by Georgia Fox
One by one Nino had watched his brothers find wives for the d'Anzeray harem until there was only himself and the eldest brother Salvador left who had not contributed. But he did not mind being one of the last to wed. The brothers shared their bounty and so he was not left out. Besides, he was not shy about taking what he wanted, when he wanted it.
Of course, having so many wives to share amongst them, all the brothers thought they would be immune to the pangs of love. Their father had assured them this was the best way— by sharing their brides they would never be envious of each other, or possessive of their women. For Guillaume d'Anzeray believed that when a man fell in love with one woman he became her fool and a danger to himself. After all, look what happened to him, as he would remind his sons.
He had taken a mistress purely to satisfy the sexual needs that his icy, pedigree Norman wife would not, but then that mistress turned out to be so much more than a simple bed mate. She was a hot-tempered, passionate wench, who quarreled and fought and insulted him through the birth of seven bastard sons. Always she had blamed him for yet another babe in her belly— as if she had no part in it. But somehow they could not keep away from one another. He always returned to her arms and she always welcomed him, even when she'd previously thrown half the contents of her cottage in his wake.
Whenever he talked of their mother, Guillaume would say that they had remained together as if tied by chains that cut into their skin. Only her death had separated them and Guillaume was just as angry about that as he was about the way she had made him fall into that hapless, heedless, unmanly state of love with her.
"Your mother," he would mutter, "was a mouthy, obstinate, beautiful, frustrating bitch. She forced me to love her against my best interests and then she died. Ingrate!"
So Guillaume had assured his sons that by taking seven wives to share they would never suffer the pain that he had known. No resentment, he said, could flourish between them, and there would be no fighting to endanger the unity of the family. The children born of these unions could belong to any brother and thus they were all fathers at the same time. All seven brothers protected the women and the children, so that if one or two of them had to be away, the others were there to be father and husband.
In the beginning it had seemed like a very good plan. In the beginning.
But Nino had seen his brothers' fondness developing for certain brides. He knew which woman was the favorite of which brother, although they all virulently denied it and insisted they shared their attentions equally. Annoyed by their foolishness in succumbing to love, Nino was determined that when his time came to bring home a bride he would not fall foul to the same mistake, but would share without qualm, without favoring. His father, he had decided, was right. Love was a game for fools. It sapped a man's strength, made him vulnerable, and distracted him from his own survival.
Well, it wouldn't happen to Nino.
* * * *
She entered the tavern late in the evening, when the crowd was rowdy and drunk. Of course the cards had told her a d'Anzeray would be there— a young fledgling. He would be her weak link, her way into their fortress.
Jesamyn had traveled a long way to serve her vengeance on the brothers who once ransacked the village in which she had lived, killing her mother and twin sister. At last she was about to succeed.
Occasionally she wondered what she would do once her task was complete. There would be an emptiness in her life without this purpose, but so be it. When those seven thorns were plucked from her breast, she could rest at last. She might learn how to sleep as other folk did, and not feel any longer this pain of grief and a duty unfulfilled.
She smiled when she thought of that monk with his rotting insides. Well, he was one she would not need to bring to his end, as it was coming for him soon enough. In the meantime she had amused herself by conjuring an erection for his manhood— an erection that would not recede. The evil monk would know the discomfort of a wooden shaft for days, until she felt inclined to relieve it with another spell. If only she could make those appendages fall off altogether. Alas, she had never yet succeeded in that.
Approaching the tavern-keeper, she whispered in his ear, offering her entertainment just for half the coin the men threw to her— the other half he could keep. It was a proposal he accepted eagerly when she slipped off her hooded cloak and stood before him in her alluring garb.
Jesamyn walked out into the glowing light of the fire and waited until every eye was upon her before she began to dance. She needed no drum, no accompaniment but the bells upon her wrists and ankles. With every twitch, wave and kick she kept her own sensual rhythm. The crowd was soon transfixed. At first she stayed within the circle of firelight, but then she took her dance on a weaving pattern, slipping in and out of her audience, letting them clutch at her. And miss.
She would know him when she saw him. The cards had warned her what to expect.
The heat of the small tavern made the men red and sweaty, but she stayed cool and calm, her body accustomed to much higher temperature. In fact, the greater the heat the better for her. The cold, damp air of the English climate had been an unpleasant shock and made her bones ache.
A thick wave of ale hops, onions and stale body odor swept over her, made her nauseous, but she moved on, undulating around the grasping hands and salivating tongues with the controlled grace of a serpent twisting to the music of a pungi.
She spun fast on one foot, her skirt of rags flying out, and then dropped to her knees, bent over backwards, arms over her head to touch the dirt floor. Even in this pose her body moved in gentle waves from shoulder to hip, luring the watchers to gather around. Jesamyn closed her eyes and let her mind delve into the crowd, seeking out her prey. And then, at last, she sensed the man she wanted.
For some reason he kept his distance along the peripheral of the audience. As she reached further with the tendrils of her mind she knew why. He was engrossed in a game of some sort, losing coin. Yes, she knew he was a gambler. The cards had told her so. But he liked a game of chance, rather than one of strategy. It was the thrill he sought, not the winning.
