Another Sin to Pay For

She should not have had those thoughts, but her body had their own ideas. With a scowl, Godeve turned to her table and scrawled a note canceling Chetton's taxes.

Guilt. Brother Gladbert would be getting a visit soon.

* * *

She ate nothing that morning, sitting quietly at the table as her little household came to life around her. Leofric was gone, riding yet another of his endless circuits, for great ealdormen were forever holding court. It was their reason for being, but it meant they were frequently away. He was a good Earl, and the thegns of Mercia welcomed him wherever he went, but it did mean his wife was left to pine at home.

Where she got into trouble.

Her youngest son, just now starting to run without falling every third step, she committed to his nursemaid Hilda. "Just let him run around in the courtyard," she shrugged, and then hesitated. Hilda was a gossip. The whole town would know of Thomas' visit eventually, though, so she went ahead and let her know. "I'm expecting a tailor to do some work on my old cloak."

The maid turned wise eyes onto hers. "What the fuck is Meredith for, m'lady, if you're bringing men from the town to do your sewing?"

Godeve sighed. "The last thing she fixed for me was... well. Let's just say that Meredith has several good qualities, but her sewing is not one of them?" She touched Hilda's arm. "I'll be out later in the afternoon, to do devotions with the older children."

"My lady." Hilda was plainly suspicious, but a loud crash from out by the postern told them she was needed. A toddler required wrangling. "Until then," she nodded, bustling out to mind the children.

She sat back in Leofric's big chair, yawning; she'd slept poorly last night. A servant was opening the shutters to the morning light, and as the young sun streamed in Godeve began to feel that tingle in her thighs. She noticed Meredith, lurking by the door. "I'm going to my chambers, Meredith," she said loftily, taking on her role once more: she was the Lady of Mercia, and in her own hall she was mistress of everything in sight. "See that I am not disturbed, but do send Thomas the Tailor in once he arrives."

"My lady." The maid kept her eyes carefully low as Godeve gathered her skirts and swept back to her rooms. All around her the Earl's hall stirred, life returning for another day, but she was carefully oblivious to it as she moved through the dusty shafts of early light. Her rooms were a snug warren, a refuge with its own fire, and she was tending it with the shutters drawn when she heard the creak of cartwheels outside. By the well.

"Fuck," she hissed to herself; as always at times like this, she suddenly felt unready. But her body was; already, her nipples prodded at her shift. She stoked up the fire, then composed herself with her heart pounding at her table, a quill restless in her hand. She wondered idly where the brass lid of her inkpot had gotten off to.

Probably it had rolled off under the rug somewhere. Maybe over by the hearth.

The faint voices from the hall came sooner than she'd expected, based on when she'd heard the cart by the well: the young man must be in a hurry. She blushed at that as she looked into her fire, feeling the excitement rise in her heart now to match the thrill in her body. It never took her long, really, for she was a woman of simple, direct, and powerful lusts. The flush on her chest, the ache in her nipples, the gush at her cunt: all these things, she knew, came from the devil. This had been explained to her, and she felt that twinge of nervy guilt that was never far away.

But her mind was working differently, too, calculating, knowing it would only be two days before she could get back on her horse and go to Coventry town, where Gladbert and St Mary could whisk that guilt away and leave her refreshed, sinless. So what did the devil matter today? St Mary was stronger than he.

Meredith's shuffling tap came through the door. She turned that way, her face tingling. "Yes?"

The latch clacked, Meredith pushing the door open with her usual enthusiasm. "Your visitor, m'lady." Godeve felt her blush deepen as she looked over the little maid's shoulder, seeing a tall lithe form in the shadows. A young mustache. Glittering dark eyes. "Shall I wait with you?"

"It isn't necessary." Godeve spoke past a sudden thickness in her mouth, a demon sitting on her tongue. She raised her nose, sitting proud and straight. "You will wait outside. This is Master Gilbert's son; nothing untoward will happen." And she would wait, too, Godeve knew. Right outside that door, her crafty ear pressed to it. But there was nothing to be done about that now, her desire far too strong. "I shall call you if I need you."

