The Valkyrie (Raxillene's Rogues Book 2) Page 6

  Her hands ached to feel and squeeze his solid cheeks, so she indulged herself and did so after she ran the rag through the crack. “My lord is quite a specimen,” she observed, low and throaty. “You're a delicious man, if I may say it.”

  “You may.” He craned his head around to stare at her again. “Enough. The Count’s business awaits. Close the flap behind you, and wait on me tonight after supper.” It did not sound like a request.

  She hesitated as she rose, trailing a finger around his nude body as she came back to face him. “But, m’lord,” she replied, arching an eyebrow, “if another chooses to fuck me, whatever shall I do?” She was still thinking of the richly-dressed noble at the head of the procession, though she wasn’t sure she could refuse this man for any number of reasons. Not least her own juices, dampening her thighs below. She leaned in, lightly stroking the hard cock she’d caused, and kissed him once more, lightly but with a gently suck at his lip. “You would never want me to offend any of your friends, surely.”

  He grasped her jaw in his large hand and moved her face away from him. “You’ll fuck me tonight,” he growled. “Now get out. It’s improper for a woman to see a man dress.”

  Alorin laughed. “Your lady wife would disapprove, I’ve no doubt.” She gave the meaty shaft one more squeeze, then licked slowly up and down its length, just once, before dusting off her knees and picking up her pail. “Until tonight then, m’lord.” Excellent. No more debt. “Be ready.” She turned to go.

  “Wait,” he commanded harshly as she ducked underneath the flap. “What’s your name, slut?”

  “Do you not know, m’lord?” She spoke gently now, even gravely. “When you decide you need me tonight,” she winked, “just come find Lyria of the Thirteen Pleasures.”

  Four

  Dinner was venison, though little enough; three animals did not go far in such a large party, especially with all the best bits going to the huntsmen. The whores and the other followers filled themselves out with the greens and morels the cook’s apprentice had gathered during the day, plus some potatoes they’d brought. “So, girls,” dark Karalene asked coquettishly, “your evening plans? We should make sure there are no unfortunate interruptions in the tents this evening.” The others laughed. Only later did Alorin find out Karalene had been riding Sir Kole of Whitemar three nights before when Jesseney had stumbled in, thinking it was Master Hosmer’s tent. Comic hilarity and anal sex had ensued, though Karalene hadn’t been happy to split her rate. As a slave, she was always desperate for money to buy herself out.

  “You won’t need to worry about that, Karalene,” Lurika sniped. “You’ll be entertaining the farriers and grooms, as usual.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fucking me,” grinned the blonde, “is precisely what Lord Gurgen and Master Lucken are going to be doing all night long.” To admiring glances from the other women, Lurika stretched her arms lazily behind her head. “Double dicks, double rates. Enjoy your paltry pay, ladies.”

  Apparently, as Alorin gathered, there was a certain cachet to be gained when a whore took on two at a time, and it seemed Lurika was the first to accomplish the feat on this trip. “We all know the new bitch is spoken for by the Count,” Jesseney nodded. Alorin held her tongue. “Me, I’ll be making my decision later.”

  “Ah.” Karalene nodded cynically, and then turned to explain to Alorin. “That means she’ll be giving rear service to Sir Hobb-of-the-Wood,” she smirked.

  “No,” Jesseney explained, wiping her hands on a satin kerchief. “He’s fucking the apprentices this evening, he says.” She turned to the ginger. “Nisette?”

  “I’ve got two engagements,” the red woman declared loftily. “I’ll be using that herald Joven Musk as an appetizer, before moving on to let Master Hosmer have me as an entrée. Then, for dessert, the Seneschal. Tidwell? Tisdick?”

  “Tatlock,” Alorin supplied.

  “Titfuck. Like I said.” They all laughed. Alorin pursed her lips; Nisette, it seemed, was not limited to three dicks. She pushed it from her mind, though, for it hardly mattered under the circumstances.

  “He’s a talker, afterward,” Karalene reflected. “He’ll tell you all about his wife.” Nisette rolled her eyes. There was a pause while the others mulled this.

