(An Erotic Story)
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You have conquered my husband's lands and have made me a young widow. Being a widow bothers me not in the least, as I had been betrothed to that (thankfully deceased) troll and abhored his cruel existence.
However, the loss of my lands and my now captive status is unbearable. I had thought to at least be sent to a convent, where my wealthy widowed status would offer me protection and more than suffice for the convent's dowery. As a nun, I would gain more freedom than I had as a wife. But this was not to be..as yet.
I have been told that I should consider myself lucky to be taken prisoner by a handsome young man as you are- considering I could be imprisoned by another foul troll. But that gives me no comfort as I ride on your horse before you, your arms holding me to you. If only I could get to mine own mare, I could chance to make my escape!
The countyside is barren as winter's icy tendrils have stripped the green form the land and as we cross the drawbridge to your castle, I have a frission of fear as I chance to gaze upon the grey batillments.
Silently, you alight from the horse and reach up to assist me down. Suspicious, I cooly accept your hand, wondering at your chivalry.
You turn away to give orders to your men as a cheery middle-aged woman greets me and tells me that she will show me to my room. I hesitate to follow her until I am sure that my trunk will follow me. She tells one of the men to bring the item to my chamber.
The only possession I was allowed to bring was one small trunk of clothing, which I had also secreted my dagger. There was no way I was going to let that be left behind and leave myself unprotected. You had laid waste to my dead husband's men- what would you do to me?
I followed her up a winding staircase to the top floor, listening to her tell me about the history of the manse. I had vowed not to make any acquaintence here as I had planned my stay to be very brief, but I realized that this woman, the housekeeper, could assist me in my escape. As we entered the room, I quickly assessed any routes of escape, however scarce, as the room was high above the grounds. Noting the windows, I turned to plead my case to the kind woman.
'You must help me...' I began in a whisper. Either she was partly deaf, or had not understood me, she prattled on nervously about seeing that I was comfortable.
However, I realized my folly when I saw a shadow loom in the doorway, and you entered the chamber followed by a man with my trunk.
'Did I hear you mention that you needed help?' you began, courteously.
I turned my back to you and walked toward the window, seemingly interested in the view.
'No my Lord, she don't need yer help, she be needin' my help to unpack her things!' the housekeeper chuckled.
What a kind women, I thought.
'Fine then', you continued, 'I will have a tub sent up for you for a bath. I thought you'd like to bathe after the journey.' I pointedly ignored you.
Slowly walked toward me and put your hand on my shoulder to turn me around. I refused to look at you. Gently, you took my chin in your hand and brought my gaze to yours and said, amused, 'A wonderous thing, a silent woman!' I refused to counter, although I wanted to box your ears for being so amused! 'Well, you shall have to speak sometime, won't you?'
How dare you laugh at me! I thought, and narrowed my eyes just slightly, willing you to unhand me.
'After your bath, you may be permitted to join me in the hall to sup, unless you'd like to dine in your room?'
No comment from me.
'You might want to join me, as it will be the only chance you will have outside of this room- until you acknowledge me as your liege Lord.'
My eyes widened. 'You really would not keep me a prisoner here?' I blurted, worried.
'I see you found your voice. Good.'
With that word, you turned and left the room.
'My Lady, it would do you good if you cooperated with him- he's a fair master...' the housekeeper whispered as she exited the room, locking it behind her.
I ran to my trunk, digging through the fabrics, to check for my dagger.
After your bath, Hilde, the kind housekeeper, takes you down to a humongous dining hall. The room is so wide that one might consider mounting one's horse per stead of walking to the far end, barely discernable beyond the mill of guests. The hall is twice and half again so long as it is wide. The ceiling, a gem and silver encrusted sky, is yet higher than the tallest steeple you have ever since. The whole room voices oppulence, even while somehow suggesting taste. And it takes one a moment to realize an oddity about the room. For all the rubies, emeralds, saphires, statues and portraits, decorative armours and weapons. For all the crystal shandelers and exotic serving dishes. For all the silver that can make the most calous man wonder about the men who mined it, there is not anywhere to be seen anywhere an ounce of gold.
You are escorted toward the center of the room. A shallow, clear, and narrow mote seperate the rest of the room from a raised central island. Within the mote are large and brightly coloured fishes swimming in a liesurely fashion. The floor to the mote is covered in coins and gemstones. An exquisitely carved wooden drawbridge is ceremoniously lowered to allow you, Hilde, and two guards to cross the gap and join me at the table where I am already seated.
The table may have seemed long elsewhere, but given the dimensions of the room, it seems dwarfed. I am seated on the plush and magniicent thrown at the table's centre. A chair of apparent equal comfort sits to my left and you are surprised to find yourself escorted to and seated in that very chair -- when are prisoners ever publicly humiliated by having to endure such obvious luxury and comfort? Thel eyes of the kingdom are upon you as you sit awkwardly, unsure of the arrangement or the implications.
To add to the confusion of the moment, I casually introduce you to the plethera of people surounding us, as though we had known each other for ages and as though there is no other place in the world that it would be more sensible for you to be seated than right there beside me.
