Elena's Conquest Read online

  Aimery stood up. He lifted the lady Isobel easily in his strong arms and carried her across to a fur-covered bed in the far corner of his chamber. Then he came back towards Elena. She shrank back in her chair, appalled, yet unable to take her eyes from him. He knelt before her on the rush matting, so that his face was at the same height as hers, and let one hand rest lightly on her thigh. He was so masculine, so beautiful in his lithe strength.

  ‘Well, my little Saxon rebel’ he said, his low, cool voice sending renewed tremors through her. ‘Did you enjoy that?’

  Elena clenched her hands in confusion. ‘No! How could I?’

  Then why,’ he said, leaning forward, ‘did you watch it so avidly?’

  She shook her head in desperation, her eyes trans­fixed by the hard, clear lines of his face. Oh, if only she hadn’t drunk that wine! Her brain, like her limbs, was hot and fevered. T had no choice!’ she whispered.

  His strong, capable hands were touching her gown. She caught her breath in horrified excitement. ‘But you enjoyed it,’ he went on relentlessly. ‘Was it because you wanted me to do the same to you, little convent girl? Is that how you and your sweet friends pleasured one another at your nunnery, your nest of rebels? Like this?’

  ‘No! I - oh, please!’ Her voice broke off in a gasp of pleasure, because his hands had slipped her silk chem­ise under her aching breasts so that the taut fabric thrust them provocatively upwards. He began to stroke them, gently. Little arrows of impossible rapture seared Elen­a’s quivering flesh. She gasped and thrust against his big, cool palms, rubbing the tautened globes desperately against his caress. His silver eyes narrowed as he watched her; deliberately his thumbs found her stiff­ened nipples, and rubbed them tantalisingly. Shafts of hot and cold sensation burned through her. She closed her eyes and shuddered as his hands slipped round her back.

  Then a new, impossibly delicious sensation engulfed her trembling flesh. If he hadn’t been supporting her, she would have collapsed, because all of a sudden her small breasts felt wet, and hot, and so deliriously sensitive that she was moaning aloud. He was licking her, savouring her with his mouth, in the same exquis­ite way that he’d tormented the lady Isobel. His long, stiffened tongue rasped slowly, softly to and fro across her engorged nipples, flicking at them, then sucking moistly. Waves of excitement convulsed her flesh; she clenched her legs together, and was suddenly aware of a shameful wetness seeping from her most secret parts.

  Oh, could such dreadful things really happen? This must be the work of the very devil, and she would be damned forever for enjoying it …

  She threw herself back, pushing her quivering flesh hard against his strong sensual mouth, gasping aloud as his teeth nipped deliciously and his firm lips suckled and caressed. Rippling tides of ecstasy washed in mounting waves through her shaking body; she reached out mindlessly to clutch at his wide, strong shoulders, pulling him towards her, pressing his hard-boned face down against her sensitised flesh in an agony of wanting yet more.

  In a deliberately calculated move, he stood up, and she sagged helplessly in her chair, gazing up at him with wide, imploring eyes.

  ‘Please,’ she whispered, clasping her hands across her still quivering, blue-veined nakedness. ‘Oh, please, my lord -’

  He stood towering above her, his hands on his hips. The expression on his dark, brooding face was unreadable; the white scar seemed livid in the hard-boned masculinity of his face.

  ‘What did you want me to do next, Elena?’ he said in a soft voice that sent shivers through her. ‘What did you want me to do to that pretty little nun’s body of yours?’

  Elena shook her head numbly. ‘I don’t know, my lord’ she whispered. ‘I only know that - I didn’t want you to stop - ‘

  He smiled a slow, harsh smile. ‘You didn’t know, did you?’ he said softly, taking her by the shoulders. ‘You really have no idea …’He turned to Isobel, who was leaning forward, her eyes hungry, on the bed. ‘We have a lot to teach her, you see, Isobel. Let us hope that she learns well.’

  He let go of her, and she fell in a shaking heap on the ground, burying her head in her arms. Aimery went to the door of his room to open it, and Hamet came in.

