And still, Radford thrust upward into Nia's rippling and searing pussy. He braced his spine against a pillow and backrest behind it as his head fell back and his breathing charged from his chest. His buttocks were slapping back and forth across the pillows with a sound like pain erupting from his throat as he clenched his body, tightened, strained forward and held. He shook his head like a wild lion as he growled through the eruption, pumping his hot seed deep inside the truest creation of his pleasure-soaked death.
Long moments later, Radford's lips sought the highest slope of Nia's delicate cheek with a kiss that found little tear drops. She was draped over his chest with her legs still straddled over his thighs and what was left of him still embedded inside her.
"You are mine. Say it." He breathed hoarsely.
"I am yours," Nia moaned.
"You will forever be mine. Say it."
"I will forever be yours, Radford."
"And I am the master of seduction at this moment. Say it"
"You are the master."
"Say it again."
"You are my master." Nia sighed happily.
"Yes, I am the master of sweet fire, my love." Radford said leaning his lips down to kiss his woman thoroughly.
Chapter Twenty
The following morning . . .
Lady Gabriella Kittridge walked into the study at Radford's country estate humming softly. The morning appeared filled with hopes and suffused with dreams coming true, she thought with a smile. Her smile was just a tad bit mischievous, because she had...
"There you are, my love."
Gabriella started slightly, turning her gaze toward the desk and the voice of her husband. "Drummond, I did not know you were there."
"You appear aglow this morning, my love," Drummond said settling back in the chair to gaze at her with his intent gray eyes."
"I, umm, yes," Gabriella said, smiling brightly as she walked toward him. "I am happy to be returning to our son today. You know that I do not like leaving him."
"Nor do I," Drummond murmured, as he lifted up several sheets of vermillion paper from the desk, glancing down at them.
Gabriella slid to a stop beside Drummond's chair, just as his arm came around behind her to cradle her hips. She looked down at the top of Drummond head fondly as he bent over the papers he was looking at. She sighed. Now was as good a time as any, she supposed. "Did you know, Drummond, I realized just last night that I know, Nia."
"Really," Drummond drawled, with his head still lowered as she caressed his nape lightly.
"Yes, it is extraordinary. I was quite taken back as I am sure Nia will be when she sees me." Gabriella knew she was gushing, yet she did so dislike lying, so in her discomfort, she just continued on, "Yes, her mother and I were friends. We went to school together those many years past." She was hedging, she knew, because Nia's mother and she were slightly more than just school acquaintances. They had been, up until her death, the very best of friends. "I am certain, Nia, will recognize me. I just did not want you to be startled of the fact. Although, Nia, was quite young the last time I saw her. Her mother was newly married and living then in Ireland, so far away and..."
"Quite astonishing, darling," Drummond interrupted her fast paced flow of words.
"Ah, yes it is," Gabriella offered, gazing down at the top of his head.
"And after her mother's death, my love, you never had contacted, Nia?" Drummond asked.
It was a simple question, Gabriella thought. A question really that one would normally ask, however Drummond's tone, hinted to her of other things. She squinted down at him. There was no way that he could know. Could he? No, she assured herself, there was no way that Drummond would ever guess such a thing of her. That really was why it was so brilliant, she thought, with a smile.
In a way she was, and had, out foxed the masters. The Archangels. She never intended to tell them either. It was enough to know that she'd done it, and she'd not done it in the beginning to specifically outwit them. That had not been her intention at all. It had just turned out that way. No, her intention was truly compassion with a bit of matchmaking thrown in. And why not when she knew how perfectly it would all turn out.
It had really been a lark. Dressing like a man to meet Nia, keeping her gender and appearance in disguise. Oh, and then making the plans on the best way to seduce Radford. That had been especially fun, and she had hit it square in the bull's eye too! All was well that ends well, she thought, with a mischievous smile. Especially with a little push.
But really now, she could not help thinking about Saxonhurst lately. The change in him was astounding. "Hmm," she murmured.
"Gabriella, are you with me? I asked you a question, my love."
