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“You’re the man who raped Lizbeth,” the friar added, taking a step toward him, cracking his knuckles. “A girl from my orphanage.”
The man gasped. “I did no such—”
The friar’s hand lashed out and caught the man in the chin, snapping his head back. His pinky ring cut flesh and blood ran down the rapist’s neck.
Dazed, the man raised his hands in surrender. “Please, just let me go!”
I spun him around to face me. His eyes blinked wildly.
“I’m sure Lizbeth begged for the same thing before you defiled her,” the friar spat through gritted teeth, growing angrier by the second.
I held the man by the shoulders, to stop him from wobbling. “You’ve been judged and found guilty, Gilroy.”
“What . . . what does that mean—”
I reached behind me and produced my quarterstaff in one fluid motion, swinging it across his face. It cracked and the man went down in a spurt of blood, teeth fragments, and broken facial bones.
He collapsed in a heap and didn’t get up.
The three of us looked down our noses at him. I put my staff away. We eyed each other.
The woman was on her knees in an instant, rifling through the man’s pockets. The friar, meanwhile, unbelted his habit, yanked the garb aside, and pulled his cock out. He started pissing on the man’s unconscious body.
I sighed and shook my head. “Really, Tuck?”
The woman on her knees wrinkled her nose and scowled up at him. “That close to my face?”
Friar Tuck’s eyes remained downcast as the constant stream of his piss splattered on the man’s slack, bleeding face. “He deserves this and much worse, for what he did to poor Lizbeth.”
“Then slit his throat and be done with it,” I said matter-of-factly.
“He needs to live with his burden. And the pain of a broken face.” Tuck finished up, wagging himself.
My people could get a bit overzealous at times, which often deviated to grotesque behavior.
I wasn’t innocent of it, either.
The woman snatched the man’s purse, tucking it away, and stayed on her knees. Her eyes veered over to Tuck’s cock, and she smiled. “Is that the only relief that lovely thing is going to get tonight, Friar Tuck?”
“It doesn’t have to be, ma’am.” Tuck kept his eyes down on the woman’s pale face, smiling.
She unceremoniously gripped her fingers around Tuck’s girth. “Good.” Her hand stroked the friar to thickness as she stood.
I scratched my forehead. “Jesus save me, Marian. You twisted bastards.”
She popped her eyebrows at me. “That’s Maid Marian to you.”
“You’re as much a maid as I am a prince.”
Marian put her palms on the wall and messed with her dress, lifting it to show her shapely white legs. Tuck moved behind her, hurrying to get into position.
The man’s unconscious body rested underneath them, practically between their legs.
Disgusted, I turned away, before my disgust could turn to something else.
Marian’s low laugh reached my ears. “Don’t look so ghostly. You’re just jealous. However, you could always join us and prove that moniker of yours wrong, Little John.”
Over my shoulder, I blinked at her. Tuck had her dress lifted over the swell of her bare ass, and was guiding himself to her cunt.
