Elena's Conquest Page 14

  Gently, he moved her head away. She looked up at him, dismayed. ‘I do not please you, my lord? I know I have much to learn …’

  He laughed, a soft, smoky laugh. ‘Caran, you are exquisite, all that a man could desire. But I would pleasure you too. Come, let me show you …’ Slowly, he too sank to his knees, with his shoulders back against the wall, facing her. He too, pulled his tunic over his head, and Elena gasped with pleasure at the sight of the thick, rippling muscle that ridged his chest and shoulders. He bent to kiss her mouth, tenderly; she responded wildly, clasping at his back, running her fingers over his smoothly-tanned skin, fingering the old sword scars that adorned his soldier’s body with burn­ing pity, conscious all the time of his proudly erect phallus jutting up from his loins, like a dark, thrilling promise of delight.

  ‘Spread yourself, Elena,’ he whispered softly, ‘Kneel astride me - I will support you. Spread your thighs, and let me slip into you, like this, ah …’ With a gasp, Elena did as he said, straddling his strong, bent thighs. He eased himself into her, gently at first, inch by inch, rocking slightly to ease his entry into her tight, slick passage, trying his best not to hurt her with his massive erection.

  Elena threw her head back, gasping with pleasure, rubbing her small breasts against his hard chest. All day, she had longed for this, and now it was unbeliev­ably exquisite, to feel his thick, strong penis sliding up into her, totally within her control. She quickly dis­covered that if she raised herself so that the long shaft was almost free of her, and then slid slowly down again, clutching with her inner muscles, Aimery’s face darkened with rapture; and her own pleasure mounted in relentless waves as the solid rod of his phallus filled her plump, tender flesh.

  Then Aimery’s fingers slid down to her little pleasure bud and softly stroked. With delicious little cries of pleasure, she closed her eyes and rode him, up and down, faster and faster, her jutting nipples grinding against his chest, until at last she exploded in a cata­clysm of rapture, quivering and clutching with her inner muscles at that hot pillar of flesh that filled her so deliciously. Holding her tightly, Aimery pumped with his strong thighs to find his own driving release, spurt­ing up within her; then she slumped against him, murmuring his name, knowing a moment of perfect peace as his lips gently kissed her tangled hair.

  Then suddenly, somewhere out in the darkness of a castle courtyard, a horn blared shrilly. Elena, her senses lulled by pleasure, barely heard it, thinking that it signalled the change of watch as usual. But then she realised that Aimery, still enfolding her in his arms, had become suddenly tense.

  The horn brayed again, nearer now, a raucous, sear­ing sound from beneath the window. Elena, still dazed with love, murmured in sleepy protest as Aimery moved into action. Carefully but swiftly, he lifted her up, laying her on her cold little bed, and began to dress himself.

  ‘Caran, I must go. No time to explain.’

  Elena lay shivering, suddenly cold. The horn, Aimery, what does it mean?’

  He was buckling on his sword belt. ‘It’s the alarm. It could mean that the Saxons are about to attack.’ He bent to kiss the top of her head. ‘Wait for me, little one. I will be back.’

  Then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him. Shivering with premonition, Elena pulled the linen sheet from the bed around her shoulders, and tiptoed on bare feet to her little window.

  The courtyard below was ablaze with the light of torches and lanterns. Men ran to and fro in a purposeful melee, seizing arms and horses, shouting barked orders to grooms and squires. The great gates of the palisade were already being swung open; the first mounted band was preparing to ride out into the darkness of the night, to face the enemy.

  And the enemy, she knew, would be the Saxons, her own kind. She shivered suddenly.

  Aimery plunged down the stairs to the hall below, where all was in a state of uproar. His faithful squire stood silently ready, holding out his armour and his sword. Hamet was already buckling on his own sword-belt.

  ‘Scouts we sent out earlier have spotted a large band of rebel Saxons moving through the forest from the east’ Hamet told Aimery grimly. ‘Planning, no doubt, to surround Thoresfield and take us by surprise.’

  Aimery nodded, making for the door. ‘Leave twenty men-at-arms to guard the castle.’

  A soldier came running in up the steps to the main door, and stood panting in front of the Breton. ‘Sire, there are rumours that the Saxon serfs are planning to escape tonight, to join the rebels!’

