The Wraggle Taggle Gypsies Ch. 05

Thomas stepped forward, flanked by at least six other men – local justice men she recognised and had seen many times. He walked with a swagger – looking younger and more confident than she had ever seen him, and she wondered momentarily if the thrill of the chase had excited something in him.

The campfire was deserted, but behind the newcomers lay the young boy who usually tended the fire. He was hunched over on his side, and his face was bloody.

"Isabelle, wife, you appear to have forgotten something, in your haste to start a new life" his voice was filled with dangerous lightness. She shook her head.

"Indeed, you appear to have forgotten many things. Your promises and vows, your home and possessions...Your husband."

She tried to move back into the caravan, but with a nod of his head her husband sent forth the men to his side and they made a swift grab for her, holding her fast about her upper arms.

She was aware of her flushed face and the moistness between her legs – and felt that her husband must be able to see the change in her – the bestial spirit Peter had unleashed. The best she could do was turn her face from him, with a look of distain.

At his word the men who now flanked her dragged her from the clearing, through the rough ground and into the dense woods that surrounded the camp. She didn't know whether she most wanted Peter to return to rescue and defend her – or stay away to keep himself safe.

As though reading her mind her husband spoke,

"So, what prompted this flight? I am assuming it wasn't luxury and wealth – but there must have been something that tempted you away from your easy life in my household." She cast him a glance full of disgust. "What? You don't think your life with me was a good one?" he dared her with an ugly tone. "You greedy, selfish bitch! You had everything money could buy – a fine home, fine clothes, servants - you wanted for nothing!"

Catching her eye he saw, in one look, exactly what she had gone wanting, and was filled with fury.

"You were no comfort to me, husband!" she mocked, emboldened by her own anger, pent up for the past three years. "I needed something more than finery and fumbles."

The men about her laughed, and checked themselves quickly at the sight of Thomas – his face contorted with rage. He began to loosen his clothing and stepped towards her, chin raised and shoulders squared.

"Now, I take you back as my wife." She saw a flash of pink as he released his penis from his breeches, she shook her head, revolted at the thought of him inside her again. "I'll take you now or these men can have you." He gestured to the law men, and she cast a glance around them.

They were a motley group, and on each face she could see undisguised lust. One man rubbed the front of his clothes, massaging himself, on another she could see the raised lump of him within his trouser.

"Rather them than suffer you once more!"

Thomas stepped forward with frightening speed and smacked her forcefully across her face, she fell backwards with a cry and lay, stunned, on the floor. She had known he could be difficult, but had no notion of him as a violent man – and her bravado soon evaporated.

"Undress," he ordered.

She stood, gingerly, and looked about her, wondering if there were any means of escape. When she recognised that her fate was sealed she began, slowly to pull at the ties on her bodice. Unimpressed by her tardiness he kicked out at her shins.

"Undress now or I will have them tear the clothes from your body."

She slid the rich red dress from her shoulders and she could see the restless shuffling of the men from the corner of her eye. They were gazing at her, savouring the vision of her naked flesh as it became visible with agonising slowness. First the creamy smoothness of her shoulder, then the smooth arch of her back. She had turned away from them, but as so few of them had the pleasure of gazing on nakedness any part of her was enflaming.

Those who had wives were used to their modesty, those who used whores were used to a quickly raised skirt in an alleyway – but to see a fine lady peel away her garments was perfectly tortuous.

As the dress fell to the ground then she would loosen her linens and as more and more of her pale, smooth skin showed itself she was aware of the hush about her – as though every man were holding their breath in anticipation. Even through her fear she heard it, and felt it – recognising something in the power of the moment. These men were here to capture her – and yet she had them captured as they watched her.

With every inch of exposed flesh she felt the tension grow. As the soft cotton lawn of her underclothes slid from her skin to the ground she turned steadily around.

The men gazed at her, transported. She stood in the broken evening sunlight, dappling gold and green on the floor of the clearing where it made its way through the leafy canopy above her. Her pale skin was luminescent – as pale, and seemingly as smooth as alabaster. Every man in the clearing wanted her – wanted to step forward and touch her, to be sure she was real and not an apparition.

Her hair fell loose about her shoulders, as dark as her skin was pale. Her eyes were fierce and full of a new courage and daring, as she looked about the stunned faces before her. They looked upon her, the soft curve of her hip, her angular shoulders, the soft swell of her breasts, dark and hard at their tip.

Those who dared be brazen and look had seen the shocking smoothness between her legs. They could see that she was bare where she should not be, and they could see the soft folds lying closed across her deep pink slit.

Thomas was the first to note it. He stepped towards her, hesitantly, and out his hand out to touch her there. She stepped back slowly and with control – as though she were dancing with him – teasing him. He stepped again, and again she moved away, her eyes steady and defiant on his.