With a subtle clap, I make a signal and a parade of servants all carrying silver platters enter the hall from a doorway in the distance. Has the entire dining hall been waiting for you before they could eat? As the guests clear a path for them, they are presently upon us and revealing soups, steaks, pheasants, salads, all manner of edible, every bit as appetizing to the eyes and nose as you might hope it could be to the stomache. Quickly and efficently food is placed before the congregation on this island and then the servants, save one porter, are off as quickly as they appeared, to attend to the other guests.
As we dine, you listen to our table mates banter tediously about crops, peasants, troublesome neighbors to the north, trade routes in the east. It is obvious that everyone is avoiding discussion of you and the recent conquest of your husband's lands; it is not obvious whether they are avoiding it because you are present. You can tell that many, most markedly of the women, are as uncomfortable about the seating arrangement as you feel yourself to be. Indeed, what are you doing there?
As the tension builds, you nervously try to ask me. Evasively, I start asking you if you are less than happy with your chair and your food? Whether the wine is two sweet or two dry? Or perhaps you would prefer a white to the red? I complement you on the dress you have chosen to wear. And then I casually take a large silver serving fork with an engraved obsidian handle from the plate of roast duck. I use a clean napkin to wipe it the fork, and gentle hand the fork to you, suggesting you might wish to slide the fork down your left boot as a match for the knife you conceal in your right.
Caught completely off guard, a hot blush suffices my face and I cast my eyes elsewhere about the room seeking to avoid your mocking gaze. Having had a chance to catch my breath and form a reply, I smile angelicly up at you and ask lightly,
'Whatever do you mean, milord?' giving a small laugh and silently vowing not to underestimate you again. The gentle smile upon my lips belied the turmoil within my breast. I could feel the prying eyes of the guests at the table.
I ask myself: How could he KNOW? Is he some kind of seer? Or has he excellent spies? Hilde could not have known!
Although the feast is quite tempting, I have lost my appetite. You remark that fact, gently mocking me once again.
In an effort to disprove your words, I pluck a piece of fruit out of a heavy silver bowl in front of us and set it on my plate. Besides, I muse, I had better keep my strength for when I escape...
Thinking I have been chastened for the moment, and ever the gracious host, you politely turn to your other seated guest and ask him how his family fares. The gentlemen, ever happy to talk, begins to regale you with all sorts of boring tales. Politely, you listen to him drone on.
Think! I tell myself. With all the guests here, surely this will be a time to flee. When we are alone in the castle, he will notice my every move...I gaze at the jewel-encrusted silver chalice by my hand...containing a very dark wine.
Inspired, I jerk my hand toward me and the cup falls over, dousing the front of my gown with the wine. The porter dashes toward me as I rise from my chair, seemingly mortified, crying,
'My gown! Oh, it will be RUINED! I must change!' At my cry, you turn to me and see the embarassment on my face as the guests around you titter over my clumsiness.
'My Lord, PLEASE, may I be excused for the moment? If I could get to my chamber and have a maid soak my gown in cold water, I may be able to save my gown. This gown means so much to me, as my grandmere made it for me...' The female guests, thinking me a provincial mouse, smirk.
Knowing you could purchase a hundred such gowns with just your chalice alone, you graciously allow me to be excused- with a guard to escort me.
I make my way over the mote and go towards the staircase to the chambers. If my calculations are correct, there should be a washroom somewhere close. I turn to the guard and say,
'Show me to the washroom and fetch me my robe from my chamber. I would waste no time in cleaning my gown.' The guard interjects, 'My Lady, I have orders-'
'Your Master knows nothing of women's clothing,' I laugh, 'if this is ruined because you delayed me, I shall be most displeased. I give you my word that I shan't try to escape,' I promise, looking as innocent as a lamb.
Reluctantly, the guard escorts me to the washroom, where I see large wooden vats for the laundry. He hurries off to my chamber to fetch my robe. Quickly, I scan the room for what I seek: a boy's clothing.
I find one of your page's dry outfits and secret it between my knees beneath my gown. The guard aproaches me with the robe and I ask him to leave me to change into my robe in privacy and to fetch me a large bucket of water from the well outside. He closes the door behind him and I bar it for privacy, quickly removing the soiled gown, dressing in the boy's clothing, and donning my heavy velvet robe. Shortly after, the guard knocks upon the door and I let him enter. Thanking him for the bucket, I go about looking concerned as I dump the gown into the water, mumbling that this should do the trick.
'Now, if you would, escort me to my chamber so that I may change.' The guard proposed to call Hilde to help me dress. P>'Nay, there is no time- do not wake her.' I retort, secretly worried e would still call her.
We alight the staircase and I enter my chamber and bar the door in the guard's face. Quickly, I run to the garder robe for another fresh gown, remove the robe and men's clothing, fold the clothing, place it in the trunk underneath some night things, and lock the trunk, putting the key in my boot. I grab the gown, hurriedly dress, open the door, and race past the guard, telling him to hurry.
I enter, once again, the massive chamber, slowing my pace to a regal stroll, knowing that the prying eyes of your many guests would be on me. In truth, I had no idea what gown I had chosen, but as I approached you, for some strange reason I hoped that I had chosen a flattering gown. Seeing the approval in your eyes, I gently smile, bow deeply, and join your side.
"Every time I see you, you are dressed more beautifully than the last. I shall have to send some of my men to bring forth your kingdom's taylor. Perhaps it is but your own beauty, but I judge my own taylor, not an incapable man as you may see, incompetant of creating such splendor."
