Authors: Shirl Anders
Orgasmic? My lord, she had never been before, however with Brynmore she was continually in that state and it certainly seemed to intrigue and satisfy Brynmore immensely. “I have never been sweet,” she retorted, through clamped teeth, because of the pangs Brynmore abraded in that stretch of her sheath that he fondled repeatedly.
“You taste sweet,” Brynmore said, with low intensity.
Kit’s inner thighs and buttock cheeks began jumping and quivering as she struggled with the intense urge to lift her knees toward her shoulders, but the moans she could not control tunneled out of her throat and her gaze sharpened with desperation. Oh lord, she wanted to climax. It was consuming her. “I have to climax,” she pleaded, with overriding need squeezing the words from her tightly clenched mouth.
Suddenly, two of Brynmore’s fingers filled her and she felt the razor shaving closer to the lips of her slit. “Oh Bry,” she cried, shuddering to remain still. If he stopped now and did not let her climax she would die. Oh blast she thought fiercely, she would do it herself.
“It’s come, sexy hot pet, not climax, you’ll come and gush hot all over me. Raise your knees to your chest,” he commanded, in a rough bass voice.
Kit’s knees leaped eagerly as if propelled by an outer force. The movement brought intense reaction in her sheath that catapulted her past being able to stop. “I cannot hold back!” she cried sharply, with her body arching upward.
“Then do not, Kit. Come for me, lass. Let me see you come.”
At the same moment Brynmore spoke he plunged his fingers vigorously now and repeatedly into her sheath. “Oh Bry! Oh Bry! Bry! Bry!”
Kit tensed as an orgasm recoiled in her sex, mushrooming toward the highest point as she drew breath, filling her lungs, to peak with the height of her surging climax. Then, reaching to the top, her mind seemed to ignite a passionate storm, and then rapture hurling upward, bursting finally against the walled end, deep within her womb.
Brynmore quickly grabbed the second cloth he had set beside the one he used to wipe the razor clean after each swipe. He used the clean cloth to swiftly wipe any errant hair from Kit’s muff as the tunnel of her sex contracted wildly over his two fingers. The demand was to have Kit’s orgasmic cunty in his mouth. The urge was voracious and nothing less would be able to satisfy. He threw the cloth aside and pulled his fingers free as his mouth descended.
Kit’s cunty was hot, it felt like bubbling syrup filled his mouth as more of Kit’s climaxing juices sopped his lips, mouth, and chin. He growled like a primal male animal as he pushed on the back of Kit’s thighs rolling her ass upward, pressing her knees to her shoulders, exposing her sex completely to his mouth as he smeared his lips and tongue all over her cleft and deeper. He played like it was a deep thorough and passionate kiss, taking her mouth with no mercy, only this was her cunty. She mewled high sounds, then calming and calming more, as he licked and lapped, going ever slower, until the last quivers of her climax fled and her cunty lips lay like hot butter beneath his tongue.
His prick hammered in his tight britches like the war call of clan drums. He fought his prick’s urge. He had to save it. He knew keeping himself on the edge was going to be necessary tonight as he wrestled with it. Barely winning. His mouth hovered over Kit’s sex as he looked up between Kit’s thighs, to her face, flushed and awash with the pink tones of glowing aftermath.
One demand would not allow him respite, as he said in a rough and earthy rumble. “This cunt is mine.”
Kit curled her fingers in his hair, tugging. “Yes, Bry,” she exclaimed. “Yes!”
Just that covenant between them gave him the strength to ease his prick down from its thumping edge, as he caught a hard breath. His nostrils filled with hot musky scents as he kissed Kit’s cunt once, then he moved to stiffly stand, easing and adjusting his clothing around the board of his prick.
“A few more razor strokes, lower on the lips here and you’ll be ready to oil and powder with the gold dust,” Brynmore said. His voice tight as he began the strident process of regaining his thoughts.
Brynmore knew the reasons that he had succumbed into driving Kit to orgasm. Right or wrong, he knew that he had to give Kit pleasure before what would happen later, when he envisioned having to fuck her as roughly as he could make himself and in public. Aye, he knew why he had yielded, when he said he should be thinking of nothing but stopping evil people. He had done it so that they both would have the poignant memory of what really mattered, before he gambled his lady to the devil.
