Dungeons & Desire

Alone in her bedchamber, Lady Roberta furiously rifled through the morass of pages littering her unmade bed.

Dungeons...kidnappings...slave auctions...even a vampire! She'd started so many stories. She had so many fantasies.

They brimmed in her mind, overflowing her brain. But every time she tried to write, the words wouldn't come.

They were all a lie.

She was the liar.

She, who'd started this stupid erotic literary club, didn't have the courage to write the truth and confess her deepest wish.

Her friends would shun her if they knew her true secret desires. Already, guilt rose to the surface, for even contemplating such things, things she could barely admit to herself…her undisclosed cravings.

The door opened abruptly and one of the lower housemaids flew in, flapping her hands and looking like a bird about to take flight for the first time. "Mistress! Oh, Mistress! I—”

"Calm down, Sally." Lady Roberta drew the sheet over the bed, concealing her numerous attempts at composing erotic fantasies of the flesh.

Agitation in every motion, the maid hopped up and down, speaking so fast the words almost came out backwards. "You told me to report the very second yer friends arrived! They're all here...been waitin' the past half hour or more! I would've come sooner, but with yer mum showin' up last night, all unexpected-like, my duties got switched and I was told to clean out her trunks. One of her perfume bottles broke and made such a stench! I jus' now got back inside!"

Roberta knew more than most how demanding her mother could be; having Mama suddenly arrive in London was one reason she felt so mentally vexed now. It was exceedingly difficult to compose sexual fantasies with your mother in the next bedchamber, yelling at the maids for every little supposed infraction. Roberta sighed. At least Mama was still abed and wouldn't interrupt; her writing group would have the morning room to themselves. "It’s fine, truly. Thank you. Go and tell our visitors I'll be but a moment."

"Yessum, mistress! Right away!" The girl turned and fled.

Staunch resolution guiding her actions, Roberta closed her eyes and rummaged beneath the bedsheet. Blindly, she selected a sheaf of papers. Innermost fantasy or not, it would have to do.

She could delay no longer.

I wanted to be afraid.

I wanted to rail and fight the chains that imprisoned my bare body against the dark dungeon wall.

I wanted to cry in terror at the thought of what would happen unto me once my jailer returned.

But I could do none of those things.

For, as our eyes first met across my father's great hall, I had witnessed the look upon my captor's face: I had seen the anger that flared in his gaze as he and my father argued over my brideprice; the look of determination that grew upon his features each time my father refused the warrior's increasingly generous offers.

And not long ere this moment, I had gone unto bed with his image on my mind and my hand upon my breast, dreaming that it was his.

The heavy door creaked open and my captor's reappearance was heralded by the candle he wielded. The flame's glow gave his rough-hewn features a demonic glint. My heart quickened at the sight.

Despite the heavy chains clasped around my wrists, I knew he wouldn't hurt me. Not unless I wanted it.

He strode closer, until he stood directly in front of me. He placed the candle on the ground and straightened, so near I could smell his unique scent—one of leather and sweat—rising above those of damp earth and burning tallow.

"Your father's demands are unreasonable." He stated the obvious, his tone surly. This warrior of mine—or should I say, the warrior who dared much to make me his?—did not like having his will thwarted, that much I knew.

I longed to explore his bared chest, easily visible in the flame's flickering light. He was as nude as I and a more wondrous sight I had never beheld. The chains clanged as my arms shook with the need to touch him. "My father is an unreasonable man."

"I would have you to wife."

"Aye."

"For three winters, I have left my holdings to brave the cold, and your father's most foul reception, to offer for your hand. Three times has he refused me."

"But I have not."

"Nay, for he never gives us leave to speak." His words were low and he leaned closer.

"If he had, I would—oh!" His hand had gripped my nape, fingers tangling in my hair.

He yanked the strands, forcing my chin up, angling my head so that my lips centered beneath his. "Your eyes speak to me. They have haunted me ere these past years, making me think of you when I should be focusing on my holdings, fortifying my land and finding someone else to wed. Even when I am prigging another, it is your blasted face I stare into whilst I plow into her body."

My heartbeat tripled. My scalp tingled where he pulled, still tugging on my hair.

"Your eyes, even now...they tell me you want me."

He pulled harder; my head jerked back and tears came into my eyes. "I do."

"You would yield yourself to me, give up your freedom. Surrender your will to mine?"

Aye! I would! He has seen past my outward demeanor and has identified my secret yearning. I want him to own me. To make me his.

"You are mine!"

"Aye!"

When he smiled, supreme satisfaction commandeering his expression, my breath expired, leaving me lightheaded.

"I am just the man to satisfy you," he growled.

Desire rose hot and fast in my untried body. "Please..."

"I would have you now, at my mercy, for my pleasure!"

I blinked up at him, waiting, willing to do whatever he might ask.

"Look upon the stones at your back." He barked the command, twisting my hair and winding it around his wrist to guide me as I rotated in place. The length of the chains was just sufficient to allow me to do as he indicated and face the wall. I trembled with need. Vague, confusing yearnings for his hands upon my breasts, his touch upon—

Thought ceased as he stepped flush against my naked body, his brawny, hair-covered chest pressing into my upper back. His warm breath exploded past my ear, a waft of desert air, hinting at spiced ale and musky male.

He tugged both my hands higher and placed them flat against the wall. The chains rattled ominously. "Do not move from this position but if you want me to beat you for your disobedience."