"Yes, mistress." The maid said it in a tone laden with meaning, and not for the first time Godeve cursed the girl, and the things she knew. But the maid of an Earl's wife would always come to know many things, regardless; if some were sins, that was in the nature of life. Meredith passed a cool glance across Thomas' face as she turned, the man stepping calmly into Lady Godeve's chamber with that same impassive look on his face he'd had the day before.

She waited to be greeted. "My lady." The syllables rolled out low and musical, striking a chord between her legs. It was all she could do not to squirm in her chair. "I've brought your fox."

The latch snicked.

"Come in then, Thomas." She knew she didn't sound like herself, her voice husky with need, but there was nothing to be done about it. His arms bore a wrapped bundle of furs. "Why don't you put them on the bed?"

"Certainly." He crossed her rug in silence, still feeling none of his father's need to prattle; it came to Godeve, quite irrelevantly, that that would probably hurt him when the time came for him to take over for Gilbert. People liked Gilbert. Dust rose from her blankets as he dropped his burden gratefully, the tightly wrapped bundle bulging. He peered carefully but quickly around the room, then fixed his eyes directly, boldly, on hers. "Where's the cloak?"

"I'm sorry, Thomas; I could not find it." She rose with whatever grace she could manage, given the tremble in her legs beneath her dress. "You'll need to forgive my faulty memory. It's packed away somewhere, and the man who probably knows where it is is now riding the circuit with my husband."

He nodded, standing loose-limbed and strong as he watched her prowl toward him. She wondered whether he knew why he was here. "I'll come back another day, then."

"Oh, I'm certain you will," she nodded. She knew her face was scarlet. "I feel badly that I could not send you word, though. It's too bad you made the journey out from the town for nothing." He shrugged, his face neutral. His silence intrigued her, as if she needed to be intrigued. "May I offer you something? Some refreshment? I can send for my maid."

The silence stretched, and when he finally answered she felt her cunt spasm. "She seems better suited outside."

Godeve's mouth dissolved into a gloating smile; she hoped conniving little Meredith had heard him. "She is," she nodded, her voice nothing but a husky whisper now. She was close enough to smell his sweat now, an acrid prod to her lusts. "You brought furs, though. I wonder which ones you think would suit me."

He raised an eyebrow, then turned wordlessly to untie his bundle. Out slumped a welter of ruddy skins, soft and vibrant as they spilled across her blankets. He stood beside her bed, unruffled, watching her.

Godeve's throat had gone dry; she merely nodded toward the heap. "Which?" she managed. She worked her tongue furiously as he reached down, sorting, red fur glimmering in the fitful sunlight, and when she thought she could speak without croaking she smiled at him. "I'd love to know which one you think is best."

"They're foxes." He shrugged, lifting a pelt. "They're nothing special."

"Not until you make something of them." She took the skin in her hands, loving its feel. "I wonder how this would feel at my collar. Against my neck."

"You can find out," he replied, and for the first time she caught his mouth curling into a smirk. "M'lady."

"Hold this." She was enjoying the seduction, but her body trembled with need; she wanted to get this going. She felt his finger drift across her hand as he took the pelt back from her, and then her hands were at her neck, untying her hood. "I'll want to feel it properly." His Adam's apple bobbed once as she pulled her hair free. He was young, and probably not accustomed to whiling away time in the bedchambers of noblewomen, but he had to know what it meant when a woman took her hood off.

His eyes told her that, just perhaps, he did. He nodded slowly, gazing at her face.

Her hair was bound tightly beneath the hood. It had taken Meredith quite awhile to wrap it up this morning, and Godeve had no interest in undoing it. She stood before him, knowing her breath was coming in deep, even gusts as he waited there with the fur in his hands; she delighted in holding his gaze as she tipped her head slowly aside, offering him her neck. "Let me feel it, Thomas," she whispered, her eyelids fluttering.

His Adam's apple wobbled once more, a sharp jerk, and then he was laying a long-fingered hand on her shoulder, firm and strong as her body trembled. She gasped at that, then again when his other hand slid the pelt softly over her skin, along her neck. The silence in the room was almost a living thing now. It had its own weight, its own suspense, but the hesitancy was breaking down fast now.

As fast as her eyes closed. As fast as he stepped against her body, his fingers tightening on her shoulder. As fast as she moaned. He certainly knew what all this meant now.

