Bondslave (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards #1 ) (4 page)

She opened her eyes wide and glared down her supine body to where the top of his dark head was visible between her wide-spread thighs. "But I can't stop, if you—"

He lifted his face far enough above her vulva to silence her with one fierce scowl.  His fingers slipped out of her, leaving her throbbing inside. She pressed her bottom down into the fleece mantle and squirmed without dignity, losing her breath in little spurts of frustration.

* * * *

Raul watched her closely, knew she was near her peak. Her beautiful pussy had clung to his fingers so tightly, he could only imagine how she would feel on his cock. Her body was a treasure chest to be explored.

To his surprise she was clean and well kempt for a whore, and her body held no marks of mistreatment. A woman this fine must surely have been used many times. Where he came from she would be a popular whore indeed.

Yet she was almost...for want of a better word...
pristino
. Like a finely crafted sword that had been kept out of the battle for which it was wrought. A splendidly configured weapon, tended to, polished and kept sharp to please its owner who did not want it sullied by use. The Comte must have kept a tight rein on her and not shared his prize. There was no point asking her how many years she'd been with the Comte for she'd probably say fifty, he mused. She tossed numbers about without the slightest idea of their meaning.

So instead he asked, "Were you virgin before your first master took you?"

Her eyes clouded over. "Yes," she exhaled the word like a bitter curse.

Raul watched her lower lip tremble slightly, saw the sudden angry set of her jaw. "He hurt you? Forced you?"

Abruptly she snapped, "What do you think he did?"

"These things happen in war," he replied stiffly, not welcoming the compassion he felt creeping in. There it was again,
pity.
But there was no place for such an emotion in the life of a warrior. He must think only of his own needs and ambitions — and she was only a woman. Women were frequently spoils of war. It was simply the way of things.

This slave girl had the gall to glare up at him as if it was his fault. As if he might have helped save her.

In that moment, looking down into her eyes, he actually thought he might have done so, had he been there when the Comte captured her. Despite her humble situation, there was a certain nobility in the way she held herself— a strange dignity. Raul wasn't sure he could have stood by and watched when her virgin blood was taken, her innocence another casualty claimed in battle as many were.

But was that because he cared that she not be hurt, or merely because he would have wanted her first for himself? It seemed more likely to be the latter case. He could certainly understand why the Comte had taken her. Only a mad man would not.

And of course he wanted to fuck her now. She was not his property, but that had never stopped a d'Anzeray before.

"I must taste your pussy. Don't come. Not yet. Your new master forbids it. I will drink my fill of you, and you will feed me without reaching your own release."

He watched her swallow. Finally she nodded.

Raul lowered his head again and rubbed his bristled chin over her juicy nether lips. He heard the excited hitch in her breath, saw her thighs tense.

"Draw up your knees." He wanted her at a better angle so he could rest on his elbows and sup leisurely at her creamy dish.

She obeyed with only a slight sigh of complaint. Then her hips were turned up and she was splayed for his enjoyment. Desire spurred his blood again as he looked down at her, smelled her musk and anticipated that first taste of heavenly nectar. This wench had sucked his prick with more skill than he'd ever known. Briefly she'd rendered him powerless at her hands. So she must have been well trained.

He would repay the favor, but in his own good time. She would learn which of them was slave and which was master.

He settled his lips over his slave girl's pretty cunny and swept his tongue up and down her slit, licking up the wetness of her arousal, slowly, deepening his reach with each pass. The woman under him began to pant, her hips swaying, so he slid his hands under her and held her bare bottom steady.

"Don't you dare come, or I'll take my belt to you," he muttered into her vagina, rubbing his facial hair on her again, knowing it would tickle and itch. "You're here to serve me. Not yourself."

"No, master," she gasped out, trembling. "I mean, yes, master."

He grinned. She really wanted to impress him as a good slave. Why? Anyone might think he was the only man left alive in this land. But she did not know anything about him, of course. Nothing about his merciless reputation.