"Oh." Gabriella returned from her musing and found Drummond looking up at her. "Oh, I . . . You know, my darling, I have just thought of something I must do." Gabriella unwound herself from Drummond's arm and started sailing out of the room. "Is, Saxonhurst, still here? I really must find him."
Drummond watched his wife leaving, and he chuckled. Then he looked down at the papers that he held. The papers that Radford had given him that the supposed mysterious gentleman had given Nia as her instructions. What he saw again, and had seen, was clearly his wife's handwriting. He shook his head and smiled. He was impressed and not the least surprised by the cunningness and compassion of his wife's mind. But he was thoroughly impressed. He chuckled again.
"Saxonhurst, you had better watch out," he murmured.
The End
My Lady Enthralled
By Shirl Anders
Prologue
"The long hair is sublime. Can you imagine him naked with that rich river of hair flowing down his muscular back?"
"Our, Hellborn Lord, would be salaciously pleased at this specimen. Except for the ugly deformity of his missing hand. Those deep brown sexual eyes, sensual face with masculine features, but the carnal lips nearly turned toward the feminine. Strong build, he will look superb with his shirt off. Find out the length, color, and thickness of his cock. I wager it hangs down half of his thigh and with that light brown hair his hairy balls will look smooth and hairless. Mmm, maybe for the length of hair one can overlook the missing hand."
"Strength in the hair should come through to the buck's dong."
"The presence of the hook only adds to the perception of dominance that will be broken and subjugated."
"Lord Incubus, he is a lord, a Marquess."
"Succulent, always the choicest plunder. Family?"
"One uncle and an elderly aunt of no consequence, I did a thorough check, I knew you would crave this one."
"I do. If his cock is like a beast's, we will take him. And then we need a petite bitch with skin nearly white against his sun-browned flesh. I want her small enough so that when his cock comes to her it will look like a powerfully savage weapon going to gut her." Lord Incubus paused. "Our, mighty Lord Hellion, will be pleased. I believe this time he will take the male also, and that will be a triumph. It has been too long since we have pleased him with our male offering."
"Name?"
"Lord Saxonhurst, the Marquess of Hartley."
Chapter One
For the first time in his life his cock had gotten him into trouble, Saxonhurst thought, and if his bloody head did not hurt so badly he would laugh out right. Incredible. This was a momentous occasion that any of his illustrious friends from the former Archangel spying regal would have proudly cheered him on, notwithstanding their amazement. And, she had been an exquisite piece of French muslin with fiery red hair and dark coquettish eyes. The demanding throb in his head would not allow him to remember her name or if she had given one. However, amidst the beating that was hammering in his temple he did remember her scent and it seemed he remembered a flash of pure white breasts. Was that true? Had he seen those alabaster mounds naked? Violets . . . He had smelled violets? Or was that the feisty maid, he'd dallied with on board the ship he'd taken for his voyage from England to France. What was that .
. . two, three days ago? Was it longer?
Haltingly, it seemed to him that somewhere in his scattered mind he should worry over his newfound circumstances. Should his brain be as thick and muddled over a clout to the back of his skull? Why did he taste the sour dredges of wine on his tongue? Then, while thinking of the wine taste, he realized in a floating manner that sharpened for brief seconds, when he tried to raise his hand to his lips, that they had tied his wrists. But then, the thought floated away.
"I say we fuck him now. Da, Lord Hellion, will never know."
"I like da cunts better."
"Any tight ass on ya cock will change ya mind."
Saxon tried to understand the words he was hearing. He tried to feel alarmed, but the throb in the back of his skull nauseated him and his mind scattered, tripping over his constantly flowing thoughts. The roll of the carriage was making him feel sick, he realized, then the knowledge fled with the next jarring bounce and simultaneous pounding of pain splitting his skull.
He heard the men's voices again. Two men, both with German accents. One was sharper than the other. That voice led the other voice. Saxon knew that somehow. Because . . . because he was good at it, flashed through his mind . . . and then the thought fled.
"Da long hair will make ya think cunt, Baco."
"Fuck off, Cernno! They should of let me get da woman."
