Willing

WILLING

By

Vita Anne Hoffman

© copyright by Vita Anne Hoffman, December 2008

Cover Art by Kat Richards, December 2008

ISBN 978-1-60394-249-2

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com  

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

Droit du Seigner (A Feudal Lord's Right)

The night's erotic offering was now assembled, three dozen especially handpicked, particularly invited mortal females, milling about the formal first floor hall of the immense seven story building, an ElfFeyen stronghold, an ElfFeyen Demesne, if any of the human women but knew it. Each successive level of the Demesne was ringed by an ornate marble balcony that looked directly down upon the rectangular central hall with its gloss-white parquet floor inlaid with a ferocious black griffin. Very tellingly, more so obliviously, the women paid no heed to the emblem upon which they trod.

At either side of the huge main chamber, carved stone staircases zigzagged upward into shadowy heights since the few sparsely-placed red-shaded lanterns throughout the hall afforded scant illumination-at least as far as mortal senses were concerned. However, the red-tinged gloom, heated and heavy with the fragrance of so many women, was more than enough for the avaricious immortal males concealed within the murkiness of the balconies.

This night's selection, as ever, was stunning. Breath-taking. Heart-stopping. Cock-arousing in its tremendous variety -- golden-skinned lapis-eyed blondes stood alongside of olive-skinned hazel-eyed brunettes, who waited beside creamy-skinned cocoa-eyed redheads next to mocha-skinned honey-streaked browns. None amongst the gorgeous sexy mix, all ages, shapes, races, were conservatively dressed, thus much skin was exposed, a tempting display of flesh, arms, midriffs, thighs, and above all, deep glorious cleavage. Some were tall and athletic, others petite and plump. All beauteous, all buxom, all bountiful. And all in attendance by exclusive invitation.

All save one.

Amongst the excitement and anticipation of the others, she stood apart, noticeably so, on the fringes of the red-tinged almost palpable shadows, her pose alert and straight-spined, like an animal in a trap. Within that negligible light, she was watched to the exclusion of all the others, and not simply because of the novelty of her status as an uninvited guest. Her unique separateness was much, much more than physical. Her essence blazed and coruscated like a sun's corona, a shimmering halo of gold and blue that outlined her entire slender frame. Such inordinate heat in a mortal naturally fascinated their kind, those watchers, those six brothers, each of whom lounged upon a different height of the many-storied open-air balconies of the Demesne Bellaclava and who waited impatiently for permission to call forth the women of their choice to indulge in a night of sex.

Thus they stared covetously at the radiant-as-a-sun stranger, the unknown beauty in their midst, and grew increasingly restive.

This unique woman, silent, wary, separate from the true gathering in her fight-or-flight mode, shifted slightly under the phantom discomfort of so many avid stares, while the other women quietly mingled and chatted, waiting for the fun to begin, oblivious as sheep to the secreted males in the aerie-like heights of the building.

She, however, felt them.

Defiantly her head jerked toward the second floor balcony where, frustratingly, she was unable to make out the figure whose muted mental touch had alerted her to his presence. With a hawkish intensity, her eyes narrowed to slits, vainly trying to pierce that dim, distant veil of reddish-gray shadows.

And Saracen, second eldest in the Bellaclava ascension, grinned wolfishly, gripped harder at the top edge of the marble balustrade, and scented at the air upon which wafted the merest hint of her, the Demesne's unlooked for arrival.

"Ahh," he groaned hoarsely, "she is AB-, rarest and sweetest of all.” His excited cock twitched and he had to forcefully quash the urge to vault over the second-story balustrade and claim this prize for his own. He would, doubtless, survive the drop, give or take a broken limb, but he might not come out as unscathed from the melee that would ensue. His brothers, particularly Dominic and Hunter, also coveted this particular woman. Their hunger rivaled his own, combined with and strengthened it, aimed it at her like a ballistic missile. At their symbiotic attack, her ramrod stance vibrated with anger, her hands fisted at her sides, her gaze turned fiery. Saracen's feral, hungry smile widened, revealing the small chip in his front tooth. Extraordinary, he marveled. She sensed them all!

Indeed, for a second and third time her head snapped up and up to scan the third and fourth floor balconies in a futile attempt to locate, to see, the voyeurs who lurked there. And, more alarmingly, more disturbingly, who lusted after her!

The explicitness of their separate wishes had joined into one. They all wanted to fuck her! And the explosive power of that combined mental force rocked her back a step with a giant shocked exhale, then pinned her amidst an invisible orgy. Men seemed to corral her. They stood or knelt at her sides, before her, behind her, leaving her no space to move, binding her within a lascivious grip.

Unseen hands grasped ever higher and harder at her inner thighs until they reached and briskly explored her plump, wet mound. Someone's mouth roughly suckled at her tender distended nipples, by turns exciting-then-abandoning one for the other. Fingers stroked lovingly at her virgin ass, spread her cheeks and probed shallowly. She shuddered in the maelstrom of so much unnatural stimulation. Her legs quivered, her back arched, her stomach knotted. Her mind wanted to escape, but her body was unable ... and increasingly unwilling.