The Gypsy King (14 page)

It was all she could do to hold on to her tree.

The orgasm took over her body causing it to shake and convulse as she held on tightly, her arms burning now. She stopped fighting and let herself relax. She became engulfed in the thunderhead that rolled toward her. She closed her eyes until they hurt. Now she was cumming again and this one wasn’t subsiding anytime soon.

“UUUUUnnnhgg...rrrrrrrdddd,” she screamed

into her gag as Diego’s fingers continued pushing 139

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up inside her. She felt a shifting in her soul and her body began to buck against his hand

uncontrollably. Every ounce of fluid she had in her body was rushing like a tidal wave to her hips.

She threw her head back and let out a guttural scream. With every wave pounding her body, the trickle turned instead into a raging flood.

Veronique lost all control and pushed with

every muscle she had. She sucked in a huge breath and felt some sort of wall, some valve open, some piece of her soul explode from somewhere deep, deep inside her! She screamed and convulsed and exploded, bursting forth in a flood of pleasure!

Wave after wave slammed every nerve in her

body and she screamed. Her soul gushed out of her pussy as she sprayed hot love juice all over Diego’s mouth, face and lips and neck.
Oh my god,
what is happening to me…am I peeing all over him…oh
fuck, it feels unbelievable…don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t
stop…oh my god…

“
Diego!” She was flying now in blackness. Heat and white-hot stars dotted her eyes. She heard herself roar as spasm after spasm sent streams of clear love juice from somewhere deep inside her.

She choked on her own breath and the most

incredible feelings rushed again and again

through her entire body and out of her. Tears filled her eyes as each gut-wrenching spasm sent gush after gush into his warm mouth and face.

When is it going to stop…I can’t believe what is
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happening
… “Ugghh,” was the only noise she could manage. She didn’t know when it would stop so she pushed even harder and even more juice flowed from her magical fountain. With every flick of his tongue on her clit, she pulsed and raged. She could hardly breathe now, and felt as if she were completely drained. She calmed down enough to feel her flood waters finally begin to recede. The last few spasms sent smaller bursts down her inner thighs until finally she collapsed against her tree and shook uncontrollably for what seemed like an eternity.

* * * *

Veronique bathed his face with her geyser of lustful juices. It was all he could do to keep his mouth and fingers on and inside her, so she could continue the ride. His face was soaked with hot, silky liquid and this just added to the pleasure his cock was feeling as he pounded himself strong and hard, making himself squirt just as powerfully and with as much intensity as the quivering lips he was suckling.

After Veronique calmed, he let his own

excitement slowly fade away, leaving a warm glow over his loins and through his still rigid member. Never had his hands enjoyed touching a woman as much. He quickly pulled himself

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together and reached up for her.

She seemed almost incoherent as he lifted her off her horse and into his arms. He pulled the wet skirt ball from her mouth and laid her down gently in the warm, soft grass. She was still shaking and occasionally would jerk into a spasm, but slowly she opened her eyes. He saw her smile through hot tears.

She reached up and with all her strength and slapped him as hard as she could. It was a meek attempt and her hand managed to graze his wet, slippery face. She collapsed across his chest, still heaving. “Take me home, horseman,” she

managed to mutter, then fell asleep on his chest as warm winds caressed them both into a luscious sleep.

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ven after her memorable morning ride with

EDiego, Veronique still found it difficult to distract herself from her troubles. Although she was relieved not to have seen Leone’s face, the fact the prisoner being transported to another town was not Leone only meant he was still a danger to her and her gypsy family. She knew it was only a question of time before he sniffed out the caravan camping in the hills and came looking for her.

She felt confident the Gypsy King would

continue hiding her, but what did she really know about this man and leader? Veronique had never met him personally. Could she trust that he would not turn her over to Leone or perhaps the local police if they threatened his
kumpania
?

And what about her feelings for Ahndray?

Tears welled in her eyes when she thought about her first real love. How, in a few short, glorious weeks she had fallen in love with a man she knew almost nothing about, but knew in her heart that 143

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she would have spent the rest of her life lovingly beside.

He was everything she dreamed of in a man

and a lover and they were just beginning to explore each other’s minds and bodies. And as quickly as the lust and passion came rolling up on them, it had just as quickly been destroyed. How was she supposed to accept he was gone forever while her feelings were not fading in intensity at all?

And what about her own near-tragic mistake? If Nanosh had not been riding that evening, she would surely be dead, floating face down in the Chamois somewhere. In the deep corners of her heart, she knew that Ahndray would be excited about her spending time with the gypsies. He would admire her courage for facing her fears, not giving up, making herself move forward and

embracing life again. And wouldn’t he want her to explore the very passion he awoke in her?

Maybe that was why he came into her life in the first place. Everything happened for a reason and maybe he was sent to make her realize she should never settle for the animal she now called Leone.

Ahndray showed her in just a few short moments together what she desired and needed in a man.

Part of her grieving for him also meant dwelling on her new desires. It was as if Ahndray was asked to sacrifice himself so her new spirit could loosen its bonds to the earth and be allowed to 144

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finally soar.

Ahndray would not only appreciate my adventure
with the gypsies, he would also enjoy the lustful woman
he ignited with his beautiful and passionate spark for
life,
she told herself proudly.

What to do about dealing with her feelings

about Ahndray, Diego and her new gypsy family were all questions swirling around her mind as she walked through the encampment. She pulled up her skirts and tried to walk across the mud-crusted field like a lady.

