Her Noble Lords (17 page)

“Very well, we shall engage a tutor. Perhaps Father Peter might accept the responsibility since he seems disinclined to take his leave of us.”

It is true, the elderly cleric has exhibited no pressing desire to return to Gloucestershire and if we can identify a formal role for him here, this would simplify matters. My lack of education is a good solution to that dilemma since we already have a priest to minister to our devotions and no one wishes to ruffle the delicate feathers of our own Father Francis.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I will speak to the priest at breakfast. No doubt he will be in evidence, as usual, in close proximity to the porridge jar.”

Joan makes fine porridge with or without my assistance, a fact not lost on the good father. I dare to hope that by this time tomorrow I may have my first lesson planned.

“So, are you quite done with your demands, little maid? Might we prevail upon you to cooperate with our requirements now?” Piers lifts one aristocratic eyebrow and I am not convinced it is entirely in jest.

“Yes, sir, quite done.” I get to my feet. “On the bed, you said?”

“Aye.” Ralf steps aside to allow me to pass. “Kneel in the centre, your back to us, then lean forward and rest your cheek on the mattress. Your arse will be lifted high, of course, since we require a good view of it.”

“Of course, my lord.” I clamber onto the bed, no mean feat unaided since it is unusually high. I position myself as instructed and will my thumping heart to slow down. Invariably when they instruct me to raise my bottom up, this will entail a spanking. Such treatment is not always meted out for disciplinary reasons. I have learned that a spanking can be pleasurable too, depending on the intent of my lords, though the switch is always a harrowing experience. I have committed no wrongdoing that I am aware of this day so I do not expect to be punished but even the prospect of an erotic spanking is sufficient to raise my heartbeat more than a little. It never occurs to me to protest or to disobey though.

“Ah, so pretty. Is our bride’s quim not the sweetest sight in Christendom, brother?”

“Indeed so. I adore that her cunt is always so wet and so tight.” As though to test the truth of his own words, Piers inserts two fingers right into my entrance, sinking them deep. I am already moist, my juices flowing in anticipation of the pleasures or pain to come.

“Oh… ooh,” I moan, squeezing around his questing digits.

Piers obliges me by sliding his fingers in and out several times as I thrust back against his hand.

“She is such a slut. Do you not agree, Ralf?”

“Ah, yes. We are most fortunate in our choice of bride.”

“Oh, please, I need…”

“Hush now. It is not time yet. You have much to accomplish before we will allow you your fun.” Piers slowly withdraws his fingers, only to slide them upwards between the cheeks of my bottom. He smears my juices as he goes, leaving a wet, sensuous trail. He reaches the tight pucker of my anus and pauses to toy with this secret entrance. He circles it with his wet fingertip, then presses on the opening until the muscle relaxes enough to allow him access.

“Ah, she has let me in. Good girl. Do you have the oil there, Ralf?”

“I do.” The words accompany a soft splash as slick liquid is poured directly onto my arse hole, to trickle around Piers’ finger which is still inside me.

I gasp. This is new but not completely unexpected. They have talked frequently about taking my rear hole. The prospect scares me but not so much that I would offer any protest. I resolve to keep still and allow them to do with me as they choose. This strategy has served me exceptionally well to date.

Piers works the additional lubrication into my arse, adding an extra finger to help ease me open. After the initial humiliation passes, I must confess the sensation is not unpleasant. He presses hard, soon working the entire length of his finger into me, then thrusting it in and out several times to ensure I am truly conquered.

“Is this hurting you, little maid?”

“No, sir,” I mumble. “It is fine.”

“Good. So you may like to take little more then?”

“You mean… another finger, sir?”

“Yes, that is what I mean. Or two.”

I gulp but manage a nod.

“She is tight but can manage this, I feel sure. Slide your fingers in alongside mine, one at a time.”

Now I cannot contain a low whimper but it does not deter my men from proceeding. I will my bottom hole to remain loose and receptive as Ralf inches his finger in next to the two already filling me. He takes it slow, pausing every few seconds to allow me to adjust or to beg them to stop. I am determined not to do that, though I dread to imagine how a fourth finger will feel. Surely that is beyond endurance.

