Virginblood (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 4)

The seven bastard sons of
Guillaume d'Anzeray are on a mission to find wives -- women to
breed the next generation of a dark dynasty that many wish to see
extinct.

It won't be easy to find
brides from among the Norman nobility, for the d'Anzeray are
upstarts, their family's fortunes raised through bloodshed and
violence. As one holy man and chronicler of their times has
written,
"From the devil they came and to
the devil they will return".
But these
brothers
don't care much for holy men or
for what is written about them. Now, with the future of their
bloodline at stake these mercenary warriors need wives and they
have no scruples when it comes to claiming the women they
desire.

Virginblood

Seven Brides for Seven
Bastards, 4

by

Georgia Fox

M/F/M/M/M/M/M/M, M/F/M, F/F, ANAL,

SPANKING, VOYUERISM, ORGIES,

PUBLIC EXHIBITION, DOUBLE PENETRATION,

CONSUMPTION OF VIRGIN’S BLOOD IN WINE,

DUBIOUS CONSENT, AND FORCED SEDUCTION

Twisted Erotica Publishing,
Inc.

A TWISTED EROTICA PUBLISHING
BOOK

Virginblood

Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 4

Copyright © 2013 by Georgia Fox

Edited by Marie Medina

First E-book Publication: September 2013,
SMASHWORDS EDITION

Cover design by K Designs

All cover art and logo copyright © 2013,
Twisted Erotica Publishing.

ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED:
This literary work may not be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part,
without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book
are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is
strictly coincidental.

DEDICATION

To: Debbie

"
They were ruffians, murderers and wife-stealers. They took as
they desired without bowing to law or God, or
conscience."

Herallt, medieval chronicler, on the
deeds of the d'Anzeray family

Prologue

It was one of the three wives who told
the story at supper. Aelfa, a Saxon woman, had spent her early
childhood listening to extravagant, adventurous tales told by her
mother. Many of them had stuck in her mind, and she was a good
storyteller, so the others often encouraged her in the evenings for
entertainment. Whether the tales were true or not, no one cared.
They listened avidly, soon caught up in Aelfa's words, which she
spun as cleverly as a cobweb.

Little Jeanne, the maid of Lady
Isobel, had tried not to listen, for the stories were too often of
a saucy nature and painted pictures in her mind that she would
rather not have there. As a chaste young woman, god-fearing and
timid, she was very much out of place at the castellany d'Anzeray,
where men shared wives and women shared husbands, where sexual acts
were freely spoken of, celebrated and sometimes performed in
public. Where there was apparently no guilt, no shame, and no
passion restrained. Just as there was no prayer.

But she had gone there with her
mistress when Lady Isobel became one of the d'Anzeray wives, and
now this wicked, unholy place was her home. Loyal Jeanne could
never leave her beloved mistress to suffer alone in this den of
uncouth beasts, so she had sacrificed herself as a devoted servant
should and entered this dark fortress to defend her lady from
whatever horror awaited.

Not that Lady Isobel appeared to be
suffering at all. If anything she was flourishing, much to Jeanne's
pert disapproval.

Whenever the merry redhead Aelfa began
with one of her stories, Jeanne tried to stop her ears from
absorbing the words, but on this particular evening the woman began
by explaining that her heroine was a virgin. Jeanne's attention was
caught and trapped immediately because she hoped this tale might
not be as vulgar as all the others. A virgin, she thought—finally a
worthy heroine. Perhaps there would be some moral lesson to this
story.

Ha! She should have known better. By
the end of Aelfa's tale the prim, haughty virgin had been
thoroughly and haplessly deflowered by a dozen men on the feast of
Samhain, much to the raucous amusement of all those assembled at
supper. Except for Jeanne who, being the only virgin in that hall,
felt as if they laughed at her.

"The sacrifice of her maidenhead
brought great fortune to the Thane and his people for the following
year," finished Aelfa, once the laughter had died down, "and thus,
every Samhain thereafter, a virgin was hunted down and
ceremoniously awoken to womanhood. It became tradition, and they
called it Virginblood."

Chapter One

1072

The Castle of Guillaume
d'Anzeray

The first time Jeanne watched her
mistress being mounted by all seven of her new husbands, she almost
fainted. Her toes and fingers went numb. Her belly felt hollow and
a strange, wicked heat began in her loins. She did not, however,
become sick with disgust. The shocked maiden had fully expected to
cast up the contents of her stomach, but it did not happen. If
anything she became quite hungry.

And shamefully curious.

