Book Three of the Seven Brides for Seven Bastards Series.
The seven bastard sons of Guillaume d'Anzeray are on a mission to find wives -- women to breed the next generation of a dark dynasty that many wish to see extinct.
It won't be easy to find brides from among the Norman nobility, for the d'Anzeray are upstarts, their family's fortunes raised through bloodshed and violence. As one holy man and chronicler of their times has written, "From the devil they came and to the devil they will return". But these brothers don't care much for holy men or for what is written about them. Now, with the future of their bloodline at stake these mercenary warriors need wives and they have no scruples when it comes to claiming the women they desire.
Warning: This 26,129 word highly erotic story contains ménage sex, brief lesbian sex, bondage/BDSM, spanking, cuckolding, double penetration, public exhibition, and the use of sex toys.
Isobel's first thought was that she would never forgive him for this. She would hate him forever. Loathe him. But as the last lash fell against her bottom a new sensation overtook her anger and humiliation. She was afire with it—and not just where her skin smarted from the crack of leather. It spread within like a forest fire catching on dry leaves, whispering and spitting.
When he knelt beside her and his wet tongue passed over that same tormented flesh she felt relief, and when he sucked on that skin it was a moment of vivid pain again, followed by more relief. Splendid, soothing respite. And heightened sensitivity, so raw that she was glad to be face down on the bed, her countenance and her blushes hidden. As he laved her arse-hole with his forceful tongue, his rough hands holding her buttocks wide apart, she felt the shreds of dignity torn away from her and with it went everything else to which she'd clung. She could not believe he would do such a thing—that anyone ever would, but there was no hesitation in the steady motion of his naughty tongue.
She had expected to hate this from him.
However, much to her distress, her pussy began to feel neglected.
Isobel squirmed, trying to lift herself from the bolster upon which he'd propped her lower body. She kicked with her free leg. All was in vain. She was rendered powerless.
"Have patience, Lady Isobel," he muttered huskily. "I'll be there soon enough." He blew gently on her labia. "I'll be in there, filling you up, nice and tight." His words shivered through her like wind through the trees, and she muffled her wanton cries in the bed.
He held her down with his hard hands and focused all his attention on her bottom and her anus. He tormented her deliberately, of course, and her husband chuckled to see her frustrated twitching.
At last, d'Anzeray moved into position between her legs and his hard cock tapped her arse cheek.
She heard her husband pouring more wine, then scuffing his chair along the floor for a better view. "I daresay she'll scream when you get that magnificent cock of yours all the way in her, eh, d'Anzeray?"
"Oh, I think this lady will purr, my lord."
His fingers were on her pussy now, prying her lips open. Isobel held her breath, but he whispered at her to relax.
"Be at ease. Don't tense."
She groaned, tugging again on her tied ribbons, yearning to turn over.
Then came his cockhead. It was broad, about the size of a plum. She gasped.
"Ram her, d'Anzeray! Why do you wait? Ram her!" The Baron banged his fist on the bed for emphasis.
But the warrior did not force himself in. He played with her, tapping his crest on her labia, rubbing his shaft and balls up and down in the crack of her smoldering arse, letting her feel the length and thickness she was getting. He leaned over her back and whispered into her hair. "Breathe, my lady. Breathe deeply. Let you body fall open. Give yourself up to me. Trust me." His lips brushed her hair as he whispered, and it was the closest thing to a kiss that he could give her under the Baron's rules. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, felt herself falling into the bed.
Carefully he began inching his cock inside her pussy. His knees were between hers, his body arched over her back, his hands flat to the bed on either side of her shoulders.
Meanwhile the Baron grew impatient. "Faster, man! Fuck her! Fuck her hard. Rough. Or I'll get another man to do it for me."
Suddenly he thrust and Isobel felt sharp pain. It flared under her eyelids—a brilliant silver flash. She cried out and so, to her surprise, did he. Now she felt his cock throbbing within her, stretching her narrow, newly breached sheath. Gasping for breath, she opened her eyes.
Had she just heard a whispered apology from the man who broke her maidenhead? Isobel couldn't be sure. It seemed so unlikely that Alonso d'Anzeray, "Blackheart" would apologize for hurting her, that she could not believe her own ears.
"I'm warning you, d'Anzeray...ride her hard and deep, or I'll find someone to do it the way I want it done."
In the next moment her husband was satisfied as Alonso began to move, thrusting his battering ram with speed. Isobel cried out as he fucked her virgin cunny. His cock felt enormous, filling her just as he'd promised. And then some. Her pussy struggled to take all of it, and her body bounced limply under him.
But the worst of the pain had passed in one breathless, blinding flash and her moans and gasps after that were those of strange, wild pleasure. Oh, Jeanne's timid little tongue could not do this to her. This...this was raw and merciless. Her darkest, most forbidden fantasies had come to life.