  ‘Restrain her,’ Aimery said curtly to the Saracen. ‘She wishes to partake in our games.’ Then he went back to the table and poured himself more wine. He watched impassively as Hamet led the dazed Elena across the room to a darkened alcove and, raising her slender wrists, shackled her carefully to some chains that pro­truded from the cold stones of the outer wall. Elena’s blood was racing wildly at this new degradation. Her bodice was still undone, and she was aware of the big Saracen’s hungry black eyes eagerly devouring her nakedness. Her arms were dragged up above her head by the chains, so that her breasts were lifted high. She felt sick with excitement when they began to tingle and burn in anticipation as Aimery le Sabrenn strolled languidly towards her with a full goblet of wine in his hand.

  His mouth tightened in mockery as he registered her stiffening nipples. Elena bowed her head in submission. Then, with one hand, he raised her small chin and pushed the goblet against her lips.

  ‘Drink’ he said, almost unkindly. ‘Drink it all down, Saxon girl.’

  He trickled it down her throat, and she drank thir­stily. A lot of it was spilt; she felt it running down her chin, down her throat and across her burning breasts, tormenting her with its coolness. The Breton lord smiled, and reached out to flick the drops away; her body jerked towards him, in automatic reaction. ‘Later’ he said softly. ‘But first, we must continue with your education.’

  He pointed towards the bed. Elena’s eyes jerked wide open.

  On top of the big, fur-covered bed, the lady Isobel was lying moaning as the big Saracen crouched on top of her. At first, Elena thought that he was attacking her. Then she heard Isobel’s low gurgle of delight, and realised that Hamet had pulled Isobels’s skirts up around her waist, and she wasn’t fighting him. Elena could see how his loose mouth suckled at her exposed breasts, while all the time he was fumbling with his own clothing, throwing his tunic and leggings to the ground and exposing his huge, glistening dark limbs.

  Elena closed her eyes in disbelief. The wine swam round in her fevered blood. Aimery raised her head upright again. ‘Look’ he commanded. ‘You wish to learn? This is your lesson.’

  Elena forced her eyes open and watched in dismay. The Saracen’s huge male member was fully exposed as it jerked upright between his muscular black thighs. It looked so swollen and massive to Elena that she gasped aloud. She watched, rigid with apprehension, as he seemed to part the lady Isobel’s tender thighs and thrust his obscene protuberance against her quivering hips. Elena felt faint; yet at the same time she felt a strange, stirring excitement deep within herself.

  She bit her lip as she saw how the big black penis slid into Isobel’s private parts, and then withdrew again, glistening with moisture, while a lewd expression of

  delight contorted the man’s face. Surely, Isobel would protest at the intrusion? But no - she was crying out softly, happily, and clutching at the man’s shoulders, lifting her swollen breasts into his greedy mouth as he slid that giant shaft into her arching hips yet again.

  Elena jerked her head away, feeling that she could watch no more. But there was no escape that way. Aimery, who had been watching her, reached up to her chains, and somehow, by a little ratchet device, short­ened them an inch or so, stretching her arms even higher. It was bearable, but made her only too aware of his power over her.

  ‘A warning’ the Breton said softly. They can be tightened much, much more. Now, watch.’

  Nodding in dumb acquiescence, Elena watched as the little tableau was played out in the flickering, smoky light of the candles. On the bed, the Saracen was now kneeling upright, his swollen member twitching upwards against his belly. The lady Isobel, her slender legs in their silken hose spread apart and an expression of avid delight on her face, began slowly to lower herself onto it, making little squealing nois
es as she impaled herself. Then she writhed up and down on the slippery shaft; slowly at first, but then, as Hamet’s stiffened tongue darted to and fro and guzzled at her pouting breasts, she began to move faster and faster, wriggling in her delight, as the Saracen clutched her to him and thrust himself hard within her. Her gown had ridden up to expose her plump white buttocks. ‘Oh, yes,’ Isobel was muttering. ‘Oh, please …’

  And Elena felt her own lips echoing those lewd animal noises. Because Aimery, still at her side, had put his arm round her straining shoulders, and was rubbing and stroking carefully at her breasts, still tautly upthrust by the tight chemise, his fingers reawakening the heady, exciting delirium that had gripped her before. He was watching the panting couple on the bed with a little smile on his face; still fingering Elena’s breasts voluptuously, he whispered in her ear, ‘You like this? I wonder, what do you want next, my little nun?’

