Book 5 of the Seven Brothers 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: Contains scenes of branding, public exhibition, and orgies.
Cedney dived behind a large water barrel, resting her shoulder against the side of the storage shed. Peering through the gap, she could just make out the moonlit figures of Alaya and Rufus copulating like beasts in the dirt. She held her breath and it burned in her throat, cruel and savage.
His cock was no less than she'd expected from the size of the man. It plowed deeply from behind into the writhing, gasping woman bent over on her hands and knees. Alaya's gown was tossed up over her back, her large, dimpled buttocks kissed by the silver moonlight. Her knees must be scraping on the ground, but she did not seem to mind it. Each time Rufus impaled her again on his sword, she gasped out in excitement and her entire body shook, heavy breasts bouncing and jiggling as they hung beneath, nipples almost in the dirt.
Watching from her hiding place, Cedney finally closed her mouth, desperately fighting back her own breathy moans.
She watched how the man's large hands grabbed at Alaya's swaying breasts. He had torn the front of her gown, not waiting to slip it down off the woman's shoulders. Cedney stared as his rough fingers pulled and tweaked at those big brown nipples, and his palms slapped at the swelling flesh. She saw how his buttocks flexed, his strong thighs moving back and forth, tireless, forceful, thrusting. His balls were like ripe fruit, visible between forward parries as he bent over his partner and fucked her hard. It was almost as if he was angry about something, thought Cedney. His head was back, his eyes fixed on the stars and moon above, his lips tight and turned down at the corners. His profile was strong, rough-hewn but handsome. It was a heart-wrenching sight for a woman—particularly one not entitled to think of herself as female. A woman never to know the thrill of that particular sensation, never to be filled by cock, ravaged heartily and serviced by ball sacks as mighty as those of a prize bull, overflowing with seed.
Self-pity tore through her breast, even as she reached with one hand between her thighs and rubbed the crotch of her cowhide breeches. Oh, to be taken like that. To be on her hands and knees before him, accepting that cock into her aching, starved pussy, his balls slapping against her, his brawny thighs pushing into the back of her legs.
Alaya was so wet, her juice gleamed in the light of the moon, shining on the broad lips of her cunt and making his cock slick.
Suddenly he turned his head. The motion of fucking didn't pause even for a breath, but he stared directly at Cedney's hiding place. Had she made a noise? It seemed possible that a pitiful sound might have slipped out under duress. The patch of cowhide between her legs was damp now where her fingers pressed against her sex. Her own breasts felt heavy, hot, nipples rubbing sore on her tunic.
She didn't know what to do. If she made a run for it now, he would definitely hear someone there. Besides, she didn't want to leave. Cedney wanted to go on watching. Her body was trembling, close to a frenzied peak already.