Azalea Ch 02

Please forgive a little sloppiness, I have a very bad tendency to over-edit, which I'm trying not to do. (I think the trick is to find the balance, but while I'm working on that – some areas might fall a bit short :o!)

All characters are entirely fictional and any likeness or similarities to any persons are purely coincidental.

Thanks for dropping by.

(On a side note: the characters seem to be taking a bit of a Non Consensual/Reluctance turn. Just an advance warning as it's not to everyone's taste; there are many talented authors on Lit that I suggest your peruse if this doesn't appeal to you. This story is being listed under Novels/Novellas and the short description may not be explanatory enough.)

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Azalea slowly opened her eyes, not that there was much to see in the darkness. Her body felt as though she'd been used as a punching bag. Closing her eyes, she lay motionless. It was difficult to think clearly, to remember when her energy was so low. The sloppy gruel they'd been feeding her was barely enough, but that's what they wanted her to be; weak and desperate.

She didn't want to eat the food – if you could call it that, she wanted to defy them, not be dependant on them; but, while she was proud, she wasn't senseless.

Time, Azalea thought. There was no concept of time down here. No ticking second hand, no dripping water, nothing. She used to be able to sense the changes in the air, identify what part of the day it was, without having to look outside. Now that sense eluded her. How long would it be before the others deserted her?

Her eyes snapped open at the short stab of panic in her chest. There would be only so much she could take, then... she squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

Don't start thinking like that, or you'll be defeated before you begin.

Azalea rolled onto her side, pushed herself to her knees and slowly stood up. Tentatively she stepped, making her towards the wall of the cell.

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Buckley roared with laughter as he slapped his stein down, the golden ale splashing up and out of the mug onto the wooden table. The Ox tavern was bursting at the seams, bustling with beer guzzling patrons, dancing and clambering over chairs; the atmosphere heightened by the quick fingered fiddler and echoes of The Devil went down to Georgia.

James shrunk further into the corner, nursing his beer. He was finding it difficult to garner any enjoyment as images of woman's head snapping back kept replaying in his mind. He look sideways at Buckley; the man was a Neanderthal. James grimaced as as the buxom Marguerite returned to their table.

"Come here woman!" Buckley's arm snaked out and grabbed the shrieking redhead, pulling her rounded bottom onto his lap. She made a half-hearted wriggle to escape his grasp. Buckley's grin deepened as his cock swelled against her the generous curve of her arse. "Just keep doing that." Buckley said against her ear, and for a moment Marguerite stilled, before wriggling once again. Slowly her wriggle became a languid gyrating movement against Buckley's cock. Reaching around her, he grabbed her breast and squeezed hard and then he grabbed her firmly around the waist. His other hand found it's way under her dress, his fingers trailing up her leg. "Buckley!" Marguerite hissed grabbing his arm and trying to get off his lap, but he wouldn't budge. Before she could stop him, his fingers found her inner thigh and brushed against her thick lips. "Buckley!" she squealed trying once again to get off his lap, but the more she moved the more contact her pussy made with his fingers. She pursed her lips and continue her struggle, trying to ignore his fingers, but it was no use and embarrassingly the friction was making her pussy wet.

"Just what I like, wet cunt." he growled and for a moment Marguerite's cheeks were aflame, the colour matching her fiery hair. Buckley plunged two fingers into her wet pussy and Marguerite's head came back against his shoulder. Suddenly she found herself on her feet, Buckley yanking her towards the stairs. "Come on woman!" he commanded pushing through the boisterous crowd, Marguerite struggling to keep up with his long stride. Before Marguerite knew it she thrown on the bed in the one of the tavern's empty rooms lodging rooms, her dress and petticoats flying up around her waist, exposing her generous pussy as she landed.

In an instant, Buckley was on top of her, his large hand pushing her heavy breasts from the top of her dress, groping and kneading them roughly. The tip of his large cock, pressed against the wet lips of her cunt. Grabbing the top of her shoulder Buckley thrust, ungraciously slamming up into her. Marguerite grunted, her arched brows drawing together at the force of Buckley's cock. Gathering momentum, Buckley fucked with deliberate strokes while Marguerite pushed her hips against him. She could feel his wet balls slapping against her crack while pleasure rippled in her belly. Marguerite closed her eyes and groaned.

Too bad...

Buckley would be a nice catch... It was hard not to be impressed by his stature amongst other things. Marguerite stifled a chuckled as she felt the bounce of her breasts. She reached up and pinched her nipples, groaning once again. He was boyishly handsome, with his thick mop of golden hair, and moss-coloured eyes, and, she couldn't deny she liked a good hard fucking, but there was something...

Marguerite opened her eyes and looked at Buckley's face expecting his narcissistic smile, her respondent grin dying on her lips. Buckley wasn't smiling, he was sneering, perspire shining on his forehead, his green eyes dark, focussed and narrow. He was staring at Marguerite's face but he wasn't seeing her.

Marguerite's skin prickled and she stopped meeting his thrusts.

Something was wrong...

"Buckley?" A touch of fear lowered her voice to a whisper. Nothing. Marguerite tried again. "Buckley?" This time her voice was louder, as she tried to suppress her alarm. Buckley's only response was to thrust brutally between her legs. Marguerite dug her heels into the bed and tried to move away from him coming to halt when she found his hands around her, his thumbs pressing on her windpipe. Panic ripped through her as she tried to claw at his arms. "Buckley!" the scream was caught in her throat as he increased the pressure around her neck.

Stinkin' whore, I'll teach you.

Buckley hadn't stopped thinking about the raven haired woman since he'd left Carnus' place. He wanted to fuck her till she screamed, until she begged for mercy and after that he'd fuck her in the arse and make her scream some more. No whore got away with trying to stop Buckley from getting what he wanted.

He looked down and saw her – her raven hair spread out on the bed. She tweaked her nipples then looked up at him and smiled, mocking him, silently laughing at him. Rage filled Buckley's mind.

Laughing at me? I'll wipe that smile off your face.

He put his hands around her necked and pushed his thumbs down and watched with pleasure as her face blanched in terror, her indigo eyes paling. She tried to stop him, her hands scratching at his arms. He squeezed his hands a little bit more as he felt her try to scream, the pulse of her throat going straight to his cock. It was all that he needed, his head tipping back, roaring as he came.

Sweat, slid down Buckley's temples as he panted. Looking down, his eyes widened as he saw Marguerite trembling under him, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears streaming down her face. He let go of her throat, purplish bruises already forming where his hands had been. Buckley smiled wryly. He was almost disappointed it wasn't the raven haired whore, even if he did usually enjoy fucking Marguerite. Shrugging he tucked himself away with thoughts of beer and left to rejoin the cacophony downstairs.

Marguerite's gray eyes flashed open, filled with hatred when she heard the door close. "Fucking bastard." Anger slid over her body like a second skin.

Just you wait...

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Sounds like a recipe for revenge!

It's almost journalistic story telling, I don't have a definitive path for any of the characters so each chapter is as it comes.

Thanks again for dropping by.