Isabel stopped before the closed door of a strange man’s bedroom. This was the moment she’d been preparing for since her marriage. It was time to do her duty to her husband and the baronetcy. She could hear her frantic heart beat and feared she might faint or perhaps hoped she would. What she was about to do seemed wrong to her, even though Kendrick said it wasn’t. But he was her lord and master and the welfare of her family depended on his good will. She could not go against him.

Kendrick, who was standing just behind her, lightly touched her back, and whispered, “Pretend he’s a prince sleeping under the spell of a wicked witch, and only you can awaken him. Use you imagination, my dear, and you might enjoy yourself.”

She looked back at him, astonished that he would even suggest such a thing. He smiled, as he did when treating her like a stupid child, and gave her a slight push. After taking a deep breath, she reached for the iron lever that would open the door. She heard her husband clumsily moving back so he couldn’t be seen. Did he fear Sir Daniel might be awake?

The door slowly opened. The hinges had apparently been greased for there was no squeak. Isabel held the door so it wouldn’t open too widely, and peered around the edge of it. A fire had been lit against the nighttime chill that came with the harvest season, and she could see the outline of the large bed against a far wall. The curtains had been left open and she saw the silhouette of a man’s body. He was lying on his back and the rumbling of deep breathing sounded like that of a sleeping man.

She looked back at Kendrick who impatiently waved her onward, so she stepped into the room and softly closed the door. She moved toward the bed, waiting after each step to see if the man stirred. As she drew closer, she studied his profile. A broad forehead, a straight nose, a strong chin with no wrinkled skin under it. A cover had been drawn halfway up his chest, but his shoulders were bare. Even in repose he looked powerful. One arm had been thrown up beside his head and muscle bulged in his forearm. Suppose she startled him awake and he swung that thick arm at her?

Still several feet from the bed, she whispered, “Sir Daniel.”

He didn’t move.

She stepped closer and spoke more loudly, but his heavy breathing continued without interruption. For a moment she was relieved he didn’t awaken, then she realized she had no further excuses. She had to do it. But how to proceed? What had Esmeralda done?

Isabel peeled the covers away from his body and stared in awe at the width of his chest, the slimness of his waist and hips. Even his legs were muscular. His male member looked large despite its limpness; the problem she must overcome. Pulling the sides of her cloak out of her way, she gingerly crawled onto the bed. 

Daniel dreamed someone far away called his name. Then the bed moved. That wasn’t right. He was alone, wasn’t he? Why couldn’t he open his eyes? He’d drunk too much. Much too much. But he’d been the honored guest.

Cool air bathed his naked body. The covers had been cast aside. What was happening? He managed to crack one eye open. A black shape hovered over him like a large bird with its wings partially furled. Dim flickers of firelight bounced off glossy feathers. No it was hair. Was the figure a woman? The dark robe opened and firm breasts jutted out.

Had his uncle sent a castle wench to warm his bed? Was he too drunk to use her? How embarrassing. Why didn’t she speak? Why couldn’t he speak to her? This must be a dream. A drunken revelry.

Ice cold fingers touched and then spread out on his chest. The shock caused the breath to shoosh from his lungs. No dream could do that. No human woman could be so cold. Had a demon come to his bed, a succubus? He’d never believed the tales of female demons coming in the night to steal a man’s seed. Had he been wrong?

The icy fingers rubbed through the hair on his chest. The fingers grew warmer and his skin colder. Was she draining the heat from his body? Had she come to steal his soul—his life? She wasn’t a large demon, if he could just move his arm he could bat her away, but his limbs were leaden. She had cast a spell over him.

Why was this happening to him? He wasn’t a bad man. He’d always tried to do his duty to God and his liege lord.

Her fingertips found and rubbed his nipples. Some of the coldness left his chest. Perhaps she didn’t mean to kill him. But if she sought to arouse him, she was doomed to failure. Her spell had left him with too little feeling. Her hands continued to move in languid circles from his chest, across his stomach, coming ever closer to the center of his manhood. She touched him there. Her fingers were now warm and soft, very soft.

She held his flaccid cock in one hand and massaged his ballocks with the other. The heat she had collected in her fingers moved into his balls and on to his cock. Amazingly, it grew firmer. As her hand closed around the new firmness and moved the skin back and forth, it seemed as if all the feeling from his deadened limbs collected there.

Stop, stop, he silently yelled at his traitorous body. He didn’t want to impregnate some hag from hell.

Silken hair brushed his upper thighs. She’d lowered her head. The stroke of her tongue sent fire though his cock. She lapped across the tip and around the sides. Then her lips closed around him and her tongue began a sensuous massage. Her suction pulled his cock to ever greater size and stiffness.

The pressure stopped and he opened both eyes. Pushing the sides of her robe further back, the demon straddled him. Shadows hid her face, but he clearly saw her ivory thighs on either side of his hips. He realized she about to impale herself on his cock. She did intend to steal his seed. He sought to evade her, but his body remained leaden. She began rubbing the tip of his cock against the warm, sticky skin between her legs and his battle was lost.

Slowly she inched down over him, tightly encasing him in hot slickness. He could think of nothing but the pleasure he felt. Her thighs began to contract and relax as she moved up and down on him. How was it possible for a man to lie in near paralysis and yet feel such intense pleasure? She increased the speed of her movements and a beast-like grunt came from his throat. It was the only sound he could make.

Then she sank down to fully cover his shaft and began to rock her hips back and forth so vigorously that he feared she meant to do him physical damage, but he could not fight or protest. He could only lie helplessly as the tempest built within him. He felt a spurt of relief and she stopped moving and clamped around his cock with rhythmic contractions that were surely intended to milk every drop of his manhood. And he could only groan from the pleasure of it.

When his cock shriveled, she sighed and dropped to the bed beside him. He felt her now warm body nestled against his. The covers were pulled over their nakedness, sealing out the cool air. He quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Isabel had remembered Wanda the Witch telling her it was best to lay down for a while so the man’s seed wouldn’t fall out, so she laid beside Daniel’s warm body and felt surprisingly content. Kendrick was always telling her how stupid and inept she was. She hoped this would finally silence him. And it hadn’t been as difficult as she’d imagined.

After Daniel’s member had grown to it’s full size, she’d really feared she couldn’t do it. But touching his firm skin, rubbing her fingers through the thick hair on his chest, and perhaps even his musky scent had caused something strange to happened. It had made her want to feel him inside her, and then she’d become wet and slick so she could slip down over him. He had stretched her and filled her as she’d never been filled before, and she’d liked it so much that she’d almost lost control of her own body, only at the last minute remembering the way Esmeralda had told her to pump his seed from him.

            It wouldn’t be difficult to do this every night for a fortnight. She only hoped the potions Kendrick was slipping into Sir Daniel’s brandy wouldn’t do the young man harm.