  Aimery gritted his teeth. Then impound them. Lock all the Saxons securely away until our return.’

  ‘Sir!’ The soldier acknowledged the command, and ran off towards the armoury. Aimery made for the stables, where his big black warhorse was ready for him, and sprang into the high saddle. With a harsh shout of command, his sword held high, he led his knights out through the wide-open gates, their horses’ hooves trampling the beaten earth, their weapons glint­ing in the smoky torchlight.

  Isobel watched them go, her heart burning with venom. She knew, because her spy Alys had just told her, that Aimery had been in the Saxon girls room when the alarm sounded. Now was her chance to get her revenge, and put paid to the troublesome convent girl for good.

  Elena too watched Aimery le Sabrenn ride out through the gates at the head of his men. Silently she watched the band of horsemen gradually disappear into the darkness of the night; saw the flickering light of their torches as they crossed the river by the ford and plunged into the dense silence of the great forest. Shivering, she turned away forlornly from the window and pulled on her serf’s tunic.

  There was a sudden loud hammering at her door. Bewildered, she hurried to open it. At once, two burly manservants shoved their way in, wrenched her hands behind her back, and started pushing her out of the room.

  ‘No!’ She tried to struggle out of their grasp. There must be some mistake!’

  ‘No mistake,’ growled one man. ‘All rebel Saxon scum to be locked away until the lord Aimery returns. Are you saying you’re not a Saxon, wench?’

  ‘Yes! I’m Saxon but - ‘

  ‘All Saxons’ repeated the other man grimly. That was what the lady Isobel had told him a moment ago, wasn’t it? Especially, she pointed out, the little Saxon in the top chamber. She’d made a point of mentioning her, said she was to be locked in the dungeons along with the other women.

  The men half-pushed, half-dragged their captive down the stairs and winding passages to the stone cellars beneath the castle. They opened up a dark doorway and roughly pushed her through; she stum­bled down the stone steps and fell heavily on the straw-covered floor. Behind her, the door thudded shut, and she heard the chilling sound of the heavy bolt being slid into place.

  Slowly, her head aching from her fall, she opened her eyes. There were other people, women, in here with her; she could hear their soft whispers as they crouched against the walls in the darkness.

  ‘Here, take some of this,’ said a sympathetic voice in her ear. ‘It’s only stale water, but it’s all you’ll get down here.’

  Elena looked up jerkily, her cheeks smeared with dirt and tears, and recognised the plump, pretty face of Joan, one of the kitchen serfs, bending over her in the darkness.

  ‘M - my thanks,’ Elena stammered out, drawing a deep breath to steady herself and taking the proffered wooden beaker in her trembling hands. Then she tried to withdraw into the shadows, but Joan rocked back on her heels, and studied her with interest.

  ‘Why’ she said, ‘it’s the new girl! You were working in the kitchens this morning, weren’t you? You were the one who couldn’t pluck chickens to save you life! And then you disappeared - what happened to you?’

  The others, all young fair-haired Saxon women, had crowded around now in a circle on the straw, avidly curious about this newcomer. One of them chuckled huskily at Joan’s question. ‘Perhaps Aimery le Sabrenn carried her off to his chamber!’

  Elena caught her breath Did they know?.

  ‘What, her?’
laughed one of the others scornfully, tossing back her thick golden braids. That little waif? She’s from a convent, isn’t she? A lot of good she’d be to the lord Aimery! Why, she wouldn’t know what to do with a man like him! Now, if it was me …’ And she whispered something in another girl’s ear that had them both rippling with laughter.

  Elena blushed and clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

  That redhead, Morwith,’ another of the girls was muttering, ‘she boasts that she lay with the lord Aimery on their journey here!’

  ‘Ah, she’s a stuck-up piece, that Morwith’ scoffed another, sprawling back in the dry, heaped-up straw. ‘Lying again, no doubt. Anyway, why isn’t she here with us? She’s a Saxon serf, isn’t she?’

  ‘Lying or not, she described it all in perfect detail! Apparently’ and the speaker lowered her teasing voice, so the others crowded in close to listen, ‘apparently, our fine lord is most exquisitely equipped. It’s not only his sword that he has skill in wielding, they say!’ She gurgled with laughter. ‘Oh, what wouldn’t I give for just one hour of his fine company?’