  Panting, Elena felt the hot, wet liquid seeping down between her thighs. Her whole body burned; she was suddenly aware that this powerful man was reaching down to some deep, dark fire in her own soul that she hadn’t realised existed, that the nuns had falsely shielded her from all these years. Her loins twitched and jumped instinctively as she watched the lady Isobel bringing herself close to the very extremity of pleasure. She moistened her burning lips. ‘I want - oh, I want - ‘

  His thumb and forefinger gently gripped her nipple, pulling at it; she writhed rapturously against the wall, her shadowy blue eyes heavy with desire. Isobel had almost lifted herself off the man completely; Elena could see the huge, dark pillar of flesh rising from the man’s thighs. She saw the expression of glazed rapture that contorted Isobel’s face as she carefully slid herself down onto him again.

  ‘What do you want, Elena? Tell me,’ came Aimery le Sabrenn’s husky voice in her ear.

  Isobel was squealing in her pleasure, writhing with little jerking spasms on the hard flesh that impaled her, throwing her head back and thrusting her breasts into the man’s mouth. Then she stopped, suddenly, her eyes wide open, and began to moan in a strange, high pitched voice, holding herself rigid as Hamet gently pumped upwards, his big hands on her back, his tongue licking hungrily at her straining nipples. Isobel’s delirious cries of pleasure echoed round the candlelit room. Elena couldn’t tear her eyes away from the woman’s spasming body.

  ‘What do you want?’ repeated Aimery relentlessly.

  Elena wetted her dry lips, and felt the wine swirling around her heated body. T want - to feel a man inside me - like that -’ She broke off with a moan, seeing how Isobel, her face gleaming with sweat, had collapsed at last onto the man’s body. ‘Oh, God help me! It must be a sin! To want that.’

  Aimery, on seeing how the girl couldn’t tear her face away from the couple on the bed as Hamet continued to thrust very gently at Isobel’s still twitching body, let his mouth twist in a mocking smile. ‘No sin’ he said. ‘But bodily love between man and woman. You will learn to enjoy it, little Saxon. You will learn to satisfy me.’

  Elena shuddered, gazing up at his strong, hard body, his lean, scarred face. The thought of doing that, with him … The blood rushed to her face, and she felt weak with longing. Dear God. She wanted Aimery le Sabrenn …

  ‘But first,’ he went on carefully, ‘you must learn to know yourself - to know your own secret desires.’

  Her body quivered involuntarily as he stroked her tender breasts. ‘You’re learning well, little Saxon,’ he said softly. ‘But you are not ready for me. Not yet.’

  He looked across at the bed. Isobel lay curled in the furs, her eyes closed. Hamet crouched over her, and Elena saw with a shock that he was still fully erect, his massive male member twitching as he waited for his master’s instructions. He was looking, hopefully, at her - Elena bit back a gasp.

  Aimery heard it, and laughed. ‘She’s not for you, Hamet,’ he said to his servant. ‘Not yet. Finish with Isobel, then we’ll proceed.’

  Hamet nodded in obedience, though he still looked at the chained, writhing girl with longing. He turned back to Isobel, and her prone figure fluttered with reawakened pleasure as he rubbed his swollen member across her breasts and swiftly, with one big, practised hand, brought himself to his extremity. He threw his head back and gave a bark of delight as his seed spurted forth; then he rubbed the creamy liquid gently into her soft, trembling flesh with the velvety glans, muttering strange little crooning sounds to himself.

  Elena had never before been witness to a man in the throes of his climax. Her face was transfixed in an expression of shock and amazement as she watched the virile, white substance jet forth from the dark nest of his private parts.

  This alarming spectacle left Elena in a state of confu­sion; she had never seen anything like it before. But she didn’t close her eyes, and she didn’t turn her head away. She felt compelled to watch every second of the explicit moment, and yet she knew that she was observ­ing something which should have been a private act. This knowledge filled her with a feeling of utmost shame. She, an innocent convent girl, was being made to relish the role of a voyeur. Her face flushed at the very thought and she lowered her gaze to the floor, knowing that her ordeal was far from over.

  Aimery watched impassively, his hands still fondling Elena’s breasts until she sagged in her chains with the unbearable ache of unsatisfied desire.

