The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

With one kn

ee, he pushed his lover’s legs apart and climbed between them. The fair-haired man lifted his head, and she could see how much he wanted this. His hand moved down between his front and the mattress, and locked around his rigid member. But his lover pulled that hand free and planted it firmly on the bed. As he hovered over him, he whispered instructions. Once again he spat into his hand and pushed that hand between his lover’s buttocks.

Mister Grant uttered a low curse, and Jessie craned her neck to observe. The fieldworker was manipulating two fingers inside his lover’s rear end. Mister Grant’s hips rose and fell against the bed, his fingers clutching at the pillows as he welcomed the intrusion, just as a woman would welcome such in her cunny. A moment later, the dark man replaced those fingers with something much, much larger.

Jessie’s skin raced. A damp sweat was gathering at the back of her neck and between her breasts as she imagined how Mister Grant would feel—how utterly debauched and thrilling it would be to have a handsome young lover rut him this way, an act most people would consider obscene and morally corrupt.

She could tell the crown of that large member was in place, because it was greeted by more lusty cries from the man beneath. The fieldworker then balanced his weight on his arms and began to drive his length inside the other man.

Jessie’s lips parted and she bit on one finger. She did not want to miss a moment. Her body brimmed with excitement, and she clutched at her nipples through her bodice. The sight of that beautiful cock entering the prone man was driving her to distraction. Her thighs were damp and clammy, her dress far too tight at the bodice. With her free hand, she rubbed at the swell of her mound through her clothing.

When the worker had fully embedded himself he shifted position, lying alongside the other man’s back and rocking him so that they were like two spoons nested together. Then he reached around and grasped Mister Grant’s prick, milking him off as he began the slow thrust and grind of his own milking at the rear.

Mister Grant was delirious with pleasure, his eyes tightly closed, his body willingly enslaved to the dark master who possessed him so thoroughly. Jessie pressed her skirt between her thighs and cupped her mound, squeezing it for relief as she watched the two men shunt and writhe.

A sound echoed up the stairs from below.

Jessie froze, then glanced over her shoulder. She did not want to be interrupted now. They were approaching their peak. Neither did she want the lovers to hear anything, for they might discover the door was open.

Checking on the lovebirds inside the room, she found that the men did not seem to have noticed, so deep in their abandonment were they. She attempted to muster an enchantment to close the door over and keep it that way, but her thoughts were far too muddled by her state of extreme arousal. Curses on that. To be so torn made her magic useless.

The sound was of shoes scuffing across the floor below. A moment later she heard another noise, that of a barrel being rolled across the flagstones. Then all fell quiet belowstairs. She returned fully to her watching. Just in time, for they were at their moment of release and she would have hated to miss that. The dark-haired man pitched and bowed at his lover’s back, every part of his body tense and gleaming with sweat in the moment of his climax. His hips jerked and his hand tightened on his lover’s cock. The fair man grunted loudly and spent himself in his lover’s grasp.

Jessie squeezed her hand hard against her mound, attempting to stay still, but it was nigh on impossible in her current state of excitement. She had to find her own relief, and soon.

The man at the rear echoed that most enraptured act, emitting a loud exhalation of breath as his hips jerked several times and then stilled. The sound of their mutual panting was loud enough to be heard quite clearly on the landing, and she also noticed that Mister Grant was opening his eyes and reaching for his lover. It was time to make her retreat.

Darting back to Mister Ramsay’s door, she went inside and closed it quietly behind her. She had to take several deep breaths and force herself to concentrate, in order to undo her previous enchantment and relock the door from inside. She couldn’t risk leaving it open a moment longer in case Gregor returned earlier than he had the day before. Dancing from foot to foot, she blew into the lock hurriedly and said the words. She had to repeat them three times before she got it right, cursing herself as she did so, and when she finally heard the lock click she ran across the room, lifting her skirts as she went, and threw herself facedown on Gregor’s bed.

