Flight of the Crow (4 page)

When she lifted her face to look at him, he took the opportunity and kissed her sweet mouth. She struggled as always, but briefly, then melted into the kiss. His heart raced with anticipation. Soon she would be his no matter the curse, Fenix or the Devil himself.

She broke the kiss and turned her face into his shoulder. “We can do nothing,” she whispered. “Samantha went back to that infernal Exposition with Tomlinson. She was mumbling about a new kind of propeller they'd seen there to push their flying machine.”

He grabbed her ass in his hand and squeezed. He felt her shudder and his control disappeared. When he scooped her into his arms and walked toward the staircase, she began struggling in earnest. “You can't. This will end in your death. Quinn, stop right now.”

He did stop then, breathing heavily. His cock ached as it pulsed against the waistband of his trousers. “I need you like I need air,” he moaned into her hair. “Please. You scorn my love and push me away.”

He set her down gently and she took his face between her hands staring into his face. The violet depths of her eyes glowed like amethysts. “I have an idea. Go up to my room and wait.”

“Not Sam again.”

As she disappeared down the steps to the basement, he turned and trudged slowly up the carpeted stairs and into Bryn's room. He sat on the edge of the bed with his heart in his shoes. He did not believe anything Bryn could do would appease him or assuage his needs. He wanted her. He wanted to feel her under him wrapped closely in an embrace that would never end. When the door cracked open and Bryn stuck her head in, he sighed.

“Are you ready?”

He tried for her sake to appear enthusiastic. “Yes, my darling.”

She grinned and backed away. He had no idea what to expect and was stunned when Babbette appeared in the open doorway wearing nothing but her French maid's apron, black stockings and high heels. He sat up. Babbette was a beautiful French woman with black hair, sparkling eyes and curves enough for any man.

Bryn followed her in. “Babbette, remove Monsieur Quinn's clothing while I slip into something more comfortable.”

Babbette's pert breasts were small and pointed. Quinn found himself wanting to touch them. They poked out around the apron's bib, crushing that lacy confection between them. Babbette smiled hesitantly as she moved closer, and began unbuttoning his starched white shirt. His cravat flew onto a chair. As she slowly opened his shirt, her breasts teased him with their nearness. He hesitantly touched the left one and she let him. Emboldened by his success, he stroked the small white mound and was rewarded when the nipple lengthened and contracted. The flesh swelled under his caress and he bent to take suck. The feel of her nipple in his mouth made his cock throb.

His undershirt followed his shirt and Babbette leaned closer. This enabled Quinn to stroke both pert breasts and suck first one and then the other. Babbette's sighs and small mews of pleasure had him painfully aroused. When she began unbuttoning his trousers Bryn returned.

“Stand up and allow her to remove your pants, Quinn.” He glanced over at her and gasped. She wore a leather bustier which did not cover her ripe breasts. She wore boots that came up to her thighs with high heels and a netting skirt that revealed more than covered her buttocks and her ripe sex. Her nipples, usually pale pink, were rouged a deep red. The color had a weird affect, arousing him to a fever pitch.

“What the deuce are you wearing?”

“I do not hear you, slave. Both of you drop to the floor and kiss my feet.” She slapped a riding crop Quinn hadn't seen on the side of her black boot. Quinn's pants were puddled around his feet. He kicked them aside and followed Babbette to the carpet. The maid was prostrating herself at Bryn's feet, kissing her boots, her eyes bright with lust.

When Quinn was slow to follow Bryn's direction, she swatted his naked ass and lifted her foot. “Kiss it.”

He dropped a kiss on the top of her left boot while Babbette fawned and groveled at Bryn's feet kissing her leather-covered calf and the top of her foot while staring out of narrowed eyes into Bryn's face.

“Don't look at me slave,” Bryn snapped and pushed Babbette's face down. When Babbette struggled, Bryn swatted her ass with the crop repeatedly. Babbette cried out at each slap of leather on flesh but did not drop her eyes from her beautiful mistress. Babbette's naked rear slowly reddened. When Bryn had spanked her with the crop ten times, she shoved Babbette toward the bed. “Press your face into the bed clothes.”