I signal to one of my retainers and a message to the same effect is dispatched.
The meal continues uneventfully into a desert equally splendid: cakes, pies, puddings. Then the jester comes forth. You hear him drivel for a few minutes and you idlely wonder whether the page shall keep his post, let alone his head. He hardly provoked a laugh among the court. But there was something about his last joke that caught your attention. Joking about books, his final remark was "unsightly things shall be in the passages discovered when the pages are left without their covers.". I just give you a wrye smile as I sent the jester on his way.
Some gypsies are brought in with violins and accordians and other instuments and start playing up a storm. Inclined to revelry, I get up out of my chair and gracefully hop on the table, kicking sundry items over to far edge to clear some space. Next thing you know, I am taking you by the hand and inviting you up to join me in this dance.
I am quite taken aback at your invitation. How oddly you treat your prisoners! Distracted by your smile as well as the jester's riddle, I surprise myself by joining in your revelry. I should refuse mine enemies' invitation to dance on principle alone, but 'tis no harm to dance this eve, as I am sure I shall be dancing far from here on the morrow.
I cannot believe such a warrior could have such grace! You whirl me across the table and I am quite enjoying myself, yet I know that I must keep to my original plan. The song is quite merry and ends in a flourish, leaving me in your arms. I feel strangely weak and fall against you. Tightening your embrace, you look at me questioningly and I realize that this may be my only chance...
'Milord,' I begin breathlessly, 'this day's events have caught up to me and I feel quite faint...If it yould please you, I ask for a guard to escort me back to my chamber- I should like to take to my bed, as I am weary.'
'Nonsense,' you counter, 'I shall see to your comfort.'
'It would cause quite a stir among these ladies here who hang upon your every word, if you removed your presence from this fete!' I chided, gesturing to the many pairs of female eyes boring holes into us. I worry to be left alone with you.
'It would be unseemly to let you retire without me...' You counter, determinately. Narrowing my eyes for a reposte, I would argue more, but I should not want to entertain your wrath. There will be time enough for that when we are on opposite sides of the ramparts.
As we walk back towards your chamber, I entertain you with stories about my ancestors, some of whom are still said to haunt this palace. Hardly a nook nor a cranhy was free from a tale. Murders and scandles abounded in the hundreds of years this manse stood. The patriarch who built this castle was said to be the greatest conquer ever to grace the earth. No man resisted his bastard sword and no woman ever resisted his nether sword, both of which tasted a milliad times their fair share of their favoured fluids. Hardly a man nor woman walked this land who could not honestly claim lineage from that man. It was his fourth wife who put an end to his virulence. She quietly tolerated all his antics until she learned he had seduced their eldest daughter; actually, she was mistaken since the daughter had seduced him, but the enraged mother, his wife, poisoned him. But even in his death, she could not resist his virulence. It is said that she raped his dead body. What is certain was that he was buried without his genitals which had been amputated and years later found to be mummified. It was suspected that this was the favourite plaything of her highness who bore another son a year after the patriarch was felled; no other father could be suggested. The relic, when discovered, was to be given a proper burial, but disappeared before such could be arranged. It is widely believed, though hardly discussed, to be secretly circulating among some of the higher ranking females of the court; not a few of my cousins are suspected of being sired by it.
And in this closet over here, it was said that the lowest and ugliest serving girl in the household had seduced by magick, yet another one of my ancestors. After her bodily ministrations, he would not touch another woman in the kingdom but her who he now treated better than his wife. In fact, his wife was given the option, at his new mistress' suggestion, of either taking her place or losing her head. And so she was humiliated until her eldest son slayed both his father and the serving girl.
This porch was a favourite lounge of a family matriarch. It is said that she died without ever having touched a man, but horses, bulls, boars, and rams in plenty. Her children's feature's hinted at such a lineage and the priesthood would not grant them sovernty over the kingdom. Instead the kingdom was passed to the sons of her younger sister.
And this alcove her was the deathplace of a princess who incestuously seduced all eight of her brothers on seperate occasions and skillfully played them against each other in their rivalry for her. Each brother slayed another until only one was left. She conspired to slay the last personally so that her own sons may inherit the kingdom. Alas, her brother grew wise to her plot and switched his poisoned goblet with her own, but not until after he had already ingested some. They both died and the kingdom was passed to their uncle's spawn.
And this hallway is the favourite haunt of my great-great grandfather, slain by a trecherous daughter when she could not have her way with him. His spector can be seen pacing the hallway every full moon; it is true, for I had seen him myself.
Your own chamber was once privy to a favoured concubine. In fact so great was her alore that for four generations, sons slew fathers in order to take her as paramour. It was said that to merely look into her eyes, even a pansy should grow erect or a woman should grow wet. During her life, she effectively ruled the kingdom. It is said that her spirit still resides in this room. Those who spend the night, so it is said, find themselves overcome with deep sexual frustration. But those who are fortunate and favourable to her, find themselves assuaged by ministrations more erotic than any corpral man or woman might deliver.
As I deliver you to the door of the chamber, I ask you if perhaps you'd rather not risk encountering such a spirit. I could take you to another room, but no others should you find nearly as physically comfortable nor luxurious, unless you felt inclined to join me in my own.
