Purebred (3 page)

Until a sudden rap at her door broke
through the quiet night and stopped her agitated pacing. Jeanne
rose up from her bench at the foot of the bed, took a candle, and
went to the door. As soon as it creaked open she heard the Baron's
slurred voice.

"I would see my wife alone, woman.
Wait outside."

Jeanne curtseyed and left, closing the
door quietly behind her.

It was not the first time he'd come to
her chamber, of course, but she certainly had not expected him to
try tonight when he was plainly beyond the last threads of
soberness. Perhaps that was why he came, she thought grimly—he was
too drunk to know the futility.

The Baron stumbled forward into the
glow of light from the candles by her bed."You are still awake and
up? 'Tis late."

"I could not sleep
tonight."

He sighed, falling to the end of the
high bed. "Nor could I."

Isobel offered him water from the jug
by the washstand, but he shook his head. "I have given our matter
great thought," he muttered, rubbing his beard with one hand as he
stared at the floorboards.

"Our matter, my lord?"

"The child, of course," he grunted.
"The child you must bear me. I need a son and heir, woman. 'Tis why
you are here and if you cannot manage it I might as well send you
to a convent."

She folded her hands together and
looked at the shrunken man slumped at the foot of her bed. They
both knew it was not witchcraft that kept him from consummating the
marriage and breaching her maidenhead. He accused her of that
merely to save his own pride. The truth was that Louvet could not
achieve an erection, but that would be a truth intolerable for him
to admit, even to himself. He perpetrated lurid stories of lusty
encounters with other women of the castellany, but Isobel was
certain they were all false. If they were true tales he would have
fathered bastards by now, to prove his seed capable, but he had no
offspring.

"I cannot fathom it," he would say
angrily, "I rodgered maids two at a time in my day. Now you have
rendered my seed-bags empty and my snake limp."

Snake
? Maggot, would be more like it, she mused.

The witchcraft story was a convenient
excuse.

Meanwhile, his frustration and
desperation grew worse as the months passed. Now he spat at the
floor between them and croaked, "Something must be
done."

If she could not bear him a child
would he have her shuffled off to a convent and replaced with
another wife as he threatened? She'd heard of such things
happening, and a man eager to save his pride was capable of
anything. She always thought her heritage would keep her safe. No
one wanted to quarrel with her rich father, and at one and twenty
she was past her prime; he might not want her back again, a burden
with one dissatisfied husband already to mar her
reputation.

Louvet waved his gnarled hand through
the air. "Take off your robe. I would look at you."

Isobel slipped out of the nightshift
and let it fall to the floor. At the same time she allowed her mind
to wander rather than think of his calloused fingers touching her
again, fumbling crudely at her as they had done in the past
whenever he made an attempt to mount her. His fingers were always
dirty, the nails yellowed and jagged. If she thought of them for
too long bile would rise in her throat, so she tried to cast the
image aside.

His eyes, clouded by drink, took her
in slowly from feet to neck and back again.

"Rub your nipples," he commanded. "Tug
upon them. Harder!"

She obeyed, looking down at her
breasts as her fingers lengthened the pointy nipples. Her husband
watched, leering.

"Now bounce them. Slap
them!"

Again Isobel went through the
motions.

"Reach down and stroke your
quim."

She slid her left hand down over her
belly and cupped her sex. The Baron thrust his own hand under his
tunic and down his breeches.

"Harder," he muttered. "Rub it until I
can see it's wet. No! Keep your eyes open and looking at me,
woman."

But Isobel knew enough about her body
by now to understand that looking at Louvet while she touched
herself would not make her pussy damp. She could manipulate her
path to a climax with her fingers, but there would be no peak
reached unless she was allowed to close her eyes and picture
another man in his place.

The sight of her husband hunched over
and pulling on his flaccid cock in a desperate attempt to retain an
erection was only likely to make her sickened, not
aroused.

After several minutes with him staring
at her she felt dryer rather than wet. If that was possible. The
tension of his angry expectation completely ruined any chance she
might have had of finding release.

Eventually, growing too impatient, he
barked out for her maid to come back into the chamber.

Behind Isobel the door opened and
Jeanne entered.

The Baron grunted, his hand still
inside his breeches, his eyes wide and staring. "Come here, wench,"
he muttered, "and tend your mistress."

Jeanne moved into Isobel's line of
sight, looking anxious. "How shall I tend her, my lord?"

"On your knees. Tongue to quinny. I
want something to entertain me."

"My...my tongue, my lord?"

"That's right. What are you? An
imbecile?"

"No, my lord."

"I want to watch. Lick my wife’s slit
and keep doing it until I tell you to stop."

Isobel swallowed nervously and took
her hand from between her thighs. "You had better do as he says,"
she whispered.

Blushing Jeanne looked apologetic and
then got down on her knees.

"Eyes open!" Louvet croaked, just as
Isobel felt her eyelids drifting down again. She opened them wider
and stood very still, her hands behind her back.

After a moment she felt Jeanne's timid
tongue touch her nether lips with a gentle lick.

"Legs apart. Let me see. Yes, that's
better!" He grinned, his hand working faster inside his breeches as
he moved to one side for a better view. "Yesss. Much better. I can
see she's wet now, eh? Pinker too. Get that tongue up in there,
wench, betwixt those plump petals."

Jeanne's tongue grew bolder, slipping
up and down the length of her mistress's labia at a quicker pace.
Isobel felt the little waves of pleasure building. She wondered if
her husband had somehow known how her maid occasionally brought her
comfort. If he did, he had never before mentioned it.

