The Wraggle Taggle Gypsies

The new moon came slowly, even though it was only three nights. Isabelle had returned to her home in a new state of wretchedness – trying at once to put her passion for Peter aside, whilst wrestling with a yearning need to see him again.

Moving about the great house she felt sure that servants and visitors must see was had happened to her – that they could tell from a movement, a look, or perhaps a lingering smell that she had been lying on her back in the sand with a stranger buried deep between her legs.

She had managed to slip home unnoticed, though the state of her clothes drew the attention of her maid; however, rejoining her life seemed an impossibility. How could she behave like the lady she had once been, when she had lowered herself like that?

Suddenly she wasn't a lady any more – she cared nothing for the running of the house, for maintaining her reputation, for being a good wife. In every quiet moment her minds eye would stray to Peters visit to her bedchamber, or to their coupling on the sand beside the river. She could see the curve of his shaft in her hand, feel the rasp of his unshaven chin against her thigh, imagine the drive of his cock as it forced her walls to part.

She could no longer keep up the pretence of her former life when she spent her days wet between her legs, desperate to recapture the moments with him, and her private moments with fingers buried in her soft folds, trying to satisfy the gnawing urge.

So when the new moon was upon them, there was no decision to be made about whether to stay or whether to go – Isabelle was driven by something primitive and instinctive with no rational thought involved.

She packed a small bag and chose a simple gown in a deep red, dressing herself clumsily. Looking at herself in the glass above her chamber mantle she barely recognised herself. The dress, which she had barely worn as she had thought the colour too bold, seemed to fit a new fierceness and colour she could see in her face. There was a change in her features – something wilder that made her feel beautiful for the first time in many years.

She left no note and took almost nothing with her, leaving quietly into the darkness.

Peter had been waiting for some time when he heard footfalls. Experience of thievery had made his hearing keen and made him wary, so when she arrived at the riverside she saw no one. Only when he could be certain she was alone did he drop down from his vantage point in the tree.

She was startled, but her relief was tangible, reaching the spot and finding herself alone had been terrifying – as she imagined herself returning with no choice but to pick up her dropped façade of respectability.

They looked at one another for a few long moments before he began to step towards her. His eyes glinted black in the profound darkness of an almost moonless night.

As he reached her she heard him let out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, and he opening his clothing to release himself. She made her own sound, something animal deep in her throat at the sight of his pale skin in the moonlight.

"Three nights you have had me wait," he spoke in a voice made rusty with lust. "Three nights when I have wanted to feel myself slip inside you – I cannot bear it another moment!"

Moving instinctively she dropped to her knees and without hesitation touched his shaft with her lips in a deep and heartfelt kiss. He groaned and she laid kiss after kiss against the hot, rippled skin of his shaft. She could smell close up the scent that had been lodged in her mind for days – a fresh musky odour which assailed her senses, touching primitive parts of her.

As she kissed the length of him she felt a smear of liquid and her tongue darted from her mouth to taste it. Her mind disengaged she opened her lips still wider and found his tip hot and salty against her tongue.

He moved his hands to her head, weaving his fingers amongst her hair and willed himself not to push deep into her mouth. The feel of her tongue slippery against him, and the gentle drag of her soft lips was maddening. He stopped her with the greatest reluctance; unable to hold himself in check and fearing he may end too early.

"I have wanted this so badly – if I stay within your beautiful mouth I will make this all too brief. Let me make the pace...after all, I don't wish you to regret your choice!"

Peter bid her stand and moved her backwards, their bodies stepping in time, until she felt the hard trunk of a broad tree against her back. He moved in very close to her, so that she could feel the whole length of his body against hers. In the dark she could see almost nothing, but she was aware of his physical strength, of tight hard muscles beneath the straight plains of his handsome body, and of the heat of his member that she could feel even through her gown. Pressed up against her she could feel the fall and rise of his chest, building as the urgency built within them both.

He dropped his head to her bosom, and his soft lips met her skin in a hard kiss, followed by the stoke of his tongue on the exposed skin along the edge of her bodice. His head moved down as he knelt before her, and she touched his face between her hands – her fingers exploring what she couldn't see – feeling the harsh stubble across his jaw, the pulse of blood at his temple, hot breath at his parted mouth.

She felt him move as he lifted her skirt and urged her to hold it at her waist. She was suddenly glad of the dark when she realised what he was about to do, and was astounded when his wet tongue snaked between her engorged nether lips.

The feel of his hot breath and even hotter tongue had her writhing, trying to open her legs further to allow his tongue to explore, and she cried out to him in tormented desire.

"Oh! Peter, you make me feel like an animal! Like something wild! I cannot bear the woman I have been for so long – I need to be free, I need to feel you touch me, awaken me!"

In one swift motion, as though he could wait no longer, he was suddenly on his feet. Without another word he pressed the straining head of his shaft against her, rocking gently against the flooded entrance to her sex. In the blackness she could see his eyes, intense and bestial, and she knew that they were animals together.