As you lock the chamber door behind you, I feel a spark of fear in my breast. Infuriated, yet flattered at your bold invitation to your bed, I wonder if you were jesting with me about your illustrious ancestors, seeking to strike fear into me to persuade me from wandering the castle alone. I found myself morbidly aroused by the hideous tales of your family, wondering at what tales there are of you.
I felt a moment of sheer terror when I realized that I had remembered whispered tales of your family that had circulated the various banquets, only to be hushed as the ladies appeared. I chide myself for an over-active imagination, thinking I imagined hearing the tales.
Snuffing all of the candles save one to darken the room and portray the role of a sleeping maid in case you lingered outside my chamber, I take a deep breath and resolve to think no more on the tales and to plan for my escape. I bar the inside of the door and move to my closet, kneel by my trunk, and unlock it with my key.
While rummaging through the chest to find the clothing I have stashed, I feel strangely heavy with sleep. Forcing myself to concentrate on my task, I pinch myself to stay alert. A heavy scent of roses envelops me and I swear I hear the sound of breathing by my left ear. Alarmed to think a miscreant may have hidden in my chamber, I grasp the dagger from my boot and quickly turn around, ready to defend myself.
The room is empty. Sighing, I chide myself for a fool and return to my task. Grasping the page's shirt, I feel my hair being caressed. I am sure that it my nerves that betray me and ignore the sensation. I pull my gown above my head to change into my disguise. When I have removed the gown, I look up to see a woman naked, smiling at me and I completely lose consciousness.
In the darkness, I hear whispers and giggles around me. I know I must be dreaming, but I need to wake and make my escape this eve. A woman's voice whispers to me in my dream, 'There is time later for that…' Feeling quite drowsy, I tend to agree with her and resolve to think of escape on the morrow.
I try to stretch my limbs and feel them pressed to the bed, held down by soft hands, which caress my arms and legs. More hands move over my prone body, over my breasts, my buttocks, and up my thighs. I feel my thighs being spread apart by these hands, as a mouth kisses me upon the lips, a tongue darting into my mouth. The hands caress me upward, over my mound, causing me to move my hips toward the touch.
I hear several giggles and feel my legs being pulled apart wider. Fingers gently pull apart my labia and probe my lips as two warm mouths lick my breasts. I groan my pleasure at the probing. I feel a tongue touch my clitoris. There are fingers pinching my nipples, lips at my neck. I move my hips toward the tongue teasing my wetness, but the tongue frustratingly withdraws.
I feel my legs being pushed further upward and still wider apart by the hands which are getting more forceful by the second. I struggle to move my hands, but they are still held fast against the bed, as my legs are being held wide apart. I feel a finger probe my anus, my nipples cruelly pinched and, my thighs are being licked mercilessly. I can feel a soft woman's body straddle my chest, her mound being pressed to my lips. I open my mouth to taste her, my tongue seeking her wetness. I feel another woman straddle me sideways between my legs, pressing her hot flesh to mine, grinding her wetness into mine as I cry out in pleasure.
The women suddenly remove themselves form my body as I feel myself lifted by many hands and rolled onto my stomach. Hands guide me to my knees and part my buttocks, squeezing my breasts.
I feel a cold smooth object being pressed to my anus. It is large and painful and I try to close my legs, but the hands pry my legs apart. The object is rammed inside me, causing a cry of pain and pleasure to be torn from my lips. Hands firmly hold my hips, preventing me from dislodging the dildo from my bottom. The object is moved in and out of me, eliciting cries and groans of pleasure. As I am finding pleasure in this violent torture, the dildo is torn from my body.
The ache in my body is mounting, but I will receive no release until I have a hard man inside my wetness, thrusting into me, pinioning me against the bed. Not just any man, my body cries out to me and betrays me, it must be YOU. I writhe in agony, exhausted, and fall into a restless sleep at dawn, having had a night of intense pleasure and torment.
I awake to a persistent knock at the bedroom door. Shocked, I find myself nude in bed, the covers pulled around me. My body feels oddly sore and tense, and I venture a tentative hand to between my legs and find my thighs and the sheet beneath me wet with the night's passions. My clitoris engorged, I gently stroke myself to attain my release, frustratingly being interrupted by Hilde calling through the door to bring in my morning bath.
Exhausted, I plead to her to come back later, as I would like to sleep longer. Worriedly, she calls to me through the door that 'The Master requests your presence to break the fast.' I fall back upon the pillows exhausted, groaning, ashamed to be seen.
When Hilde realizes you'll not be stirring that morning, she leaves your bath water outside your door and goes to inform me. I instruct Hilde to allow you your rest and to take a tray of food to your chamber when you are ready to eat.
I spend the morning tending to various details of the kingdom. A tax adjustment here, a pardon there. Next I must give judgement over a favoured knight accused of raping and sodomizing a peasant girl. A difficult case for the knight pleaded not guilty by way of bewitchment. Possibly true, but hard to prove and the kingdom's laws concerning witchcraft were sketchy and complicated. On the one hand, it was felt that a man who is not acting under his own cognition should not be held accountable for his actions, unless it was because of his own actions that he was no longer cogniscant. But it was also argued, a man who has been abandoned by God such that he may be effected to do evil, has also been abandoned by God to receive punishment for that evil. And the eyes of the court would be upon this case because the knight was popular and well connected while the girl was unknown and politically insignificant. But I was known as a fair ruler who cared for the welfare of the peasants and did not tolerate their abuse. I should not like to find a kingdom full of aristocrats crying witchcraft every time they fowled the peasantry. I listen to eye witness accounts and character testimonials for the better part of the morning. I consult several books, legal advisers, lobbyists, astrologers. I decide to postphone his fate for the morrow knowing that this shall surely end badly. Perhaps I'd ask you for your opinion of the case.
