Bound By Honor: An Erotic Novel of Maid Marian (24 page)

Glynna’s tongue flickered out again and Marian could barely contain a surprised gasp, and when the finger that had settled over her swollen labia began to move gently, yet purposely . . . she went rigid. Her mouth dried and she struggled to maintain control.

And then she could ignore it no longer. . . . The wave of sensation swarmed over her . . . heat, pleasure, the tightening of her nipple, suddenly jewel hard beneath the rhythmic tongue . . . the insistent, teasing pressure of a light finger over her hard little pearl. Oh, nay . . . she couldn’t breathe, could barely keep herself from twitching, from spinning away from the silent torture.

And then she felt Glynna move . . . beneath her own fingers. She felt a little pulse against her, and noticed the slickness of the hot folds of flesh as if they burned down into her hand.

Marian closed her eyes, breathing deeply, holding herself stiff and unfeeling, even as the secret little tongue moved wickedly over her tight, sensitive skin. Trails of sensation coiled down, deep into her belly, and her breathing rose, became harsher, as she fought to keep from giving in to it.

A soft cry drew her attention and her eyes flew open in time to see Pauletta and her female partner separating, being pulled apart by John and Lord Ralf.

Marian could not recall exactly the position in which they’d been arranged, but she knew it had been just as provocative as her own. The maidservant was sent to the corner, where she crouched with a complacent look on her face and fondled her winnings: the silver chain.

Mercifully, her own private torture seemed to have stopped for the moment, giving Marian a chance to gather control and fight the increasing sensitivity in her own body. Vaguely, she also realized that now she was to see exactly what awaited her if she could no longer restrain herself.

Pauletta didn’t seem dismayed as she was arranged over the huge half barrel, feet flat on the ground, back arched over the fixture, belly facing up. Her arms were drawn up over her head, and reached nearly to the floor behind her, where they were manacled in place. Her breasts lifted, her legs spread and chained, her dark hair spilled down the side of the barrel into a pool on the floor.

Her pale skin gleamed like soft pearl skin in the yellow light, her pink nipples and the dark bush of hair over her mound the only color in the living statue. Pauletta breathed hard, her breasts shimmering with each gasp, her hips twitching, and Marian could see the dark folds of her quim glistening.

She licked her lips, then realized she’d moved, and her eyes darted quickly around to see if anyone had noticed. They were all watching Pauletta, praise God, and no one had noticed her weakness.

Even Will, who stood nearby, his face like marble, had his eyes focused on the long, slender body on display before him.

I should love to be the woman who brings him to his knees.
Pauletta’s arch words settled in Marian’s mind and burrowed there deeply.
He fascinates me.

Would he touch her? Marian couldn’t take her eyes off the scene in front of her, her heart thumping madly. Her belly felt tight and expectant, but, mercifully, Glynna chose to remain still. Mayhap the woman realized that no one would be watching if she continued her torture.

Or mayhap she wanted to listen to the proceedings—for she could see nothing from her position.

But Marian could see it all.

John moved first, so quickly that Marian didn’t realize what was happening. But then she heard the light
smack
of leather striking flesh, followed by a soft grunt of surprise. She saw Pauletta’s body twitch as John raised his hand and rained blows over her belly and thighs.

They were light ones, for there were no corresponding blood lines drawn onto her skin. But each touch of the slender leather caused Pauletta to gasp and jerk and cry out in pained pleasure.

Marian could not look away, and the sight of her confined body, spread so, roused her own emotions. And when Glynna decided that the truce was over and began to slide her tongue around in circles . . . around and around and around her taut nipple . . . Marian felt the lust rise from deep inside her.

Yet she could not look away as John stepped back, thrusting the slender whip into the hands of one of his men. He breathed heavily, his mouth full and shiny beneath the beard, and he lifted his tunic, untied his braies.

Pauletta cried out as he shoved himself between her legs, his hands closing over her upthrust breasts as he stroked between her legs. He stroked and Marian kept her mind blank by counting the number of times he slammed into her . . . five ... six . . . seven. . . . She lost count as Pauletta began to roll and cry beneath John’s onslaught.

