The Wraggle Taggle Gypsies Ch. 04

By the time Peter and Isabelle made their way into the gypsy's encampment the dawn was breaking with a clear blue sky and the grass was wet with dew. She shivered with the cold and with fearful anticipation. They were parked in a clearing, deep in the woodland, sheltered from sight. The caravans were ringed together around a huge campfire, burning low in the early light, their decorated sides brightly coloured and lively. There was no sound, a sleeping dog raised its mangy head, blinked twice at them then returned to its slumber.

"Sol!" Peter called, and the rumbled heap of clothing by the fire moved suddenly. Isabelle saw the young boy who had been with the troupe on their first meeting; he shook his head blearily then smiled.

"She came!" He shouted loudly to the unseen others "She came – he bagged himself the fancy lady!" He sprang to his feet excitedly, and Peter cuffed him affectionately around his ear.

At each of the five caravans faces began appearing, and curious people stepped out into the clearing to see the new arrival. Peter took a theatrical bow and brought Isabelle to the fireside, where all could see her.

"Behold, dear friends! See what wonders I can perform!" he spun her around dizzyingly. "I bring you the Queen of Heaven, straight from the skies to join the Black Jack Davy!" The crowd cheered and Isabelle flushed, embarrassed. He spun her around again, showing her off like an animal bought at the fair, and she was aware of the eyes of strangers on her with precocious interest.

"Here, my darling, you must rest, and I will catch your breakfast." He drew her towards his own dwelling, taking her into the blood red caravan, ornately painted inside and out. Inside the space was dark and close, but surprisingly neat and comfortable, he took her to the unmade bed at the rear of the van and she seated herself, smelling his fragrance there. Peter kissed her firmly on the mouth.

"Rest, I shall not be long."

She lay on the bed and was asleep in moments.

She sensed movement in the dark confines of the room and felt something touch her skin. She started awake and saw the silhouette of Peter and smiled. His fingers cool against her bosom he touched her smooth skin and began to unlace the tightly drawn bodice of her gown. Her breath came quickly with anticipation, for she had been dreaming of their intertwined limbs and tangled embrace, and in a moment her breasts were exposed.

She felt his mouth cover her nipple and moaned sweetly, but he placed his teeth across it and nipped her sharply. She shouted in pain and surprise, and as she sat up the unfamiliar face swam into clearer view.

"Who...who are you?" as her vision adjusted to the darkness of the shuttered caravan she recognised the man who had been in her chamber just a few nights before, rutting with the voluptuous woman. "Get away from me!"

As she spoke there was movement and the man gave a guttural choked cry as a rope was pulled tight about his neck. He struggled to prize the rope from him but Peter, standing close behind him, tugged hard to halt his breathing. As the man's eyes bulged, and his face reddened dangerously he spoke.

"My dear friend, this one is mine and not for sharing – touch her again and I'll cut your throat!"

With a final, brutal tug on the rope he released him, and he fell gasping to the floor, scrabbling away out of Peter's reach. She felt relief at his rescue and a flush of pride at his proprietorial show of strength, but was shocked at how far he taken his friend, how brutal he had been.

He held her face gently between his palms and kicking the door wide with his heel he let light flood into the room so that he could be certain she was safe. On his quick appraisal his eyes fell at once to her exposed breasts and she caught a look in his eyes that was a terrifying mixture of pain and fury.

"Now I see it – Oh! Now I see how it was!" his voice was anguished, every word soft and deadly.

"I...I didn't know – I was asleep and he touched me, and I thought he was you!" His expression darkened further still, and she was afraid. "I wanted you, I was dreaming of you, and until I saw him properly I thought you had returned!"

"You leave your husband for the first man to show you his cock, and now you are doing the same to me!"

"I have given up everything to be here – and I have done that for you alone! I could have had others, but you were the only one..."

He seemed to be weighing her words, his eyes searching hers for lies. He brought his face suddenly very close and spoke so softly that his voice was barely a whisper. He gripped her face hard with his strong fingers, his hand holding fast in her hair.

"If you want to open your legs to any man, be away back to your husband. If you want to be mine open your legs and show me."

Afraid, yet aroused, she found herself parting her legs, feeling the moisture trickle between her folds. In a quick, angry movement she felt the heat of him against her, ready at her entrance. He thrust forcefully, driving into her when she was barely ready for him, and she cried out in arousal and shock. In the heat of the moment he had only to thrust a few more times and both he and she were writhing. He bared his teeth and grunted as he came into her forcefully, and without care for her pleasure.