A decadent thrill shot through me. My nails dug into the crevice betwixt two rough stones. His large, equally rough, hands were upon me, spreading my legs wider, caressing my hip, my thigh. In a whisper-soft glide, they moved up my back and across my shoulders, reaching around my torso to grab my breasts and squeeze.

I moaned, my nipples so hard they hurt. "What..." I swallowed. Excitement and fear of the unknown clogged my throat. "What would you have me do?"

"Feel me. Learn my touch." His words were a deep rasp.

My pelvis was rocking forward and back, my hips moving in tiny, uncontrollable twitches that made me very aware of the moisture gathered betwixt my thighs. His callused fingers pinched one nipple. Jagged shards of sensation broke through me. His other hand abandoned one breast and dove past my stomach, to the nest of curls below. One long finger plunged inside and he investigated my unexplored cunny-burrow. I flinched at the sudden invasion.

"Aye." I heard his satisfaction. "Your keep is surely penetrable."

"What say you?" I arched into his encroaching touch as his fingers swirled in the proof of my desire.

"Your moat is flowing deeply indeed." His fingers thrust high, stretching me. His chest kept me pinned unto the wall, grinding my breasts against the stone. "But I am not deterred," he breathed the words hotly over my neck. "Nay. For I have the key." He withdrew his fingers from inside me and began circling their tips around my swollen folds, as if searching...

"Aye!" I cried out when he focused his attack, firing upon one small speck that had never known such attention.

"I am brave enough to travel through your moat." Once again his fingers abandoned that achingly aroused spot he'd found secreted within my muff and swam through my depths. He withdrew his hand and spread the wash of fluid upon my thighs. "I will release the drawbridge that hinders my continued advance."

He angled his body beneath my pelvis. I felt the tip of his lance poise at my entrance. His fingers returned to working upon my "key."

"And now," his low growl traveled past my neck and ear, and wrapped around my heart, "now, my precious maiden, I will pay court to your innocence, breach your defenses, and make you mine!"

His lips seized upon my shoulder and he thrust inside my channel, tearing me asunder, claiming me as forfeit.

I screamed. He easily sliced through my resistance and sunk his blade home. I hovered, balanced betwixt his hot, seething body and the cold, stone wall. His hands abandoned my key and gripped me around the waist, pulling me unto his dagger. Again and again he lunged inside my tightly held ring, forging deep, seating himself within me. One sharp slap to my thigh had me writhing upon his lance, praying the moment of abandonment never ceased.

Another slap landed upon the side of my arse, making the waters of my moat run thick. Then both of his hands curved around my waist and traveled through my curls, reaching my moat and battering my key whilst he rammed inside. I arched unto him and moaned. The slick sweat generated betwixt our bodies heated and he glided within me. He surrounded me, invaded me. I slid upon his lance and rotated my key around the fingers that sought to unlock my every secret.

An insane force built within me, compelled me to ride him faster, drove me to sink even deeper upon his lance. The muscles of my arse clenched against his groin, hair-roughened and arousing upon my bottom. My moat flooded his fingers. My every muscle tightened into intense, unforgivable need.

And he answered. Forcing me so high I drowned, sensation exploding outward from my cunny-burrow to encompass every particle of my body. My moat ran deeper. My muff hugged his lance. With a shout, he surged higher, erupted within my tunnel, and made me his for all time.

Lady Roberta smiled, loving this particular wicked story more each time she read it. Maybe she'd been wrong to worry earlier. The pages fluttered in her fingers and she sought to calm her raging heart and the rampant need that stormed through her.

"But why were you chained?" Leah questioned.

"If you were willing," Constance added, "then I don't quite comprehend that part either. And the way he pulled your hair! Positively barbaric!"

"A dungeon?" Grace shuddered. "Cold walls and chains? I can't believe you—"

"Who says the girl in the story is me?" Lady Roberta interrupted. Why was she suddenly under attack? She hadn't questioned any of the others about their stories, now had she?

"These were supposed to be our individual wicked fantasies." Constance laughed. "As it was your idea, you couldn't have forgotten that!"

"Of course she didn't." Leah unexpectedly came to her rescue, thank goodness. "So why was she—the girl in your story—not simply stolen away by the fierce warrior?"

"Why did he not ask her to leave with him?" Constance wanted to know.

"Why did he lock her in the dungeon?"

"Why the chains?"

"Why..."

Why. Why. Why???

The questions came at Roberta from all sides and strangled her. She had no answer. Or none she was willing to admit. She rolled the sheaf of papers tightly between her hands, now heartily wishing she had grabbed something else. "I'm sorry if you don't find my offering suitable or sufficiently arousing."

"We didn't say that." Grace gave a small laugh.

"Certainly not. It was splendid." Constance clasped her hands to her bosom, making Roberta wonder if the approving gesture was contrived.

"It simply wasn't what we were expecting, Robbie, but wonderful all the same." Leah smiled. "Now, would you all like to hear the latest from my secret admirer?"

With that, Leah drew the attention of the others, leaving Roberta to ponder their reactions. Were her secret fantasies—the parts she was willing to share—so very unusual, then? What would her friends say if they read some of her other stories? Or knew what she really longed to experience?

Perhaps it was time to curtail their wicked writing sessions? Something she'd ponder later tonight, alone in her bedchamber, with the rest of her wonderfully naughty writings. And her deliciously wicked imagination.