I make my way to your chamber shortly before lunch. As I approach the door, I spy some household servants listening at your door and as they notice my appoach they quickly scatter. It does not take me long to realize what sounds so amused them, for I hear your groans of pleasure from some half way up the hallway. I listen for a tad, feeling myself aroused by your beautiful voice. I imagine myself provoking such rapture from your body as I drink the wine of your womanhood. Having learned a spell of one-way transparency from the court wizard, I indulge myself in some voyerism, watching your hands explore your exquisit body eagerly and earnestly. I watch you fondling your beasts, your thighs, your anus, your cliterous. You clearly do not have enough hands to give yourself all the stimulation you desire.
Knowing your frustration and feeling more lust than I have known in ages, I knock upon your chamber door and brazenly ask whether you should care for any assistence.
The knock upon upon the door startles me out of my revelry, as the sound of your voice causes a fresh surge of painful lust in me.
'Nay, sir-,' I groan, 'I do not feel at all well this morn and would like to be left alone, if you please,' I call out most insincerely.
Knowing my deception, but nonetheless a gentleman, you turn away in irritation at my lie and leave my door. I hear your retreating footsteps and sigh with relief.
'Lying whore!' a voice hisses at me, causing sheer terror to engulf me as I feel a cold finger being roughly pressed into my cunt. I feel myself being turned roughly on my stomach, unable to move as I feel a lash strike my buttocks.
'You may lie to him, but you cannot lie to ME!' it screams. I cry out for mercy, but receive none. A volley of lashes fall across my back and thighs as a hand muffles my screams of pain.
The finger, with no moisture to aid its movement, prods at me. The presence whispers your name into my ear and laughs disparagingly as wetter each time your name is mentioned, despite the lashing.
'Please stop!' I cry piteously, and the whipping abruptly ceases.
Many hands pull me off the bed and through my now open doorway. I am compelled through the hallway, unable to hide my nakedness. The unseen hands hold me captive and guide me toward your chamber door as I struggle against them.
You chamber door is thrown open, I am pushed through the doorway and hear the door shut and bolted behind me. In panic, I see your massive bed draped in heavy black velvet curtains as I am half-dragged, half pushed to the foot of your bed on my knees.
I see a movement in the corner as you rise from your desk, quill in hand, at the interruption.
'Is there something you desire?' you whisper, breaking the heavy silence.
A harsh whisper in my ear prods me, 'You had better tell him the truth or I will punish you mercilessly!' punctuating that statement with a cruel pinch to my breast as I muffle a cry of pain.
'No!' I moan, trying to defy the spirit. A force pushes down further with a heel to my neck, forcing me into a bow in the icy stone floor.
'DO IT!' It screams brooking no arguement.
I take a breath, barely able to get my supplication out in a whisper, 'If it would please you, Milord, I WANT you,' I plead, trembling.
'Good girl...' the whisper purrs, releasing its hold, and swatting me on the bottom affectionately. I feel the presence leave the room.
In relief and humiliation, I feel tears welling up in my eyes as I continue to hide my face, mortified by my confession.
Observing your mortification, I gently kneel besides you with a kerchief. Taking you by the chin, I cause you to look up and I gently wipe the tears from your eyes. Feeling that your sense of humiliation may be outweighing your feelings of lust for me, I surpress my own feelings and just hug you tenderly, feeling your tears soak through my shirt.
I tenderly pat your head and comb my fingers through your magnificant hair. "It's alright... The spirits in this place can be cruel, but you'll not find me as a match in that regard for my ancestors. Calm yourself, for I shant take advantage you after their viciousness."
You rest in my arms for some time and as your feelings of mortification die down, your lust again rises. You realize, as brazen as I was earlier, I shant go any further without some signal from you. Nervously, you allow your hand to slide from my shoulder down to my breast and you begin to play with my nipple through the soaked fabric. Noticing the awkwardness of the position I am kneeling in, you shift your weight causing me to topple down backwards, yourself landing on top of me. As I try to right myself, you push me back down, look into my eyes, and seeing the lust I have been surpressing for you, you plant your lips to mine and slowly but passionately kiss me. My virulence awakened, I requite your kiss and my hands begin to explore the naked body you have presented before me. My lips travel south towards your neck and breasts as your hands eagerly rip my shirt from my body to continue their own exploration. As my teeth gently nibble on your nipple, your lust grows stronger and you can hardly work my belt buckle in your distraction. You eagerly rub your womanhood against my upper leg as you grabble with the hook. No sooner do I lend a hand and loose the belt than you have my trousers to my knees and begin to feed upon my manhood. My hands tease your hair and carress the back of your neck, but I stop you short of my own explosion. Withdrawing myself from your eager mouth, I put you on your back and go down to return the favour. As my tongue works your cliterous, I plant a few fingers of my right hand within the portal of your gender and massage it's warm, wet, and tender insides. I use my other hand to draw some of your lubrications to your other portal and slip my right hand's pinky figure into the opening. You writhe up and down on my hand as your juices explode from your body. Oversatiated with pleasure, you use your muscles to squeeze my hand from your orifice. I give you but a moment to catch your breath and then I raise myself up so I may look into your eyes, kiss you, and plant myself deep within you. Slowly and gently, at first, I make love to your delicate body. I slip a hand between us so that I may use it to excite your cliterous. You plant your hands upon my buttocks and pull me deeper into you. Your body milks me such that I can no longer contain myself. I explode within you and gently collapse in your arms.