Moaning with excitement, Babbette rose and bent over to shove her face into the quilt covering the bed. Her red ass was exposed to Bryn's and Quinn's salacious eyes. “Open your legs,” Bryn ordered as she used the crop to push Babbette's thighs apart. “You, Quinn, kiss her welts.”

Quinn was shaking with desire. The sight of Babbette's perfect butt covered with red stripes was stirring. Even more exciting was her open, wet sex clearly visible between her spread thighs. He wanted nothing more than to shove his aching cock deep into that inviting crevasse, but he did as he was ordered, playing Bryn's new and arousing game. As he pressed his lips to the silky smooth and firm skin of Babbette's ass, he slid his fingers into her sex. Bryn saw him do it and slapped his ass with the crop. “Did I tell you to do that? I think not. Five swats for you.”

She struck his ass with the crop and she did not hold back. The blows smarted and stung, but he uttered not a whimper. “Keep kissing her welts,” Bryn snapped. “I don't remember telling you to stop. And squeeze her ass as well. I want to see both hands on her flesh.”

Quinn's ass ached, but for some reason the pain did not lessen his desire; it only seemed to increase it. A fire spread from his burning ass cheeks to his cock and he feared he would explode. This fear was apparently shared by Bryn who shoved her hand between his legs, grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed. “Do not ejaculate. I did not tell you to do so. You may, however begin kissing Babbette's cunny and anus.”

Now fully into the game, Quinn did as he was told. He spread the red cheeks of Babbette's ass and licked and kissed his way down to her swollen sex while Babbette squirmed and moaned with desire.

He lifted his head to glance over his shoulder at Bryn and was rewarded with another smack to his ass. “Do not look at me.”

Grinning, he put his tongue back to work. Babbette quickly gushed an orgasm onto his face. As she screamed her completion, Bryn stepped forward and slapped Babbette's red ass. “Quiet! You'll wake the child.”

She grabbed Quinn's hair and pulled his head away from Babbette. “Now you will pleasure me. Babbette, help him.”

Quinn turned and grabbed Bryn's mostly naked ass to pull her close. She tapped his butt with the crop. “Do not use your hands.”

She pulled a fake cock out of the drawer next to the bed and held it in front of Quinn's face. “Open your mouth.”

When he did, she crammed one end of the dildo into his mouth. “Babbette will lick and you will use this tool to pleasure me.” Bryn moved to the bed and sat on the edge spreading her legs for easier access.

She pulled him around by his hair as she climbed onto the bed. Babbette slid close to Bryn and began stroking her breasts as Quinn, hands obediently behind his back, pushed the head of the fake cock between the open lips of her sex. Never had Quinn thought he would be jealous of a piece of rubber. The feeling of penetrating her with this substitute for his own aching organ made his legs weak. When he faltered for a moment, she grabbed his hair again and administered a swat to his red ass. “Your needs are not important slave. Concentrate on pleasuring me or you will be punished.”

Quinn shoved the rubber organ deep into Bryn's hairless cunny as she lifted her ass and made his penetration easier. The way was well-lubricated with the juice of her excitement and the thick cock slid into her passage. For each inch it penetrated, Quinn's heart raced faster. His cock thumped against his belly as he bent over to service his mistress. He was fully into the mood Bryn had created. Her pleasure was now his only desire.

While Babbette kissed Bryn's mouth, her breasts and her neck, Quinn fucked her with the fake cock. Bryn's moans and cries of pleasure increased in tempo as Quinn moved the dildo in and out faster and faster. The rubber organ was thick enough to have to be pushed with some force to penetrate her and it had to be pulled out. Quinn's lips tired of holding the mouth piece, but he did not stop until Bryn grabbed his head as she panted and gasped with the force of her completion. Then she laughed and pulled him by his ears toward her. She plucked the dildo out of his mouth and told him to lie on the floor on his back. He didn't know whether to be happy or frightened. What was she going to do next?

He dropped to the floor and lay there with his cock standing at attention. For a moment he felt some embarrassment to be this aroused in front of Babbette. He could barely lie still and wait while Bryn climbed off the bed and strode around the room slapping her boot with the crop. She leaned over him and stroked his cock with the tip of the whip and it throbbed visibly. He groaned and turned his head away as a drop of ejaculate appeared.