  “He didn’t talk to me afterward.” Nisette shook her head.

  “Nor me,” Lurika put in.

  “I merely got up and left him. He’s paying to put his cock in me; I don’t need to hear his life story.” Jesseney nodded sagely. “It’s because you’re a slave, Kara. He feels like you can’t leave once you’re there.”

  “Goddamn it.” Karalene spat savagely into their little fire. “Fuck this shit; I’ve just got to get freed.”

  “I told you, you need to find a guy who’s desperate. He’ll buy you if you tell him you’ll marry him.” Lurika shrugged. “That’s what I did, anyway.” She pulled up her dress to show off her cancelled slave mark, branded on her hip so as not to spoil her face. “I married him, then divorced him, and presto! I’m a free woman now.”

  The moon was coming out, and the sounds of drunken merrymaking from the mens’ fire had given way to the clatter of crockery. “Time, ladies.” Nisette rose slyly to her feet and brushed herself off. “I’m off for my first appointment. Little Jovan…” She frowned. “Is he the older herald, or the younger? Anyone know?”

  “Older.” Jesseney sniffed and drained the last of her winecup. “He’s fine. A bit cruel, perhaps; he’ll like insulting you. But he’ll not last long. His exuberance gets the best of him.” She frowned. “Or maybe that was just with me.”

  Alorin sat back on her elbows, her brain fogged with anticipation, as the other women got to their feet and slithered off into the night. After a moment more it was just her and Jesseney, lounging before the waning flames. Jesseney looked pensive when she turned to gaze at Alorin. “No hard feelings, Lyria,” she began, “but we’re all hoping you’ll move along. We had a nice little arrangement going, the four of us.” She squirted more wine into the cup. “Most of us have worked together before, all but Nisette. And she fits in nicely.” The remark was pointed; it was clear she thought Alorin did not fit in, nicely or otherwise.

  Alorin let her head fall back, the stars bright above. “Two nights, Jesseney, and then I aim to be gone.” She sighed. “I’m just raising some money so I can finish my journey to Tighe village.” It was a name she’d pulled out of her ass; she had no idea if there was any such place. “I mean you no harm.”

  “I think I believe you,” the whore replied, and then both of them were startled as a voice rolled out of the night. It was the man in black.

  “I seek Mistress Lyria.” He came into the circle of firelight, his eyes glittering as he regarded the whores.

  “Why have her,” Jesseney replied at once, baring her breasts, “when you can have me?” She batted her eyelashes, and then she and the man both chuckled softly.

  “I’ve had you, Jess, a dozen times.” He drank her in. “And a dozen more, no doubt. But tonight it’s fresher meat I want.” He stared hard, then, at the lounging Alorin. “Don’t keep me waiting, whore. I’ve had enough of your dawdling today.”

  Alorin arched her back sinuously. “Then why wait? You can take me right here by the fire, if you please.”

  His answer was a dark scowl as he moved off into the shadows, and Alorin was on her feet in a moment; her ears buzzed with excitement as she dug a playful toe into Jesseney’s side. “Don’t wait up,” she sang, and then she was following the man in black back to his tent, her debt already on its way to being paid.

  The camp was not silent. The sun was down, but it was still not terribly late; plenty of people still lounged by fires, smoking and telling stories. The horses did their own storytelling far off by the picket lines, snorting and whickering softly at each other, while off to the side the cook’s assistant was scouring the last of the pans while cutting shreds of meat off the spitted remains of the three deer.

  Man
y of the tents, though, were still quite loud, and any fool could have told why. First they passed the magnificent tent of the magnificently bearded man Alorin expected to murder tomorrow night; she assumed she’d be leaving the man in black this evening and coming straight here. Next came the simple center-pole tent of Sir Hobb-of-the-Wood, with two of the apprentices sitting sullenly outside awaiting their turn. Even as they passed Alorin heard a muted groaning noise from inside, the slithering of skin against skin as Sir Hobb took his pleasure from the first apprentice. She shuddered.

