Chapter II
“I WISH to sleep with you in your bed, master.”
“That is not possible.” The jester would not look at her. “I am repulsive.”
“You are repulsive, aye, but for what you have done to me, not for the hunch in your back.”
“I am different and it is my difference that revolts and excites you. You think I am a monster panting for an innocent maiden. To be defiled by a grotesque is what you seek. The girl, Fallon does not want a nobleman to fuck her; she wants a freak. Ah, you are wet for me. I can smell you.”
He pushed his fingers rudely between her legs.
“If that is so, then why do you deny me? Make love to me,” she breathed, throwing her head back in ecstasy.
His fingers teased the bud of her sex to engorged fullness. Erotic fondling, charged with lust, Fallon longed to feel her master’s mouth on her breast—to kiss his sensual, cruel mouth, to be taken by him. The demand he had created in her was past bearing.
“I will not take your virginity, Fallon, but I can give you another release. There, open your legs wider, there—my hand will serve you well and leave your maidenhead unbroken.”
She was hot for his prick, too hot to be put off by his deformity. Dumas’ strikingly handsome face put Fallon in mind of the Prince of Darkness who was also said to be beautiful. Dumas the Jester was as twisted in his soul as he was in body.
“You are a monster for making me love you with no hope of being loved in return. You have turned me into a wanton who desires to know a man. I did not have such thoughts until you. Do you not desire to take me, master?” Fallon heard her voice pleading with him and she was ashamed. The work he performed between her legs had crushed her self-respect. She craved a release she didn’t understand.
“I cannot, Fallon. It is more than my life is worth.”
She wept and writhed between his legs as he stroked her faster and faster. Her legs parted and milky fluid dripped from her womanhood. He jerked his prick with his other hand and the knob came dangerously close to her tight entrance. Fallon held the beam above her head to keep her balance. The jester had an excellent view of her young taut skin, full firm breasts and the slim hips of a virgin.
At thirty-eight, Dumas was too old to be this slavishly hot for a young girl. What had transpired between them was not his intention when he rescued Fallon from her attackers. One night of loneliness and a desire to look upon youthful beauty had turned him into a lecherous jailer. She was in his power and he was too weak to resist the temptation to make the girl perform for him.
Self-pleasure had satisfied him until this night. Fallon was pushing him beyond his willpower. Dumas did not lie, nor did he exaggerate—fucking her would likely be the death of him. He had seen it too often with the spies working for King John to believe that he would somehow be cleverer and not be found out. Loving a woman made a man vulnerable and a vulnerable man made mistakes.
And Fallon was a girl like no other. Four months of living with her had softened his wits. She stirred feelings in him, beyond the thrill her nubile body delivered. She was passionate and giving, she warmed him on waking with her smile and she lifted his spirit through the grim hours with her enthusiasm for even the smallest trifles.
If he made love to her, he would be lost. If she were captured—if anything should happen to her—they would only have to threaten her life for him to tell them everything.
Dumas never imagined he would be faced with this dilemma. Fallon, standing over him, naked and offering her body—nay! demanding that he make love to her—and he wanted that very thing from the depth of his soul. He had trusted the deformity to protect him. He did not anticipate the girl seeing past his physique and loving the man within.
“It is Christmas Day, Dumas,” she urged. “Are we to have no pleasure of our own? No one will know. I swear. I will never reveal what we do here. Please, master! I do not understand your objection!”
Dumas could not answer.
Love was dangerous to a man on the run. Mistakes get made, a man stops thinking. If they were exposed, Dumas would be executed and Fallon would be sold to the soldiers’ encampment. Fallon was a beautiful copper-haired, green-eyed vixen. And she was also a virgin. She would be used by the soldiers until there was nothing left of her, or she was consumed by disease or impregnated with a babe that would be born dead.
“Do not consent to lose so rich a prize as your virginity to half a man,” he managed to reply. “Nay, I have taken what I can from you. I’ll leave the rest for your husband.”
He had lain with many women before but never wanted to possess one as he did this girl. Dumas had been shaken the first night she stood before him naked. So young, so pure and shy, and yet trembling with desire for a shrunken, grotesque hunchback. Her compassion for his loneliness and her need for his protection had moved him deeply.
Though he had done his best to push her away, it was no use. His feelings for Fallon were deepening daily. And what of hers? What did she feel for him? She had almost given the game away tonight when Broderick lashed out at him. Fallon had cried out with a scream that was distinctly feminine.