An hour later, holding Kit’s hand, Brynmore helped her ascend into the waiting carriage, as soon as she settled, he quickly followed her. Kit wore a long dark cloak and once they had entered The Satyr Whip Club that would be shed. What she wore beneath to his private eyes was thrilling. Bloody hell, he had to admit it was pagan and more sexually lustful than anything he was accustomed to.
Brynmore gritted his teeth. It was one thing being thrilled in private and quite another to display it for all to see. He knew that Kit fought her own embarrassment and after he had gathered his thoughts—and hell, his own control, he would help her with that. He intended to arouse her and keep her there. A mind set to go with the scantily clad body she would display.
Scanty, hell. She only wore a strip of black satin as a loincloth and some high-heeled slippers. Kit had bravely pushed for it, once he had oiled her body sufficiently for the gold powder to adhere, and then he dusted her with it. She had applied dusky black to her nipples and lips and over her eyes.
With her sleekly rounded body glimmering in gold, a skimpy loincloth barely covering her sex in front and her supple ass behind, she looked stunning. They had added a waist leash fashioned out of thin gold chain, with a five-foot lead that he carried tautly, keeping her close to him. Her cunty had been trimmed to one small finger-thin strip of yellow curls left down the center. The blood amulet, on another gold chain around her neck rested between her breasts. He had used black leather to strap the twin to his own dagger to Kit’s inner left arm. They had talked over whether to wear masks or not. Masks in a fetish club like The Satyr Whip Club would be common. Brynmore realized it would help Kit bare her breasts and more in public if she had the buffer of a mask. However, she had not pressed for it, knowing the better tactic to gain Hellion’s notice was not to be clandestine in any way.
“Should I act more slavish and obedient, or more forward and bra-zen?” Kit asked.
Brynmore could hear the nervousness in her voice as he watched her ebony painted fingernails, while she twisted the cloth of her cloak between her fingers. “I’m not certain, luscious pet. We will have to adjust as circumstances predict.”
Kit’s gaze lifted to his at the word “luscious.” “Yes, Nia and Radford schooled me on that, when they gave their short course on spying.” Kit’s gaze dipped. “It’s just I think I’m so nervous, I forgot.”
Brynmore rose and moved to sit beside Kit, as he spoke. “You did not forget. You just wanted me to say it. So there is no assuming between us and that’s as it should be.”
“Yes,” Kit answered, looking up at him with a hint of a nervous smile.
Brynmore lifted his arm to put around her and she slid into his embrace. “Will I undo this black on your lips if I kiss you?”
“No, I stain them so well, I fear it might not come off for weeks.”
“Mmm,” Brynmore murmured as his head dipped. “I’m thinking of the sight of those lips around my cock. Weeks, please … “
Kit gasped her excited pleasure against his mouth at the image he concocted with his words. He might have shocked her, but he did intend to have her succulent lips wrapped around his prick in the near future. And, he kissed her as if he meant it, until she was nearly crawling over him. Her hand was squeezing and fondling the ridge of his hard prick, throbbing beneath his tight black britches. He could not disarrange the bizarre carnal costume makeup she wore, so he was left with his hand traveling straight to her wet cleft. Poor him, he nearly laughed.
“Mmm, I want to open your britches,” Kit panted against his mouth, pecking lush kisses over his lips.
By all the saints in Scotland, he wanted her too, as he gritted his teeth, lifted his finger from her soused cleft and grasped both her arms. Brynmore pushed firmly, setting her back from him, yet her fingertips clung to the hardness of his wooden prick. “The edge,” he hissed. “Stay on the edge, but do not fall over yet.”
Kit’s fingertips left his cock as her forehead pressed to his cheek. “Yes,” she offered breathlessly.
Brynmore wondered if they would always turn each other to flame so quickly. He had every intention of finding out. That instantaneous conviction blind-sided him. He had not realized how deep he was in, but swiftly and with determined effort, he set the realization aside. Stalwart, he told himself, it was just the smell of hot cunty juices on his fingers that were addling his brain and he needed to get his mind back to the job at hand. This was work and he was good at it.
“We need to catch the interest of whichever leaders of The Order are there,” Brynmore said tightly. Kit nodded against his cheek. “I’ve brought something else for us to wear. One for each. It was last minute, but Drummond thought it would help catch their interest.