"Push your hips forward," he
commanded. "Saucy wench. That's it. Your maid relishes her treat
like a cat with a dish of cream."

Isobel moaned softly and caught her
breath, her hips swaying. The maid's tongue wriggled between her
pussy lips to find the gem inside, bringing her sharply to that
tender state of bliss.

But just as she was about to peak, the
Baron ordered Jeanne to stand. "Bring her here!" he shouted,
dropping his breeches. He held his cock by the root and it was
stiff, the tip dark. "Sit her on me and I'll finish her
off."

Alas for him, before Isobel could sit
astride his knees, his proud cockerel began to deflate. After only
a few moments he could no longer hold it upright.

Jeanne politely averted her gaze,
while he cursed and pushed Isobel aside.

"Damn you!" He pulled up his breeches.
"Clearly it's time for other measures."

Gripping her nightshift to her front,
covering her breasts, Isobel said nothing. What could she say? In
truth she feared she might suddenly laugh at the ridiculousness of
it all.

"Your flux has ended, I see?" he
growled.

She nodded.

"Good. Tomorrow night you will ready
yourself to be serviced." He pushed himself off the bed. "You will
bear me a child. A son. I will not wait longer, and I will hear no
complaint from you."

Isobel watched him leave, puzzled. How
exactly did he intend to service her? Well, he was drunk. In all
likelihood he would forget he ever came to her chamber that
night.

"My lady?" said Jeanne softly, "shall
I finish what I began?"

After considering for a moment, she
sighed listlessly. "Yes." She fell limply on her back, her shift
discarded, her legs dangling off the end of the bed. This time
there was no one to shout at her for closing her eyes, so she did.
Timid little Jeanne's gentle mouth was not enough for her tonight.
Instead, a dark haired, dark-eyed villain came into her mind
immediately and it was his mouth, his lips and tongue she felt upon
her pussy. She parted her legs wider, imagining his large, strong
hands forcing them open, pinning her to the bed.

Oh, he made her do it. He was
ruthless. The uncouth bastard.

Isobel moved her hips, her bottom
bouncing against the bed.

Poor Jeanne could barely keep up, too
afraid of hurting her mistress.

How could she explain what she needed,
thought Isobel in despair, tears gathering under her eyelids. No
one would ever understand her for she was surely wicked to want the
things she did. She was born of noble stock and yet she had
thoughts like a slattern, a filthy base whore.

Jeanne's touch would get the task
done, but it was no more than a drip of water to ease her thirst
when what she needed was a raging flood.

* * * *

Alonso leaned his buttocks against the
ale barrel and spread his feet wide, while the two plump serving
wenches knelt before him and took turns sucking happily at his cock
and balls. He looked down at the two fair Saxon heads and wished
one of them at least was dark. He could then have pretended it was
Lady Isobel taking him in her sulky mouth, giving him pleasure. But
if he shut his eyes he could still imagine. He thrust his hips and
grunted.

Yes, swallow me down,
haughty wench. Suck me dry.

He placed his palms on one woman's
head and guided it to a slower pace so he would not finish too
quickly. His thick cock speared in and out of that soft, wet mouth,
plunging and withdrawing slickly, while he tipped his head back and
pictured Lady Isobel forced to submit to various crude acts at his
hands. Unfortunately the serving wench had lank, greasy hair that
smelled of the cookhouse and he knew the Baron's wife had lush,
clean hair under her wimple. Probably smelled of herbs and flowers.
Like those wild roses by the stable wall. He always thought of Lady
Isobel whenever he passed those pale pink blooms and caught a drift
of that tender fragrance.

Alonso pulled his dick out and swung
to the next giggling mouth. "Mind your teeth," he grunted. This one
did not share her companion's expertise, but he rather liked the
clumsy, over-eager sucking and then the gulping struggle of the
novice as she tried to take his entire length down her tight
throat. He imagined that must be how Lady Isobel would try. It was
unlikely she'd sucked much cock.

The other woman was handling his heavy
balls and whined at her friend to save some for her.

"Worry not, wench, there's plenty to
go around," he muttered gruffly as he felt the seed
building.

Alonso licked his lips and quickened
his rhythm, pumping lustily, the head of his cock hitting the back
of the wench's throat, almost choking her as he gripped her head
tighter and slammed home. He shot his semen deep into that warmth,
thinking of a certain sable-haired lady's fine, noble cunny and how
it was clearly neglected by her husband.

Damn. If that were his, he'd fuck that
sulking expression right off her face and leave her
sore.

He opened one eye, jerked back,
slipped out of the novice's lips and sprayed both girls across
their wide, flushed faces, while they battled to see who could
catch most of his cum in their mouth.

He heard lazy applause and laughter.
Opening the other eye he looked for the source of the sound and
discovered the Baron standing nearby, watching and enjoying the
performance.

"It pleases me to see you enjoying
yourself, d'Anzeray. That's quite an impressive cock you have
there, and I see your balls are well stocked, eh?"

The two giggling women bowed their
heads, wiping their sticky faces clean on their sleeves. Alonso
gestured at them to leave, cleaned off his penis, and retied his
breeches. "It's always good to keep in practice," he muttered.
"Relieves the tension."

"Indeed." Louvet placed an arm across
his shoulders and lead him along the alleyway. "And I have a
certain tension that must be relieved."

Alonso regarded the other man through
narrowed eyes. "I don't—"

"My wife, d'Anzeray. She requires
breaking in and I am, at present, unable — cursed by her evil
spells."

"
Breaking in?"

The Baron nodded. "She remains a
virgin, unplucked. It's time that ripe fruit was
plucked."

For a moment he was unable to reply,
too surprised for words.