could feel his male sword pulsing, almost before he was fully inserted. His spume gushed before he was ready. He tried to prevent it, by pulling back from the warm pouch. Nevertheless, it fountained over the burning skin stretched so tightly across the proud hillocks.
At this juncture, Zacora was still receiving the light flicking of the thin whip and within moments Gareth was erect again. Using his own hot seed, he massaged the struggling maid’s rear entrance, opening it up first with one finger, then two and then three. She was bearing down her lovely bottom, which urged him to intrude into the tight little hole. She moaned loudly, especially when he reached around her to spread her nether lips and tickled her nubbin.
At last, Zacora, still chained, was taken from the kitchen and given a place to sleep. It was a narrow cot, to which she was tightly tethered, her wrists stretched high above her head and ankles pulled wide to each side of the iron frame. A rough blanket was thrown over her to keep out the cold, but it also served to irritate her punished, tender skin.
She lay awake for many hours in her discomfort, but in those sleepless hours she thought about the strength of the man she saw in the carriage; his smile, confident and powerful, He was the man she wished to pleasure for the rest of her life.
But she did not know him. He might be cruel, like this evil Aunt of his and her repugnant son, wishing to inflict pain without the pleasure of love.
Her mind flashed back to the jailer and she shuddered at his crudeness, but she must admit that he gave her pleasure.
The sedan bearers used her, but were they any worse than Ogham who took away her innocence and ruined her life? No-one believed in her nobility and everyone she met treated her as a slave. Would it always be so, for the rest of her life?
As the dawn broke she fell into a fitful sleep full of strange dreams.
CHAPTER EIGHT
On the second day of Zacora’s slavery in Meleagan castle she was taken to the room in which Megan entertained her clients. Harold appeared and Zacora smiled at him; that soft inviting smile which melted a man’s heart and stiffened his male sword.
She was dressed in a gossamer gown which swirled around her luscious legs as she walked. Her sun-streaked hair was brushed to a glittering sheen and around her waist was a low slung belt of finely plaited silver cord. Attached to the cord was a flask, also made of silver. It was thin and light, but polished to blinding brilliance.
Harold escorted Zacora and Megan to the whoring chamber and the girl thrilled at the touch of his strong hand on her silk clad elbow. She could feel his strength, his depth of purpose. If only she could please him and him alone. Somehow she must arrange that. She sighed softly as they walked.
What thrills lay in store for him tonight, Harold wondered. He would delight in watching Megan with the customers and this new slave. He smiled down at Zacora and was rewarded with a smile of an angel.
The chamber into which they entered was dimly lit, the walls hung with red plush, giving the room a cosy glow, but Zacora shuddered.
For the first time since her capture she was free from chains, and she stretched her arms high, pressing her free breasts against the translucent gossamer of her gown. Harold watched her, very aware of the thrill he got from the delicious sight of her. She was so perfect in every way. He gazed at her willowy beauty so visible in the diaphanous gown. She circled the chamber, examining every detail of the strange room. Harold watched her buttocks and the grace of her hips, emphasised by the silver cord hanging from the arches of her pelvis.
Zacora held up the goblet hanging from the cord, looking at it curiously, turning it in her long-fingered hands. A tiny frown line of curiosity creased the smooth skin of her forehead.
“You are wondering about the purpose of that device?” asked Harold, smiling at her.
She nodded, returning his
At this juncture, Zacora was still receiving the light flicking of the thin whip and within moments Gareth was erect again. Using his own hot seed, he massaged the struggling maid’s rear entrance, opening it up first with one finger, then two and then three. She was bearing down her lovely bottom, which urged him to intrude into the tight little hole. She moaned loudly, especially when he reached around her to spread her nether lips and tickled her nubbin.
At last, Zacora, still chained, was taken from the kitchen and given a place to sleep. It was a narrow cot, to which she was tightly tethered, her wrists stretched high above her head and ankles pulled wide to each side of the iron frame. A rough blanket was thrown over her to keep out the cold, but it also served to irritate her punished, tender skin.
She lay awake for many hours in her discomfort, but in those sleepless hours she thought about the strength of the man she saw in the carriage; his smile, confident and powerful, He was the man she wished to pleasure for the rest of her life.
But she did not know him. He might be cruel, like this evil Aunt of his and her repugnant son, wishing to inflict pain without the pleasure of love.
Her mind flashed back to the jailer and she shuddered at his crudeness, but she must admit that he gave her pleasure.
The sedan bearers used her, but were they any worse than Ogham who took away her innocence and ruined her life? No-one believed in her nobility and everyone she met treated her as a slave. Would it always be so, for the rest of her life?
As the dawn broke she fell into a fitful sleep full of strange dreams.
CHAPTER EIGHT
On the second day of Zacora’s slavery in Meleagan castle she was taken to the room in which Megan entertained her clients. Harold appeared and Zacora smiled at him; that soft inviting smile which melted a man’s heart and stiffened his male sword.
She was dressed in a gossamer gown which swirled around her luscious legs as she walked. Her sun-streaked hair was brushed to a glittering sheen and around her waist was a low slung belt of finely plaited silver cord. Attached to the cord was a flask, also made of silver. It was thin and light, but polished to blinding brilliance.
Harold escorted Zacora and Megan to the whoring chamber and the girl thrilled at the touch of his strong hand on her silk clad elbow. She could feel his strength, his depth of purpose. If only she could please him and him alone. Somehow she must arrange that. She sighed softly as they walked.
What thrills lay in store for him tonight, Harold wondered. He would delight in watching Megan with the customers and this new slave. He smiled down at Zacora and was rewarded with a smile of an angel.
The chamber into which they entered was dimly lit, the walls hung with red plush, giving the room a cosy glow, but Zacora shuddered.
For the first time since her capture she was free from chains, and she stretched her arms high, pressing her free breasts against the translucent gossamer of her gown. Harold watched her, very aware of the thrill he got from the delicious sight of her. She was so perfect in every way. He gazed at her willowy beauty so visible in the diaphanous gown. She circled the chamber, examining every detail of the strange room. Harold watched her buttocks and the grace of her hips, emphasised by the silver cord hanging from the arches of her pelvis.
Zacora held up the goblet hanging from the cord, looking at it curiously, turning it in her long-fingered hands. A tiny frown line of curiosity creased the smooth skin of her forehead.
“You are wondering about the purpose of that device?” asked Harold, smiling at her.
She nodded, returning his
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