The Fall of Lady Westwood (8 page)

Sandra didn’t miss the far off look in Miriam’s eyes, even as she continued her molesting of the captive girl. Shaking her head, Miriam stood and sat next to Sophie on the bed once more, her fine dress stretched between spread knees. She tweaked one of Sophie’s turgid brown nipples. “On the floor, girl.”

Sandra pushed her own stool back and stood, as the naked girl dropped to her knees, facing her Mistress, hands still clasped behind her head. She marveled at how well Miriam seemed to have trained the frightened girl.

Miriam gazed down at Sophie. “Now then, it’s time for a little relief. My bedroom smells like your cunt, girl. It’s time you took care of mine.”

The Lady eased the hem of her dress up and over her knees, exposing trim, olive toned thighs. She lifted a leg and propped her bare heel on the edge of the bed. Sandra couldn’t help but blush when Miriam looked up at her, grinning. Miriam laid two slim fingers on the neat slit revealed by her pose, spreading her labia apart to expose the tender, soaking flesh within.

Miriam’s sex was completely bare of curls, surprising Sandra. Bare pussies were typically the province of the slaves and serving girls at most noble houses.

“Sophie, here is a chance to fulfill your promise to be a good girl. I’d like you to put that tongue of yours right here.” Miriam tapped between her spread digits, the fingertip kissing the very center of her dripping pussy.

A choked sob came from the kneeling girl, and she dropped her head.

“I’m waiting, Sophie. Tongue in my pussy, or it’ll be the whip across yours.”

Sandra stroked the nape of Sophie’s neck as the girl began to weep. “Come now, it’s not so bad. Once you get the taste for it, you’ll love it. Be a good girl and take care of your Mistress.”

Miriam leaned forward, her finger wet with her own exudations, tipping up Sophie’s chin. “You have two choices: go back into your cage with a sore bottom and two angry Mistresses, or go back in your cage with a sore tongue and two pleased Mistresses. Which is it to be, girl? Don’t make me wait any longer.”

Miriam glanced up at Sandra, her lips curved in a half smile. Sandra stood behind the kneeling slave, and attempted to feign indifference or relaxation. Inside she was a riot of anticipation and wild lust. Her hands shook with the same pulse she could feel in her burning clit. She grasped both of Sophie’s wrists, bringing them to rest behind the girl’s back, and gently nudged her forward.

With the tiniest of hesitations the slave resisted, then gave in, allowing herself to be guided forward. “There you go, girl,” Sandra murmured. “Just obey now.”

Sandra’s eyes, glazed with lust, locked with Miriam’s. “See, she just needed some gentle guidance, Miriam.”

Something passed between the two noblewomen, then Miriam looked down at Sophie. “I want that tongue right in, girl. No more delaying. Get started.”

The girl whimpered, then further sound was muffled as she pressed her face to the Lady’s sex. The woman’s dripping juices were smeared across Sophie’s cheeks, mixing with her tears.

Miriam’s hand cupped the back of Sophie’s skull, the delicate fingers grasping the rich chocolate plaits. “Faster, girl. Lick between the lips first, then suck the clit. Ah! That’s it!”

Sandra knelt down behind Sophie, keeping the slave girl’s wrists pinioned behind her back. She whispered in the girl’s ear. “Use your tongue and your lips on all of her, Sophie. Lick her everywhere. Lower now.”

Sophie stiffened, her arms twisting in Sandra’s strong grip.

Sandra laughed, whispering even more softly. “Yes, even there, Sophie. Lick her bottom hole too. If you don’t I’ll have to tell your Mistress, and she’ll cane you until your buttocks bleed.”

Miriam’s fingers clenched the girl’s hair in a harsh grip. The Lady threw her head back, her eyes closed, as she splayed her own glistening labia wider for Sophie’s reluctant tongue. “Oh Gods, you’re
good
at this, Sophie! Who would believe a virgin could eat pussy like this? Gods, more!”

The Lady ground Sophie’s face into her sex, making the girl whimper against the soaking flesh. “More! Faster, or I’ll whip you raw, girl!”