“What is it?” Kit leaned back looking up at him. She watched as he lifted, to his mind the most ostentatious jewelry he had ever seen from his cloak pocket. One piece, a blood-red ruby the size of a small plum, the other smaller, yet more astounding in a multifaceted cut diamond, both individually mounted on long silver chains.
“My lord!” Kit exclaimed. “Who on earth could own jewels as large as these?”
And there, his clever lass had hit the question right at its heart. “Drummond advised, alluding to greatness. A patron.”
Kit captured the diamond in her palm. “Kings, queens, princes—only royalty surely?”
“Aye.”
Kit lifted her gaze to his. “But Drummond did not say?”
“Drummond has his methods. It must be important for us not to know at this stage. He’ll explain, eventually. So, for now, when questioned, we’ll be alluding to a rich patron.”
Brynmore thought he knew Drummond’s intended illusion was the Prince of Wales. For what reason he had no idea. However, going into undercover handiwork with only partial knowledge, while being told to allude to certain things had proved very effective in the past. It was much harder not to say a name, when you did know it and certain finesse was required to dangle bait in prospective suspects directions, until their curiosity overwhelmed them and they snatched it. It did have to be the right bait. Brynmore had faith that Drummond knew exactly what he was doing and that Drummond was doing it the best way. Brynmore also knew Drummond had a devilish propensity for grandstanding the final ploys that would gain and capture the results he was after.
“The chain is so long,” Kit said.
“They are to be worn around our waists. Ruby for me, diamond for you, laid underneath what clothing we have there.”
“They will not be seen until-!” Kit exclaimed.
“Some type of devious mind, Drummond has,” Brynmore said as he nodded his head curtly in response.
He and Kit would have to have both her loincloth off and his britches off or both pulled aside, for anyone to see the jewels. Their minds jumped to the same conclusion. Sex! They would have to be engaged in some type of sexual intimacy. Bloody hell. That was why they were going tonight was to publicly fuck like rabbits with the rest of the deviants. Only, they needed to do it so uniquely as to catch the attention of a mad man. Brynmore just hoped Hellion was there tonight, because as much as he was torn about doing it, he wanted to get the sick bastard more!
Kit felt the cold ice of the diamond pressing to the slick heat of her sex as Brynmore held her hand, helping her descend from the carriage. The smooth and exposed skin of her slit was much more sensitive now that it was shaved and moments before Brynmore had opened the carriage door, he had kissed her.
Not just any kiss, but a long and deeply carnal one that flushed her senses and her body, wetting her sex and the diamond. Brynmore’s mouth had ravaged her equally wild lips, until she was left with the urgent craving to have sex with him. Here. Now. Anywhere! It shredded her fear and overrode her nervousness as she melded into arousal. Not fighting it, but letting it live and breath like heady intoxication. That was what it was, inebriating, as she allowed it to infuse her. It changed priorities and made daring its demands, so as if she were drunk, she purred into it, letting it slide over her body like seduction, moving her figure in new ways.
She’d helped Brynmore attach the ruby, wrapping the chain around his waist and securing it. She knew the blood-red ruby lay against the top portion, of the base of Brynmore’s rigid shaft and she wondered how it felt there? She wondered how it would feel against her hot slit if Brynmore mated her on top. The ruby would press onto the lips of her sex, over and over.
“Mmm. Mm.” Kit let the sounds of sexual heat murmur in her throat, while she played her hand over Brynmore’s chest as he stood beside her. She was in character. One that was creating her, nearly more than she was creating it, she thought, as she slid up Brynmore’s body and licked his lips once slowly, before settling at his side. The burn in her belly was for justice and perhaps revenge. The heat in her mind and sex was going to help accomplish that.
Brynmore glanced at the building. It was an ancient medieval styled church, long since given away to other activities. Through the centuries it could have gone through may style changes and uses. During some epoch, perhaps even more recently there had been added high gothic embellishments with dark malevolence. The building was the stone of the medieval period, almost hidden on a side street off a more used thorough-fare. The entrance used to the aged church was further down a side alleyway. The speckled, black and gray stone, with storied high window arches, were banded by wide gnarled tracery ledges that were boarded up. There was grotesque trim under the edges of the arched roofing and black iron bars with spiked corbels that enclosed large snarling gryphons.