Elena's Conquest Page 11

  Isobel watched contentedly. Good. The fair-haired convent girl was learning obedience at last. The leather belt would be driving her to distraction by now. No doubt she was eagerly awaiting her own reward. Per­haps she even had illusions that Aimery would come to her again.

  By the time Isobel had finished with her, Aimery wouldn’t even want to set eyes on her, ever again. Isobel sighed with satisfaction at the way her plans were working out.

  She suddenly became aware of Hamet, kneeling blindfolded and chained at her side. Poor Hamet, already he was breathing raggedly with suppressed excitement. And Isobel, fondly imagining how his rampant penis would spring out when freed from the constrictions of his clothing, decided that some speed was now necessary, before he was driven to extremity.

  ‘Poor Hamet’ she said softly. ‘Can’t you picture Morwith as she writhes on the bed, longing for you to fill her with your hungry flesh? But her wish is not to be fulfilled, Hamet. You see, you are going to have to wait, and listen, as Morwith is pleasured by Elena.

  Isobel saw, with satisfaction, how the blood drained from the Saxon girl’s face. She reached, again, into the chest. ‘With this.’

  And she pushed her prized possession into the trem­bling girl’s hands - the ivory phallus - so beautifully designed for a woman’s extremity of pleasure, so thick and long and cunningly carved. Morwith, on seeing its size, gave a little squeal of delight; Isobel pushed impatiently at Elena.

  ‘Use it, Elena. Use it. Do I have to explain how? Pleasure her. You see how eager she is, how she spreads her legs and writhes towards the ivory? Pleasure her, Elena, and your lord will reward you well!’

  Elena shook her head helplessly, the ivory phallus cold and heavy in her hands. ‘I - I cannot. I do not know how.’

  Isobel frowned impatiently, her slanting eyes becom­ing dark emerald slits. ‘Aimery will be displeased, Elena, you realise that? Very well, we shall have to show you; and soon, very soon, you will feel the kiss of the ivory yourself. But first, poor Morwith. See what torment she is in. And Hamet too.’

  Taking the phallus from Elena’s nerveless hands, Isobel moved across to the bed, where Morwith sprawled, her knees raised, her legs wide apart. Care­lessly Isobel ran her hands over the tight leather bodice, over Morwith’s full, pendulous breasts. Then, without preliminaries, she thrust the giant phallus deep into Morwith’s hungry, moist entrance. Morwith cried out, and squirmed her hips in delight, ravished by the cold, rough feel of the ivory’s protuberances sliding deep within her. Isobel, holding it firm and still as Morwith writhed around it, looked scornfully across at Elena. ‘Go and sit down’ she hissed out. ‘Watch, and learn. Then perhaps next time the lord Aimery is foolish enough to visit your bed, he will not find you quite so totally incompetent!’

  Shaking and humiliated, Elena did as she was told. Everything she saw, everything she heard, made her yearn unbearably for the hypnotic presence of Aimery le Sabrenn. As she sat down, she felt the shaming moisture seeping from between her legs, dampening the leather strap that tormented her so with its promise of pleasure. She wriggled on the chair, but that only made it worse.

  ‘Watch, I said!’ hissed Isobel.

  Slowly, the lady of Morency was working the ivory phallus in and out of the bound woman on the bed, while Morwith twisted against her ropes, groaning her pleasure, her stretched flesh lips clutching obscenely at the creamy shaft. Hamet listened avidly, breathing harshly as he knelt in his dark corner, the bulge at his groin sufficient indication of his huge arousal. Glancing across at him, Isobel moved suddenly away from the bed, taking the phallus with her, slick and wet with Morwith’s love juices. The redhead moaned her disap­pointment, rubbing her thighs together to ease the fierce ache. ‘Remember your punishment, Morwith,’ said Isobel coldly. ‘It is not over yet.’

  And as Morwith writhed helplessly on the bed, Isobel walked across to Hamet. ‘Here. Smell, taste these juices; feel how she longs for you, Saracen.’ She thrust the big phallus at Hamet’s open mouth; avidly the blindfolded prisoner licked and sucked and tasted. ‘Are you sorry now for your greedy lust?’

  ‘Yes, oh, yes, my lady!’ Hamet groaned in despair as Isobel kneeled to probe at his concealed erection with the cold ivory.

  ‘You will not pleasure the redhead again, so lewdly, so publicly, without my permission?’

