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A clue, I thought, wondering what I could do with it.
“What about the skinny explorer?” Will hissed in Gregory’s ear. “Think he’s as unbreakable as you?”
“Leave him be,” Gregory said. He swallowed his pride and added, “Please. Take your anger out on me.”
“Oh, I plan to.” He stood to his full height. “After the party, perhaps.” With that, he trudged away to join the revelers at the campfires.
I bit my lip, anxious about Uncle Gregory’s future. He couldn’t keep antagonizing these vicious men, or trying to take on the brunt of the consequences, because I feared they would take him up on it.
Over the next hour, drink flowed and the Merry Men became rowdier. Some of the men started wrestling. Alan-a-Dale broke out in song, strumming his lute with beautiful melodies and a pristine voice that was mostly drowned out by the laughing, fighting, yelling audience.
Soon, it was drowned out by another sound—one that made me blush. The women stripped, and before long they sat on laps and danced around the fires like heathen worshippers, shaking their endowments and mesmerizing the crowd.
Men cajoled them loudly. I watched a man slap a jiggling ass that sent the girl skittering away with a yip. She returned, smiling lustily, and bent over to let the man play with her breasts. He stuck his face between her ample bosom and shook his head, earning a cheer and laugh from his audience.
I ducked my head to stare down between my legs, trying to look anywhere but at the promiscuity playing out in front of me. It was almost as if the Merry Men wanted me to see all this.
In the end, I failed. My body betrayed me. The longer I looked between my legs, the stickier I felt. Had my hands been free, I knew I would have explored myself then, and ridden my hand until a climax stole me. Even in such a dark, hedonistic environment, where everyone could see. I knew it wasn’t proper, but I’d never been proper enough to be called a noblewoman anyway.
My eyes slowly veered up from the ground, peering out from hooded eyes.
A man leaped up from an overturned log, yanked his pants down, and fisted his cock in front of everyone. People hooted. He was thick, and one of the ladies went to her knees in front of him and wrapped her lips around his length. Men cheered as she fellated him with fervor, gripping his hips as her head bobbed.
The men were blinded by lust and ale.
It only got worse from there.
A long-haired fellow joined one of the naked women, bending her over a tree stump. He rammed his cock inside her and his hips pumped, fast and ruthless. When he came inside the woman, and his cum trickled down her thighs, another man pushed him aside and guided himself inside her.
My thighs grew warm. I struggled, writhing against the rope that bound my body to the tree and my hands behind my back. It stretched tight across the band under my tunic, which kept my breasts flattened and unnoticeable. My nipples pebbled and thrums of desire pulsed through me from the friction.
I thanked God that Uncle Gregory was positioned on the other side of the tree, so he couldn’t see how I grew wetter, lustier, needier.
These men were unlike anything I’d ever witnessed. The orgy awakened something inside, even only watching. Out here in the forest, away from civility and prying eyes, men and women could do whatever they wanted.
Within minutes, the naked whore bent over the stump had been railed and filled by no less than five Merry Men.
Uncle Gregory said, “Look away, Robin,” in a low voice. “You don’t want to see this.”
But I did. I lied and said, “Okay, Uncle,” even as I stared, fantasized, and blushed.
Three men took one of the whores together, filling her holes. The girl appeared to love it, bouncing her large breasts while she slammed her ass back against two cocks—one curving up from below, the other behind her. She moaned, muffled by a man’s cock in her mouth.
I blinked. My eyes burned from keeping my lids plastered open for so long. I vaguely heard Gregory talking to me in a low voice from around the tree, even as I lost myself to the bacchanalia and lust.
“I’m so sorry I failed you and your family,” he said.
“It’s not your fault.” My voice was a drone of disinterest. How could I listen to a sincere apology when a woman twenty feet from me was busy getting every hole gaped and filled by savage men?
I couldn’t lie to myself. I wanted what these people had. I wanted this—to be used, played with, and broken. No one here had anything but a smile on their faces. This wasn’t like the unwarranted, unwanted situation with Peter Fisher, where the squire tried to take what he didn’t deserve. This was consensual debauchery . . . and I needed to feel the power these ladies felt.
“It is my fault,” Gregory urged, trying to take my mind off the spectacular entertainment. “If I hadn’t made the recommendation for Joan to see Wulfric, we wouldn’t be in this position.”
My cunt grew wetter, my clit throbbed. When my thighs rubbed together, I nearly came undone, toes curling.
Trying to keep him talking, so he didn’t get clued in to what was really going on in my mind, I said, “How will my father find this healer of yours without you, Uncle?”
“I wrote down a map for him, at his insistence. I don’t blame him for fleeing with your mother. She is too sick to be taken hostage.”
