screamed, trying to escape. Her bottom banged against his belly, and his balls rubbed the opening to her cunt. It hurt; hurt so terribly, and yet she knew that she was coming.
“Don't! Don't hurt me.”
He stabbed again, his pace quickening. The thick fluid was rising in his shaft, and only his greatest control kept him from shooting in her that instant.
He pulled her head back harder. Her breasts were now off the bed, and her whole body was arched in a tight bow.
He pounded in; harder and faster.
“Fuck, bitch! Fuck, slave!”
She writhed against him, lost between pain and passion.
Don't. Don't hurt.
Yes! Yes, do hurt! Possess me! Rip; tear; pound; hurt me; take me. God, I'm coming I'm coming!
Marion screamed, her head pulled back so abruptly that her throat felt as if it might split.
Sir David waited no longer. He grunted, pushing and charging, and the come that had waited all these weeks rushed out of him, high up in the woman's ass.
He clutched her still as the fire left him. She sagged against the bed, exhausted, and in a moment his now limp penis slipped out of her.
He lay down beside her almost unconscious figure and took her in his arms.
For the moment he wanted to be gentle, and now he could afford to be. He knew his woman well. Did he not show her, often and graphically, who was boss, she would have despised him.
“I love you. Oh, Davy, I love you so.”
She snuggled against him. Her bottom hurt now; hurt like hell. But what a small price to pay for the serenity of the rest of her body-and mind.
This was her man. He would never inflict on her more than she could bear. He would only hurt her enough to tame her.
But hurt her he would; when and as he desired. He owned her.
In return for total obedience he would shield her from every other person or thing that might threaten.
She leaned her face against his chest, feeling the breadth of it and the thick, rough hair.
This was her man. Her master and protector.
Sir David stroked her back, fondling the buttocks that had so recently received his charge. He had known how good it would be, and he had not been disappointed. His loins still tingled with the remnants of sensation.
“How have you managed in my absence? Have you been faithful?”
“You know nothing can replace you!” Marion laughed.
Sir David laughed with her, but his fondling increased and he felt his prick stiffen.
He lifted her chin and kissed her up-turned mouth, playing his tongue over and between her lips. She darted her pointy tongue into his mouth and pressed against him.
Sir David ran his hand down her body, teasing the outer lips of her crotch lightly with his finger tips. She groaned and pressed her lips tighter to his.
Working his fingers between the lips, Sir David caressed and rubbed the high, rigid clitoris, as Marion's hips moved under him, and the juice started to flow out of her.
He delighted in arousing her, and could feel his great staff pressing into the soft flesh of her belly. Guts and thighs burned, and his rod ached to get into her.
He rolled her over on her back and took her legs in his hands as he moved between them. Lifting her knees high, he rammed in, crying out as he felt the wet pull of her cunt along the full length of his tool.
Marion moved frantically. God, how long it had been since that huge cock had invaded her belly.
Sir David rammed harder and higher, wanting to split her wide open, to crawl bodily inside that beautiful hole.
With a great heave of her body, Marion came violently, and Sir David felt the hot, greasy liquid pour out of her, soaking his thighs and balls.
He pulled out of her and let her legs fall back onto the bed. Straddling her chest, he jerked her head up and drove his bursting cock, wet and slick with her own come, between her lips.
His balls brushed against her breasts, stroking the nipples. Sir David felt a sensation like a shower of red hot needles run through him and settle in an agony of passion in the shaft and nob of his cock.
Holding her head up with both hands, he thrust forward again. He was not passively letting Marion suck him off. He was fucking her mouth.
Harder and faster he drove, almost choking her as the big, pounding cock stabbed into her mouth and throat. In a final burst of wild thrusts, Sir David came, feeling the sperm rise from his balls and rush along the column of his cock till it gushed out into Marion's throat in hard, gut-tearing spurts.
He let her head drop, and fell onto the bed beside her, completely satisfied for the moment.
They both drifted into a heavy sleep, not even bothering to pull up the coverings. They could, and would, rest now, but both knew that before many hours had passed they would awake and the passion would begin all over again.
The night had just begun.
CHAPTER THREE
Robert Finch waited impatiently for the arrival of his neighbour and sponsor, Sir David Cassen. The day was fine, and he had had a table set in a quiet nook on the edge of the broad lawn. Cool wine and a large bowl of fruit were laid out temptingly, and two high backed chairs, comfortably padded, were drawn up. In one of these Finch sat, sipping a glass of claret.
The scene looked hospitable and innocent, hardly a setting for any converse of intrigue or import. It was deliberately misleading. Although the members of his household were old and trusted retainers, Robert was much too shrewd to take any chances.
Walls had ears, and closeting himself with Sir Cassen behind the stout doors of his study would be an obvious advertisement that they were discussing weighty matters. Here, on the lawn, they were perfectly safe from too- sharp ears. They could see anyone approaching from any angle, long before their voices could be heard.
It was the year 1580, and much was brewing. The long years of prosperity had given England wealth and prestige, but there was still constant danger from the continent.
English and Scottish Catholics as well as French and Spanish factions, all had reasons to wish to replace the fiery, protestant Elizabeth with Catholic Mary of Scotland, and the plotting was widespread. Although many of the plots were too crude to take seriously, and even more mere wishful thinking, yet the danger was there. Not all the plotters were fools, and one day one of them might succeed.
Finch grunted and took a gulp of wine. Bloody, popish whore! He'd like to have a day with her. She might not end up so damned haughty then. Why the hell didn't Elizabeth behead her and have done with it? God knows there had been excuses enough in the twelve years she had been kept prisoner in England.
That Mary was a prisoner was literally true, but she had more comfort and luxury in her captivity than most free Englishmen. Not for her the rack, the whip or the dungeon. She was housed in the best estates in the land and many felt that there was more than a little sympathy for her among her host-gaolers.
Beautiful, regal and feminine, she had never given up the idea of returning to the throne of Scotland and considered the throne of England rightfully hers as well. Although she pleaded total innocence of the plots to raise her to the place to which she aspired, few believed in her words.
Damn. How could Elizabeth, with all her acumen and hot, Tudor temper, be so soft? Prisoner or not, as long as Mary lived, she was a real threat.
There were few men at court who would have welcomed the change of reign. William Cecil Lord Burghley, would be the first to suffer, quickly followed by Walsingham, who had risen through his favour, and the Earl of Leicester.
Leicester had been convicted, with his father, the Duke of Northumberland, by Elizabeth's sister, Bloody