  ‘No, I swear, never!’

  ‘And do you want to watch now, while I pleasure her with this?’

  Hamet gasped, nodding his head. With a few deft movements. Isobel ripped the woollen blindfold from his eyes. Then she unlaced his leggings.

  His dark phallus sprang out, immense and straining, quivering against his taut belly with excitement. Already a clear drop of moisture gleamed at the swollen tip. Elena, hypnotised, felt a spasm of almost unbear­able excitement shudder through her loins. Shutting her eyes, she fought for control. Isobel moved purpose­fully across to the bed and once more slid the huge ivory phallus into Morwith’s hungry flesh, sliding the cool, ridged shaft teasingly in and out, twisting it so that its protuberances pulled at her swollen lips, rub­bing at her hot, throbbing clitoris. Morwith, shuddering as the ecstasy built up inside her desperate body, turned her head and glimpsed the pinioned Saracen’s huge, dusky erection rearing up helplessly from his loins. In that instant, she imagined wildly that it was Hamet’s throbbing penis that she gripped so tightly within herself; that it was the Saracen himself who thrust his rampant, hardened shaft within her.

  It was enough to take her over the brink. With strange, delirious little cries, she clutched at the ivory phallus with her inner muscles, and was convulsed in wave after wave of blinding pleasure, squirming about the bed as Isobel, frowning in concentration, pushed the ivory deep within her spasming flesh.

  Hamet, watching avidly, was unable to control his body any longer at the lascivious sight. His hands still tied behind his back, he clenched his buttocks tight and let out a wild cry of abandon as jet after jet of milky white semen began to spurt from his throbbing penis.

  Isobel waited silently for their climaxes to subside.

  Then she turned slowly to view the white-faced, anguished girl in the chair. ‘Now, Elena’ she said silkily, ‘I think it’s your turn. Don’t you?’

  Elena, her whole body now throbbing with the tor­ment of desire after the pleasure she had witnessed, shuddered in refusal. She longed unbearably for her burning flesh to be assuaged - but not so shamelessly, not in front of them all!

  Isobel, seeing her shake her head, frowned. So, it was not going to be as easy as she thought! Swiftly releasing Hamet from his chains, she ordered him abruptly to dress and depart. She’d decided that Hamet was too loyal to his master to witness what she had in mind. Morwith watched silently, curled on the big bed in the shadows, as Isobel turned back to Elena.

  ‘You would refuse my orders?’ she queried in sur­prise. ‘You would displease the lord Aimery? You mean to say that you do not wish for his favours, do not wish him to visit you shortly?’

  Elena’s head jerked upwards, her delicate face sud­denly flooded with colour again. Aimery. All she wanted on this earth was for Aimery to come to her, to release her from this sweet torment. ‘He is coming here? Soon?’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh, indeed’ lied Isobel. ‘And how do you think he will wish to find you, my dear? Ready and waiting, of course.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Now remove your gown and lie upon the bed.’

  And then Isobel had the satisfaction of watching, as the trembling Saxon girl, whose innocent beauty she so hated, started despairingly to lift the coarse serf’s gown she wore above her head. Isobel noted avidly where the rough fabric had scratched the girl’s small, tender breasts, which were such a contrast to Morwith’s frec­kled voluptuousness; saw where the tightly buckled belt cut into her tiny waist; saw how the leather between her thighs was moist with her sweet juices.

  Elena started to unbuckle the tormenting belt with shaking fingers.

  ‘Oh, no’ said Isobel swiftly. ‘Not
yet. First, you must make a promise. Do you swear to submit to whatever the lord Aimery wishes? To - anything?’

  Elena moistened her lips. ‘Yes, I swear it.’

  Nodding, Isobel jerked the belt upwards; the tauten­ing of the strap still higher between her legs sent waves of dark pleasure through Elena, like a secret promise. Oh, Aimery …

  ‘Lie on the bed’ soothed Isobel in her ear. ‘Let Morwith tie you up, and Aimery shall come to you!’

  Blindly, Elena did as she was told, and Morwith moved in.

  Morwith had watched the unfolding scene with interest, and a certain amount of pity. The girl Elena was a Saxon, like herself; and Morwith could see that she was on fire, tormented by her own longings, yet afraid to give in. Gently, Morwith started to fasten the silken cords round Elena’s blue-veined, slender wrists and ankles.