“More oil, I think. Could you trickle it right inside? Yes, like that.” Piers’ instructions are calmly delivered, as though they undertake this sort of adventure on a daily basis.

I flinch as the cool liquid penetrates right inside me, flowing between their fingers. It does help though and soon they are withdrawing and thrusting their fingers in and out, each stroke smoother, slicker than the one before.

“One more finger, Linnet, that is all. Are you still all right?”

This is not quite the description I would have applied but I wrap my fist around a handful of the bedlinen under me and nod my consent.

They withdraw all their fingers. There is a splash of oil as they re-coat their digits, ready to penetrate me again. They start with just two fingers, one each, I suppose. I groan as they splay my entrance wide open, applying yet more of the lubricating oil. Then I scream as they insert the final two fingers. They pause, wait for me to settle.

“I cannot. Please, it hurts…” I am sobbing, mortified at the realisation that I will after all fail. I so wanted to succeed, to do as they wished.

“Hush, love. Let us help you.” It is Piers’ voice, soft now and achingly gentle. A palm caresses my buttock, then works its way around my hip. “Open your legs, little maid. Offer your sweet spot to Ralf. You would like him to stroke you there, would you not?”

Oh, God, yes!
I spread my knees as wide apart as I am able and squirm with delight as Ralf rubs my engorged nubbin with his fingertip.

“How would you like this? Harder?” It is Ralf who speaks to me now, seeking my direction.

“I think I may… Please, do not spank me. I cannot help it…”

“We want you to find your release, little one, good and hard. Does this feel nice, sweetling?” Ralf increases the pressure just a little but enough to drag a strangled gasp from deep in my throat. The pressure in my arse is less now, although their fingers are still embedded deep inside me. But my entire body is softening, relaxing, tension oozing from me with each wave of pleasure Ralf creates.

He continues to rub my engorged bud, circling then stroking the very tip. The sensitive nubbin is swollen, throbbing and I want him to just take it, squeeze it until my senses shatter.

“Is this what you desire, sweetheart? And this?”

Perhaps I spoke out loud, begging for my release. Ralf does exactly what I am wanting, as though he knows my desperation, can make sense of my frantic ramblings. He applies slow, steady pressure until I can take no more. I tumble into sweet oblivion, spinning on a sensual, weightless journey as I drift back into reality.

“Good girl. You did well. We knew you could manage this with a little extra encouragement. It is fortunate, indeed, that you are such a responsive little slut.”

This time it is Piers’ voice. I should bridle at his coarse words but I do not. One of them kisses the nape of my neck. I shiver, roll my shoulders to relax the tension there.

“Be still. We have not yet finished.” Piers, again, his voice now adopting the more familiar tone of command.

I draw in several long breaths. “I am sorry, my lord. Please continue.”

The friction is incredible, the sensation intense as they work in tandem to ease their fingers, all four of them, from my arse. It is only now, now that it is done that I realise they must have pushed all of them deep inside whilst I was caught up in the throes of my release, oblivious to all else. I am stretched, impossibly so, my inner walls clinging to the fingers invading me. Oil slithers down the lower curves of my bottom and across my thighs, warming now against my skin. They withdraw almost entirely, just their fingertips remaining inside my entrance holding the ring of muscle wide open. They plunge back in, the motion hard and swift, eased on their way by the blessed oil. It is painful but not impossibly so. More than that though, the sensation is wicked, intimate. It is quite decadent that I should be allowing not only one man but two to do this to me. And, even more incredible, that I should be enjoying it. Loving it. My sense of submission has never been more heightened, my trust more absolute.

I love what they do to me and I love them. I adore them both, without reservation.

Fingers are in my channel now, as well as my arse. I am not sure whose are where and I care even less. My response builds again and I am hurtling fast toward another powerful climax. I am full, everywhere, stuffed, stretched tight, on the brink of…

“Oh, sweet Jesu,” I moan as my release overwhelms me. I am clenching, convulsing, helpless as all my muscles contract around the digits buried deep within me. My men continue to thrust but their movements are slower now, gentle as they bring me back to some semblance of normality.