  Alorin had no idea who slept in the next tent, but at the moment no sleeping was occurring in there; she heard the muffled slap of thighs colliding and a pair of voices gasping and giggling. Before her strode the man in black, and he now made a sudden turn into the simple tent where she’d washed him before dinner. As he bent to the flap, he glanced back at her. “I’ll need a moment to get the candle lit. I want you naked when you enter, whore.”

  “Of course, m’lord.” That was fine. Alorin was not shy about her body, though even if she had been, the prospect of paying her debt would have loosened her clothing considerably. She grinned, ghastly-shadowed in the light of the flickering fires nearby. “Shall I crawl on my hands and knees, buttocks first?” He gave her a sour glance, then ducked into the tent.

  Quickly she shed her clothes, ignoring the open stare of Kye the cook’s assistant. She was in fine form these days: Alorin always kept herself sleek, but a week of travel had lent a clean hardness to her muscles and a hollow wildness to her grey eyes. She scratched experimentally at the rough, prickly hair that wisped above her cunt, sighing; nothing she could do about that. As usual, she’d shaved it off right before she’d left the Tower, for more comfort in the saddle, but this trip had already lasted longer than she’d thought it would. She stood a moment, gathering herself on the balls of her feet as she waited for the glow of the dark man’s candle to show itself underneath the sides of the tent, and the moment it did, she blew Kye a kiss and threw the flap back to stand dramatically at the door.

  He awaited her on his camp bed. The candle fluttered gently on a little folding table strewn with papers and a book; the table had not been there before dinner. The lord lounged sideways across the narrow mattress, leaning against the tent’s taut walls with his shirt open to the waist. The clothes were different than the ones she’d stripped off him earlier: lighter, in fine cotton rather than thick leather, and his blue eyes bored into her with a quiet, vibrating intensity. “My lord.” She felt the tent flap smacking against her bare ass as she let it close.

  “My whore.” His eyes held her right where she was, sweeping carefully up and down her body, taking in every inch. “You don’t live in my domain.” It was not a question.

  Alorin lowered her head so that she could gaze at him from beneath smoky lashes. “I do tonight,” she pointed out calmly. Her muscles flowed as she pranced across the little tent and stood over him, her legs spread slightly so that he could see and smell how excited she already was. “I don't need to undress you again, do I?”

  “You do, unless women have devised a way to fuck clothed men where you come from.” He waited for her to come closer, her legs now touching his.

  “Whyever would we want to do that?” She stared down at him, not even needing to act aroused. He had her cunt glistening like a jewel in a cavern, and his resemblance to the third thief really was uncanny. “Women like seeing naked men as much as men like seeing naked women.” She bent at the waist, feeling her tits sway before his eyes, and placed her hands with deliberate purpose on the thin mattress alongside his ribcage. “I liked seeing you naked before dinner, m’lord.” She leaned in, their lips nearly touching. “And I enjoyed kissing you, as well.”

  “Indeed,” and their lips met carefully, almost daintily, their tongues more furtive than before. The man was an outstanding kisser, she reflected: firm and aggressive, and yet he knew when to yield as well. There was a rhythm to a good kiss, and this grizzled lord understood that well. They’d just begun to get into it, their tongues slapping wetly against each other, when he raised firm, powerful fingers to her dangling tits and began to play. Alorin felt herself exhale sharply into his mouth as his fingers danced over her flesh, batting her breasts lazily back and forth, not forgetting her nipples as he pulled them longer and firmer.

  She let her body move naturally, her legs shifting outside his as the kiss deepened. In the back of her mind she was vaguely aware of the need to keep playing her part; a real whore would have negotiated the rate first, then straddled her man after. But this man tasted and felt too good for her to stop; before she realized it, her knees were planted on the edge of the mattress, her pussy dripping above his straining trousers, as her hands rested on his skin inside his shirt.

  He pulled his head back, watching her sway nude in the candlelight above his body. She felt his hands like fire across her thighs, his eyes shining as he stared straight at her weeping red slit. “Jesseney,” he began hoarsely, “tells me you’re not on their contract.” By the gods, she thought, was this a man or a mage? Was he reading her thoughts now? “How much does this cost?” And then, quite without any further warning, he pushed his finger straight and surely into her, hooking straight upward to scrape at her from the inside. She felt herself shudder. Behind her she could hear the tentflap flutter in the slight breeze; she’d never secured it.

