The Surrender of Lady Charlotte (8 page)

This next lover and the two thereafter took her while she was on hands and knees. They slapped her thighs, riding her hard to their finish, as other cocks appeared before her face for her to suck. She took this naturally even though the feel of it was awkward. Mimicking the actions of whores she’d seen in her husband’s raunchy feasts, she did herself well, learning through experience how to draw her mouth over an engorged head and run her lips down to the base until she nearly choked. Then she’d draw back with her jaws sucking the life and cum from the full fat stalks. The small erections intrigued her and were much easier to manage. The large ones made her work harder, and their owners seemed less appreciative of her labors.

This was a mindless orgy—one so senseless that her body hardly felt the orgasms as she’d felt the first two with Mountbane and Tristan. And still, she welcomed every man who came to her. She was glad to be their slave—in truth her husband’s slave on loan to the gathered crowd. When it was time to rest, she drank wine, letting the juice pour over her lips. She was giggling, content, and craving more once she’d caught her breath.

Soon, the sun was dying against the far horizon, slipping into the darkness and taking the orange and purple of sunset in its decent. The air grew calm as the orgy took a hint from the withering day and languished for a while. Fewer groans and grunting climaxes spilled into the air. Limp bodies lay all about. Charlotte’s eyes were closed and the last of her lovers had found other places to lie for the next few hours. Being alone felt good, except for a lingering melancholy—like the music that began the afternoon. The feeling was tender, bittersweet and sensuous.

Finding herself lifted from the now stained bed of lust hardly mattered to her. Thinking there would be another lover waiting to use her body, she opened her eyes and made an effort to smile, finding, to her surprise, Mountbane’s face near hers. She was drawn inside the castle to a bed in the center of the grand hall. There in the dark and brooding silence she fell asleep with her husband at her side. This was her wedding night.

Dawn broke without the gaiety of the day before—there was no one to see it appear as the eastern sky brightened the hour. No one in Mountbane’s castle was awake except for a few quietly moving servants.

When Charlotte finally stirred, she was aching to move about; and seeing that no one was aroused, she pulled away from her sleeping husband and moved to the windows on the far side of the hall. Peering outside into the sunny midday, her emotions began to rise as her thoughts focused on the possibilities of her new life. Screwing a dozen men had not been so difficult. She learned there was a power inside her loins—a secret gift bestowed on women that only men could guess at. She knew how to woo them better, please them more easily and, in all likelihood, gain something for herself more than just the pleasure of having her body pleased. What a fine thing this was! Such a different kind of freedom!

Enjoying her thoughts, Charlotte gazed back at Mountbane. Seeing him soundly asleep, she tiptoed soundlessly on the bare stone to the door and stole into the shadows of the portico. Hiding there for some minutes, she determined that it was safe to move into the gardens. She took off at a slow canter, gliding gracefully in her nakedness beyond a hedge where she wouldn’t be seen from the castle’s west windows. After taking a moment to pee in a hedgerow nearby, she then wandered through the overgrown gardens enjoying the smell of wildflowers and the trace of fall that came drifting to her on a gust of wind. Her toes dabbled in the darkness of the loamy soil beneath her feet; her hands touching leaves and tree bark. She picked a few last blackberries from the vines realizing how her stomach was grinding from hunger. The quiet was her dear friend. Her empty mind was comforting. There was a wholeness in her body that made her consider why it had been so difficult getting to this point in her life, where she could enjoy the full potency of her species. She treasured her womanliness, even feeling some gratitude toward the circumstances that had brought her to Ilusia. She would never have spent a night like the one before in her homeland. She would never have been as much a woman as she was now, nor had so much pleasure to look forward to.

Charlotte smiled to herself enjoying her daydreams, but then jerked awake at the sound of footsteps behind her. She froze in fear.

“Are we guiltily running away so soon?” she heard the sound of Sir Tristan’s voice.

She turned about, “Why no, sir, I’m enjoying the morning, or perhaps it is the afternoon.” She looked toward the sun speculating on the time of day unable to tell for sure.

“Restless?” he asked.

“No, not at all. If anything, content.”

