The Passions of Gwendolyn
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The Passions of Gwendolyn by Lizbeth Dusseau
A Fourteenth Century Romance. Abducted from the arms of her lover by a band of thieving rogues, Gwendolyn’s life is teeming with barbarian bandits, treacherous gentlemen, an insidious princess, high-spirited Gypsies, and a host of characters that try to mold Gwendolyn to their own designs. Often required to submit, making accommodations to save her body and soul, Gwendolyn maintains her dignity. And though her fate looks bleak, she hangs on to the dream of a virtuous lover who will give her the love, peace and sexual satisfaction she desires. A fast-paced tale filled with raucous sexual antics, including anal sexuality, female bisexuality, as well as bondage and punishment.
Cover Image Ollyy, shutterstock.com
Revised Edition 2013
I couldn’t think of anyone I would rather slay than this man. All the thieves roving the countryside were not as contemptible as him. As a member of the court, to declare virtue, to pledge to a code of honor and demean it so – he was the most evil imaginable. And yet, for all his vile speech and arrogance, for all his demeaning words and the lurid look in his eyes, I shivered everywhere from the strange power that he was holding over us. I felt the dark side of me screaming for the act to commence, almost as if I wanted it. I could say that it was just to get the horror over with, but I must confess there was more than just horror compelling me.
By then, Sir Roger was beyond words. His arm most graciously motioning me to the ground, I did as he ordered, taking up the demanded position on hands and knees. As I did, I watched from the corner of my eye while he collected the leather straps he’d punish me with. They were tethers from his horse’s gear, two of them, three feet long at least, that he doubled in his fist to make a lash of four lengths.
“Yes, wiggle that ass for me,” he chided as he approached my rear. “Wiggle it!”
I complied, swaying my bottom as if I was taunting a man to take me.
“More,” he said, and I swayed it more, my waiting ass cheeks clenching and releasing. Tears were already spilling from my eyes as the humiliation commenced.
The feel of the lash on my backside was like fire descending to my skin. Hot. So very hot. It burned from the beginning, and kept burning for the duration. He was ruthless, using the force of his whole arm to bring the lash down against my flesh. There was no need for him to order that I “sway” it, the act came naturally, as if that might make the pain less fierce. Again and again he pelted my bottom so hard, I imagine my cries could be heard through the whole forest.
When he finished with the lash, he tossed it away.
“You’ll like this, Gwendolyn,” he sneered, as he knelt behind me. I could feel his powerful thighs against my burning ones. “I understand it’s quite a thrill, like none other.”
Oddly, I was aroused, a fact that was loathsome to me, even if it was true; and taking advantage of that, Sir Roger smeared my female juices to moisten the rear door, and then inserted two fingers there to encourage the opening.
“Don’t scream too much, wench. I’m not sure you want the whole world to see this.”
But scream I did. I have no recollection how much I responded to his entry, I was too far gone to know. As soon as he replaced his fingers with his stiff cock at my back door and pushed it wide with a burrowing thrust, something savage and brilliant and primitive burst inside me. There was pain and thrill crashing around me and inside.
But one thrust was not enough, there was more yet, when Sir Roger began to ride me like an animal. Though every atom in me cringed in fear, something else took over once his steady rhythm was clear. I would never have predicted the outcome, but I was expanding to allow him deeper, relaxing so that my mind could focus on the power of our fused bodies. His cock, my ass – it was a warfare of sorts, and also a peace pact as we came to make this union something we’d both long remember. When at last he exploded in my ass, I thought surely there was a fire set in inside that would consume me. When he withdrew, I knew I missed him there. I was almost crying for the emptiness I felt.