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r a thousand times over in careful restraint.
With his hand finally arriving at the center of Charlotte’s sexual home, two fingers parted her thick labia and opened the cleft for the inspection of the priest. A tiny gasp crossed Charlotte’s lips as her belly spasmed with pre-cum tremors. Then she held her breath as the two men examined her and finally divulged their findings to the audience.
“The slave is indeed a virgin,” the priest declared. A wave of hushed whispers swept through the crowd then instantly died down. “Take her now.”
This might have been a triumphant moment with a jubilant Mountbane cheerily taking his bride with the swift thrust of his manhood spilling her blood. Instead, however, and befitting of the occasion, this was a steadied and focused act—not without a degree of affection new to this troubled relationship. Pulling Charlotte’s splayed cunt forward, the master stared his bride in the eye while opening his britches; then with one hand to steer his cock, and the other grasping her hip, he made the first thrust.
As her hymen was torn asunder, a pained grimace appeared on the slave’s fair face. Then a sigh of release fell softly across her brow as her husband boldly pummeled the once well-hidden treasure. The slave’s eyes stayed focused on her husband’s face, until the pulse of his speedy exploit began to loosen the anxious knot of fear inside her belly. Then, her sexual juices poured forth, bathing him with her warm nectar and her channel began to clench. Her arousal seemed to crash through the valleys and tributaries of her body even as she thrashed back and forth on her bed of stone. She clutched at him, drew him into her with the muscles of her cunt begging for more with each rude stroke of his mighty organ.
The couple kept their witnesses in awe, none stirred, none said a word, not a whisper, cough or shuffle of feet; not, at least, until they suddenly heard Charlotte’s faint cry, and then Mountbane’s as his seed was spilled, joining with the fragrant liquid inside this fertile virgin cunt.
Charlotte collapsed as her Lord withdrew, cum still dripping from the tip of his cock. As Mountbane restored himself, he sat down beside her on the altar and kissed her lips, while with tender ministrations he began to discard her robes.
“What tribute does this woman give today?” the priest inquired of Lord Mountbane.
“She gives all she has, her body for the pleasure of my guests,” he said as he returned to his feet. “Come friends, partake of her. She is mine to give. Use her well now, for I’m likely to abscond with her for some time before I allow any man knowledge of her again.”
Moving away from the altar and down the aisle, he returned to the portico, where he laid down on a lounge of pillows and watched the ravishment unfold.
For a few brief moments, the wedding guests studied the naked beauty as her voluptuous body lay in contrast to the cold stone where she rested. Her well-rounded lines and curves of femininity shone starkly against the hard edge of her marriage bed. Inside her was newfound wisdom, though not something she had time to dwell on. She’d leave her musings for another day. Now, she was content to feel the beautiful rhythms in her crotch. They made her ache for more—a circumstance she was certain would not go unheeded. Indeed, as soon as her husband’s guests could collect themselves, two came forward, and snapped a leash to her collar. Drawn to the grass, she crawled for them while a circle of men inspected the fine attributes she had to offer. A few rounds before these leering eyes, and she was lifted to a post and chained there so her body could be easily abused. Then she was lashed, whipped, paddled and pinched until her raw cunt screamed for another dick to screw her.
Once the waiting cocks were at that most randy edge of stimulation, Charlotte felt the company begin to part ways. Those content to wait for later took on the women in attendance. Breasts were bared, and cunts splayed out happily on the lawns and lounges surrounding the portico gardens as the happy orgy began. But Charlotte, remaining in the center of it all, was taken to a lounge of her own, where surrounded by four men; she began to feel the lecherous abuse of her ripe cunt.
The first randy erection at the portal was that of Sir Tristan. And why not? His wife, the mistress Gwnyth, was fucking two men at that very moment, and he, Mountbane’s loyal lieutenant, should rightly be the first to have her in this bawdy gang rape of a bride. He came between her parted thighs as she lay on her back, and descended with the force of a full-grown erection guiding him.
The first jolt was less bearable than the first thrust of her husband—perhaps Tristan was more endowed than the Ilusian Lord. But once the breach was made, his rhythm remained steady, in a pulse and beat she could feel throughout every vein and muscle. She opened for him as she’d opened for her husband, relaxing into the sensation of being filled and pummeled, relishing the dark mysteries of this gentleman brute. Their eyes locked as the abandon of their bodies set the course for this raucous ride. How strange this was to copulate a husband and then fuck his friend! And how fine a fuck it was—perhaps more memorable than the first very nervous one. Beginning to end they remained fixed in each other’s aura as though closing our everything beyond them. She found a wholeness with him. In the end, there was sweetness on his face and a gentle kiss of his lips, though Charlotte had little time to contemplate the meaning of such subtleties. Her next in line was waiting impatiently for a turn at her.
