The Valkyrie (Raxillene's Rogues Book 2)

by Max Keith

  At one point she swooped low, her tongue dredging his chest and neck before she smeared her mouth across his, her hips never stopping as she churned over him, and for several minutes that was the only thing either of them knew or understood. The world could end and neither would have cared, fucking with steady perfection, her breasts bobbing in crazy circles as she drove herself against him in a punishing rhythm.

  “Off,” he demanded thickly, his hands forcing her legs off him. “I need you from behind now, Lyria.”

  “As m’lord wishes,” she said again, low and wheezing, noticing he’d used her name. “Standing, or on my knees?”

  “On your knees, bitch.” He’d remembered himself. “On the ground, in the dust, with your ass high in the air.” He smiled with slow, cruel certainty. “I’ll fuck you like a dog.”

  “Shall I bark for you?” She bent low again for one more savage kiss, then pulled off him with a sudden feeling of coldness. “Or piss on your tentpole?”

  “Not necessary.” He was already turning on the cot, his feet finding the sandy floor. He watched as she bent, her nipples dragging in the dirt, and she heard his ragged sigh. “Gods, you’re beautiful.” He meant it, too; she could hear the truth in his voice, and it nagged at her.

  “I don’t want you in my ass, m’lord.” She’d do it, but she was pretty sure he wanted her pussy anyway. “I want to feel your seed in my cunt. I want to take you like a woman should.”

  “A woman should take a man as he wishes,” the dark man snapped, settling behind her and smacking her sharply across her butt. “But I’ll consider your argument most carefully, whore.” He shoved himself in, both of them hissing with the tight, harsh pleasure of it as his hands found her waist. “Like that bitch with the grievance.”

  Alorin surprised herself by laughing, pure and ringing. “That poor little wench,” she marveled, for now that she’d learned more about Sir Hobb she had a good idea what the grievance must be. And the Count would, of course, support his hunting companion. “Still, she got me here, and I think you’re happy about that, m’lord.” The last few words came out in a series of straining, rhythmic grunts, for he’d begun hauling her body back against him as he buried himself inside her.

  Alorin knew, as surely as if she was watching it happen, that the sounds they made were drawing a crowd out by Kye’s fire. They’d hear grunts and growls and moans, the slapping of his lean thighs against her glorious ass, the sloshing sound his dick made inside her brothy vagina. And as the end approached, his rhythm breaking down into a frenzy of wild motion as his cum rose, she grinned savagely even as his thrusts forced her face into the sandy dirt, for her seed-debt was, now, nearly paid.

  “Take it,” he grunted, low and evil, his hands like iron claws digging into her hips, and then she was screaming out some sort of incoherent babble of Lammorel prayer as he pushed her one more time into the dust before he unloaded, the sudden flexing twitches of his penis sending her all the way over into her own climax, the passage of cock in cunt easing suddenly with the flood of his semen inside her. And she laughed, giddy and carefree, her debt paid.

  Afterward he lay alongside her, unable to stop stroking her dusty breast as he propped himself up on his elbow. “I meant what I said,” he rasped. “You’re beautiful.”

  “I thank you.” She was flopped in delicious languor across the thin mattress, his seed leaking out of her. Though not all of it. She craned her head up to kiss him. “You’ve made me feel very welcome in this party, m’lord.”

  “Well,” he replied quietly, “I do pride myself on my hospitality.” He glanced over at the hourglass beside the candle. “But, with that said, it’s time for you to go. I’ve got a long ride tomorrow, and this cot is too small for two.”

  “It wasn’t a few minutes ago,” she simpered, but she didn’t mind. It had been a wonderful evening already, and at last she was free to kill Lord Whitemar. She stretched. “What sort of payment have my efforts earned me, m’lord?”

  He stared gravely down, his blue eyes hard. “I pay Jess and her sluts one gold merganser, minus a roight. For you?” He gave her nipple one final, meditative squeeze. “You may keep the roight.” He hesitated. “I enjoyed you, Lyria of the Thirteen Pleasures.”

  “And I, you,” Alorin replied, patting his gummed dick, then got catlike to her feet. She yawned as she turned to go, treating him to another view of her ass in the low candleflame. “Your name, m’lord? I might want a testimonial later.”

