth, and this was reflected in his dress. His clothing was subdued but rich, his boots of fine leather. Though no one else would know, Jane's keen eyes detected her stepfather's hand-me-downs. Again that merely served to raise the puzzling question of what had happened. Her stepfather would no more hand over his good clothing to a groom than he would fly through the air!

Robin raised his head, caught her eye and his face was suddenly younger as it broke into the open smile she remembered so fondly. As she approached, for one heart-stopping moment she thought he was going to rush to take her in his arms, but he controlled himself visibly and bowed stiffly instead. ‘My lady,' he murmured formally, taking her hand. ‘I am pleased to see you again. I trust you are well?'

Unaware of the black expression on Sir Edmund's face, she dimpled up at him. ‘All the better for seeing you, Robin.' Her welcoming smile disappeared, to be replaced by anxiety. ‘But what brings you here? Is something wrong at home?'

A frown creased his brow. ‘I am afraid so, my lady. I bring grave news...'

‘My mother!' she exclaimed, an icy hand gripping her bowels. ‘Something has happened to my mother!' Rage overwhelmed her. No doubt that bastard, her stepfather, had taken his beatings one step too far. She had always known it would happen someday.

He hastened to reassure her. ‘No, not your mother, my lady. It is Sir Thomas...'

For a moment she stared at him, uncomprehending. Her stepfather, filling the house with his loud voice, his furious temper and gargantuan appetites, had always seemed so indestructible. Like some unpleasant and uncontrollable force of nature.

‘What has happened to him?' she demanded. ‘A fall from his horse? Some knife cut? What?'

‘Leprosy.'

A ghastly hush fell throughout the hall as the word dropped from his lips, like a stone into a still pool. Ripples of horror spread as even the men-at-arms, veterans of bloody battles, blenched and crossed themselves.

Leprosy.

The very word was a curse, its bearers forced to dwell apart as their living bodies rotted. They would endure a miserable half-life, living on scraps in the lazar houses attached to the convents and monasteries, if they were lucky. If they were not, they were forced to beg out their miserable existence on the roads, ringing their bells to warn the populace of their presence, their call of ‘Unclean! Unclean!' going before them, everywhere they went.

Jane was unable to believe what Robin had told her. An icy finger touched her spine as she remembered Sir Edmund's sweaty, heaving body as he rammed himself into her. Had he been tainted even then? A wave of faintness washed over her. She steadied herself, remembering how seldom the nuns who tended these unfortunates fell to the dreaded sickness. Her body was as smooth and unmarred as ever. The plague had passed her by.

‘Where is he?' she asked, her voice steady.

‘Why, at the convent of St Ursula,' answered Robin. ‘In the care of the good nuns there.'

A bitter smile twisted Jane's lips. The Good Lord must have a sense of humour after all - and an unpleasant one at that. What a fitting act of justice that the man who had so corrupted her should end up in the very convent she was debauching herself to preserve.

She turned towards Sir Edmund. ‘May I go and visit him?' she asked.

‘Of course,' he nodded, a glimmer of pity in his eyes. ‘It is only natural you would wish to show your devotion. You have my sympathies, madam.'

She would hardly have described her motives as springing from devotion to a man she so despised. Sir Thomas could rot for all she cared, but some dark force inside her needed to see how low he had been brought before she could dismiss him from her life forever.