"I can make you an animal with this?" he asked, pressing forward with force, so that the head entered her, and she cried out.

"Your...Your..." she struggled for the words.

"My cock?" he offered with a fierce thrust from his hips.

"Your...cock has brought me to life!"

He grunted and with each thrust entered deeper and deeper, pushing her hard against the tree, hearing her anguished and desperate cries at his every move. Senses heightened by the darkness he could feel every slippery ridge inside her, he could feel the press of her mound against his belly at the base of his cock, could feel her sucking depths at the neck of her womb. He felt her completely.

"I have always been an animal!" he grunted, eyes shining a dangerous black. "I have taken what I wanted, and fucked what I wanted – but for you...for you I want to be a man instead of a beast."

There was a quiet moment where all they could hear was their own breathing and he held still within her. She felt his mouth hard against hers with a kiss that held more than just lust. She lifted her legs around his waist and with one savage thrust he flooded her with his seed. She felt the pulse of it emptying inside her and felt the delicious crash of tension deep within as wave after wave of rippling ecstasy filled her.

Almost half a mile away a poacher thought he heard foxes fighting as their impassioned cries met the night air.

Meanwhile, in the great house Isabelle had been missed. Her husband, Thomas, had entered her room to find her gone. His thoughts didn't stray to her whereabouts, only to the rigid length in his breeches that needed relief.

"Where is she?" he bellowed at the staff. He stalked the length and breadth of the house in search of her, and, without worrying further about her, settled on the need he had, which was growing in urgency.

"You!" he gestured to a young girl, who he imagined worked in the kitchens, and was unfamiliar to him. "Come with me." He led her to his chamber and seated himself on the bed. He registered fear on the girls face, and something else – a resignation – she could see what he had in mind for her.

"Don't be afraid. I have a duty for you, for which you will be well paid."

She looked hesitant and stepped further from him. The sight of him repulsed her, in part for his lack of physical appeal, in part for his age – but mainly as she feared he would leave her in trouble. She wasn't a virgin, she had a man from the village, but she was cautious and aware of the scandal should she fall pregnant.

"I...I am to be married soon," he snorted in derision "I don't want...I don't want a babe, my lord."

"That I can avoid – I don't want bastards either. Come, I can meet my need and keep you from harm."

He beckoned her forward and she took to her knees, thinking he wanted to use her mouth – something she had been happily doing for almost a year – but as she knelt he shook his head.

"Over the bed, that's right." He positioned her lying face down on the bed, her hands grasping the coverlet, suddenly fearful. He lifted her skirts, tore at her underclothes and admired her exposed rump. Loosening his clothing he released his aching cock, desperate now to relieve himself, and secretly glad he had this new young flesh to play with, instead of his cold, disinterested bride.

Gazing down at her, her beautiful curves lit by candlelight, he spat into his hand, smeared his purple head and nestled it between her cheeks. Anxious but unsuspecting she awaited his thrust, and suddenly cried out when she felt the unexpected movement of his slippery shaft at her back entrance.

She tried to protest, but he covered her mouth with his huge hand and pushed into her tight anus. He stopped with his very tip buried only an inch into her, allowing her time for the virgin muscles to release themselves, before her began the slow shift back and forth, savouring the tightness of her muscular anal channel.

She grunted hard against his hand, feeling the alien sensation and finding a surprising stir and a tickle of interest. True it smarted – but the small motion back and forth had its own special friction, something she hadn't felt before. She moved her hand beneath her and found her hard little nub. As Thomas pushed ever deeper into her he could sense the change about her, as she began her own subtle movements. He felt her fingers moving against her, and as they brushed accidentally against the heavy sacks slapping beneath his cock he felt himself pitch over the edge.

With a throaty grunt he began to come, and thrusting hard he emptied every last drop of his seed into her sucking depths.

The girl felt it, hot even within her own heat, and groaned. She had known she was near her own moment and as he shrivelled within her she furiously rubbed at her folds to bring herself to climax.

Thomas watched the girl, slightly shocked, but intrigued as she rolled onto her back, her fingers a blur. She mewled and tossed her head and he watched as her running juices mingled with the stream of gleaming white draining from her tiny puckered rosebud. The moment she peaked she recognised how she had shamed herself and horrified, both at her Master and at herself, she crept from his chamber flushed and sore, feeling their mingled fluids streaming down her thighs.

And a mile apart, almost at the same moment, Isabella felt Peter slide from within her and felt the heat of his cream begin to leak from her. As the servant girl huddled over a dish to wash away the signs of her shame, Isabelle dipped her fingers into her opened folds, brought them to her mouth and tasted the salty slick fluid on her tongue.

She wanted to ingest him, to take every part of him into her to keep him locked to her every moment. Her husband was gone from her mind – Peter, now, was everything.