  “Should I worry?” she panted, feeling her hips begin to move against his finger. “You’re a lordly man on a Count’s hunt. I know nobles are men of honor.” She went on the attack now, a little desperately, trailing her hands down his chest to rip, for the second time, at his drawstrings. “You’ll pay me.”

  “Shall I?” He was lying back now, watching her as she fumbled with his laces, his finger idly stirring her soupy cunt. “Are you certain? Or shall I simply roll you over and take you hard, whether you will or nil?” A second finger crept inside her, and she found herself pushing out a breathy laugh.

  “It’s your seed I want,” she moaned, telling the truth. “Not your gold.”

  “But you’d not turn down gold, either.” His fingers whirled insistently; Alorin fell across his chest, quite losing control. “Would you?”

  “Never.” She gasped it straight into his ear, then nibbled at his face, her hands still tugging between them. At last, she felt his pants come apart, her fingers digging insistently for their prize. “You’ll want to pay me, too; I’ve never yet left a cock disappointed.” His face glimmered with her spit. “Shall I trust you, m’lord? Simply let you pay me what you think you owe?”

  He groaned, quite without meaning to, as her hands began their fevered work on his shaft; the pair of them now stared hard, nose to nose, thrusting hard against each other’s fingers. “Trust. From a whore.” He grinned savagely up at her. “Will wonders never cease.”

  “They won’t until you unload inside me,” she promised, and then their tongues were rolling against each other again, the gasping passion growing as he began to struggle with his clothes. Things began to get sticky and musty down below as their bodies prepared themselves for what they both knew was coming, and then she was on her feet, whirling to fasten the loose tent flap, the wide eyes of Kye staring from across his fire.

  Alorin blew him no kisses this time; her eyes were wide, her head full of nothing but cock, and she barely even noticed the gawking young man. She threw the flap closed, and when she was done the black lord lay on his bed, kicking his trousers from his nude body. She grinned.

  “Why, m’lord!” she purred, gloating. “Were you raised in a barn? One doesn’t expose oneself before a lady.” She strode back to his side, proud and tight and ready, staring at where his long, rigid penis stuck up from his groin, his balls large and neatly symmetrical below. “Is that for me?”

  “You know it is.” He ran his hand up the back of her thigh, cupping the cheek of her ass, his face red with lust. “Fuck me, whore.”

  “My name,” she replied as coolly as sh
e could, perching a foot lazily on the far side of his body, “is Lyria.”

  “Slut,” he commanded more loudly, his grip iron on her ass, “fuck me!”

  “As m’lord wishes,” Alorin replied, her voice low and rhythmic; she was lost now, lost to the thrill and the pleasure and the lust buzzing in her brain, savoring what she’d done to this man. She slid like quicksilver across his body, her legs folding gracefully along his hips, perched above him for a moment longer. She knew she looked like sex incarnate, like a goddess; she saw it in his eyes, felt in in the trembling fingers that clutched her thighs, sensed it in the cock quivering just beneath where her cunt gaped wide and ready.

  Coldly they stared at each other, almost vicious, and then she reached casually down behind her to grip his rampant prick and hold it high. It needed very little help, spearing her neatly as she sank down, the bunched muscles of her hips and thighs settling against his body. She moaned despite herself. This man was thick and hard and strong, and she felt him in every inch of her, filling her with that special, stiff heat that only the best men have.

  “Hmph.” He shifted slightly once she’d filled herself all the way, bucking upward slightly, testing. “Jess and the other whores are going to kill you for feeling this good,” he sighed, teeth clenched, both of them relaxing for a moment as they began to enjoy each other.

  “Who?” She moved herself, just slightly, smiling with wicked coldness, waiting until he smiled back. “I’ve already forgotten them, m’lord. I’ll make sure you do the same.” And then she rose up, almost letting his dick flop wet and shining from within her cunt, before she slammed her exquisite body back down. Then again. And again, and the camp bed protested as their bodies moved slickly back and forth, both of them gripping hard for leverage.