"If you are mine, you are mine alone. Sometimes we share, but not this time. If you touch another man – or let him touch you – I will take you to the horse fair and let the Irish have you. See how your husband likes you when you go home stretched by twenty men."

Tears flooded her eyes and he seemed almost to wake from a trance, he shook himself and released his grip. He kissed the tracks of her tears down her cheeks, his lips suddenly as gentle as his voice had been harsh.

"I am sorry, I am! You are too precious to me, and it makes me fearful it won't last." His voice shook and she could hear remorse in every word, but her heart still hammered in her chest and as she looking into his eyes he seemed for a moment like a stranger.

"Come, breakfast!" he proudly held up the body of a rabbit, dangling by its heels from his fist.

As she dressed she heard him at the fireside, as he gutted his catch, speaking softly to the old man she had seen before.

"Peter, be wary. I know she is a prize – if I were a younger man I would have sought her, just as you have – but there lies danger here." Peter snorted out a barked laugh. "Do you imagine her husband will simply let her go? Would you?" the old man paused. "I heard what happened between you and Joseph – if you would do that to your dear old friend what do you think her fine old Husband will do to a wicked gypsy boy like you?"

As the old man stood and shuffled away on weary joints Peter called to the women at the other end of the camp.

Peter left the camp as dusk fell, to poach, and whatever else may present itself to him, and Isabelle was alone with her new companions. Some introduced themselves, Lizzie, whom she had already seen, Anis, her sister, an older lady they seemed to affectionately call the 'crone'. The old man was Tem, and her intruder John, who studiously avoided her. The rest appeared anxious to keep apart from her, as though aware of the risk she brought them. She listened as they sang and talked, but she herself was wary and distant, having little in common with their ways.

Anis approached her with a shawl for her shoulders as darkness fell, and brought a bottle to her lips. Isabelle drank from it uncertainly and coughed and spluttered at the fiery liquor. As the bottle returned to her several times she felt bolder and less aware of the chill night air, and when Lizzie suggested they retire to her caravan she took no heed of the glances and smiles passed between those still around the fire.

Within the close, dark caravan Isabelle finally became aware of the effects of the strong, harsh liquid she had been tasting for the past hour. Her mouth was sour and her tongue burned, but worse than that was the sickly lurching movement of the room around her. She felt hot and unwell and desperate to sleep. The women guided her to her bed, and her last vision was of their red lipped smiles and shared glances, before she fell into a deep sleep.

On waking Isabelle was aware only of the profound darkness of the room. She could hear sounds of movement, but her head was thick with drink and she felt addled. She tried to sit up and found she couldn't and it took some time for her to realise that she was tethered at her wrists and ankles.

"What is happening?" Had Peter returned, again dissatisfied? "Who is there?"

There was a flare of a taper and candles lit first on her left then on her right. As her eyes slowly adjusted to the warm glow she saw Lizzie and Anis flanking her at either side.

"Why am I tied here?" her voice raised – trying to command, as she had with the house servants.

"We didn't want you to hurt yourself." Isabelle looked puzzled "Peter has asked us to prepare you, and this is safer if you cannot move."

Isabelle tried to shake herself free and found that she could barely move at all. Anis held up a sharp knife, the blade glinting savagely in the candlelight. Isabelle felt sure they would cut her throat – that Peter had tired of her after their confrontation and wanted to dispose of her. She cried out, her throat horse.

Lizzie put her hand across Isabelle's mouth, laughing "Don't' fear – we're not here to harm you. Were going to make things nice for you – help your pleasure, my sweet lady!"

Isabelle watched horrified as they began together to lift her skirts, and she feared now that they would let her live, but cut her in some way.

"We will take the hairs and make you smooth – like this" Anis said, her voice seductive, and she lifted her skirt to her naked midriff, showing a smooth triangle with soft bare folds. Isabelle gasped – she had never imagined such a thing and was both afraid and intrigued.

After cautioning her to lie still the women soaped her between her legs and she began to feel the rasp of the knife, delicately applied to her. The feel of the cold metal was terrifying, but the delicate touch of fingers, the breath against her, and the hot water on her most sensitive skin enflamed her.