“Ouch!” she barked, lifting her ankle up

quickly and rubbing the tender, bruised skin.

Veronique peered up into the afternoon sun and squinted until she saw her destination, a red wagon with three white windows and a white

door.

She moved slowly and smiled as she plodded

toward the outskirts of the encampment.

Veronique spied a patch of olive trees a few hundred feet away. Underneath the canopy of olive trees, men from the camp were lying around playing instruments and laughing. A few horses stood grazing and, among the horses and men, stirred a few of the ever-present, wild-looking, stiff-haired dogs. The dogs scared her and she had seen several nip at, and even bite, the gypsy children. They were mongrels, but apparently they provided dependable security for the camp.

She smiled through another grimace of pain in her 145

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ankle and ribs.

With every step, she was amazed and

frustrated at how vulnerable her naked, bare feet were feeling. Veronique quickly flashed back to how Diego had massaged her feet out in the olive field. He enjoyed much more than her feet. She tingled, thinking about that day and the way he touched her. The intensity of her release made her feel delicious inside, but strangely vulnerable, too.

She wondered if Ahndray knew where that magic spot was. She certainly had no idea it existed until Diego’s magic hands made her gush and explode all over his smiling, sun-drenched face.

I’d wager we could have found it together, Ahndray,
she thought, suddenly missing him very much.

Along with her heart weeping softly in her chest, each step seemed to bring a new wince of pain.

Veronique tried to laugh at her current condition, but felt meek and vulnerable. She crumpled over trying to quickly take the weight off her swollen ankle.

“It must look like my feet are on fire!” she snapped a little louder to herself. She made her way slowly to the wagon resting a short distance away nestled under yet another ripe olive tree interspersed amongst willows and oaks. Hell, she was about to start laughing at herself. Veronique was reminded of what one of the women around the campfire had said about shoes.

“Gypsies only wear shoes when they are going 146

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into a town to do business, or to a funeral.”

“And I want to stay far away from both,” she told herself.

Even as a child Veronique had heard legends and lore about the gypsies. She knew from

listening to the old hens at the town lavoir that gypsies never tell the fortunes of other gypsies. A gypsy will only read the fortunes of the
gaje,
or peasants. She thought back to mornings spent standing around the local scrubbing station, watching and listening to grandmothers and older mothers, daughters and even young children

cleaning their clothes and laughing, cackling to each other and swapping tales between them.

Veronique thought the stories were mostly in good fun, but some seemed mean spirited and cruel. Stories about how they cheated the latest fortuneteller to come through their small town of Lourmarin out of a few francs by threatening to call the police. Many of the old bats were really just reacting to being startled and shaken after hearing secrets about themselves. Secrets told by total strangers, things that nobody else should know. As she grew older, she started to believe that maybe fortunetellers
could
see the future. And couldn’t she use a fortuneteller right now? And a dark-haired, olive skinned beauty that danced like the wind made this opportunity that much more exciting.

“Yes! I’m finally going to see one for myself, 147

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and maybe get some answers.” Veronique walked as quickly as her tender feet allowed. The wagon was closer now and she reminded herself that she really didn’t know what the fortuneteller looked like in the daytime. She had only seen her late at night, while convalescing on an eiderdown

someone had pulled out so she could lie around the campfire and be with her new friends.

She saw the fortuneteller only from a distance. The
shadows moving around her face and body disguised
her true self. It also seemed like a smoky haze swirled
around her all night. But when she danced, she used her
hands and wrists to accent the music and made it look
like she was throwing small dashes of spice and spark
into the fire with each beat. Veronique felt hypnotized
and it scared her, and thrilled her, too.

In the dim light of the campfire, the fortuneteller’s
skin was dark, her hair was dark, her eyes seemed dark
and she wore dark skirts that rustled when she moved.

Veronique noticed that she was curvy and did not hide
her full breasts from the men. In fact, she accented them
with gold and silver jewelry hanging down between the
smooth valley of tanned, full breasts. The fire threw
flashes of light through the lower part of her skirts .

Veronique could see a quick outline of long legs as she
danced around pushing herself up and down with
strong, dirty feet.

Veronique stared at her feet, too, and smiled because
she also found them sexy. She didn’t mind that they
were dirty. She wondered if the fortuneteller would
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enjoy something girlish like having her toenails
painted. She had to admit, the fortuneteller was a
beautiful, sexy woman and didn’t beautiful, sexy
women like pretty things?

The pain of Leone’s sword across her cheek came
back like a thunderbolt. She felt the bandage on her face
and tried to hide her wound from the moonlight. She
kept staring at the dancing fortuneteller hoping she
could not see Veronique watching her, mesmerized in
the moonlight.

“She’s been dancing since she was young enough to
walk I’ll bet…not just the way she dances but the way
she moves her hips, the way she grinds and gyrates
herself, like she was making love to the camp fire.”

Veronique smiled blithely up at the mysterious and
beautiful woman.

She watched in amazement at how feminine the
fortuneteller was and this made her stir. She had never
held a woman the way men held her, never tasted a
woman’s mouth or ran her tongue up a smooth,
delicious thigh. This never stopped her from dreaming
and playing with her own pleasure spots whenever her
mind wandered beyond men when she felt the need for a
soft, perfumed touch, if only in another fantasy. It was
a strong fantasy, always enough to make her cum just a
little harder and deeper than usual.

I wonder what this fortuneteller would have to say
about that!
She giggled to herself. The fortuneteller’s wagon was painted bright red and showed her colorful personality by displaying 149

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