  “Do you not know?” She heard amusement, and irony. “My name is Clerent.” She stopped suddenly, every sense alert, the heaviness of sex falling away at once. “Count Clerent, the Lord of Whitemar.” He was watching her closely when she turned back, her every motion now slow and precise. “Who did you think I was?”

  She narrowed her eyes as she smiled mysteriously back at him. “I thought you were a god,” she replied simply, and then she hid her distress behind a quick retreat through the flap, out into Kye’s dying fire and the many eyes waiting to watch her dress. “Merely a god.” The flap fell back behind her.

  Five

  The next day Alorin discovered why itinerant whores rode sidesaddle.

  She’d never had to ride a long way the day after getting thoroughly plundered by three different men, and she found that not having to ride astride made a great difference to her aching hips. Plus, it helped keep the sperm from leaking onto the saddle.

  “You’re looking a pit peaky this morning,” Nisette mocked her during one of the halts. This was true; Alorin Kaye was no stranger to losing sleep, and like many women in the Realm she’d done her fair share of whoring for pocket money, but last night had been a great deal of work, on a rapidly descending scale: from the heights of Lord Whitemar, which had left her ecstatic, trembling, and pleasantly itchy inside, she’d been scooped up before she’d even gotten the chance to put her clothes back on by eager young Kye, the assistant cook, just nineteen and waiting eagerly outside Whitemar’s tent with an energetic cock and a week’s carefully saved wages.

  He’d singled her out as she dressed herself, his eyes on fire while his friends whispered excitedly among themselves. They’d been jumpy and nervous, frantically adjusting their breeches around their tightening groins, but Kye had folded his long legs underneath him as, with a maturity that mocked his years, he’d risen to give her a strangely possessive and saucy grin, a gold merganser blazing from his palm in the light of the little fire.

  She let him see her eyes drift down at the coin, then up to his face, her hands freezing as they closed her robe over flushed and chilly flesh. Her limbs stilled themselves with effort; she’d been trembling almost since she’d risen from Whitemar’s dick, and now she wanted a moment or two to relax beneath her blankets and perhaps get a chance to wipe up.

  But she was posing as a whore, and no real whore would turn down smirking Kye and his gold merganser.

  So she sighed to herself, turned her face into a dry, lip-curled mask of tawdry mocking desire, and glanced at the two boys still sitting by the fire. “See anything interesting, boys?”

  The larger of the two giggled, his face scarlet with the shock of getting spoken to by a woman so beautiful. “Um.” He coughed. “We heard some interesting things.” He glanced meaningfully at his lord’s tent. The other one was staring up at her with a taut cock and a slack mouth, and Alorin favored him with her sexiest wink.

  She looked them both over. “You’ll hear a lot more,” she suggested, “if you can outbid your friend here.” She slithered toward the waiting Kye, knowing they’d never be able to, and that even if they did Kye would bash their eyes in before he let her off the hook. In this moment, fresh from sex and with two other boys drooling over her, she knew she was the most desirable thing he’d ever seen. “No? Well, then.” She met Kye’s gaze, surprised to see a harsh pair of dark blue eyes, and she shuddered despite herself.

  He looked cruel. Or maybe that was merely lust; in her experience, they often looked the same.

>   He’d certainly had power, though, the pair of them surging against each other for what felt like hours among his squalid fart-smelling blankets. He’d been unexpectedly hairless, the sight of his smooth body standing above her like a statue reawakening her pussy; she felt a gush from within as he knelt between her legs and eased his long, skinny self in, holding his breath as he marveled at what he was doing. In fairness, though, Lord Whitemar had left so much cum in there she could barely tell whose body all the fluids had come from. No matter though, she reflected as she opened her mouth to his garlic-tasting tongue; he’d add to the mix soon enough.

  He’d fucked her quite thoroughly, especially considering his tender years, and her muscles were already sore as she’d stolen away from him, the pleasure she’d gotten from Whitemar thoroughly replaced by the raw passion of the sinewy young man’s hard, plunging body.

