Isleen’s blue eyes were wide with shock. Looking into his face, she knew he would do exactly as he had said, and so without further argument, she eased carefully from the chemise, setting it aside in a corner of the room. She was totally naked now, for all of her clothing except the chemise had been previously taken from her.

"She has fine big tits, my lord," one of his companions said admiringly.

"That she does," Merin ap Owen agreed, and his hand closed about Isleen’s right breast, squeezing it hard. Then he looked directly at her. "But I am being discourteous, lady. I have not introduced myself. I am Merin ap Owen, the lord of this small region. These are three of my best men. Badan, whose name means boar. Gwyr, whose name means pure, and he is purely wicked, aren't you, Gwyr? And, last, but certainly not least, as you will soon discover, Siarl, whose name means manly. These three have pleased me greatly, and so we have come for a night’s entertainment, which you will provide, my pretty bitch."

"My name is Isleen de Warenne," she told him in an even voice. Her blue eyes locked onto Merin ap Owen’s darker blue eyes. Her first reaction was to be terrified, but these men, she sensed, would enjoy that. She would show no fear before them. What they wanted of her was nothing unusual, and she wasn't a virgin. Four men in a single evening. She had never imagined she would do such a thing, but why not? "If you squeeze my breast much harder, Merin ap Owen, my nipple will pop off. Release it. I can already feel the bruise starting," she said coldly.

"Ah," he said, now more interested in the woman than he had been before, "you are not afraid, my pretty bitch. That is good. We will have far more fun if you are willing, than unwilling. There is too much difficulty in restraining a woman while you're having at her."

At that point a frightened-looking girl lifted the curtain of the alcove and scurried in with a full skin of wine, which she hung on a nail protruding from the wall. Then she scampered out.

"I've never had more than one man," Isleen said bluntly.

"At a time, you mean," Merin ap Owen corrected her. She might indeed be a nobleman’s daughter, for all he knew, but she was also a born whore. Of that he was quite certain. She had the look. Lush and lewd. Releasing her breast he took the wineskin, and squirted the sour brew down his parched throat. "Who wants her first?" he asked, handing off the skin. "Can you agree, or shall you dice for her? I will have her last." He pulled Isleen into their midst. "Come on, my pretty bitch, and show my men what a good time they're going to have. Go on, laddies, she’s yours for the taking."

Caught between the three men Isleen swallowed back a moment of panic. Hands began to roam over her body. Her blond head was drawn back, and a mouth came down on hers; a tongue pushed between her lips. She felt fingers exploring her mont, pushing between her nether lips, and into her sheath. Isleen sighed with undisguised pleasure, and wiggled hard against the invading hand. If she could keep them all in check, and from being too rough with her, this could prove as diverting for her as it was going to be for them. Two hands slid about to fondle her breasts. Isleen pushed her rounded bottom back onto the groin belonging to the hands. "Ooooooo," she murmured pulling away from the kisser, "that’s a nice big one. Do you want to put it in me?"

"Aye," a voice growled in her ear. "Let’s dice, boys, before I explode. The bitch is hot, and so am I!"

A pair of dice and a cup dropped on the dirt floor, and the three men fell to their knees to play. Isleen smiled, and looked directly into the eyes of Merin ap Owen. He nodded slightly, a faint smile playing about his mouth. Isleen smiled back, her little pink tongue licking her lips slowly in a deliberate provocation. He laughed.

"I win!" came the shout, and Siarl scrambled to his feet only to be pulled back again.

"Not until we see who goes second, and then third," Badan said. "The bitch got me so hard, I'm all an ache with my lust."

The dice rattled in their cup again. The decision was finally made. Siarl would go first. Badan second, and Gwyr third. The men stood up, their hands loosening their clothing as they did. Isleen lay down upon the pallet on the floor, spreading herself wide.

"All right," she said bluntly, "let’s get to it, manly one, although I shall certainly be the judge of that."

"You'll not find me wanting," Siarl said, falling to his knees be-, tween her outstretched thighs, and he pulled out his manhood to show her.

"It’s a respectable cock," Isleen said in a slightly bored tone, "but 'tis how you use it, Siarl. Now, stuff me full, and make me sing!" she told him with unladylike indelicacy.

Siarl fell upon Isleen, ramming himself into her with a groan, and pumping her over, and over, and over again.

The other three men watched, Merin ap Owen impassively, Gwyr and Badan with increasing excitement, their manhoods exposed, hard, and throbbing. The lord caught the eye of his two men.

"She can take two," he said softly. "You are second, Badan, are you not? Go on."

Badan needed no further encouragement. Kneeling behind Isleen’s head, he rubbed his cock over her lips. Sloe-eyed, Isleen gazed up at him, then opening her mouth took him in and began to suck even as her hips met each downward thrust by Siarl. The two men sweated and groaned as their lusts rose, and rose, finally bursting almost simultaneously. Each man rolled away from her, panting with exhaustion as Gwyr fell upon the inviting woman. He was a small man, but he had boundless energy, and within minutes he had Isleen howling with pleasure. And when he had taken his own pleasure, Gwyr bounded up with a grin.

"Well, she is as good a mount as I ever rode, my lord. I wish you even better joy of her!"