"Hold her!" he barked at a man standing behind her, and she felt large, strong hands about her elbows. She could feel hot, sour breath against her neck and feel the heat of the mans body close against hers, even the hardness of his member pressing into the small of her back.

Thomas stepped forward, and this time there was nowhere for her to go. His eyes still locked on hers he lowered his hand to reach between her legs, touching the smooth, slick folds of her naked lips. He slipped one broad finger across the darker flesh of her clitoris, peeking shyly from between her labia and she gasped as he met her swollen, still damp, centre.

He was lost for words. He couldn't believe that the woman who had shown no interest in his bed for three years had allowed someone to shave her bare and leave her moist and willing like this. Deep in his belly he felt the hot rage of a cuckolded man – but something else – an unmistakable desire to have her again and feel the sweetness of her around his aching prick.

As his finger slipped easily on her moist folds she involuntarily found herself arching towards his hand, parting her thighs ever so slightly to allow his to enter her further. Even as she did so, she felt shocked that she could allow it. She had never felt anything but distain for her husband – sometimes even loathing – and yet she had allowed herself to reach such depths that she would let him molest her in front of strangers, simply to satisfy the ache between her legs.

Thomas stepped back, angered and wishing to quell his lust and satisfy his bitterness instead.

"John Hopps!" he called out the man's name and the youngest of the lawmen stepped forward. He was fair haired and smooth skinned and Isabelle would put him at no more than nineteen years. "Have you enjoyed a woman yet, young lad?"

The youngster blushed furiously; he dropped his head and shook it only very slightly. The group laughed, not unkindly, and a large beefy man patted him on his back with fatherly affection.

"Would you like to try your hand with my wife?" Thomas' voice was unreadable, and the lad's expression showed that he clearly feared making the wrong answer. "You do like girls?" he paused with a cold smile "You would rather take her than take me, for example?"

John met his eyes for the first time and eyed him with fury – Isabelle suspected he had been taunted with this before and was unwilling to have them think him queer.

"I like girls plenty." John's voice was quiet when he spoke, but it held steady.

"Then perhaps you would like to have her – the offer is a genuine one" Thomas held up his hands as if to prove himself honest. "It seems she has been learning some new tricks in my absence and she may be a lot more pleasure to you than she was to me in our marriage bed."

John looked at her and seemed gripped by something – a terrible fear or an uncontrollable passion – he could barely move. His mouth fell open and his eyes roamed across her bare curves as though she were something delicious he wanted to devour.

The man gripping her from behind pressed his knees into the backs of her legs and she folded instantly onto the ground. She felt the cool grass against her naked back, and the heat of Johns gaze against her skin for what seemed like an age before he moved.

He knelt before her, down at her feet, and without a thought she had parted her legs to allow him to move closer. She heard her husband make a strangled kind of growl, and knew then that the only way she could harm him now was to show how little his punishment harmed her.

Emboldened she lifted her legs wider still, inviting the young man to enter her – knowing that she was still damp from her play with the two gypsy women.

John was panting hard now, one hand fumbling with his trousers to release a painfully hard cock, the other hovering over this woman's body, hardly daring to touch her. Her skin seemed luminescent in the gathering gloom of the clearing, and her hair fanned behind her, framing her beautiful face.

Never before had he seen a woman naked. Never had he feasted his eyes on the softness and the curves – he wanted to take his time, to touch her and soak up the sensation of her body beneath his. Remembering the others around him was a torment – he wished they would disappear and allow him to revel in this wondrous moment, so long awaited.

He had not imagined his first experience of a woman would be in circumstances such as these – he didn't care for the thought that she was being forced – but the woman did not look like she was reluctant to take him. She met his hungry gaze with a hard, fierce look that was almost triumphant.

He brought his hard virgin cock towards her, looking down at the smooth, silken skin where he knew there should be hair. She was parted slightly, a small flash of deep red showing, glistening between her outer lips. He knew he had to put himself there, and in one moment of delicious anticipation he touched her hot, wet centre with the purple head of his straining shaft and then groaned in frustration and shame as he divulged a great stream of hot white fluid against her, without ever getting between her lips.

She gave a small sigh, and the men behind him laughed and mocked. He felt himself shrivel almost immediately and hung his head. Her soft, smooth lips were coated with his thick, white 'spending' but he had missed his chance to savour her properly.

Behind him, he felt hands on his shoulders and Tam Sawrey stepped forward, pulling in out of the way.

"You can't give a boy a man's job!" he laughed and in an instant he was between her legs, his hand already around his small, hard penis. He was within her in a second, pushing his entire shaft into her in one movement, made easier by the slick fluid coating her. Unfortunately, he was as swift to leave her as to enter her and had come with a grunt in less that a minute.