And as the prince cried his release, stumbling back and away, Pauletta whimpered . . . begging for more. “Please,” she sobbed, her hips moving desperately against the smooth wood beneath her. The red folds of her quim shone bright, and then Ralf shoved his way into place between her hips.

Pauletta cried out in relief, and as Ralf rode her, his fingers curling into her white hips, Louis walked over and straddled the barrel at the location of her neck, facing Ralf, who pumped away at her hips. Marian watched as he pulled out his slender white cock and began to jerk hard on it, faster and faster, and she watched the two men as their pleasure shone on their faces . . . growing tight and pained as they seemed to race to the end.

Glynna’s fingers began to work again, and her tongue ceased its swirling and began to tickle over the top of her nipple, where it was the most sensitive. Marian watched, horrified, fascinated, titillated . . . unable to take her eyes away, as her own pleasure grew and swelled. Pauletta’s low little cries filled her ears, along with her own breathing, and she heard the other woman gasp her relief . . . sobbing her pleasure in a long, keening moan.

Marian closed her eyes, struggling desperately to retain control of her own body. Her breathing rasped louder—her mouth had opened and she did not care. . . . She shuddered and trembled deep beneath her skin, fighting to remain outwardly frozen.

Her nipple grew tighter and more sensitive, the twitching fingers between her legs more insistent . . . and yet . . . not enough. Not enough to bring her over . . . to give relief.

She rose and fell, gathered up and then eased, beneath the very skillful fingers ... and suddenly she felt the surge of wetness around her own fingers.

Glynna gasped, pulsing around her, and Marian nearly cried out in surprise as she felt the quivering sensation from the woman next to her . . . the woman on her, around her, sucking and licking and teasing. Marian’s breath came faster. Her hips threatened to move, to buck against the post behind her. . . . Her head wanted to roll from side to side as she waited for her peak. . . . She climbed, and grew closer . . . tighter, pulsing, trembling . . . felt her insides tighten . . . ready. . . .

And then she realized Will stood there, in front of her, his face tight and dark, and Marian felt herself trapped by his eyes. Even as the dancing finger wriggled insistently over her pip, another finger pressed secretly inside her, shoving deeply and working in and around, the torturing tongue flickering faster than John’s whip. . . . She felt herself drowning . . . ready . . . so ready. . . .

And then the pressure eased . . . ceased. The tongue stopped, leaving her nipple hard and hot and wet beneath the open mouth . . . her little pearl pounding uselessly next to a finger that had frozen and merely teased itself between her thick, swollen lips.

Marian gasped, realized she was breathing as if she’d been running, and . . . she moved.

She moved; she couldn’t resist any longer. Her hips thrashed, her body shuddered, and she heard the cry of victory from somewhere in the room.

Dimly, she was aware that Glynna moved away. . . . The pressure between her legs receded, leaving her quim throbbing and slick, needy . . . and her breast cold and wet, dripping with saliva, hard and painfully pointed at the nipple. The necklet still heavy over her shoulders, no longer cold, shifted, clunking against her, as she moved.

Hands were on her . . . pulling her arm down from the post.

Marian stumbled. She was next. . . . She knew it. . . . She felt strong hands, warm ones, moving her, sliding over her skin . . . the sharp deep voices . . . then the smooth wood of the barrel behind her, beneath her.

Her arms drawn long and tall, her back stretched so that her breasts shifted toward her shoulders. Her legs . . . opened, revealing the need throbbing there for all to see. She didn’t care. . . . She wanted it, needed it there, touching her, filling her . . .
please
. . . .

She breathed, gave a little sob, thrashed her head against the cool wood, heard the delicate clank of the chains that bound her. Felt the ungainly slide of the necklet to one side.

Shadows filtered about, harsh voices, and then strong hands at her hips. The brush of warmth against her, rough cloth. She opened her eyes. Aye . . . Will loomed over her, just as she’d imagined . . . just as he’d done before.
Please . . .