“Then that is good,” he said. “But you’d best come with me before you ruin your day before it’s begun.”

“How would that be, sir?”

“Your absence would not be appreciated, I assure you.” He seemed to vibrate with the earth he walked on. The breeze of the day was blowing his dark hair; and staring his way even at the distance of some feet, Charlotte connected with him in the most primal of ways. He frightened her, even made her blush now, as his appraisal of her naked form seemed all too intimate. Holding out his hand for her as a gracious man would for a lady of some high station, she took it as she approached—stepping over a small crop of garden rocks. Returning to the castle, she followed him two steps behind as an obedient slave.

The great hall had hardly changed since she left. Once they returned, Charlotte slid back down to her husband’s side just as he was awakening.

“Were you gone?” he asked.

“I had to pee.”

“Ask permission next time,” he said, absently. That was a given; though he hardly seemed upset by this small breach.

“I am, however, quite hungry.”

“You’ve fasted several days as I ordered?”

“Yes, sir, and I’m famished.”

“That is good. You won’t want food in your belly until the day is done. The wine will do.”

“And send my head spinning, I’m sure.”

“Just as well. There is much more of yourself to see today.”

There were some games played on the lawn—brawny men’s sort of sports, and races on horseback, and a jester juggling fruit and bottles of wine. Finally, as the shadows of the later afternoon began to creep into the glades and grottos, and even the great hall, the dancing began.

Charlotte was pushed into the center of a round dais with other slaves. Scarves flew from her collar, lending an ethereal quality to her body as she moved seductively to the haunting music. The wine had made her dizzy, though the inebriation was making her wild. She felt like a savage responding to the pulsing sound around her and the other women, their bodies writhing with hers, and soon undulating together as their asses, hips and breasts began to touch with erotic intent. The lithe Jontile began to kiss her mouth while her groin moved in the same swaying motions. Charlotte’s sex was coming alive. Lena stroked her breasts with her own pink ones, then moved down to capture her crotch against her fair face and work her tongue inside the labia where she could still smell Charlotte’s spilt blood.

“Hummm,” the lovely sounds from the bride’s lips forecast a delirious end, which would have been a welcome sound and sight to the teeming audience of voyeurs. But then, it was far too soon when the day’s events were just beginning. This bride had much more to suffer and enjoy.

“Bring on the spirits!” Mountbane suddenly announced as he jumped to the dais wearing only his leather britches. His muscled chest was robustly puffed up with expectation. While his genteel slaves continued to make love to their newest mistress, Lord Mountbane accepted a pot of spices that were rich in aphrodisiac qualities. Charlotte would find her inebriation become more intense as the thick resin was rubbed deep into her cleft, to the portal of her darkest channel, and then pressed beyond the reluctant opening where it could do its sinful work.

“Ah, my, milord,” she gasped feeling the instantaneous burning sensation in her ass as the brew spread its powers far deeper than any cock would go. Her dancing became more turgid, her body grinding on itself, on air, on Mountbane’s hand pressed against her belly, and on Lena’s face, still seeking out the pleasure of her ripe sexual mound. “Ah! I could faint!” she almost shrieked. But the shriek died away and was replaced with a gentle mewing.

“A hearty staff,” Mountbane directed one of his aides, who quickly handed him a thick and studded wooden shaft. He greased the tips and sides with more of his devilish spirits, then pricking the hotly fired end at her nether doorway, he pressed the rounded head against the muscle and demanded it release. To the anxious eyes of their audience, the device slipped effortlessly beyond the iron rings of the slave’s interior, driving her into another orgy of feeling. Far too much to fathom, she had no choice but to succumb to Mountbane’s prodding staff in her insides, to the lips of the slave between her thighs, and the growing fire that threaded through her blood and bones. Like pain, but it wasn’t pain, like something peaceful, but there was little peace in this. As though everything inside her would suddenly burst. There was no touch to her skin that didn’t make her shriek, or kiss, or breath, or gentle nibble that didn’t bring her more rapture.

“Ah, I die………” she then let go into her husband’s arms as he carried her toward a bed to begin her final rape.