  Alas, though, the squelching of their bodies and the slapping of their flesh had woken up old Tholem the farrier, he of the famously large dick, and no sooner had Alorin fled out of the bushes, her hand cupped over her pussy, than she’d literally run into him in the night, standing there squat and ready. “The new one,” he’d breathed, and Kye had still been panting nearby as he’d bent her over against a tree and slid wetly inside without preamble.

  Well. She’d certainly felt that one, no mistake there; her pussy, despite its recent performances, hadn’t encountered such girth in many years, and he’d chuckled above her as she hissed. “Don’t be so dramatic, woman,” he grunted. “You’re a whore. Deal with it.”

  She turned to look at his hulking form, grimacing when his gnarled hands gripped urgently at her hips. She felt like a puppet. “You’re not a terribly small gentleman,” she explained, hearing the strain in her voice as she tried for a bantering tone. “You’re a man a lady needs to get used to.”

  He smacked her coarsely across the buttocks, and she saw his eyes widen in the strong moonlight as he watched her flesh dance. “I’m not paying you for your opinions, woman.” He took hold of her hair and turned her face back to the tree. “If it was talk I wanted, I’d have brought my wife.”

  By then, the exhausted Alorin had been capable of little more than grasping the tree and taking it as the burly farrier put his cock into her, sweating and gasping like a horse after a joust as he gave her the single least satisfying fuck she’d ever experienced. Ah well, she’d thought as she’d trembled there, her magnificent legs listlessly shuddering while his meaty ass tightened in quick rabbit-rhythm behind them, at least this will make a humorous story to tell when I get back to the Tower. The ladies there would chuckle, anyway, especially Lynna.

  She missed her friends. Alorin was a solitary woman by nature, but she did like the other strange people the Princess had collected at her ramshackle Tower. They all had the same desperate, jaded way of looking at their world, the same careless indifference to danger for the sake of money. It had surprised her, how well she fit in. Even if she did have to spend hours fending off poor Drinn; how the man wanted her!

  So, no, he probably would not enjoy this particular tale. Nisette nudged her now, the group of them sitting beneath a tree by the side of the path while the men steered themselves through the forest looking to stick spears in things. “Took it a bit roughly from his Lordship last night, eh?” The little redhead nibbled on a bit of toast. “We’ve all been there.”

  “He wasn’t the problem,” Alorin replied sourly, trying again to compose her legs more comfortably underneath her. “That farrier, Tholem? I think that’s his name.” She made a face, and Jesseney giggled.

  “Oh yes.” She scratched industriously at herself. “I’ve had him a few times back at the Castle. His wife’s beautiful, too; I can’t imagine why he needs us, with a cock like his and a woman like that.”

  “Maybe she’s too small for him,” Lurika shrugged. “Some women are.”

  “Hells,” Alorin ventured, “if I had to entertain him every night, I’d probably turn him away every now and again too.”

  “Lightweight,” Karalene put in, disgusted. “Try him in the ass sometime; you can talk to me about it then.” She spat, then turned to Nisette. “How was Titstick, the seneschal?”

  “Tatlock.”

  “Whatever. Did he talk as much as I said?” The slave picked her teeth with a sliver of ivory. “I might try for him tonight.”

  The ginger frowned. “He kept talking about that grievance, the one that little red bitch brought yesterday.” Alorin listened intently without looking like it. “He said my hair reminded him of her, the sentimental little shit. I said he should’ve gone ahead and fucked her instead.”

  “I doubt she’d have given much sport, from the looks of things,” Jesseney said, to general laughter.

  “Certainly Sir Hobb didn't think so,” Nisette tittered. “That’s what the grievance was about. Apparently, he came to their village some time ago and raped her. Her sister, too.” She shrugged and finished another piece of toast. “I guess the sister died.”

  There was a silence. “Well,” Lurika shrugged; there was little more to say. They lived in a cruel place, ruled by cruel people.

  “So the grievance was about that, and about some baby Hobb left her with. Seems the man’s sperm works, when he puts it into the proper hole.” She grimaced. “I’m still recovering from the last time he punched my rear, though, so I can’t say I don’t sympathize with the sister.”

  “You’re kidding.” Alorin came alert. “He fucked her to death?”

  “In the ass.” Nisette tossed her head indifferently. “Tatfuck says she bled for days, according to the grievance. Wasted away.”