We lie fused together upon the floor, our breathing heavy, revelling our spent passion. I feel you withdraw your manhood from my body and I stretch, satiated. You draw me to my feet and to your bed, pulling back the heavy drapes. You climb upon the bed and beckon for me to join you, closing the drapes. We kiss once again, and fall into a deep sleep into each other's arms.
I awake in darkness, not knowing the time of day. I reach my hand out toward the velvet curtains for the opening, parting the fabric. The night is bright with a full moon. I slide off the bed and onto the cold floor, seeking water. I see upon your desk a servant has brought some nourishment for us, but I am not interested.
However, I find a full tub of warm water in the corner behind a screen. The thoughtful person had laid out scented soaps, oils and towels. Feeling the wetness upon my thighs, I decide not to wait for you to take a bath. Perusing the oils, I choose a lavendar scent to place in the water and pinning my hair upon my head, climb in. The water feels divine as I soak my sore body.
I quickly soap my body, rinse, and exit the bath to dry myself off and anoint myself in strategic places with a subtle, exotic scent.I have not awakened you with my toilette, so I once again approach your bed and climb between the drapes to your side.
Torn between wanting to let you sleep and awaking you, I decide to let my hands gently wander your prone body. As you lie upon your stomach, I lightly run my fingertips down your spine and lay my hands upon you to gently massage your neck and back. I let my hands wander further down your body to massage your legs, calves, and feet. I randomly plant gentle kisses and light licks upon various places: your neck, the base of your spine, your buttocks, the backs of your knees, your ankles, your feet.
During my ministrations, I can feel you draw closer to wakening. You sigh and turn onto your back. I kiss your brow and draw my lips across your neck, nuzzling you. I run my hands over your chest and neck, your arms, your abdomen and rain kisses upon you. I massage your thighs and draw my nails lightly across your inner thighs.
With my tongue I tease first one nipple, then the other. I take my mouth down further to your pelvis as my hand reaches lightly for your manhood. Feeling your erection, I gently slide my fingers over your testicles, cupping them. I press my fingers to the area between your balls and your anus, causing you to raise your hips to my fingers.
I gently grasp your sack in my hand and press my lips to it, licking your jewels, then taking your sack into my mouth to lightly suckle.With my hand, I softly caress your arousal, from the base to the tip. I can feel a bit of pre-cum on your tip and I massage it around the head.
I kiss your erection, running my tongue over you before I take the tip of your penis into my warm mouth. I run my tongue around the head of your shaft and gently suckle upon you. I move my mouth up and down upon your arousal, gradually increasing my sucking. I feel your hands in my hair, pressing your erection further into my mouth, grazing my throat, as you thrust your hips against my lips.
I hear you groan your pleasure and grow wetter between my legs. I slowly remove my mouth from your arousal, lightly blowing upon it.I move up your body and slowly rub my swollen cunt lips over your tip and offer you my breasts to nuzzle. Your tongue upon my nipples causes me to whimper my pleasure.
Slowly, agonizingly, I lower myself upon your hardness. I press my lips to yours and groan as you slide your tongue into my mouth. When you are fully inside me, I raise my self up, then down again, sliding myself over you. I reach behind me to massage your balls.
When I feel your hands fondling my breasts, I quicken my pace upon you and hear your sharp intake of breath as you are close to the edge of your pleasure. Taking me off guard, you quickly roll me over onto my back, and ram yourself into my wet slit, contracting and shooting your seed into me as you groan your pleasure and I cry out mine.
It's going to be a very long night.;-)
Indeed the night was long, but the morning is disturbingly short. We wake to the sounds of horns blowing and town criers are declaring that the kingdom is under attack. For the man who were married to was not unconnected. His brother, commanding a kingdom to the far east, has come to demand that we return you and your husbands lands and that we should grant him some measure of our own lands along with my head to appease his family.
Surprised that he should attack me on my own lands, confident in my troops ability to deflect him, but not so cocky as to underestimate him, I quickly dress and prepare to do battle. I hurredly bid you a good morning, taking as long to kiss you as the moment allows and call for Hilde to attend to your wants and needs.
I consult with the minister of war who tells tells me that this menacing lord, ever as much the troll as your late husband is indescriminately killing our peasants and salting our lands. Already a calvary has been sent to dispatch the rogue, but the invaders were well prepared to do battle and got the better of my men. The survivors are already regrouping and another calvary along with the archers are preparing for our next volley.