  ‘Stop, stop, I can’t bear it!’ sighed another girl, tossing back her long hair. ‘Gytha, how can you talk of such impossible delights, when we’re locked up down here, with only each other for company?’

  Suddenly, she whirled round on Elena. ‘And what about you, little convent girl? I saw you, blushing away in the darkness. Bet you don’t even know what we’re talking about, do you?’

  ‘Yes, what was it like in the convent?’ challenged Gytha, laying her hand on Elena’s shoulder. ‘Did you lie awake, little nun, dreaming of some fine man coming to your lonely bed?’

  ‘Or,’ whispered another one, rubbing close up to Elena’s side, ‘did you enjoy yourself with your friends? Did you pretend that you had a man to pleasure you?’

  Suddenly they were all giggling, teasing, touching. One of them clutched laughingly at her tunic; it ripped, and they sighed with pleasure as her small white breasts were revealed to their avid gaze.

  ‘No,’ begged Elena, flushed with shame. ‘No, I beg you-’

  But they took no notice. The woman Gytha bent her head swiftly to suckle at the rosy crest; it pouted and stiffened beneath her teasing lips. ‘Imagine,’ she whis­pered hungrily, ‘that it’s the lord Aimery pleasuring you. Oh, just imagine little nun, that he’s preparing to enter you with his great thick penis, getting ready to slide it into that hot, juicy little nest between your thighs

  Elena felt the wild, dark pleasure rise in her just at the sound of his name. The women, sensing her shame­ful excitement, moved in on her quickly; two of them held her thighs apart, while Gytha gently ran her hands up beneath her tunic. Elena gasped as the exploring little finger caught tantalisingly at the secret folds of flesh between her thighs; she twisted and turned, but there was no escape, and Gytha’s cunning finger sliding up into her yearning, moistened flesh was so delicious that she let a soft moan escape from her parted lips.

  Gytha gave a secret smile of satisfaction, and held up the finger that glistened with Elena’s love juices. ‘Such a sweet, hot little love mound, girls,’ she whispered gleefully. She used two more fingers to stroke Elena’s flesh lips, parting them softly and rubbing with gentle insistence so that the flesh around her swollen clitoris was stretched and pulled. ‘Our little nun is more than ready, it seems, ready to feel a strong man slide his thick shaft inside her, to feel him pleasure her until she squeals for mercy. Is this what you did at the convent? All of you using your eager little fingers, to give yourselves pleasure? Girls, let’s show her that we can do the same!’

  Instantly two of them bent to her pointed little breasts, suckling and licking at her exquisitely sensitised nipples as Elena writhed helplessly beneath them. The dark pleasure flooded her; she was terrified that she was going to climax hotly beneath their teasing fingers and hot busy mouths. Slowly, she was being drawn into a whirling vortex of sensation that it was impossible to resist -

  ‘Stop!’ hissed Gytha suddenly. ‘Someone’s coming!’

  Elena was abandoned. She rolled over into the shadows, clutching her torn tunic across her breasts, her whole body aching with wild, unsatisfied desire. The other girls, suddenly silent, flew apart and shrank back into the shadows against the bare stone walls.

  The bolt grated back slowly, ominously, and every­one held their breath. The door opened, and the light of a torch fixed at the top of the stairwell flooded in, temporarily blinding them. A soldier was coming warily down the few steps into the cellar, carrying a stone pitcher of water and a big wooden platter piled high with coarse rye loaves.

  Suddenly, someone darted up to the door and slammed it shut, blocking out the light so that they were plunged into pitch darkness again. Within sec­onds, the soldier, tripped up by a slender ankle, was on his back in the straw, with the water and bread scattered to the four corners of the cell; two of the girls had seized his wrists, while two more straddled his muscular thighs, pinning him down. He opened his mouth to yell, but Gytha had already whipped the sharp dagger from his belt, and now she held it to his throat.

  ‘Keep very still, soldier,’ she said throatily, her blue eyes dancing in the shadows. ‘I rather think you’re the answer to our prayers.’

  The French soldier, who was young and darkly hand­some and understood barely one word of Saxon, lay very still.

  Then, one of the girls who sat astride his thighs started to slowly lift her ragged dress above her head. He watched, hypnotised, and swallowed thickly, aware that even in the midst of his terror his eager phallus was stirring between his imprisoned thighs. Cursed Saxon witches, he muttered silently to himself. What devilment were they planning?