This next lover and the two thereafter took her while she was on hands and knees. They slapped her thighs, riding her hard to their finish, as other cocks appeared before her face for her to suck. She took this naturally even though the feel of it was awkward. Mimicking the actions of whores she’d seen in her husband’s raunchy feasts, she did herself well, learning through experience how to draw her mouth over an engorged head and run her lips down to the base until she nearly choked. Then she’d draw back with her jaws sucking the life and cum from the full fat stalks. The small erections intrigued her and were much easier to manage. The large ones made her work harder, and their owners seemed less appreciative of her labors.
This was a mindless orgy—one so senseless that her body hardly felt the orgasms as she’d felt the first two with Mountbane and Tristan. And still, she welcomed every man who came to her. She was glad to be their slave—in truth her husband’s slave on loan to the gathered crowd. When it was time to rest, she drank wine, letting the juice pour over her lips. She was giggling, content, and craving more once she’d caught her breath.
Soon, the sun was dying against the far horizon, slipping into the darkness and taking the orange and purple of sunset in its decent. The air grew calm as the orgy took a hint from the withering day and languished for a while. Fewer groans and grunting climaxes spilled into the air. Limp bodies lay all about. Charlotte’s eyes were closed and the last of her lovers had found other places to lie for the next few hours. Being alone felt good, except for a lingering melancholy—like the music that began the afternoon. The feeling was tender, bittersweet and sensuous.
Finding herself lifted from the now stained bed of lust hardly mattered to her. Thinking there would be another lover waiting to use her body, she opened her eyes and made an effort to smile, finding, to her surprise, Mountbane’s face near hers. She was drawn inside the castle to a bed in the center of the grand hall. There in the dark and brooding silence she fell asleep with her husband at her side. This was her wedding night.
Dawn broke without the gaiety of the day before—there was no one to see it appear as the eastern sky brightened the hour. No one in Mountbane’s castle was awake except for a few quietly moving servants.
When Charlotte finally stirred, she was aching to move about; and seeing that no one was aroused, she pulled away from her sleeping husband and moved to the windows on the far side of the hall. Peering outside into the sunny midday, her emotions began to rise as her thoughts focused on the possibilities of her new life. Screwing a dozen men had not been so difficult. She learned there was a power inside her loins—a secret gift bestowed on women that only men could guess at. She knew how to woo them better, please them more easily and, in all likelihood, gain something for herself more than just the pleasure of having her body pleased. What a fine thing this was! Such a different kind of freedom!
Enjoying her thoughts, Charlotte gazed back at Mountbane. Seeing him soundly asleep, she tiptoed soundlessly on the bare stone to the door and stole into the shadows of the portico. Hiding there for some minutes, she determined that it was safe to move into the gardens. She took off at a slow canter, gliding gracefully in her nakedness beyond a hedge where she wouldn’t be seen from the castle’s west windows. After taking a moment to pee in a hedgerow nearby, she then wandered through the overgrown gardens enjoying the smell of wildflowers and the trace of fall that came drifting to her on a gust of wind. Her toes dabbled in the darkness of the loamy soil beneath her feet; her hands touching leaves and tree bark. She picked a few last blackberries from the vines realizing how her stomach was grinding from hunger. The quiet was her dear friend. Her empty mind was comforting. There was a wholeness in her body that made her consider why it had been so difficult getting to this point in her life, where she could enjoy the full potency of her species. She treasured her womanliness, even feeling some gratitude toward the circumstances that had brought her to Ilusia. She would never have spent a night like the one before in her homeland. She would never have been as much a woman as she was now, nor had so much pleasure to look forward to.
Charlotte smiled to herself enjoying her daydreams, but then jerked awake at the sound of footsteps behind her. She froze in fear.
“Are we guiltily running away so soon?” she heard the sound of Sir Tristan’s voice.
She turned about, “Why no, sir, I
’m enjoying the morning, or perhaps it is the afternoon.” She looked toward the sun speculating on the time of day unable to tell for sure.
“Restless?” he asked.
“No, not at all. If anything, content.”
“Then that is good,” he said. “But you’d best come with me before you ruin your day before it’s begun.”
“How would that be, sir?”
“Your absence would not be appreciated, I assure you.” He seemed to vibrate with the earth he walked on. The breeze of the day was blowing his dark hair; and staring his way even at the distance of some feet, Charlotte connected with him in the most primal of ways. He frightened her, even made her blush now, as his appraisal of her naked form seemed all too intimate. Holding out his hand for her as a gracious man would for a lady of some high station, she took it as she approached—stepping over a small crop of garden rocks. Returning to the castle, she followed him two steps behind as an obedient slave.