  ‘Don’t be afraid’ she whispered in Elena’s ear. ‘Such pleasure in store, Elena, I will teach you!’

  There was a soft knock on the door. Isobel went to answer it impatiently, and came over to the bed. ‘Bind her mouth with this’ she instructed curtly, handing Morwith the black cloth that had been used to blindfold Hamet. ‘We don’t want her crying out and making a stupid fuss. Morwith, you know what to do, I’ll be back very shortly.’ She turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her. Morwith smiled to herself.

  Carefully, she knelt up on the bed beside the fright­ened Saxon girl, stroking her inner wrist gently. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to hurt you’ she whispered. ‘Believe me, there is only pleasure in store. Were you taken prisoner by the Normans, like me?’

  Elena shifted in anguish on the bed, terribly aware of the sensuous wolf pelts caressing her buttocks and the back of her thighs, of the pleasure that seared through her threateningly as her bonds tightened. She nodded her head desperately.

  Morwith had a sudden inspiration. ‘I know, you are from the convent!’

  That explained so much - why this girl was so ripely feminine, so ready for love, and yet knew so little! On a sudden impulse, she reached out to stroke Elena’s firm, lovely young breasts, noticing how the sudden spasm of pleasure shot through the girl’s helpless body. ‘Submit to me,’ she whispered. ‘Submit while I prepare you for Aimery’s love, and you will find everything so much the sweeter! Listen, isn’t this better than being out in the hot fields gathering hay, or slaving in the kitchens? Elena, you and I can be friends. Such friends! Let me show you what your body longs for …’

  One of the candles guttered and went out. The room was almost in darkness, hot and oppressive. Carefully moving down to Elena’s hips, Morwith stroked the leather belt. Then her fingers slipped downwards, part­ing the girl’s tender, swollen lips, so that the pink flesh protruded in moist silken folds on either side of the taut strap. Then she dipped her head and started to lick softly, caressing the oversensitised flesh, curling her tongue beneath the thick leather, lapping up the sweet moisture that trickled down her secret cleft.

  Elena went rigid with shock. Then, as the other woman continued so gently with her wonderful tongu-ing, she gave a muffled groan, and closed her eyes helplessly as the warm, soothing pleasure washed over her. Her belly tightened and her breasts throbbed unbearably as Morwith’s long tongue licked so sweetly up and down her love channel. She arched her hips; the leather band pressed against her throbbing bud of pleasure, chafing at it, driving her almost to the brink of which she’d so long despaired.

  She didn’t hear the door open; neither did Morwith. But they both heard Isobel’s voice, as she said, approvingly, ‘Well, well. Morwith, you exceed your duties, I think. It seems as if we have arrived just in time.’

  Elena, warm and flushed with shameful pleasure, jerked her head round to the door. Aimery. Isabel had brought Aimery to her, as she had promised …

  Her eyes widened in shock.

  Not Aimery, but a strong, muscular young serf whom she’d seen working in the kitchens. Isobel drew him forwards into the dark, heated room. ‘Let me introduce you both’ she said huskily, ‘to Pierre.’

  The young serf’s brown eyes had lit up with disbe­lieving pleasure as he saw the two beautiful women on the bed. He stumbled eagerly forward; Isobel stopped him with the lash of her tongue.

  ‘Not yet, Pierre! First, you must show us that you are ready! Remember?’

  Nodding avidly, Pierre started to fumble eagerly with his clothing. Elena, suddenly all too aware of her extreme vulnerability, struggled in her bonds, and felt her heated flesh growing cold. Surely - surely Isobel did not intend this youth for her? Morwith was crouch­ing very still on the bed, watching and waiting. She said, almost accusingly, ‘You told the girl that Aimery would be coming here.’

  ‘In a while’ Isobel replied. ‘In the meantime, we have a special treat for our convent girl. Dear me, Pierre, you are a little slow tonight. Would you like some encouragement?’

  The handsome, strapping youth nodded fiercely, his hands still fumbling beneath his shabby tunic. Isobel glanced across at the bed and caught the look of blind rebellion on Elena’s face.

  ‘Oh, dear, Elena’ she sighed. ‘And I thought you were so eager to learn, to carry out my lord Aimery’s wishes!’

  Elena squeezed her eyes shut. Aimery wished this? On her? After the tenderness he had shown her last night? No, she would not believe. it! She struggled, trying to free herself again; Isobel watched her, her face hardening.