By the time the task was complete Lizzie and Anis could stroke the soft open folds of her – entirely hairless – and see the shining drips of her own liquor seeping readily from within. Isabelle wanted to feel their fingers all over her, and couldn't bare it when they stopped.

Often they stopped to drink from the bottle, sometimes to touch one another, and then – shockingly – to kiss.

Isabelle thought of Peter, of his fury earlier, but she couldn't deny the urge that had been building between her thighs. She was trying hard to reign in her thoughts and control her passions when she saw Anis sub her hands again with soap. Wondering at what more could be done Lizzie began to release her bonds, and encouraged her onto her knees. With her face to the wall she could not see what they were doing, but certainly felt a hand in the crack between her cheeks.

"Your pussy is perfect, but we need you all smooth," said Lizzie, by way of explanation. Her fingers slipping across her soapy backside, touching every so gently on the puckered little rosebud of Isabelle's virgin anus. The feel of her touch was electrifying – Isabelle caught her breath and felt a fresh flood from her already sodden pussy.

"Aha – she likes that, Anis. She likes her rump felt – not too fine for a lady, that!"

No one could escape the increase in Isabelle's breath or the sharp throaty sounds of desire; and as the knife slipped sharp against her sensitive skin, and the fingers danced across the delicate pink nub centred in the cleft between her smooth, rounded buttocks Isabelle felt the same disconnected, shameless desperation she felt when she was with Peter.

At the thought of him she felt terrified that he might see her as she was now, and be fearful and enraged as he had been earlier – but even her fear could not halt the need swelling her deep inside.

Lizzie cleaned her reverently; the soft fabric of the cloth smooth against her newly shaved body, allowing her fingers to linger over her swollen lips and her pouting anus. Anis, stroking herself beneath her skirts, produced something from beside the bed. In the dim light Isabelle could see that it was a batten of about two hands length, rounded at both ends, and as she brought it closer Isabelle could see that it was fashioned of soft leather, with tiny stitches along the seam.

"Meet our special companion, this keeps us company when all the stiff cocks are away from camp." Anis smiled and swigged hard from the bottle, almost empty now.

"If it weren't for this we would be chasing Tem's tail – and that would probably kill him!" Lizzie turned to her sister and kissed her full on the mouth, a dribble of amber liquid escaping the corner of her mouth as they kissed deeply.

Anis brought one end of the phallus towards Isabelle, resting it between her aching, swollen labia and rocking it very gently at her opening. Isabelle pushed forward, encouraging it into her, moaning at the sensation of its hardness inside.

Lizzie joined her on the bed, her legs towards Isabelle, her skirt at her waist and she edged herself forward until Anis could guide the other end of the shaft into her.

Isabelle locked eyes with Lizzie and watched the woman slide onto the soft leather, both of them moving slowly and deliberately to get the best sensation from the pole between them.

As Lizzie pushed forward Isabelle could feel the shaft pressing deeper into her – unyielding and harder even that Peter, and when she began to feel the heat of Lizzies' sex up against her own, and when they first met in the middle of the shaft she cried out.

With each push forward Isabelle and Lizzie felt their soft, slippery labia press together, driving the leather shaft harder and deeper, relishing the sight of one another. Anis came hard on her own hard, bucking against the feel of her own fingers, and Lizzie made a final thrust before her own cries followed, harsh and loud.

As Lizzie came Isabelle felt a flush of hot liquid across her, almost as she did with Peter, and she herself crashed into orgasm, her desperate centre clutching at the makeshift cock and pressing hard against the wet heat of the other woman.

Breathing heavily in the stifling closeness of the caravan she felt a sudden wash of shame cover her. Even whilst the phallus was still inside she felt terrified that Peter would return and catch her like this. If he was capable of threatening her for what little she had done, or not done with John, what might he do if he caught her impaled like this, sharing a leather cock with another woman?

She ushered them from the room with great urgency, knowing she could do little to hide what had happened, especially when she cast her eye over herself, newly smooth and shaven. She thought of him, stroking her there, where she was so soft and silky now. She thought of the heat of him as he parted her soft folds with his hardness. She thought of the searing heat of his come flooding across her bare lips, and even so soon after she had been satisfied she felt the swell of desire again and wanted Peter back in her arms and in her bed.

She was still adjusting her clothes when she heard voices beyond the caravan door. She stepped out into the chill night air, her face hot with shame and recent passion, and there he was.

Not Peter, as she had both hoped and feared, but Thomas Faversham, her husband.