I dispatch a squire to arrange a meeting with my enemy upon, so by confronting him, I may better to discover how eager he is for him and his men to die upon this battlefield. He may have had some small advantage from surprize, but that advantage has been lost. What madness would compell him to mount this attack?
Quite disturbed at the morning's events, yet not knowing the whole story of the matter, I bathe, eat, and retire to my chamber to work upon a needlepoint had stashed in my trunk. Quickly growing bored, I pace the room waiting to hear word about the days' events. As I hear nothing to assuage my nervous curiosity, I exit my room to seek out one of your retainers for any word.
Unbeknownst to me, a messenger is let into the barred keep to speak with your kinsman. As I pass your study, I hear a voice calling to get my attention. I enter the study, half expecting you to be there, but see the messenger and kinsman rolling a piece of parchment paper. The seal has been broken.
'This is for you. Begging your pardon, I did not know whether to tell it to you, as I did not know if you could read.'
'Of course I can read,' I snap, testily. Then, remembering my manners, I attempt to soften my reply.
Stoically, he passes the rolled paper to me. It says:
Go with the messenger.
At the bottom was your signet, verifying you as the sender.
The two gentlemen look at mw with guarded expressions.
'Give me a moment to get my cloak,' I answer, as I turn upon my heel.
Up in my chamber, place my dagger in my boot, and search through my trunk for the few pieces left of my mother's jewelry, a jeweled circlet and veil. I braid my hair, and pin it to my head, adding the gauzy pale veil and headdress and don my pearl ear-bobs. Donning my heavy cloak and fastening it at the neck with a brooch, I descend the stairs to meet the messenger. He helps me to my horse and onto my side saddle and he quickly gallops out of the keep with me at his heels.
The ride is fairly long, and we do not stop to rest. Farther away from the castle I notice smoldering fields and burnt out huts. Peasant bodies, contorted in their death throes, dot the countryside. By the side of the road I can see evidence that many of these men and women had been cruelly tortured and impaled. Disgusted, I wonder what kind of monster could do such things.
As we approach an army, I can recognize your coat of arms, thrilled to know I would see you soon enough. I don't wait for the messenger to help me and jump down off my horse unassisted, then straighten my clothing. The messenger calls for me to wait for him and I pause, aggravated. He tells me that his orders are to guard me and to escort me into the large tent that has been set up.
Impatiently, I wait outside the tent as I am announced, and regally enter. A quick glance around tells me that some negotiation is going on. I look inquisitively at you as a filthy man approaches me.
The disgusting man, my former brother in law, eyes me lecherously. 'Your captivity has added to your loveliness,' he sneers. I pointedly ignore him and walk to your side. I stand beside your chair stoically, waiting.
'You've some to your senses! Hand over the wench as my property.' The cretin laughs crudely.
I can not stay silent and pose a mocking question, 'What use to you is your brother's widow, your SISTER?'
'Women are only good for one thing and it is not their conversation. Shut yer mouth,' he replies to me. Turning to you, if you hand her over to me with no argument, 'I may just call off your death warrant and just take your lands. What say you?'
I feel a moment of sheer terror as I wait powerlessly for my fate to be decided.
Contemplating the bargain for a long moment, you counter evenly, 'I would release this woman not into your hands unless she would ask it of me.' You turn to me expectantly.
In a clear voice, I reply, 'Milord, I would rather serve a pig than go with him.'
Infuriated, he quickly approaches me to slap me. His hand is stopped in midair by your powerful grip, causing him to fall to his knees in pain from your grasp.
You release him, causing him to fall backward upon the floor and speak words or warning to the coward: 'Should you make another move like that, I will forget my truce and slay you here.'
He gains his feet, scowling, stalking to the tent opening. He turns and utters a warning, 'You will regret this!' and exits the tent.
Suddenly afraid again, I whisper, 'Milord, if I may say so, he has no honor and would do anything to suit his needs, even to sell his own mother. He is much like his brother. He would do anything to seek revenge upon you. Would you kill him now before he has the chance to reach his men?'
"You may say so, but I am already aquainted with this toad. As convienent as it may be, I shant so readily break the truce and stain my own honour. He may be ruthless, but his men follow him only so long as they fear him more than they fear any opposition. They see no honour or glory in winning his battles and he is too selfish to even pay his mercenaries a respectable sum. It shall be a simple matter to root his forces."
I join the generals at a table and they unroll a map of the land of the land before us. He start discussing tactics and positions. Although I am trying to appear confident before you and my men, I feel somewhat disturbed by the prospect of this battle. For Boris is a coward with a small kingdom. He gained his land by slaying an elder half-brother in the back and then forcing the niave and vulnerable widow to grant him her hand and with it the kingdom. Since then, he has only managed to keep his kingdom because the rocky and sloped land has never been worth the effort of mounting an offensive against him. Though his desire to expand his kingdom might be an obvious course, with or without excuses, his move in this direction spoke of something either poor or shrewd in his judgement. Though I should not like to overestimate him, I could do worse to underestimate his capabilities.
As my generals point out different placements and groupings for our men, a spy rushes forth through the tent flap.
"Milord! Beyond yonder mountain (pointing towards the west), Lord Morgan has an army headed towards our kingdom.."