  “Odd.” Lurika’s eyes narrowed as she tried to make sense of this. “Why didn’t her father present the grievance?”

  “Beats me.” Nisette did not seem to care very much. “It was mostly about the bastard baby, anyway.”

  “Was it a boy?”

  Nisette smiled grimly. “Girl.”

  “Ah. So the grievance was denied, of course.” Lurika was not surprised.

  “Of course. Have you ever known Count Clerent to rule against one of his friends?” Nisette shrugged and then glanced at Alorin. “Your little scarlet bitch wanted acknowledgement and payment for the daughter, and weregild for the sister, or she said she’d go to the High Sheriff for a trial for Sir Hobb.”

  “And the Count turned all of it down.” Alorin wasn’t surprised either, but she wanted to be. He’d been such an excellent lover…

  “What did she expect?” Jesseney spoke with some assurance. “Sir Hobb-of-the-Wood has left bastards aplenty all over this county. Lord Whitemar can’t be expected to deal with all of them; it’d be a full time job.”

  “High Sheriff won’t help her, either.” Jesseney shuddered. “I fucked him two nights ago. A right sadistic man. Got a mean streak a mile long.” She slurped at a cup of tea. “Cock’s a bit shorter than that, though.”

  “That’s right.” Lurika was shaking her head. “My pa went to him once when our neighbor stole a cord of wood. The Sheriff beat my pa and sent him away for lying. Didn’t even want to hear his side.” She sighed meditatively. “I mean, the fucker was right; my pa was lying. But still.”

  “So, Lyria,” Nisette teased, poking the side of Alorin’s left breast. “I heard the Count ploughing you last night. Does he fancy a return engagement, you think?” She kissed the air. “Is it a wedding feast for Count Clerent and Lyria of the Thirteen Holes?” They all laughed cruelly; Alorin couldn’t blame them. Few whores took such ridiculous nicknames. “He was supposed to fuck me last night; I’ll not give him up again, New Bitch.”

  Jesseney nodded, glaring at Alorin. “And I know you fucked three men last night. That’s your limit, mind: one gentleman and two followers. If I find you’ve done more, I’ll gouge your eyes out as you sleep.”

  Alorin chose to smile mysteriously. “If I’m fucking that many men, Madame Jesseney, then how shall I sleep?”

  “I might not wait,” Jessseney
grated dourly. “I could take your eyes right now, you pretentious bitch.”

  “Try.” Alorin kept her smile on her face, leaning insolently back. She’d had more than enough from this sour woman. Her blades were all tied safely away and hidden in Pixie’s fodder, but no Free Fighter required blades to defend herself. “Or shut your dickhole.”

  Jesseney’s eyes flared, and Alorin saw the jealousy she’d expected. That was it, of course; all of them knew their place in the pecking order, as far as their faces and bodies went, and it pained Jesseney that Alorin was already further toward the top. The other women had gone silent, staring; Nisette had a faint grin playing over her sharp little lips. “What did you say to me?”

  “I said,” Alorin declared, inspecting her fingernail as if Jesseney was unworthy of notice, “that you could come over here, now, and try to gouge out my eyes. Or, the outcome I’d prefer: you close that cum-smelling mouth of yours.” It was a subtle insult, as the other one had been; most whores looked down on a woman who would deny a man the chance to cum in her pussy. Mouth-whores were seen as teases. “Either way, make your mind up; I’ve got to paint my nails.”

  “You watch yourself, cunt,” Jess snapped, her eyes narrowed in hatred. “I’ll be after you when you’re not even looking for it, and I’ll pay fucking Tholem to take your ass whether you want him or not.” She got to her feet, her smooth body taut with rage. “Him, and Earlen too. You’ll be shitting sperm for weeks.” She spat harshly down at the sand beside Alorin’s hand, and stomped off.

  The silence that followed was awkward. “You make friends well enough, Lyria,” Nisette observed sourly. “I’ve got the Count tonight, mind.”

  “That’s not what he told me last night.” Alorin was no longer in the mood to deal with these petty women. Her quest was near its end, after all. Besides, she’d already gotten him to invite her back, easily done when he’d just cum into her. “He’ll want me again, firecrotch; count on it.”