“Babbette, lick his cock but do not suck it.”

The maid bent down and began licking his organ. She held it and licked the head while he squirmed and fought the pressure building like a volcano. When the head of his dick was a frightening purple and the veins stood out like ropes, Bryn grabbed Babbette's hair. “Enough. Mount him.”

Babbette squatted over him while she guided his pulsing organ into her sex. Quinn could see the opening clearly. It was engorged with desire and wet when he slid into her. Bryn reached down and squeezed the base where it met Babbette's flesh. “Beg me for permission to come.”

Quinn's eyes flew open. “What?”

“I said, beg.”

Babbette's quivering sex surrounded his cock with heat. He felt her muscles contract as she began to orgasm. The entire scenario had him excited beyond bearing. The two naked women, the fiery cheeks of his swatted ass, the vision burned into his brain of Babbette licking his cock had all contributed to this moment and Bryn knew she held him in the palm of her hand. “Please, mistress Bryn, allow me to receive pleasure.”

She smiled and tilted her head. “Yes, I believe I will.”

When she removed her hand, he grabbed Babbette's ass and lifted her violently up and down on his cock until he exploded.

When their imaginative sex play was over, Bryn sent Babbette to change and led Quinn to the bed. She opened her arms to him and he climbed into the indicated space gratefully. He felt as though his cock was broken. His balls ached, his ass burned, and the head of his dick was so tender, he fought the urge to cup it.

“What was that all about?” he asked as he took her into his arms.

“I have no idea of what you speak.”

“I'm speaking about the leather and the whip. My ass is still on fire.”

She lay flat on the bed and smiled. “When last I lived in Paris, I opened a club on
rue
Charbanaise
called
le Rouge Derriere
, the Red Ass. Fenix and I ran it.”

Quinn nodded. “I see. And you spanked men for a living?”

“
Moi
? Occasionally, and only for very special clients. Mostly I supervised.”

“And what happened to it?”

“It's a very successful business. I sold an interest in it to a lady we shall call Mistress
Chat
. She runs it and I receive a portion of the proceeds.”

Quinn groaned. “What else have you neglected to tell me, my darling?”

She kissed him and climbed out of bed. “How can I know? I am so old, you see, there is much I have forgotten.”

“In what year were you born?”

“The same year as Cleopatra, 69 B.C.”

Bryn hoped that little sexual escapade would satisfy Quinn for a while. She knew she'd surprised him and probably shocked him, but he needed to understand exactly what he was getting into. His mind was more open than most men of his time, but still, he was a man.

They lay together in the comfort of their afterglow; Quinn even dropped into a light sleep. When the clock struck eleven, she pushed him away and sat up. “I must get dressed and prepare for Lazarus. He will arrive soon to begin the ritual.”

He sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as he did. He slowly climbed to his feet, rubbing his buttocks. “I shall not sit in comfort for a week.”

“You asked for sex, you got it. Always be careful of what you wish for.”

“What kind of ritual do you think this is going to be?”

Bryn bustled about the room gathering garments from her wardrobe and chiffonier, finally diving into the bulky carved chest at the end of the bed. “I have no idea, which truly scares me. As far as I know, there is no such ritual. He is either lying to me, which I do not believe, or he has a repertoire of which I have never heard.”

He moved slowly to the door while rubbing his aching posterior. “Surely you have some idea.”

She shook her head. “I can't even begin to imagine.”

When he'd left for his own chamber, Bryn drew a soft tunic she'd kept in cedar since the middle ages over undergarments of silk. The tunic was made of soft wool the color of violets and clung tightly to her curves as it fell to her feet. She laced a form-fitting girdle of black leather over it. In this she secreted an array of throwing knives, a wood and silver stake and Fenix's wand. In a secret holster in the back of the girdle she slid a very modern pistol of Sam's inventing. It held twelve bullets that exploded on contact, tearing the target into a million pieces. Over the tunic and the girdle, she drew a wispy veil of dark purple silk. She covered her hair with it, wrapped it around her throat, and draped it over her body to hide the pistol in the back.