At last I lie still, my legs straight as I lie face down on the mattress. Ralf has obtained a damp cloth from somewhere and is wiping the excess lubricant away, cleaning me. I have never felt more precious, more cared for.

“So, Linnet, you weathered that fairly well. I suspect you will find pleasure in this sort of play once you become accustomed to the strangeness of it. Would you agree?”

“I am not sure. It was—very odd.”

“Odd? Well, that is a fair enough description, I daresay.” Ralf pauses in his ministrations to hold up two fingers. “You accepted double that. You can more than accommodate my cock. Or Piers’. Would you not also agree with that?”

I look from one to the other, then back to Ralf’s upraised fingers, so recently inside my most private place. “Yes, sir, I think so.”

“We think so, too. So, next time…” Piers pats my bottom as he strolls past the bed. “You may get dressed again when you are quite ready. Our meal awaits down in the great hall.”

It has been a long day and an arduous one. The weather has changed, the autumn starting to make her presence felt. The men of Egremont, including Ralf and Piers, have been occupied bringing livestock close to the castle walls for safety and convenience. In the coming months, once winter truly sets in, no one will much relish the prospect of a hike up the snow-capped peaks to track down a ewe to slaughter should we require fresh meat. Most of the womenfolk are busy bringing in stores to cure and preserve in preparation for the cold months. This needs to be done in good time, ensuring all will be in readiness should we find ourselves trapped here in inclement weather.

For my part, I have been examining the many and various tapestries and wall hangings we own and selecting those best suited to repel wintry draughts. I will ensure that these are secured to the walls in the hall and other chambers to help retain the heat as the winter closes in. By nightfall we are a weary bunch. The evening meal is offered earlier than usual since most wish to find their beds.

“Linnet, you will wait for me upstairs, if you please. I have matters to discuss with my brother but I will be with you soon.” Ralf loops an arm around my shoulder as I scoop the last of my lamb broth from the trencher in front of me.

I smile and nod my agreement. I am aware his choice of words is for the benefit of those within earshot. Both brothers will join me in our bedchamber. I stand, make my curtsy to each of them, and take my leave.

It is perhaps twenty minutes later when I hear footsteps crossing the solar, their voices low as they converse. I shift my position on the rug beside the fire, glad of Joan’s diligence in stoking up the blaze before she retired to the pallet she still occupies in the kitchens. The warmth of the flames caresses my naked back as I bow my head to acknowledge their entry into the room.

“You are a truly beautiful woman, sweet Linnet. Do you have any notion at all how much we adore you?” Ralf comes to crouch before me, lifting my face up with his fingertips. His other hand is on my breast, teasing the nipple to puckered hardness.

“Thank you, my lord. I… I love you too.” My gaze shifts from Ralf to Piers who regards me from across the room. His expression is more wary, as though he still doubts my affections despite the many intimacies we have shared. I offer him a smile. “I love you both.”

Piers quirks his lip, the closest I suspect he will get to returning my smile. I will settle for that.

“You have two husbands, little one,” Ralf observes, “so this night you will be fucked by both at once. Does that prospect not delight you?”

“I am not sure, my lord,” is my honest response.

“You will be. We have decided that on this occasion I will take your quim, and at the same time, Piers shall have your arse. He is more given to patience than I am, and you might appreciate his control since this will be the first time you have accepted a cock in your rear hole.”

“At the same time? I do not think…”

“It will be fine. You will be fine, we promise. Have we ever injured you?”

“No, my lords. It is just that… I cannot imagine how this might be accomplished.”

Ralf’s grin is quite, quite wicked. “Then you have such an exciting evening before you, my love. Which starts with the application of oil to your arse. I am sure you will recall that to be a not wholly unpleasant experience.”

He has the right of that. “Yes, sir. Would you like me to climb onto the bed?”

“Not this time, little maid. You will lie across Piers’ lap and he will attend to the matter of lubricating your pretty little hole.”

Piers has produced a small bottle which I know contains the oil they used the last time. I quite like the idea of resting on his lap as the oil is applied. It is more intimate somehow. I watch as he crosses to the bed and seats himself on the edge. “Come, Linnet, let us proceed.”