The first of seven lovers lay prone, cock erect, awaiting the descent of Charlotte’s cunt to begin the orgy. She shuddered, wondering if she would survive this night with body or brain intact. She was unworried over her soul—which seemed so satisfied in such surrender. She lay against Sir Tristan, feeling the powerful thrust of his erection lodged deeply beside the shaft that widened her ass. The spirits flowing through her body now laid waste what tiny pieces of propriety that might remain in her.

“Ah, sweet sir, fuck me soundly. Drive me to my end,” she growled as her body roared in rapturous exclamation. Surely these two pricks were more than one fair slave could take! But there was more. Aptly primed, she swooned, feeling her husband abruptly remove the wooden stalk, and then poise himself at her behind and thrust his meaty prong into her last realm of virginity.

“Aaaaaaaauuuugggghhhhh!”

Two erections were far more reckless than one real phallus and one fake. As though jousting for a prize, they worked her holes in frenetic rhythms, each his own. She would try to capture one and hang on, only to have the other become more demanding. Mountbane grabbed her hair, while Sir Tristan grabbed her sides. Would they tear her limb from limb? And would she care? Grappling between the two, her full hips were knocked side to side while her breasts bounced before Tristan’s grateful face. To view the lewdness from behind, the eye beheld the amazing truth of Charlotte’s fine, broad ass, pulled wide with two thick penetrations stretching her womanliness to the limits of her flesh.

And in the shadows waiting were the other lovers who’d claim ass or cunt once the first were spent.

Groans, hisses, cries of pain and mirthful laughter joined in chorus, until Mountbane, taking the ascendant position, as well he should, came first, spilling himself into his wife’s rear portal and plunging his seed to her depths until his cock could take no more and he was forced to retreat and repair. A second noble was on her ass to take his place, easily inserting his erection inside the emptied hole. His took a far less prominent place in the lady’s asset, until Sir Tristan let loose his cry and his cum as well. Charlotte, unconscious of her intimate physical response, groveled against this nobleman’s chest as though she would disappear inside him; while at the same time she almost lost the prick inside her ass. Yet, as Tristan pulled out and was replaced by another lover for Charlotte’s feast, the one behind restored himself and began to work the locked trio into a feverish pitch.

The orgy went on for nearly two hours as positions changed and lovers came and went. She was fucked straight up, and lying down, and in positions too complex to describe. Legs askew, her crotch spread wide and in varying angles, Mountbane’s bride hung on. The exhaustion gripping her at the end left her body vanquished, but nonetheless, serene.

“Was she as fine a fuck as I?” This was Gwnyth's voice. The wife of Sir Tristan hardly bothered to whisper as she asked the question of her husband.

“What right have you to ask, my jealous one?” Mountbane’s exhausted bride heard him respond as she lay recovering alone on her bed. She peered at the departing couple from one lazy hidden eye, seeing the discontent on the woman’s face.

“I should like such passion poured out on me,” she retorted, not at all slavishly.

“Then you should be as yielding as Lady Charlotte,” Tristan retorted back.

Gwnyth was a small, raven-haired woman, with such beautifully carved features—bright violet eyes, small pursed lips and an aquiline nose—one would swear that God had used the most excellent chisel to make such an exquisite face. Though in His shrewdness, He gave her a visage of such sharpness that it matched her cunning wit and the tigress temper she was famous for. Only Tristan did not fear her since she’d been conquered by him some time ago, and knew her place.

In the midst of Charlotte’s near-somnambulant reverie, the snappish tone of this nobleman’s wife seemed like a bell tolling ominously. She should have no reason to fear the lady, but then, most fears are irrationally found in the human heart. Thankfully, this one disappeared, at least for the moment, swept away as Charlotte’s husband carried her off to bed.

Oh! The memories of that great big bed swam through Charlotte’s thoughts as she awakened the next day. The aroma of autumn flowers was in the air; and the new sun filtered though the trellis vines casting artful shadows across her nakedness.

“Husband, are you there?” she hummed.

“Yes, and you’re still alive?”

“I am, sir.”

“I wonder how you survived.”

“Are there brides of Ilusia who die before the wedding is over?” she asked.