"Cernno! Baco! Quiet! This male is not to be touched by anyone other than our Lord Hellion or the handmaidens."
A new voice. A woman's voice and older. Saxon clenched his closed eyelids, trying to transcend the thumping in his head and the jostling of the carriage floor he laid sprawled upon. Man, think! Just this one thing. Saxon strained for control of his mind. He knew accents like the back of his hand. Missing hand. "Viennese," he mumbled into the noise of the rattling carriage. The woman was from Vienna.
"Dame Baset, ya know you'd like da Marquess' long dong in ya cunt right now and I'd take his ass. Ja! Two at a time!" Then, Cernno's sharp smirking laughter filled the air.
Dame Baset's voice hissed loudly, "Quiet!"
Saxon picked out a fleeting thought, a notion that Dame Baset held no control over Cernno, but the one called Lord Hellion did. The names of the kidnappers . . . of the players and fiends defied his befuddled brain, while he knew somewhere they meant something, and he should know it. And just then . . . it snapped through his mind for a split second. Cult. But the carriage jolted roughly beneath him, and he moaned, unable to catch the sound back.
"He awakes now," Dame Baset said, and Saxon felt the light edge of her skirts brushing his cheek, making him realize that she sat above where he lay trussed up on the carriage floor. "But the draft I gave him will keep him pleasingly malleable."
"Ja, and limp enough to ass fuck easily," Cernno's said.
"You're just a pig, Cernno. You always liked da little boys ass better," Baco jibed.
"Ass is ass," Cernno returned with an angry voice.
"Quiet! Both of you! While your talk is deliciously nasty to be tempting, you will allow the sacrifice more than he needs to know," Dame Baset said. "And you know, our Lord Hellion, likes the sacrifice's mind pure so he can turn it."
"Ja." Both men affirmed, but they both sounded equally petulant.
Sacrifice? Saxon tried to wrap his mind around that word, but it was too elusive. Whatever potion Dame Baset had given him was easing the pain in his head, but it was also making his mind float to pale white breasts with pink-tipped nipples. He had seen them.
Descriptions. Listening. Melting into the background and gathering information. Those were some of his special talents. He knew them as instinctively as he could breathe. He could walk into a parlor or out on the boulevard or enter a crowded ballroom, assess the area for ten seconds or less and have the entirety memorized. Saxon realized that these details of his concentration possibly kept him more cognizant than his captors expected. Not enough to be anything but disgustingly malleable in their hands, but enough to be aware of snatches in clarity.
The two German brutes, Baco and Cernno were stocky men and everything about them seemed double in his mind. Both had reddish brown stubby cropped hair, which meant they wore wigs more often than not. Both had the same barrel chests and thick arms with their height just a head taller than his medium height. Double watery blue eyes. Double bad teeth. Double ruddy complexions.
Then, it came to him, pierced through the constriction trying to damper his mind. Twins. The two thugs were twins, however, there were two differences, Cernno led Baco more or less, and Cernno was more perverse.
Saxon tried to be disgusted, perhaps appalled at the lewd groping of Cernno's hands, while the two brutes bodily hauled him out of the carriage. That was when Saxon realized that they had stopped, but Cernno's rough hand groping his ass distracted him for a moment. Thank god he had his britches on. The thought fled through Saxon's mind and at the same time he hesitated, where was his shirt? Ah, no it was there, but it was hanging open.
"Leave his ass alone. Da Hellion could be watching," Baco hissed in warning.
Saxon wobbled on his feet between the two men, his hair wildly loose and hanging over his bared chest, but he managed to stay upright and standing. His neck was like soft wax when he tried to lift it to look upward. He smelled Dame Baset passing by him and heard the swishing of her elaborate skirts. Remember he was in France, Saxon chided his cloudy mind. Elaborate dress in France.
Dame Baset left a heavy scent of cloying perfume. Then, Saxon managed an upward glimpse before his neck fell limp again. In that brief glimpse, he took in the sight of a Gothic castle, shrouded in dark shadows with thick and vulgar creeping vines. There were even gargoyles on the turrets, Saxon thought, wanting to laugh out loud at the absurdity. He was in a veritable cesspool of major trouble here, he understood. Nevertheless, until the drugged wine they had given him wore off or he managed to conquer it better with his mind, he was a, "captive sacrifice."