She would learn.

Slowly he drew her pouty labia between his teeth and sucked. She moved under him, her breathing shallow and quick. Her released the tender flesh and forced his tongue between, licking at her honey with long, prying laps, delving deep into her cunt. Between every other sweep of his tongue he paused while she calmed herself. Then, to torment her, he dug the tip of it back in and diddled her clit for a moment. Just enough to bring her back to the boil. When he heard her moans grow raspy and felt her hips swing slightly, he stopped again, blew on her wet pussy and waited until she stopped tensing. Then he resumed his greedy licking. As he brought her to the quivering precipice for the seventh time, Raul stopped abruptly, sat back and cupped his hand over her pulsing pussy. "No more for tonight," he grunted, looking into her wide brown eyes. "You fed me enough, and I am no longer thirsty. If you are good as you say you can be, and don't cause me any trouble, I might drink from your cup again tomorrow." With two fingers he pinched her swollen labia together and tugged just enough to see her flinch. "I might even let you finish until you scream with pleasure tomorrow."

Her lips parted, and he saw the pink tip of her tongue sweep out to dampen them. Pressing his palm to her sex again he still felt the thudding tension of her unsated arousal. At that moment he knew an animalistic lust was holding her in its thrall. She would have done anything to get her release. Her pupils were huge, her cheeks flushed, her hair like spilled harvest wheat spread across the ground.

"This is what it means to be my slave, Princesa. This is how things are. Can you devote yourself to my will? Are you sure you want to?"

Slowly she nodded, unblinking. He kept his hand on her, his palm wet from her sweet juice and his own saliva. It was minutes still before the waves of her excitement began to dissipate and her twitches calmed, but she held herself still, determined, it seemed, to obey his command. Finally he squeezed her cunt and gave it one firm slap before he lay down again and pulled the mantle over them both.

After a moment, deciding he might not yet be able to trust her not to touch herself if he fell asleep, Raul sat up again, took the piece of rope she’d worn tied around her waist and used it to secure her wrists behind her back.

If she got through another day without complaining, he just might delay his journey to Canterbury and the Comte. Why shouldn't he have a little pleasure with this ripe, succulent peach before he handed her back to her owner?

He had got himself a temporary bondslave. May as well make the most of this curious acquisition.

Chapter Four

The next day he kept her wrists tied. Feeling herself fortunate to be taken with him and not given to another or left to fend for herself in the forest, she said nothing about the discomfort. He had lifted her up so that she rode on the horse with him, her shoulders leaning into the firm curve of his muscular chest. This was salve enough for the itching rope around her wrists. To feel his body around her, his broad thighs encasing her slender hips, more than made up for anything less pleasant— except for that bloodied sack he had attached to the saddle and which now swung beside the horse, banging occasionally into her foot. It had begun to smell and attract flies. It was also of a curiously squishy texture when it hit her toes. She had seen it yesterday and wondered what it contained. Today she found the courage to ask.

"The head of someone who disagreed with me," came the reply.

Instantly she moved her foot, disgusted. Well, that explained the stink and the dark blood seeping through the bottom of it. "Who?" she gasped.

"Just a man."

Grim now, she kept her face on the road ahead. Best not think about that then. "How far to that place...Canterbury?"

"Another day or so." When he spoke his breath blew against her hair. Although she'd braided it again when she woke that morning she had not replaced her woolen scarf. Her new master said he liked to look at the color, but if they came upon a town she would have to cover it again for she could not risk being found by the Comte's men. She did not know if they still searched for her, but it seemed likely. The Comte was not a man who gave up his property easily. After all, he had chased her down twice before.

"
I fed and clothed you for five years
,
whore,
" he'd hissed at her when she was dragged back to him the last time. "
I invested time and training in you, whore. No one runs from me. No one."

She liked
Princesa
better than "whore", she thought with a slight smile. Especially when Raul d'Anzeray growled it, like a wolf teasing her.