Jesamyn arched her back further and pressed her palms flat into the ground. The crowd applauded and cheered raucously as her legs lifted high, toes gracefully pointed, and she bore her body weight, upside down on her hands now. The feathery rags of her skirt drifted down to reveal her shaved pudenda. All around her the drunken men began to chant, demanding to see her cunny. Slowly Jesamyn parted her legs until they were splayed wide, her female parts displayed.
Another rowdy, appreciative cheer echoed around the room and she knew this one would capture his attention. She began to walk in a circle on her hands, legs split wide apart, encouraging the audience to try their luck. Whomever landed a coin in her pussy would get to fuck her.
As soon as she made this announcement a shower of coins hit her thighs. The men were too drunk to have good aim and if any coin came close she tightened her well-trained muscles to be sure it bounced off her. This was a game she had played many times, although it often necessitated a hasty escape before the men sobered up and got wise to her trick, realizing no coin they threw would ever stay lodged in her pink slot unless she wanted it to do so. As the money tumbled and spun to the ground all around her, Jesamyn walked around on her hands, gathering coins under her palms.
* * * *
Nino pushed his way to the front, his curiosity stirred by the shouts of the crowd. His gaze fell at once to the beautiful bared cunt between those lean, flexible thighs. Not a hair in sight. At home, the d'Anzeray wives were shaved for the traditional branding ceremony after the wedding, but the hair grew back, and he'd never seen another woman anywhere else with such a smooth mound.
He watched, mesmerized, as a coin hit her labia and bounced off to roll down the crack of her bottom and land somewhere among the rags of her skirt. If he was not mistaken that delectable, dainty, pouty-lipped cunny had just winked at him, luring him to take a turn.
She h
ad tight muscles; he saw that immediately. A dancer and acrobat well-practiced and in control of every inch of her body.
His excitement leapt quickly and high.
Several men near him were beginning to whisper about rushing her before she could get upright again. They had lost too many coins and wanted the prize she offered. They meant to take it by force.
Nino took two coins from his belt and spat upon one. Then he aimed carefully. Having watched the wench for a few moments he could predict the next sway of her hips, the next subtle tilt. He tossed the dry coin first. As she was flexing to push it off her labia, he aimed the second coin— the one sticky with his spit. Just as her pussy relaxed from the first bounce it was unprepared for the coin that came after. Nino's second shot landed right between her nether lips, on its side.
Another round of cheering and applause greeted his success, although several faces glowered at him, furious at being bested.
The woman lowered her feet and stood upright. For the first time he saw all of her. She was dark-skinned, possibly of Moorish blood or Egyptian. Her eyes were an odd color one might find in the deepest primeval forest and they slanted upward slightly at the corners. Her nose was long, slender, her lips full and parted as she dampened them with a slow, sensual lick of her tongue.
"You have won, sir," she said in a flat tone as she hurried to collect up the remainder of the losing coins. "I congratulate you."
He stared at her, astonished to see a face of such beauty in this place. He'd fully expected a plain woman once she stood upright and revealed her face. A woman of this much loveliness and youth ought not to be selling her favors here in a rowdy, common tavern, flaunting her exquisite body for rough-handed peasants.
His gaze traveled from her face to her breasts, which were barely covered with a netting of dyed string and small stones that glittered as she breathed. Her nipples were plainly visible through the holes of the net and painted with gold dust. Her stomach was taut, brown, still undulating in that alluring manner even now that her "dance" was ended. She turned away.
Nino reached out and caught her wrist, making the bracelet of bells jingle. "Where are you going, wench?"
Her eyes narrowed until they became gleaming hot slits in her face, outlined by that thick black kohl. "I collect my coins, signor. You have my body when I done here. Be patient. Thank you."
So he released her wrist and followed her as she moved around the floor, harvesting her coins. With his appetite mounting, he watched her swaying hips and the alluring curve of her waist. Her hair hung long and free, but when, at one point, she swept it forward over her shoulder, he saw thin scars between her shoulder blades. They were faint, but visible if one stared hard enough. White marks in her dark skin.
Nino squinted and caught his breath. "Why are you here, wench?" he demanded tersely, his memory poked. Surely it could not be the same little girl he once met in that busy souk in Moorish Iberia. A little girl who had shocked him with a kiss, just because he offered her some of his supper.
She stopped and spun around to face him. "I here for the money. Why else?"
The more he studied her features, the more certain he was. It was a coincidence too strange to be believed. The world was a big place and that he should encounter the same mysterious eyes twice in his wandering life was incredible. Now he regarded her with suspicion. "Did you let my coin find its target deliberately?"
She smirked. "No man win without I permit."
His pride might be wounded to know she let him win, but his vanity was stroked at the same time. He couldn't help being flattered that she had wanted him to be the man who fucked her. "Where are you from?"
"A faraway place." She stepped forward and placed her hand on his cock, caressing it through his breeches. "You already hard and much size. The impatience of youth. You desire to fuck here, before the other mens, or outside in private? Thank you not to come inside my cunt, but I have no other rule."