She gasped, raising her face blindly up to his as she felt it, glorious and longed-for: the firm lump of his penis pressing up against her belly, imprisoned by his blue trousers.

Cock. Hanging cock, soft cock, hard cock, wet cock. Hairy cock, smooth cock, elderly cock, younger cock. Warrior cock, shepherd cock.

Tailor cock.

Her mind had lost all control of her hands already, her fingers sweeping along the front of his crotch, searching. They found the long, snaky ridge down his leg even as his lips crushed into hers, capturing her, and with her eyes still closed everything was magnified: his taste. His heat. His want. The feel of his tongue, pushing confidently past her lips, dueling with her teeth. The hot thrill of his grunt, shuddering into her mouth as her greedy fingers closed over the exciting new penis they'd found.

She gave his kiss back now, telling him with tongue and lips how badly she wanted him. The fox fur slithered down off her neck and over her breast, slipping between them as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled close, his strong muscles crushing her to him, trapping her hands in his lap against the surge of his erection. She groaned from deep within herself, low and urgent, needing to taste him.

Their kiss broke suddenly, in a shower of spit that left their chins aglow, his eyes still looking hard into hers as, with a curiously detached sense of possessiveness, he closed his hand over her ass and squeezed hard. She gazed up at him spellbound, already far away as she slid anxiously down out of his grasp, smearing her body along his as she went to her knees on the rug of her own bedchamber.

His tunic and trousers bulged before her as she settled to the floor, her hands on his hips now. Everything about him had captured her already, and whatever the devil would do with her next was just a consequence of that. She raised her hands up underneath his tunic, feeling skin there, his whole body warm and solid and present. She looked up into his eyes as her fingers traced along the waist of his trousers, seeking his drawstrings.

"Thomas," she told him in a voice gone husky, "I have to warn you of something." He just stared down at her, emotionless, black eyes gazing into her heart. This was always it, the last thing she ever allowed herself to tell the men before her body overwhelmed her. She cleared her throat desperately, already fumbling with his knot. "If anyone ever finds out about this? About us? My husband will gouge your eyes out and then kill you."

He nodded, his smell rolling into her mind. She was falling, so far and so fast, his cock her only lifeline to the world. When he spoke, his voice offered neither comfort nor reassurance, just steely confidence. "Your mouth ought to be too full to talk by now," was all he said.

"Oh my God," she gasped, and then her fingers were absolutely flying as she picked apart his drawstring, the ties coming loose with a sweet relief she could feel all through her body, pooling behind her cunt. He kept staring as the laces fell free, and then she was hooking her fingers over the top of his trousers and raking desperately downward, pulling the blue wool off his ass, along his thighs, down.

His trousers hung up on his stiff prick, which gave Godeve a little surge of excitement as she kept pulling, feeling the resistance there, the springy strength of his cock fighting her; it bent like a sword, flexible, and then as her tugging hands at last freed it his penis flew upward, bouncing gloriously underneath his tunic out of a spray of curly pubic hair.

Godeve caught her breath, her whole face lighting up at the sight; her fingers latched on at once, right hand curling around his thick luscious shaft while her left cupped hungrily around his sweetly jiggling balls; she felt heat and sweat there, his scent drawing her closer as she pursed her lips and gave his wide smooth head a wet, trembling kiss.

He tasted of salt and lust, the rich male flavor of nakedness and need that went straight across her tongue and down to her slit, a lightning bolt of want so profound that she knew she'd never be able to explain it, least of all before the harsh interrogation of Gladbert in a couple of days. It seemed the easiest thing in the world, the rightest thing in the world, to simply open her lips at the end of her kiss, spreading her spit over the soft velvet of his head as her tongue found the glistening precum shimmering at his very tip. She licked.

Heaven. Heaven on earth.

Thomas sighed above her, a long and contented exhale, while she focused on his pleasure. His prick was thicker than most, certainly thicker than Leofric's, and long as well, filling her hand and mouth at the same time, even as her other hand caressed his hanging sack. She looked up along his tunic, finding those eyes of his boring straight into hers; she grew aware that he was shifting, spreading his feet as wide as his fallen trousers would allow, giving her hand room to play underneath.