He blocked the light, his face turned away. She had the impression of closed eyes, cheeks sharp and hollow, jaw dark and scruffy. . . . He settled there, and she tried to lift her hips, tried to rise onto her toes and meet him. . . . She needed this . . . needed him . . .
needed
. . .
please
. . . Will. . . .

She felt him, hot and smooth against her, then the sudden filling of her center . . . the sweet relief of joining . . . and she cried out and her body surged around his hard cock, tightening as he moved in and out, fast and urgent and desperate . . . over and over . . . yes, aye, yes . . . and her body coiled, readied. . . .

She needed to move, to rock and thrust and touch. . . . Her fingers curled helplessly against wood instead of flesh. She cried out in frustration, in rising desire . . .
needing
. . . . Then she felt it . . . closer . . . the promise, the fulfillment ... coming, coming . . . and then the sensation of shattering, of breaking apart, as she slipped over into rolls of pleasure, waves of relief, shuddering violently against her chains, against him as she cried out.

A short, sharp moan, low, followed, and he arched into her one last time. She felt him tense, then sag, his own pulsing filling her core as his fingers tightened painfully into her sides, dark hair falling to obscure his averted face.

Her breathing settled into long, low gasps, and the warmth of satiation settled over her. And then she realized where she was: her position, her vulnerability. . . . Her eyes flew open as Will pulled away, leaving her cold and empty and suddenly frightened.

Nay. She could not. . . . He’d turned so that his back was to her; she could not see his face . . . but beyond him she saw John’s glittering dark eyes and his full red lips. . . . He’d be at her in a moment. Looming over her, shoving himself inside her.

Nay
, Will.
Please.

Marian tried to move, to pull free. . . . She may have cried out . . . but she was well and truly caught, and the remnants of her pleasure disappeared. Vulnerable, open, helpless . . . she closed her eyes, holding back a sob.

And then her arms were loosened, her ankles freed. . . . Someone dragged her off the barrel and she stumbled away, collapsing to her knees. . . . Then Will was gone. . . . He stood across the chamber, still fully clothed, with John and Ralf. . . .

Marian could not stand, and she crawled across the floor, over the rug, moving as quickly as she could,
away
.

She trembled with relief and chill and shock. Hearing the sounds behind her, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Catherine taking her place over the barrel, John and Ralf standing over her. Louis and Will and others . . .

Marian scuttled out of sight, beyond the large bed, toward the other side of the chamber, searching for something to cover herself with. The necklet had fallen off or been taken, and she wore naught but her long hair, catching under her palms and knees.

Dare she leave? She was near the chamber door now, and they seemed not to notice her absence, for Catherine was providing much distraction as she cried and pleaded in a high-pitched voice that could reach the hall below.

Marian curled into a shadowy corner for a moment to catch her breath and survey the chamber. Louis wielded the whip and was slicing it over Catherine’s buttocks, which rose, white and plump, from over the half barrel, writhing and twisting and bucking. John stood watching, his own hand curled about his cock for once, and Will . . . leaned against the wall, watching. And Pauletta . . . she had her long, white body pressed up against his darkly clothed one. One strong arm wrapped around her waist, and her white hand lay flat against his tunic.

Turning away, Marian tasted something foul deep in the back of her throat. Her fingers still trembled, and she could not forget the feel of him moving against her, inside her . . . nor his flat, expressionless eyes. As if he despised what he was doing.

Yet, he took pleasure from it. She knew it. She’d felt it. . . . She’d matched his rising lust with her own.

She pushed the memories, the uneasiness, from her mind. She did not want John’s hands on her again tonight . . . nor anyone else’s. She must get away before they realized she’d not received her full punishment.

There were bound to be guards outside the door. Dare she try to slip out? Would they allow it? Would an aborted attempt to escape only draw their attention back to Marian?

The fog of lust and need had filtered away, leaving her mind clearer than it had been for some time, and she cast a quick glance around this end of the chamber. This was her opportunity to see if she could find any evidence of John’s perfidy.

Keeping her attention half on the activities behind her, morbidly glad that Catherine made no attempt to keep her voice low, Marian crawled past the table of food and wine, toward the far end of the chamber. It was the only place that might hold messages or documents.