Then his mind wandered to the Archangels. The best of companions and the most stalwart of friends. But beyond that, they were skilled and capable outside of normal men. Faint hope managed to flare inside him, pushing against the lethargy, until he remembered that he was now in France and his hopeful saviors were back in England. Then, his hope fled as bleakly as the castles dark facade, while Baco and Cernno bodily dragged him into the depths of Lord Hellion's domain.
Chapter Two
"She is perfection. What unusual race must she have been bred from, troll?" Lord Incubus asked looking down his long, too thin nose.
Yojo did not bother trying to look upward, because the height of his head only reached Lord Incubus' upper thigh.
"Gypsy, master," Yojo answered with an excited giggle as he swayed from side to side. Yojo could only view a sea of stocking-clad legs with buckled shoes or wide ballooned skirts in the circus atmosphere of the upper ballroom. The stiffness and the under wiring of the elaborate skirts were the most dangerous, and he wished for Baco's presence, because Baco would willingly carry him on his stout shoulder. Lord Incubus would never consider such a feat or kindness. Lord Incubus was cruel. And, Yojo loved him. But he'd never tell, never tell, never tell...
"Hmm," Lord Incubus hummed in his throat like a lethal purring. The sound always trilled up Yojo's miniature spine. "She is petite enough and her flesh is just that pale, delicious white. I am surprised at this deep red hair. Yes, I believe it will make the contrast between them striking."
"She has no one, master. No one now that will be missing her," Yojo said.
"Damnable, I can barely hear you, troll!" Lord Incubus snapped irritably.
Yojo knew that it was Incubus' way to blame him for his midget height and Incubus would never consider bending down to hear better. It was up to Yojo to right the wrong or Incubus' anger would flare down on him. Yojo giggled nervously, then trundled to the corner of the large sweeping balcony that stood above the ornate ballroom below. The lightweight gold leash Lord Incubus held laxly in his left hand and hooked t
o Yojo just reached the distance.
Yojo nimbly climbed up the railing and stood in the corner on the top rail. With one of his thick stubby hands, he held onto the column at his side, balancing himself. He wore a festive hat of dark green, blue, and red plumed feathers and he bobbed as he shuffled a little dance. Ladies tittered at him, passing behind them on the balcony, and Lord Incubus' inscrutably drawn face showed no signs of approval. Yet, the slits of Lord Incubus' eyes held glints of gray as he stepped forward. The elaborate black wig Incubus wore blocked Yojo's view of the party revelers behind them and Yojo stared with fascination at the long curls upon curls hanging half down Lord Incubus' chest. How he wished, he could wear such a handsome wig on his bald head instead of the silly hat that he wore. But he was Lord Incubus' pet for the party. A pierrot mascot was a fashionable accessory of the times.
"Now, tell me again, runt," Lord Incubus ordered.
"No one will miss her now!" Yojo exclaimed. "She lied, using her old dead aunt's invitation to enter here."
"Her only living relative that died so advantageously just last week?" Lord Incubus' voice purred with evil intent.
"That one!" Yojo exclaimed, bouncing up and down. "Now she looks for her distant cousin. But she will never find him. Never find him!"
"Quiet down, troll," Lord Incubus snapped irritably and Yojo pursed his lips looking about ready to explode, but silent for the moment. "That long distant relative, an elder Baron isn't he, and he knows nothing of her. Nor does he want to?"
"Yes!" Yojo peeped.
"Hmm, a Gypsy lady. Full Gypsy blood by the look of her. She had better not be coarse, this Lady Joelle Zurka."
"Real, lady!" Yojo piped.
"Hmm, well it seems you have done well picking her. And, she received a false note saying her long lost cousin would be here then?"
"Not a note," Yojo said. "Bribed the Baron's butler!" Yojo clapped gleefully, nearly toppling backward, but he caught the column just in time.
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