  Then another girl, laughing softly, reached beneath his leather tunic and unlaced his leggings. With soft, busy little fingers, she released his genitals, cupping his hairy balls and giving a little gasp of pleasure as she felt how his penis had already thickened. He continued to struggle instinctively, his eyes on the sharp knife; he almost choked with fear as his own dagger pricked at his vulnerable throat.

  ‘What is your name?’ someone whispered throatily in his ear. ‘Your name, soldier.’

  Struggling to comprehend, he muttered, ‘Henri.’

  ‘Well, then, Henri,’ said the voice smoothly, ‘lie still, and watch.’

  The girl who had removed her tunic leaned forward, and the young soldier groaned aloud as her full, ripe breasts brushed across his loins. His penis jerked upwards from its bush of black hair, yearning to savour those rosy nipples; the girls surrounding him gave soft murmurs of delight at the generous length of his throb­bing erection, and watched avidly.

  ‘Who’s first?’ whispered one, licking her lips.

  Take turns,’ commanded Gytha softly. ‘Isn’t that fair, soldier?’

  Needing no encouragement, the naked Saxon girl who was so busy rubbing her hardened nipples against the soldier’s swollen glans moved swiftly to straddle his hips, and lowered herself, licking her lips, onto the swollen red shaft. She closed her eyes with delight as he slid up her and threw her head back, wriggling in a delirium of sensation as the thick, engorged penis hungrily filled her aching flesh.

  The others watched avidly, enviously. Gytha mur­mured, ‘We must make the most of this, girls. This fine young fellow will earn his keep tonight.’

  And, pulling her own tunic deliberately over her head, caressing her own flushed breasts, she crouched above the soldier’s head to face the girl who was riding his hips, her secret flesh poised above his mouth.

  ‘Lick me, Henri,’ she whispered. ‘Lick me. Push your fine, hard tongue up into me - ah, yes, that’s it - ‘ On the verge of spasming already, she leaned forward to grasp the other girl’s breasts in her cupped hands, pinching at her nipples, so the other girl cried aloud and rode herself harder and harder on the imprisoned man’s rigid shaft.

  Elena, hot with shame, was unable to tear her eyes away, aware that she was almost on the brink of explosion hersel
f, her love-channel slick with juices, crying out for satisfaction. She could see the thick base of the soldier’s rigid penis as the excited woman slid up and down his shaft; the thought of feeling that long, hot stem sliding within her own juicy passage made her feel faint with desire. At the same time, she could see how the solider lapped avidly at Gytha’s moist vulva, licking and tasting greedily, sliding along her inner lips and thrusting high into her swollen pink flesh.

  Suddenly, with groans of ecstasy, the three of them began to explode; the two girls writhing their hips as they clutched hungrily at the young man beneath them, while the soldier pumped deliriously hard with his penis, at the same time swirling and licking at Gytha’s wetness with his mouth. With a great cry, the soldier, feeling his seed gathering relentlessly, arched his hips as his climax overtook him in spasms and he thrust hungrily into the juicy loins of the Saxon girl above him.

  Exhausted, sated, the three of them stretched out alongside one another’s bodies, still licking and caress­ing softly, as the afterwaves of orgasm melted deliriously through their contented bodies. The other girls watched in envious silence.

  Gytha got up first, her eyes glittering brightly in the shadows. ‘Whose turn next?’ she whispered softly.

  The young soldier, lying back with his eyes closed, caught the gist of what she was saying and gave a weak groan of protest. Gytha smiled wickedly at him, admir­ing his fine, muscular body. That’s only the start, soldier’ she grinned. ‘You’re here to service us all -you realise that?’

  Henri shook his head, not understanding, but he smiled. Gytha’s eyes darted intently round the room, until they rested on Elena, still curled in her corner. ‘Well, well. I think I have just the thing for you, Henri. How does an innocent convent girl take your fancy? Joan, you others, hold her down.’

  With a scandalised cry of rebellion, Elena tried to wriggle into the shadows. But there was nowhere to run. Laughing huskily, the four girls held her down, just as they’d pinioned the soldier, and pulled her ripped tunic apart once more so that her quivering breasts were exposed. Gytha, standing over her with her hands on her hips, gave a slow smile of satisfaction.