And then she felt it, moving her lust onto a new plane: his fingers on her head, just resting for now along the sides of her skull, but with that promise that perhaps soon, if she pleased him, he'd tighten his grip, holding her still, fucking her mouth. Godeve wanted that badly, wanted to kneel there helpless while his ass flexed in her hands and his burgeoning cock plumbed her throat.

Cock. Delectable cock.

She opened wide, arching her neck forward, eyes cranked painfully upward to stay on his determined face while she took him deeper, her throat trying to swallow the sturdy penis that filled it. She strained, forcing her face closer to his tunic until, with a glorious shift in her neck, everything worked: she felt herself relax, her throat giving in, allowing him to sink deeper, deeper, until her lips met her hand where it wrapped tensely around his root.

She waited there, adjusting, letting him enjoy her mouth as she enjoyed his prick, all her senses filled with the joy of his pleasure before, slowly, she backed off; in his wide eyes, far above, she could see his wonder as he watched himself emerge, gleaming with her spit, from between her lips.

He would be telling this story to himself until the day he died, she told herself with satisfaction: the story of the time he'd had his cock sucked by his Earl's lady.

She bore down the next time, trying to take him just as deep without pausing to work her throat, then the third time it was as if she'd been born to swallow Thomas' cock: she slid her lips all the way down along his veins and ridges, feeling him strain in her mouth until, at last, the curly bush at the base of his prick brushed her nose. She abandoned his balls at last, both her hands reaching around, cupping his ass, pulling him to herself.

Claiming him.

He took the lead at last, as she'd hoped he would, his fingers finally clamping onto her head, digging into the thick braids Meredith had bound up that morning, holding her steady while his hips began to move. He hunched his body toward her, his cock searching out her lips and tongue and throat, and she moaned wordlessly as he took his pleasure from her unresisting face.

He widened his stance once more, planting himself on her floor, the muscles of his ass flexing in her hands. Twice he thrust, then again, his balls a blur as they swung gently against her chin, and suddenly his expression was changing up there, hardening, his eyes going glassy; she realized, too late, that her mouth was too much for him. He was going to cum.

She did her best to prepare, backing off as well as she could against the pressure of his clenching hands, but he was so powerful; she felt like a prisoner to his flesh, powerless to do anything, just as she'd wanted, and her heart leapt as she heard him gasping above, holding his breath as he ravaged her mouth, imagining what he was thinking as he fucked this noblewoman's face, preparing to cum in there, watching her eyes as he did it.

Too late, she wondered whether Thomas was a grunter, whether crafty Meredith would have another secret to keep in a moment.

She heard and felt his cum before she tasted it. Heard it, in the cracked little sigh Thomas let out, then felt it as a thick, spreading warmth on her tongue, pumping hard down her throat with nowhere else to go. Dimly she was aware of nothing but the need to make her throat work, to swallow endlessly as she hung there in space, propped by her hands on his ass and his cock impaling her head, the rest of her a mere rag doll enslaved to her lusts. And to his.

He pulled his hips back at last, then spurted again, her whole mouth filling with the second load, and she was still choking it down her gullet as he arched forward and fired again, his cock jumping in her mouth as his face took on that dreamlike expression men often did when they came.

She clung to him, inside and out, sucking strongly. Her belly felt warm, almost fiery. Alive. She knew she'd brought him pleasure, and that thought gave her joy even apart from the wonder of the flesh her hands caressed, or the much more mysterious flesh now wedged into the back of her mouth.

Once more his hands tightened in her hair, jerkily, moving her head back once more to look up at him. He looked crazed now, his mouth twisting into a snarl. "Good work," he told her softly, and a glow started deep within her to spread out. Her whole body felt warm, prickly. Sticky with sweat, worn with longing. Vibrant.

She backed off him slowly, spitting his wet cock out, glancing down at it lovingly as her hands roamed up and down his legs, ass to knee, over and over again. "You enjoyed that." She swallowed again, clearing out the dregs of his seed, her face shining up at him.

"I did." His fingers were a caress now, drumming at the sides of her head. "You made me enjoy it," he admitted gruffly, and she responded at once: kisses, all up and down his still-stiff prick, all around. Underneath, where his empty balls hung. Along the tops of his thighs, through the coarse hair above his penis. Tasting him. Adoring him. His hand patted her shoulder after a few moments. "Up. Your maid will begin to wonder what we're doing."