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Selecting an extract from Wicked Words 10 - The Best Of Wicked Words was an absolute pleasure! With so many great stories to choose from ( written by some of Black Lace's very best authors including Mathilde Madden, Anna Clare and Robyn Russell), there's a story to fuel every fantasy!
Other reviewers have had nothing but praise for the Wicked Words series too - Romantic Times described them as 'filled with hard-hitting, mouth-watering, sizzling-hot action', Scarlet called them 'intelligent, horny and diverse', and Forum reckons that Wicked Words 10 'really does live up to the billing as wicked'!
Tease yourself with this free taster from Lois Phoenix's 'The Wytchfinder'...
'Bring her forwards,' the chief elder barks. 'Let us see those marks.'
The Wytchfinder releases his grip on my hair and pushes me towards the table. My neck aches and I shake my head to soothe it so that my hair tumbles over my shoulders.
'A pretty little wytch indeed, but your charms are wasted on me. Step up to the table where I can see you.'
I step up and eye him defiantly. He lies about my charms. I know I excite him. He leans across the table and prods at my bruises as I were a heifer at market.
'I'm not convinced. It's not much to condemn such a pretty young thing on.' The others murmur their ascent; more proof would probably be prudent.
'Oh I am sure that there are more marks of devilry, gentlemen.' The Wytchfinder's fingers are in my hair, scooping it back to reveal the proud arch of my throat. They drop to the fastening of my bodice and a pulse hammers in my groin. I can hardly breathe. He seems to take a lifetime to release my breasts. They are sore from the chafing of the bodice and it is sweet release when they are bared. The Wytchfinder pulls the cotton down to my ribcage, allowing his rough fingers to snag my nipples. 'See the nubs, gentleman? The wytch has no shame. Even now she revels in her power as a lust maker.'
I can feel the breath of my elders panting on my bare flesh. My nipples pucker even more. The Wytchfinder's hard finger digs a line down my spine and I arch my back, pushing my breasts even closer to the elders.
'And here genlemen, is the third nipple, where the devil sucks.' His finger rotates the dark-brown mole on my ribcage. Any fool can see it isn't a nipple, but the elders shift excitedly in their seats.
'Not convinced? Here, feel its likeness to the other two.'
I swallow a gasp as the Wytchfinder pushes me hard against the table. The chief elder licks his thin dry lips and squeezes the mole between forefinger and thumb.
The Wytchfinder's breath is hot on my ear. 'Compare,' he urges.
And he does, squeezing each aroused nipple in turn so that my chest becomes so tight I start to whimper. My eyes slide shut as I am moved down the table and one by one the elders fondle first my mole and then my nipples till they are sore with handling and burning with arousal. Tweaked and pulled and rotated between hard fingers, over and over as the elders of the village convince themselves that the wytch has a nipple to suckle the devil.
One elder takes forever to decide, mumbling under his breath as he traces my puckered areola and finds the mole wanting. My knees are weak . I would collapse if I weren't lodged between Wytchfinder and the table.
'I am not convinced, Wytchfinder. Not convinced that this is a wytch's third teat. I have heard tell that a wytch's nipples taste of sulphur. I see no evidence of it here.'
'Surely a wytch has the sense to disguise the smell with rosewater?' the chief elder asks.
'Still,' the elder ponders, flicking a thin tongue over my nipples. 'I'm not convinced.'
I am glad that I am pressed up against the table. I sallow another whimper. I fear I will faint from arousal before this examination is over. The elders are panting with lust, eager for the next degradation.
'If you are still not convinced, gentlemen, then I must show you the wytch's most secret place, where it has been penetrated by the devil.'
The elders gasp and murmur, afraid to move out of their seats lest their own lust becomes evident. The Wytchfinder releases me and moves to find a chair. He pulls me from the table and turns me round before bending me over the back of it. I am weak and compliant with arousal. I bend from the waist and surreptitiously rub my tortured nubs on the rough wood.
The Wytchfinder is rolling up my skirt, exposing my bare legs to the elders and finally pushing the cotton up over my waist.so that my backside is exposed. His fingers trace the cleft of my buttocks before his strong, warm hands push my legs apart, wider, until my wet secret place is in plain view. The elders' silence speaks volumes. Their desire is heavy and potent in the air.
'Witness the pink, aroused sex, gentlemen.' What woman save a wytch would be aroused by the humiliation she has received at our hands today?' His fingers are fluttering over the sex lips, separating them and dipping in to the lushness there. I stifle a moan and push myself back on his fingers. He allows me a brief moment of fulfilment before withdrawing them from my moist sex.
The sound of shifting and buttons popping fills the silence. I glance around and upside down I can make out several of the elders undoing their trousers under the table and fumbling for their overexcited genitals.
'Look, gentlemen. There can be no further proof. This wytch has allowed the devil inside her most private entrance and still she writhes and drips with lust. There is no end to this woman's lewdness. I will put her is gaol tonight and tomorrow she takes the ducking stool. What say you?'
A few murmured assents but the elders of the village are masturbating as one, slack-jawed, eyes locked on the wytch's splayed legs.
'Up, wytch, and prepare for your punishment.'