  This was going to be more difficult than she thought. And yet, Pierre was an essential part of her plan. Elena must be desperate for pleasure by now after her day of torment, truly desperate for the feel of a strong man inside her hungry flesh. Surely, once she glimpsed Pierre’s exceptional appendage, she would be begging for it, pleading wildly for him to pleasure her, to drive himself within her! And then - then, she could tell Aimery how his precious little Saxon slave had degraded herself with a common serf, a simpleton, and he would turn from the girl in utter disgust. Isobel turned her attention to the expectant redhead.

  ‘Now, Morwith. As you can see, Pierre is a little shy, but he is truly, exquisitely well-endowed. Encourage him a little, will you? You will find yourself well rewarded, I promise.’

  Morwith glanced anxiously at Elena’s white, despair­ing face. Then, obediently, she got up from the bed and swayed sensuously across the room to the muscular young serf, her breasts jutting proudly above her tight leather bodice. As she reached him, she sank to her knees and slowly began to unfasten the belt that sup­ported his thonged trousers. ‘Show me’ she smiled softly up at him. ‘Show me, Pierre, what a man you are.’ And she reached inside his clothes, licking her lips.

  Pierre gasped, and clutched at her mane of red curls. Carefully, happily, Morwith drew out his already thick­ened penis, and cradled it between her palms, watching enraptured as the engorged shaft stiffened and grew. The lady Isobel was right. It was of exceptional propor­tions, long and solid, with an endearing curve towards the end that made it appear proud and eager to do service. Pierre was quivering with excitement, his penis jerking desperately towards her soft lips. Taking pity on him, Morwith stuck out her pink tongue and circled him lasciviously, licking slowly round the edge of the swollen purple glans, pushing back the foreskin and mouthing him delicately until he gasped with delight.

  Isobel, seeing the perspiration standing out on Pierre’s forehead, broke in swiftly. No, not yet. He must save himself for the convent girl, who trembled in her bonds as she gazed at Pierre’s huge, glistening purple erection. ‘Stop, Morwith. That is enough’

  Obediently but reluctantly, Morwith withdrew her mouth from Pierre’s penis, so that it swung free, point­ing blindly into the empty air. Pierre’s face fell; his big hand moved swiftly to soothe his engorged shaft, sliding up and down in smooth, powerful strokes while his eyes closed in rapture.

  ‘Stop that, Pierre!’ cried out Isobel sharply. Pierre’s hand fell swiftly to his side; he hung his head. Isobel went on, more gently, ‘Now for that special treat I promised y
ou yesterday, remember? A young Saxon girl, who is most eager to try out your splendid equip­ment - are you not, my dear Elena?’

  Already the serf had turned eagerly towards her naked body on the bed, a grin of anticipation spreading across his blandly handsome features, his purple pro­tuberance jutting out in excitement. Elena wrenched wildly at the silken cords that bound her wrists and ankles. No, Aimery could not want this for her. He could not!

  Morwith, seeing what was happening, crouched quickly by her side. ‘You’ll enjoy it, Elena!’ she whis­pered urgently. ‘Don’t be afraid! See what a man he is -see his fine instrument of pleasure - oh, don’t your love juices flow for him? Don’t you long to feel him inside you?’

  Isobel, overhearing, chuckled in agreement. ‘How right you are, Morwith! Pierre, get on with it. The girl is ready and waiting. All this protest is just part of some silly game that she likes to play. Take her, Pierre - she is yours.’

  With a grunt, Pierre knelt on the bed between Elena’s spread thighs. Eagerly he bent over her and began to struggle with the buckle that fastened her love belt, his huge purple member quivering and straining as he worked. Licking his lips, he drank in greedily the sight of those moist pink flesh lips protruding so sweetly from her soft golden fleece, longing to thrust himself in that honeyed passage.

  The door to the chamber flew open suddenly, letting in a draught of fresh air and daylight. Pierre kneeled up, blinking.

  Aimery le Sabrenn, lord of Thoresfield, stood out­lined in the doorway, and in the shadows his scarred face was black with rage.

  Chapter Eight

  Aimery slammed the door shut. The draught blew out the final candle, throwing the room into complete darkness except for the glowing brazier in the corner.

  Isobel moved quickly to relight the candles. ‘Why, my lord! We did not expect you back so soon, but you are most welcome. We were preparing a little entertain­ment for you …’