At once she ran to the threshing barn
and prayed. Had there been a chapel she would have gone there, but
in this castle there was no such place. The d'Anzeray family to
which her wayward mistress now belonged, did not hold much respect
for holy men, and it was said that the patriarch, Guillaume
d'Anzeray, would not have one anywhere on the property. He allowed
only one nun, a very old lady, to tend him with medicines, but she
was not permitted to speak of god. Indeed, she did not speak at
all—at least while others were present—but flung incense around his
room, shook her head and pursed her lips. Jeanne had wondered why
the nun went there every day, when she was treated with such
disrespect, but no one else seemed curious. It was, like many
strange things in that place, accepted without question.

With nowhere designated for prayer in
this castle, Jeanne must make do with the barn, a warm, quiet place
where she could kneel in the straw and pray for her soul—and that
of her mistress.

"Lady Isobel has been led astray," she
whispered into her fingertips, eyes clenched tight as if that
might, somehow, erase the vision of what she'd just witnessed in
the main hall. But it did not. She saw once again the scene of
three d'Anzeray brothers penetrating her mistress’ body with their
swords of flesh, possessing all entrances, while their four
siblings waited their turn, petting and stroking her mistress. For
Jeanne, who had never been touched intimately by any man, it was a
picture she could only watch with one eye open. But she could not
look away. "My Lady Isobel has fallen to the sin of lust with these
terrible men," she shivered, "and I came here with her because I
could not leave her side. I could not leave my lady here without a
friend. Now I fear that I—"

A sound in the straw behind her
brought Jeanne's prayers to a sharp halt. Her eyes flew open. The
skin at her nape, under the long braid of hair, prickled in fear.
Was that a man's breath? Or was it merely a breeze making the barn
door creak, shuffling through the loose straw? Every sense was on
alert, stretched taut, ready to snap. If they caught her praying,
what would they do to her? Shivers stroked her skin beneath her
garments, as she considered the many and lurid ways she might be
punished.

The eldest brother—Salvador, had
threatened her with a spanking once when she got up the gumption to
call him a "godless, stinking heathen". But he had said it with
laughter in his voice and a bemused light piercing through the
sinister dark of his brooding eyes. As if a spanking might not
necessarily be punishment for her. Not knowing what he meant by it,
Jeanne had stayed out of his way as much as possible.

She gathered her courage, twisted
around and looked back over her shoulder, but saw only the empty
barn behind her. Afternoon sunlight, muted to a soft bronze at this
time of year, slipped through knotholes in the timber walls and
caught on tiny specks of hay dust, making them twinkle as they
danced and drifted through the air. All else was peaceful,
still.

Satisfied that she was alone, Jeanne
turned back to her prayers, but once again she was distracted by
thoughts of what she'd witnessed half an hour ago—those seven
bastard sons of Guillaume d'Anzeray rutting with her fine, noble
lady, taking her in every orifice, filling her with their filthy
seed. Sweating bodies gleaming in the light of the fire as they all
writhed about on the furs, stroking, petting, licking and suckling
her mistress. A tangle of limbs and tongues. Seven large shafts,
erect and eager, pushing in wherever they could, thrusting and
throbbing and pumping. And Lady Isobel—once so elegant and
dignified— submitting to it with the eagerness of a whore, crying
out unashamedly whenever they brought her to climax.

Jeanne swallowed. Slowly she slid a
hand down over her belly and between her thighs. The wicked need
had come upon her, and she knew it would not leave until she'd
satisfied it. Today it was worse than usual, a fierce, grinding
hunger that threatened to devour her if she did not bring herself
relief somehow.

She spread her knees in the straw and
touched her pussy, but the thick wool of her winter gown was in the
way. Impatient to appease the wicked, fiery beast in her loins and
get back to saving her soul with prayers, Jeanne tugged the gown up
to her hips. Then there was only the thin, worn material of her
under-shift. As long as she kept that as a barrier between her hand
and her flesh, perhaps it would not be quite so sinful.
Perhaps.

But when she pressed her fingers to
the pulsing heat between her legs, the under-shift quickly became
wet and then she might as well have fondled her cunny directly for
the damp patch of cloth was thin as gossamer. And growing larger as
her dew spread upon it. She bit down on her lip, fighting the urge
to groan as the heat gathered in steady waves, mounting one upon
the other. By bending forward slightly, she let her breasts hang
just enough to feel their heaviness increase and the pinch of her
tight nipples catch against her bodice, increasing her naughty
pleasure. Arching her back, she quickly hitched her gown and shift
higher to feel the slap of cold air on her bottom. Ah, yes. Yes.
Now she pressed her fingers against her pussy lips and rubbed
frantically.