  When Hamet’s huge erection had subsided at last, Aimery commanded, Isobel. Over here.’

  Languidly, like a cat, Isobel rose from the bed and pulled her gown together, a faint flush still staining her cheeks. Hamet too tied up his leggings, and sat cross-legged on the bed, watching Elena intently.

  Isobel swayed across the room towards her lord. ‘What is your command, my lord?’ she said softly.

  He glanced with a certain distaste at her swollen lips, her glittering eyes and disordered hair. ‘You will attend to the girl,’ he said tersely. ‘She is obviously untried and ignorant. You will pleasure her gently, as women do. Hamet, come and help.’

  Then he reached out, casually, and ripped Elena’s gown apart from the waist downwards, exposing her slender legs and her quivering lower abdomen.

  Elena gasped aloud. But then the sound of protest died in her throat, because now Hamet had joined his master, and the two men were bending to caress her breasts with their silken mouths. She shuddered with sudden, fierce pleasure as the hot, voluptuous sen­sation engulfed her chained body. They took one breast each, stroking and licking until she thought she would explode with rapture.

  Then she froze, and the men stopped too. Something else was happening. Isobel was kneeling between her legs, stroking her thighs above her gartered stockings. She was pulling aside Elena’s ripped gown, and finger­ing her gently in her most private parts, where she was already melting.

  ‘No - please, no,’ begged Elena.

  Isobel smiled, gazing at her prisoner’s exposed, quiv­ering flesh. Then, before Elena could cry out again, she plunged her head forwards, and started to lick at her most secret place - that place which the nuns said it was a mortal sin even to touch.

  The sweet, rasping feel of Isobel’s darting tongue, combined with the powerful suckling of the Breton and his servant on each sensitive breast, was too much. Wave after wave of sensation flooded her yearning body, the most wonderful feeling she had ever known.

  Then suddenly Isobel’s cunning tongue stopped lick­ing, and pushed up, hard and hot and wet, into her inner opening. Elena cried aloud and then shuddered wildly, because the sensation of all three tongues, thrusting and caressing and biting, filled her with a burning pleasure so intense and so unlike anything she had known before. Her brain was flooded with a hot, dark redness and she pushed herself down, jerking against Isobel’s pointed wonderful tongue as it circled tenderly inside her pulsing vagina. The men’s mouths were caressing her softly, tenderly now as her helpless body shuddered into an exquisite orgasm. Isobel, with a final effort, pushed her tongue hard up inside the climaxing girl so she could grip as it in h
er final throes of delight. With little whimpers, Elena subsided into the Breton’s strong arms.

  At Aimery’s terse command, Hamet unlocked her from the wall and carried her to the little chamber where she had taken her bath. He slid her torn gown from her sleepy, sated body, and rolled down her silk hose with an expression of rapture. Then he laid her on the narrow bed and covered her with a soft woollen blanket, finally brushing her hair almost tenderly from her flushed face. The Saxon girl didn’t open her eyes. He gazed down lovingly at her prone, fragile figure, remembering the luscious taste of her sweet little breasts and the melting cries she’d made as they pleasured her.

  The big Saracen thought longingly of the next stage in her education.

  Chapter Five

  Aimery’s desire, so long restrained, burned hot and hard at his loins. Isobel, watching him, caught her red lips between her teeth and beckoned him across to the bed. But Aimery hesitated, because Isobel was too openly eager for him. The moistness of her excited body was too predictable. Once, when he’d first known her, she was refined and deliriously tantalising. But now … He remembered her shameless coupling with Hamet, and frowned.

  She sensed his distaste, because she knew him so well. She thought for a moment, then urged in a low voice, ‘Aimery, my lord. Tie me up.’

  He raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘Like the girl?’

  She couldn’t stop her tongue sliding across her lips in delicious anticipation. ‘Oh, yes. Like the girl …’

  She was already moaning softly as he shackled her arms to the wall.

  Aimery felt his excitement surge again. Not troubling to undress, he reached beneath her silk chemise to grip at the hot mound that was the core of her feminity. Down there, she was dark and luxuriant.

  The little nun, he’d noted, had a soft triangle of curls, that barely covered her tender flesh.