Sandra leaned closer, the tip of her tongue darting out to lick Sophie’s earlobe. “Do it. Obey your Mistress, Sophie. Make her spend all over your pretty face.” Sandra placed kisses along Sophie’s throat, behind her ear. “Then you’ll take care of me, girl. Don’t think your duty is done when she orgasms.”

Miriam’s grip tightened further.”Oh fuck! Yes! YES!”

She ground Sophie’s face into her dripping sex, mashing the girl’s nose against her clit. Sophie cried out into the soaking flesh, her tongue deep between the swollen lips.

Miriam shrieked, her thighs trembling, as the sounds of Sophie’s frantic tonguing of her sex grew louder and wetter. Then, with a shuddering sigh, Miriam released Sophie’s hair. She collapsed back onto the bed, her breath labored, a lazy grin on her face. She pushed sweaty tresses out of her eyes, attempting to return her hair to a semblance of normalcy.

Sandra released the girl’s arms and stood, a pleased look on her fair face. “You drenched her, Miriam! I think she nearly drowned.”

Sophie hung her head, the tears sprinkling onto her naked thighs. Her arms were limp at her sides, her posture one of humiliated defeat.

Miriam rolled to her side on the bed, smoothing her dress back down over her hip, but leaving the tantalizing lengths of her thighs bared. She cradled her head in one hand, regarding the forlorn slave. “I think it’s time you expressed your gratitude to our guest as well, don’t you think?”

Sandra, hiking her dress up her shapely legs, moved in front of the kneeling girl. She placed her hand on Sophie’s tear-stained cheek “Now then, Sophie. Be a good girl now.”

Chapter Five

The Frontier

L
ord Andrus Westwood dropped his looking glass and reclined back into the worn oaken seat, ensconced in the alcove high atop the observation tower. It was probably unnecessary to use the glass in the pitch black of the night, but he thought it at least set a good example for the men on duty in the other three watchtowers. He didn’t need to be up there in the windswept heights above the sprawling Palace of Peace; any number of his men would gladly have taken watch duty for him. Something was bothering him though. It was an unease, a nagging doubt that kept him on watch — despite the fact that he outranked every soldier in the Palace. It was his job to protect the Frontier, and until his unsettling foreboding abated, he’d do it personally.

The palace itself was the size of a small city, but from the soaring viewpoint of the tower, it was just so much scenery; a cacophony of light, sound and smell that had no concrete form, a mass of humanity, far below. The palace was the largest of the three main hubs of the Frontier. It was constructed in response to a previous Incursion that nearly wiped out humanity. The humans that remained resolved to never again be caught unawares, undefended, and the Frontier fortifications were the result.

He stood, stretching his tall, lanky frame, a grimace crossing his features as he worked the stiffness from his muscular legs. A gust of wind played between the four watchtowers, washing over his face, the dark whiskers of his bearded chin stirring. His deep brown eyes squinted at the cold bite of the breeze. It was time to warm up.

He picked up the hooded torch that provided his only illumination there high above the palace. He used the leather hood to signal to the other towers that he was going off watch. The other towers would scan his side of the palace until his return. Every minute of warning of an impending incursion was a minute that would save lives. He knew it better than most, but all the men assigned watch duty took it extremely seriously — it was after all their families too in harm’s way below, along with everyone else.

He made his way down the dimly lit staircase that spiraled up within each of the stone watchtowers, grateful for the shelter from the chill night breeze. He opened the door to the warm, candlelit watch quarters, his Captain, Lawrence kneeling on one of the bunks.

“Finish up with her and join me, Lawrence,” Andrus said, his lips curved in a weary smile.

“Yes, Sir,” Lawrence said, his voice labored. The captain was bent over the crouching form of a naked girl. Ryndra, the maidservant they’d brought with them to the Frontier had caught the roving eye of his captain. Plucked from her normal scullery position at Westwood, her new duties were comprised mainly of helping Andrus and his captain make their long hours on the Frontier seem a little less lonely.

Andrus appreciated the servant’s firm breasts, agile tongue and warm, soft body. Judging by the vigorous thrusting of his hips and the heavy panting of the prostrate girl, Captain Lawrence appeared to be appreciating her attributes even more.