The men crowed competition growing between them to better the efforts that they had witnessed. Isabelle could feel hot fluid leaking from deep inside her, down the soft, sensitive crack of her behind and onto the cool grass. She could see her husband, silhouetted against the last of the daylight as it filtered through the trees – his expression in darkness, watching – seemingly impassive.

Sawrey's son, Isabelle recognised as the next to step forward, a tall, handsome lad with hair the colour of straw. He knelt before her pressing gently on her raised knees to part her legs still further. She again felt the trickle of fluid leaking across her smooth skin, and she saw Sawrey's gaze follow its path.

He placed his hand gently over her and she felt his fingers draw gently across her swollen lips. He raised his fingers and she saw that they glistened even in the gathering dusk. He brought his hand to her lips and motioned for her to taste them. Momentarily stunned she could not imagine tasting these strangers – tasting them along with her own tastes – but one thought of her husband and she refused to protest. There would be nothing so bad that she would not endure it, perhaps even enjoy it, if it meant robbing her husband of his desire to shame her.

Her tongue snaked from between her lips and she felt the slick, salty fingers enter her mouth. The taste coated her tongue and she felt the warm slippery fluid against her lips. Sawrey bent forward and kissed her hard on the mouth, his tongue nudging between her lips, probing. She heard her husband make a noise – she wasn't sure if it was in excitement or anger, but Sawrey withdrew immediately.

Isabelle reached forward, touching the back of Sawrey's neck, where he was flushed and hot. She felt his hairline damp, and she could feel the rhythm of his pulse which told of his mounting excitement. She pulled his head forward, even though he made a pretence of resisting, and she brought him back into a kiss – this time meeting his tongue with hers.

Thomas spoke, his voice dry and harsh with fury and lust.

"Just fuck her, Sawrey – I didn't ask you to spoon with her!"

At the moment his mouth pulled away from hers she felt the head of his shaft enter her in one swift motion, slipping easily in the moist heat of her centre. Now she felt the unmistakable arousal – not just an act to anger her husband. Here was a handsome young man, with a fine broad cock, meeting her eyes with a gaze filled with lust. She could feel her own tunnel walls gripping hard on his, feeling the rough surface of his heavily veined shaft, feeling the rhythmic slapping of his heavy sacks against her naked skin.

She heard her own voice, the grunting that matched the growing desire, the cries of beautiful tension and need. She could here, as if from a great distance, the men around her calling and shouting and urging them on. Suddenly she felt a hand at her breasts – one man had broken ranks and stepped forward to touch her, one hand on his purple headed shaft, working furiously, another touching her small, hard nipples and cupping her mounds as they swayed to the movements they were making.

As if emboldened by his actions other came forward too – until everyone but her husband was gathered close to her.

Sawrey pulled her legs up as high as they would go, splaying her widely, to allow the others a view of his thick member thrusting back and forth into her glistening, hairless slit. She felt hands against her legs, caressing her skin, another hand at her breasts, and one rubbing the smooth curved flesh of her exposed rump.

She could feel passion deepening – the need to feel come growing deeper as the cock inside her thrust ever deeper between her splayed legs. The other hands were a delicious torment, making her feel like she was being taken again and again by some many limbed beast.

As her juices flowed with increasing force she felt the warm rush of her own moisture and the men's seed coursing down across her rump, past her naked anus, and amongst the trickles she imagined she felt something else.

Within a few moments she identified the feelings of fingers against her backside, moving smoothly on the slippery moisture, and with a cry of surprise and lust she felt something probe her anus with a small stabbing motion.

Sawreys movements were growing more exaggerated, they cries of the men were throaty and desperate, the man to her left cries out, showering her pale, smooth shoulder in ribbons of white and behind Sawrey, hidden from view, she felt someone push their finger deep into her anus.

The effect was instantaneous. She felt her body tense and thrust forward, impaling herself on both her invaders – and with both shaft and finger filling her she felt her body buck furiously as her cries echoed around the clearing.

She felt her pussy flood with hot cream, a mixture of her own and Sawrey's, and felt the muscles clench again and again in both her passages, gripping hard and feeling every contour of the things buried within her.

She could barely breathe, she could hardly think, she felt carried on wave after wave of desperate, needy bliss. She felt no guilt, no shame – only pleasure and fulfilment.

As the cries around her stilled, and the salty smears of white fluid now all over her dried cool in the evening air the men stepped away. The digit slipped form her aching backside and Sawrey hauled himself off her, his spent shaft leaving her with a sucking sound, and he dragged his exhausted body upright.

Thomas stepped forward.

"Now...it must be my turn."