Breathing in his scent from the pillows, she put her hand under her skirts and between her thighs and commenced rubbing herself vigorously. Her cunny was slippery with her juices, her bud swollen and protruding—and mightily sensitive to the touch. She thrust her hips against the bed, her mind full of the images she had just seen. Then Mister Ramsay himself stepped into her imaginings, and he was telling her off for her escape, slapping her arse as he had done the day before.

“Oh, oh, oh.” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and stuck her bottom out, imagining she was over his knee again and he not only slapped her sensitive rump, he dipped his hand in between and rubbed at her folds roughly, maddening her. He was chastising her for watching the lewd behavior of the men next door, but beneath her lap she could feel the hard length of his cock, and she imagined him lifting her, spreading her and thrusting into her grateful cunny.

When she peaked moments later, she lay still until she recovered and then rolled onto her back and laughed aloud. “And there was meself thinking I was to have another tedious afternoon of solitude.”

The day had brought much entertainment, and now the sun was lowering in the sky. Mister Ramsay—Gregor—would return soon. She smiled and caught her lower lip between her teeth, anticipating his presence. Although she balked at being held captive, there was pleasure to be found, with a good purse at the end. Perhaps her situation was not so bad, after all, and she rose onto one elbow to look at the window.

The sun was setting on the rolling Fife hills, and she watched it, wondering again where Mister Ramsay was and where he had been. The mood between them had been most enticing that morning, before he had announced he was taking his leave. She would make it so again.

Many of the whores she knew dreamed of having a sponsor like this. A protector of sorts. Someone who kept them as his own woman. It was not something Jessie had ever craved, because she knew it was dangerous territory for someone with her wild nature and her gift for the craft. Her mother had told her and Maisie that often enough. To grow attached to one man could only make things more difficult for them.

Yet when Gregor had turned her away after supper and made her go to her own room, she’d felt a sense of longing that spelled trouble. Especially after the time they had spent preparing, in which he’d aroused her to the point of madness in the name of seducing some unknown enemy. Under normal circumstances she would relish a room of her own. Because he was there, beyond it, the servant’s room made her feel lonely and deprived. He had resisted her, for a while. It bothered her immensely that she did not understand why. Especially as she’d put so much effort into breaking down his resistance. Was there another woman in his heart? With careful thought and preparation, she decided that she would find out. That very evening. By fair means or foul, she would discover if it was to another woman he went.

With that vow bolstering her mood she tidied his bed, returned to her quarters, relocked the door by means of magic, then sat down to wait.

TEN

GREGOR DID NOT SUFFER THE RECRIMINATIONS and vitriol of the day before when he returned that evening. In fact, Jessie seemed delighted to see him. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and she embraced him—which took him quite by surprise—eyeing his stuffed bundle as she did so. Curious, he wondered how she had occupied herself while he was gone. Once again he had the feeling she had not stayed in her room, but there was no evidence that she had forced the lock, and he had the key.

Then it occurred to him that she might be more settled because of what had passed between them that morning. If that was the case, he had a difficult choice to make—keep her satisfied, happy and loyal, or at arm’s length for the sake of his sanity. Gregor gave a wry smile as he thought it over.

That morning there had been little choice. It had only been a matter of time before he’d buckled and broke with the tutoring to relieve them both of their lusty burden. He had done his utmost to use the situation to his advantage, but there was no denying it had to be done—regardless of the equally pressing need for a lesson in good manners. As soon as he’d sat her at the table, naked, he had pictured her in a much more carnally advantageous pose. Working off his stiff rod while she was facedown over that table with her arse in the air was an inevitable event.

Now that he was back the table served as a reminder of that most pleasurable session, as did she. He gave her the packages he’d brought her in order to distract himself. “I have hired a seamstress in Saint Andrews. You will soon have new clothing. In the meantime, a handkerchief and shawl by the same seamstress. On my journey back here I also located some decent hide shoes.”

Her eyes lit at the mention of the shoes, and when he put them in her hand, she stared at them in wonder. He’d noticed that her own were worn paper-thin.

“That is why you…” She put her splayed hand to her foot, as he had done to measure the length of it that morning.