This should not be her profession, he thought, a surge of unease travelling swiftly through his blood. There was a nobility to her poise, despite her revealing costume, erotic performance and brusque words. The gleam in her eye was almost angry, as if she knew she was above all this, but for now she tolerated it. She had a reason to do so, of course. Coin? Somehow he felt sure there was more to it than that. Why had she let his coin reach its target and denied all others?
He straightened his shoulders. "I want more than one fuck. I haven't done filling your cup with coins. You've teased my gambler's curiosity, and I want to see how many I can get in there." Leaning closer, he whispered, "And you may keep them all when I do."
Her thin brows arched and her lips parted to show clean white teeth. "Yes. Thank you."
She smelled of sweet, spicy perfume, and it came from a small cone of wax tied to a slender circlet of beads around her neck. As the heat rose from the air and her body it melted the wax in a thin stream between her breasts and released the perfume. It was more intoxicating than the bad ale he'd drunk that evening.
"If I get more than five coins in your pussy, I have you for the entire night. Agreed?"
"Yes. Thank you."
How polite, he mused.
As she ran a fingernail slowly along the rising curve of his cock, her nipples puckered through that revealing costume, little daggers, gold-tipped. Nino felt a fierce hunger to drink from them. After watching all those coins bouncing off her twat, he was ready to fuck her all night long. She might expect him to be a quick customer— with the impatience of youth— but he meant to savor her. All of her.
He slipped a hand between her legs to feel the edge of that coin still lodged at the crest of her vagina. She held it there with her strong lips, just as tightly as she would grip his cock. He rubbed a callused fingertip over the coin and then pushed it farther inside.
"Let me see how many times I can hit the honey pot, wench, and then we'll discuss the terms and duration of the fucking I shall buy from you."
Her lips curved in a cold smirk. "As you desire it."
Of course, he mused, it was always as he desired it, for he was Antonino d'Anzeray. Apparently she did not know who he was. And she, it seemed, did not remember that they'd met before.
Chapter Three
Jesamyn lay on her back and then rolled up onto her shoulders, legs over her head and spread apart. Antonino d'Anzeray stood a good distance away, readying his coins. Interest of the other patrons had not faded, although some were annoyed that the young upstart was the victor. She felt their animosity in waves rolling over her as they considered her pussy and their lost opportunity. This d'Anzeray boy would have trouble if he didn't make haste with his game, but he was clearly arrogant— as she might expect of the reckless, spoiled young cub. The cards had warned her.
The first coin hit her vulva but rolled off, falling to the ground. The second coin landed squarely between her rose-pink folds and she clenched her walls, squeezing it in. The watching men laughed and cheered. It always amazed her that men could be so easily entertained, but it was good for her so what did it matter?
The cub tossed a third coin and that too slipped between her labia. Then a fourth. The shifting coins inside her made Jesamyn quite pleasantly aroused, but she calmed her breath and tried to ignore the sensation. She had a job to do here and this was no time for her own enjoyment. One more coin and he would have her for the night, as they'd agreed when he laid down his bet.
She supposed it was an exciting prospect. She'd heard the d'Anzeray were well schooled in the art of sex. However, this brother was a young one. He would be in a hurry, sloppy and careless, no doubt.
The fifth coin fell softly, almost fluttering against her soft lips as it landed. Jesamyn let her thighs fall wider apart, allowing the coin to join its brethren.
But d'Anzeray was not finished. Another coin and then another were tossed in a high arc through the warm air to lodge in that tight pink mouth between her spread legs. Now they hit the spot directly as he found his aim. Still h
e did not stop. The collected coins created a new sensation of fullness inside her pussy as they rubbed together and against her sensitive core. Her arousal mounted to a heavy thrumming deep inside. Eventually she lost count. She began to feel faint. Perhaps she'd been upside down too long.
Finally he walked over to her, knelt and, without a word of warning, pressed his mouth to her smooth sex with a greedy grunt of delight. With his hands under her knees to hold her steady — and with the crowd drunkenly celebrating his expertise— d'Anzeray sucked the coins out of her cunt, one by one.
Jesamyn tried to hold back, but her climax was rough and raw. His tongue skillfully plundered her treasures and managed to slide each coin up against her pearl until she was panting, her teeth clenched hard to thwart the screams that wanted out. She must maintain her customary aloofness. This boy would not make her come undone.
For now she must let him think he had control. Whatever he wanted she would give to him. Until it was time to amend his misconception.
His mouth tightened on her sensitive flesh and he sucked hard to draw the last coin from its niche. She shuddered, knowing he would feel her pussy quaking, unable to hide the pleasure he'd given her. Opening her eyes, she saw men's feet getting closer as they now encouraged the victor to enjoy his spoils. They chanted and whistled and thumped fists upon tables. They wanted to watch. A few shouted that they hoped he was in a generous mood and would share his bounty.
But when he lifted his face from her wet pussy and their eyes met, she knew that whatever the rumors regarding the d'Anzeray brood and their sexual proclivities, he was not in a mood to share. Not tonight.