She moaned from deep within her body. Dumas had urged the girl close to climax. His cock throbbed to be inside her.
“I shall never marry. You said it yourself. No man will have me, therefore my maidenhead is mine to give, and I choose to give it to you, Dumas.”
Fallon suddenly grasped his shaft and straddled his thighs. Dumas protested as she pressed his rod to the entrance of her hot, wet vagina. “You must,” she panted. “Say you will! You must take me, master, you must or I swear I shall leave the caravan and find a man who will.”
The hunchback could no longer restrain himself. “This once, Fallon, this once and never again, do you hear?” With his powerful thighs, he thrust up, impaling her virgin sex on his shaft.
Fallon gasped and cried out from the pain, and then fell over him, sobbing. He had timed the fingering of her budded rose with the splitting of her hymen so that pleasure and pain were joined in one ecstatic moment.
His cock was huge and hard, filling and stretching Fallon’s virgin sex that squeezed him like a vise. Dumas dared not move for he was too close to spilling his seed.
“Oh god, is that what it feels like? Is this love? It hurts me so, Dumas.” Fallon’s breath came in short gasps. “Dumas, the pain is terrible.”
“Shall I stop, Fallon?”
“No, no, no ... I am unharmed ... I am ... it is ... oh my ... this sensation is unlike anything I’ve experienced....” Fallon bounced up and down, riding him. She was a hot wet tunnel stretched round his cock, her breasts jiggling with each thrust.
“I am sorry....” The words strangled in his throat. “Forgive me for this...”
Dumas lost control. His face clenched and his neck corded. He gripped her small hard buttocks in his strong hands and pounded her slick tight sex. Months of foreplay, months of watching her undress for him had unmanned him. He threw his head back, roaring with the ejaculation as he filled the girl with his seed.
She cried out with pleasure and then broke down in tears. “Oh! Oh, Dumas you must love me a little now. You must.”
He stroked her shorn head and held her close, tenderly rubbing her back. “You foolish girl, I do love you. How could you avoid seeing it? I love you, Fallon. I could not stop it.”
“You do, you do,” she wailed and laughed. “You love me! Then why, Dumas—why didn’t you say so. We could have been together all this time. I was growing to hate you and hate myself—until tonight—until I realized that you had played false with me, pretending to be a lecherous villain when you were a good man.”
“I’m not a good man ... I’m not ... I’m not. A good man would have let you be.”
But Fallon would not be persuaded. “You love me, Dumas. You love me. That is all I care about. And I love you. With all my heart, I love you.”
Fallon kissed Dumas on the lips, softly pressing her plump fu
ll mouth to his and kissing him with great love and passion.
Dumas held her face in his strong hands and took possession of her mouth, kissing her deeply—wildly hot for her again while still inside her. Sweat beaded his brow.
Fallon gripped him tightly in a hot embrace, and then, puzzled, she released him and drew back to examine her lover.
“Dumas, the hunch in your back has moved.”
Instantly, the jester tried to push her away from him. “It has not,” Dumas said weakly. “It is only that you are crossed-eyed from riding my staff.”
“No, no, the deformity has moved from your right shoulder to the middle of your back. Here, I will show you—”
He leapt to his feet and flung her off him. Fallon fell rudely to the floor. Her master rose tall and straight above her, his chest heaving.
“There, see—you are standing upright! You are straight and tall as an oak tree! What trickery is this? You are not deformed at all—but as straight as an arrow!”
Dumas dropped to his knees and clapped his hand over her mouth. “Shut up, you little fool. Do you want to get us both killed? You mistake me, Fallon. I am only a fool, a court jester, deformed at birth. You are the boy who assists me, who fetches and carries my props for my performances. We two are poor entertainers, no danger to anyone. Thus, we travel where we will, unmolested. Do you understand?”
Fallon nodded her head and the jester removed his hand from her mouth.
“You have been in disguise all these months and did not tell me. It is not fair that you see me as I really am and I am not granted the same pleasure,” Fallon whispered. “Show me yourself. No—do not douse the light, Dumas. I want to see the man who has made love to me.”
Her keeper drew up to a great height. Dumas pulled the heavily embroidered tunic off over his head. The deformity was a mere prop, a bit of stagecraft strapped to his muscled chest.
Fallon’s master was a whole man, strong and well-formed. Exceedingly well-formed, she thought after he removed his hose and stood over her naked. Her pulse raced as she looked upon him.
“Who are you?” she gasped.