"What is that mark on your body?" she asked. "By your cock? It looks like a lion."

"It is the brand of d'Anzeray," he replied. "My brothers and I all have it. We decided when we were young that it would be our crest, the mark of our unity. Even if we are stripped of all that we have and left naked, we will be identified by it."

She sighed wistfully. "I have no family to which I can belong."

He said nothing.

They came to a fast flowing river that, due to recent rains, had broken a wooden bridge and almost flooded its banks. Here he dismounted to lead the horse across. She began climbing down too, but he urged her to stay dry.

"It will be safer for you on the horse," he said.

As they crossed the treacherous water, he kept one hand on the horse's reins, another on her thigh to be sure she did not slip. Barefoot he trod through the dark, churning water and must have cut his soles on rocks below, but he never complained.

Again that day he caught their food and cooked it. He didn't have to hunt this time, for several chickens crossed their path and he took advantage of the bounty. Without a word he cut her wrists free to let her eat, and when it grew colder that afternoon he shared his fleece-lined mantle with her, even before she shivered.

The girl he called Princesa could not recall such generosity in a man before. Even "Grandpapa" had not been like this, but then he was ancient and suffered pains in his joints, especially in bad weather, so his patience was thin, his temper by no means mellow.

She'd heard the d'Anzeray were fierce warriors in battle, so perhaps he saved all his energies for that.

"Have you killed many men?" she asked when they'd been silent for a while.

"What is many?" He shrugged.

"More than ten?"

His lips quirked. "You don't even know what ten is."

She sulked.

The warrior glanced at her face and then laughed. "Ten is as many as your fingers."

"I know," she snapped.

He grabbed her hand and counted out her fingertips. She was too consumed by his firm touch to pay much heed, but she liked him showing her. She liked how solemn his face became as he taught her the numbers—not only in her own tongue but in his too. It seemed he had more than one language.

"My mother was Spanish," he told her, when he caught her curious expression, "and my father Norman. Neither bothered to learn the other's tongue so we had to manage with both."

"You and your brothers?"

"Yes, all seven of us."

She digested this for a few moments and then exclaimed, "Your parents had seven children and never learned to talk to one another?"

He grinned in a charmingly boyish way. "They managed to communicate in other ways. Obviously."

"
Obviously
!"

"But over time I suppose my father learned a little Spanish, quite accidentally. And she learned a little French the same way. They were both too stubborn to learn deliberately. If they really wanted to get their point across in an argument they were sometimes obliged to try."

Princesa was amused by this story, and she pondered it with her head tilted. "Seven sons!"

"Yes." He sighed and leaned back on his elbows. "Seven bastards, for they never married."

"Oh." She hugged her knees. "I don't remember my parents."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I can remember nothing from before you filthy Normans came and raped our land."

His eyes narrowed until they were little more than slender blades of silver. "You will take that back, slave. This place was a lawless, backward island until we came."

"No. 'Tis the truth."

"You will show your gratitude for my people saving this unruly land from the darkness of ignorance."

"I am supposed to be grateful then, that my family was trampled and slaughtered where they fell, my home burned to the ground, my entire village erased, and I was taken captive to be a slave?"

He answered quickly, "How do you know that's what happened if you don't remember?"

"Well, I know that much!"

"But you said you don't remember anything before the Normans came, so how do you know you had any family?"

She stared angrily. "Of course I had a family."

"Perhaps not. You may not even be of Saxon blood."

His casual manner infuriated her further. "I am! Just because you're a half-breed bastard!"

Oh, that put an end to his lazy pose across the fleece. He jerked upright, grabbed her by her hair and dragged her over his knees. "Say that again, no name slave whore."

"Half-breed bastard. Drunken, shoeless wretch. And ugly too."

He tossed up her gown and spanked her hard across her bare bottom.

"This is how my father dealt with my mother when she dared talk back to him," he growled as the second spank fell against her buttock.