Andrus stripped off the studded leather armor, and dropped the gleaming steel leg greaves on the floor next to the fire. He slumped into a deep, stuffed chair, his one concession to comfort that no normal soldier would be allowed. He all but ignored the rising cries of the girl across the room interspersed with groaned curses from the rutting captain.

Andrus hated his time off duty. The watch gave him something to occupy his mind, a way to stave off the melancholy that threatened to shroud him in suffocating darkness. He knew he should be concerned about the preternatural quiet all along the Frontier. Quiet was
never
good. But alone —or nearly so, the nearby copulating couple notwithstanding — his mind invariably went to his wife.

Miriam.

He feared she was lost to him, in spirit, if not in body. She’d changed. The vivacious, adventurous woman he’d wooed and wed as a young man, had somehow transformed herself. She was just as beautiful as she’d been then, perhaps more so, but that wasn’t what pained him. Her spirit, or more specifically, her
lack
of spirit was his worry. She’d grown twisted and sadistic over the years, and in that time a cold gulf had developed between husband and wife. He had no problem with sadism — when exercised with some restraint. He enjoyed the sight of a bound woman in his bed, her ass raised high for the agony of a tight twenty with the cane. He understood well the appeal of exercising sexual dominance over another person.

But what Miriam indulged in … was something else. He had to keep close eye on her, more than a Lord should need to. She was constantly pushing limits, chafing under the limitations of his dictates. He’d even had to take a husband’s prerogative, and spank her himself a time or two. Afterward, she’d seemed more malleable, more willing to see things his way. However, all too soon, she would drift off course again, succumbing to her obsessions. He despaired that there was no going back to the Miriam he still loved, but no longer recognized. He knew that things would come to some sort of resolution upon his return to Westwood in four weeks time. He only hoped that his fears were unfounded.

The rider that had arrived with news two nights ago didn’t encourage him though. As he’d suspected, she was continuing with her unhealthy obsession with tormenting the commoner farmer, Clayton McClearn. He didn’t understand the fixation she had on him. He’d attempted to draw it out of her before his departure for the Frontier, but she’d demurred, saying his concerns were misplaced. He had offered to have McClearn summoned to Westwood for a meeting with them both, but she’d laughed off the suggestion as foolish. Frustrated, he’d left with strict instructions to her to leave the man and his family in peace. He’d deal with whatever was the root cause of the conflict upon his return.

Lawrence, his shoulder-length blond hair swinging at his back, walked by Andrus’ chair, sitting in his own on the other side of the fire. He crossed his legs, his shirt only partially buttoned, sweat gleaming on a well-muscled chest.

“Had enough of her for now, Captain? You’ve been doing more fucking than soldiering on this trip.”

Lawrence stiffened, sitting straighter in his chair. “Milord, I—”

“Relax, man,” Andrus said, waving a calming hand. “I’d rather you get it out of your system now, before something happens. I need you on the line fresh if, Gods forbid, the
nocturne
decide to move. And that’s another thing — it’s ‘Andrus’, out here. Ballocks to titles.”

Lawrence sat back in his chair, finishing the buttons on his shirt. “Thank you, Milord — Andrus. You know you have me, whatever comes.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Captain.” He nodded, a hand extended toward Lawrence. “So, did she restore you?”

Lawrence smiled, his prominent canines gleamed in the candlelight, lending him the look of a satisfied wolf. “That she did.”

Andrus turned in his chair. The girl knelt in a compact posture on the bed, a thin white cotton top her only covering. Her gleaming eyes dominated her pretty face, the orbs reflecting the flicker of the firelight.

“Come here, girl,” Andrus said, beckoning her to him.

She hesitated a moment, no doubt trying to ascertain what her Lord had in mind.

“You’ve nothing to fear, girl. Come, sit with me.”

She moved to his side, her hands clasped before her, the strong smell of Lawrence’s semen mingling with the alluring musk of her sex. He drew her down upon his lap, tucking her head under his chin, a broad hand clasping the curve of her naked hip. She was tense, her hands twisting together.