"Give me some wine, you pigs," Isleen groaned, and they complied with her request. After all, the night was young yet, she thought, and it would be hours before the dawn. Isleen greedily swallowed the bitter brew. Then to their surprise she squirted the wine between her nether lips, put the skin snout into her sheath, and flushed out their seed. The three men watched her wide-eyed. "Well," she snapped at them, "I don't intend getting diseased, or having one of your bastards." Her gaze swung to Merin ap Owen. "Are you ready now?" she demanded boldly of him.

He nodded, unsmiling. "Bend over," he commanded, and then to his men, "Hold her down."

"What are you doing?" Isleen shrieked, struggling to conceal the terror that suddenly arose in her breast. With difficulty she turned her head to see him. He had in his hands a leather strap.

"Legs wide apart, Isleen," he commanded.

She quickly obeyed, realizing resistance in this case was futile and could bring out the coldness in him even further. This was a man, she thought, awed, and already half in love with him. The leather strap cracked and made contact with her buttocks. Isleen shrieked.

Merin ap Owen made a disparaging noise. "Come, now, my pretty bitch, you are stronger than that. I gave you but a love tap on your prettily rounded rump. Certainly you've been beaten before."

"Never!" she said. "Never!"

"Not your father, or your husband, or your lovers beat you?" he asked, disbelieving. "Well, my pretty bitch, I am going to beat you. Not to punish you, or break your will, but so you may better learn to enjoy pleasure through pain." He raised his arm, and brought it down again.

Isleen grit her teeth, stifling her cry. The strap didn't hurt so much as it burned. As he delivered blow after blow to her buttocks, she began to feel as if they were afire, and then the fire was banked, leaving just a wickedly delicious warmth to her bottom, but a raging inferno of lust elsewhere. She moaned, yet the sound was not one of pain. It was one of desire.

Merin ap Owen smiled, satisfied. "Release her. On your hands and knees, Isleen," he commanded her, and as she obeyed, he slid to his own knees directly behind her, his cock at the ready. He rubbed it between her nether lips, moistening it, then he placed it against the rosy aperture between her buttocks.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Isleen squeaked as his hands tightened about her hips.

"Has no man ever gone this way, Isleen?" he demanded. "Are you a virgin in your bottom hole?"

"Yes!" she gasped, feeling him pushing himself slowly into her body. "Yes, damn you!"

"How perfect," Merin ap Owen said, and then he thrust himself deep into her, smiling as she screeched her outrage. "Ahhh, you are delicious," he complimented, drawing himself out, then driving back in once again. "Cease your caterwauling, my pretty bitch, and let your body speak to your mind. There," he complimented her as she stopped her struggles. Then he began a rhythmic motion against her, and was pleased when within moments her bottom was pushing back against his groin. "Good! Good, my pretty bitch! You are enjoying this, aren't you, Isleen? This is wicked, and this is forbidden, and you like it!"

"Yes!" she half sobbed.

He laughed aloud, his cock flashing back and forth until his lust erupted, and he flooded her body. "You'll get no brats from me, Isleen," he said into her ear.

"You bastard!" she snarled at him angrily as he moved away from her, and she collapsed facedown upon the straw pallet. Her back channel ached with his unaccustomed invasion, but damn him, it had been exciting! Yet she was still boiling with a hunger that was going to consume her. She rolled over to glare up at him, and Badan fell upon her once again. She wrapped her legs about him, and encouraged him onward to his best efforts. He did not disappoint her.

"How fortuitous," Merin ap Owen purred as he watched the pair. "A bitch who cannot get enough cock, but the night is yet young, my friends."

Still, when the long night was over, Isleen had not been broken, nor was she apt to be, the lord of the region thought. While she slept surrounded by his three men, Merin ap Owen rearranged his clothing so that it had a semblance of order, and left the small chamber to seek Clud, the whoremonger. He found him seated outside of his house upon a bench, drinking, while he fondled a young whore who sat on his knee. Reaching into the purse that hung from his girdle, Merin ap Owen drew out two silver coins. He was not of a mind to argue or haggle with Clud. He held out the coins, and Clud’s grimy hand opened greedily.

Still retaining possession of the coins, Merin ap Owen said, "I am taking Isleen with me when I leave this morning." It was a statement of fact. He then dropped the two coins into Clud’s outstretched hand.

The whoremonger’s fingers closed swiftly about the silver. "She’s yours, lord. She would have been trouble for me. You, however, know how to tame a bitch."

"She is not tamed, nor ever likely to be," Merin ap Owen said. "That is why I want her. She’s greedy, venal, I suspect, and as dangerous as a mad dog. Yet she suits my fancy for now. Fetch a tub of hot water into her chamber, and bring her her own clothing and a new chemise. First tell my men to return to the castle, and then see to her."

Clud got to his feet, dumping the girl in his lap to the ground. "Aye, my lord, at once!"

"I'll be back at noon," Merin ap Owen said. "Let her sleep for a time, but see she is ready and waiting for me when I come."

"Yes, my lord!" Clud bowed obsequiously several times.

With a sardonic smile upon his lips, Merin ap Owen turned from the whoremonger and walked away. "At noon," he repeated.

"At noon, my lord," Clud called after him.

Isleen awoke as the tub was dragged into the chamber where she slept. She groaned, tired and sore. Lifting her head, she rolled over. The men were gone now, and only the frightened-looking little wench who was the servant girl in the brothel was there. "What is the hour?" she demanded of the girl.

"Almost two hours past Terce," the servant replied. "Master says you are to bathe. Lord Merin will return for you at noon. He bought you from the master. Your clothing is there. I repaired your chemise. Hurry, lady! You dare not keep the lord waiting."