She yelped, for that one stung worse than the first. "And we Saxons are the lawless savages?" she spat, struggling to get up. "You people are no better than swine."

He pinned her with his other arm and even as she kicked out behind her, he spanked her again. And again. Her bottom burned, but as his hard palm and fingers came down faster on her hot, smarting flesh she noticed a curious development. Beneath her belly, the bulge of his crotch began to grow, poking at her through his leather breeches. The more she writhed, the larger it became, and she parted her legs slightly, pressing her vulva down with each spank, bouncing slightly against the uncomfortable ridge. It was arousing to feel that pressure and after last night's teasing she was eager to get relief however she could tonight.

Suddenly he ceased spanking and slid his hand between her legs. She was slick enough that his finger slipped easily between her labia. He added another finger and then another, filling her pussy.

"This is how he calmed her too, when she was in a temper," he grunted, fucking her with his fingers.

"Ouch." She felt the need to complain although the friction of his ungentle fingers, combined with the throbbing in her arse had already begun the deep, heated throbbing in her nether regions.

"Apologize for calling me swine."

"Never! Pig! Boar!" She couldn't stop shouting. Didn't want to. A very wicked voice inside her urged her on in this rebellion, wanting to see how far he would go with her.

He pushed her to the ground on her knees and forced her upper body down into the grass. "Now you'll feel my belt, Princesa. Prepare yourself."

"Good. See if I care."

She could hear him removing the wide leather belt from his tunic. In the next instant the strap lashed against her backside and she bit her tongue. Her eyes watered.

"Now apologize," he growled somewhere behind her, breathless.

"No."

He swung his belt again, and the leather smacked her arse cheek with a loud crack. She closed her eyes and pressed her face to the cooling grass.

"You'll be too sore to ride in the saddle when I'm done with you."

"Then. I'll. Walk."

The third smack of the belt made her tremble, breath burning in her throat. But suddenly she wanted to laugh and pee at the same time.

Instead she spread her knees in the grass and moved her arse up and down, writhing as a powerful climax took possession of her body. She couldn't halt it. Her stinging arse was on fire and the heat radiated through her until even her nipples felt sore and unbelievably tender where they touched the dewy tips of the long grass.

* * * *

Raul watched his slave losing her haughty dignity in the grass before him. He could see her cunt tensing and quivering. Dropping to his knees behind her he quickly released his cock, grabbed her arse cheeks and parted them wide. Her anus winked at him. Had the Comte had her there too? Of course he had. She was irresistible. Every inch of her.

And if she was this mouthy with the Comte...this arousing...then it was no surprise why the man wanted her back again and offered such a large reward purse for her return.

He looked around quickly for something to ease his way into her bottom. She must have seen him grabbing a leg of roasted chicken, for she cried out that he had better not put that inside her.

He laughed, shaking his head. This slave liked to give orders, apparently.

Using the fatty chicken skin, he smeared the crack of her arse until it was slick, her puckered hole prepared as well as it could be. Then he pushed the head of his cock into her.

Her complaints fell away to moans and gasps.

Raul grunted, pushing his way into that tight alley, his arousal unable to wait, unwilling to give her any time to grow accustomed to the invasion. He wanted to subdue this Saxon wench. Had to.

He thrust two fingers into her cunny, pushing her down again into the grass, while she continually tried to raise herself up higher. Even now, filled tight, she fought, as if she didn't know how soundly she was already conquered.

The blissful, scorching heat of her impossibly tight arsehole closed around his cock like a carpenter's vise. It pulled him in, squeezed and held his prick until he saw only red hot smoke and thought his skull would explode.

Raul bent over her body, reaching for her hands, holding them splayed to the grass over her head. And then he rutted his slave girl like a dog on a bitch, howling to the sunset when he came in a glorious burst of semen, shooting it deep as he could between the beautiful crimson cheeks of her sore bottom.