I am compelled to wonder at this turn of events. For Morgan and I have held an uneasy truce for some time. Our families had been killing each other for countless generations. Our father's arranged to end this cycle. I married his sister whose child was expected to inherit my kingdom. But then she died while delivering a stillborn child. Morgan's father suspected fowl play but could prove nothing. But he had sworn a truce upon his gods that the war should be over if we consented to the marriage, as did we. His father recently died and it was suspected that Morgan would soon look for an opportunity to break the truce. But it was not believed he could finance an army, for he was a notoriously depraved gambler and his kingdom was being ruined by his bureacrats and ministers and some large number of bastard sons all trying to collect an inheritance.
Nor was Morgan known to be on terms with Boris. When Morgan's father died from mysterious caused, his step-mother treacherously absconded with Boris. Thus Morgan had no love for his step-mother that her presence was to be desired, her abscense under such lurid circumstance only added to enmnity. And if there was not enough love loss yet between Morgan and Boris, his step mother was publicly drawn naked through the streets, flogged, and beheaded on allegations that she diddled a minister who received like treatment.
It was not to be believed that Morgan would come unsummoned to my defense, but how did that weigh against the alternative? I had to prepare for a war against two armies on opposite fronts. Perhaps Boris did know something after all?
I dispatch a messenger to arrange for a meeting with Morgan so I may learn of his grievences.
As the messanger exits, I see another has been waiting for me to end my discussions about Morgan's antics. He has come about Sir Gerald, whose scandle with the peasant girl still awaited resolution. The family grows impatient. I send him off with a message that I have decided to free him on condition of continued service; God may decide his fate when he does battle.
Finding myself with a moment to breath, I walk over to where you have been silently listening to all this. I am clearly trying to hide my stress and remain outwardly calm and confident, but you see in my eyes, that I have doubts. Attempting to seem casual, I ask you if perhaps you know aught of recent dealings between Morgan and your in-law?
I am silent for a moment, as I am acquainted with Lord Morgan. We are related by blood, yet have not seen each other since we were children. However, I recalled two meetings he had with my husband and brother-in-law.
The first meeting, my husband had approached Morgan to form an alliance against you. Honoring the new-found truce between your families, Morgan was reluctant to join Igor in alliance against you. I had overheard my husband say sneeringly to Boris when Morgan had departed that Morgan was unusually fond of his sister, as if that feeling were an abohoration.
Even without Morgan's assistance, Igor's greed had overtaken him and that was when he had first moved against you to take your lands. Besides, he was an ignorant and superstitious man whose court magician had assured him that he would prevail. They came from a family steeped, however ineptly, in the black arts. Their mother was said to have been a sorceress who had enchanted their father into marrying her. Enchanted alliances are oft-times known to be unhappy ones, and theirs was no exception. The mother did her best to turn the children against their father, inciting them to defiance and cruel mischief.
Lord Craighton had come from a fine family, but had turned dissolute during his marriage, drinking himself into oblivion and dying under very mysterious circumstances. It was rumored that his young sons had murdered him for the love of their mother, and she had cast a spell over them by taking them into her bed from a young age. I had confirmed these rumors when, hiding in a closet, I had overheard the two foul men reminiscing over the grotesque things they would do with their mother and her sordid passion for canines.
The second meeting took place once again at Igor's manse, as Morgan would neither allow Boris nor Igor to foul his castle by their disgusting presence. Morgan approached Igor and Boris after your wife had died. Mad with grief, he was sure of foul play involved. He stated that he would be open to a movement against you and would be willing to split your kingdom between their families when you were dead. His feelings of contempt for Boris and Igor had overruled his hatred of you. Their attack against you was preempted when you struck Igor down and sacked his keep. Now they planned to strike again.
Sounding a bit foolish, I tentatively mention to you that I feel Morgan could be reasoned with.
I ponder what you have told me for a bit. For I had heard before that Morgan's love for his sister was not only unusually strong, but even as his court questioned the death of my wife and unborn child, my own court questioned whether I was indeed the father. This was not even a point I felt much personal certainty of. Ours was an arranged and loveless marriage. Elizabeth would often make unduly fond comparisons of her brother against me, showing her resentment to be used as a pawn by our fathers. I was not the happiest to have her as a wife, but I understood the politics and tried to make the best of things and to make her life comfortable. I allowed Morgan to make frequent and prolonged visits to our kingdom and allowed her much time to take comfort with her brother, even after rumors began to circulate of how she found her comforts.
Morgan was always polite in his acceptence of our hospitality, spending so much time among my kingdom, that he neglected his duties to father's which was due to become his own; but it was clearly visible that Morgan had no enthusiasm to be amongst us beyond such time as he may spend in companionship to his sister. Whether we hunted, played cards, or bantered about the respective states of our kingdoms, his enthusiasm likewise waned. But I could not openly accuse him of anything without upsetting the truce our fathers had arranged.
After Elizabeth died, Morgan spent several months confining himself to his own bed chamber and it was during this time that Morgan took to excessive drinking. When he finally loosed himself from his self-alotted jail, he took to wenching and gambling and it was during such time as his burocrats and ministers took over his kingdom.
One would wonder whether I should encounter him sober or drunk and in which state he might be prefered. Did he morn the loss of a sister or the loss of a paramour? Did he morn a stillborn son? Was he after land or after revenge? Was this a desperate move to pay off creditors without leaving himself in ultimate ruin?
I should know nothing till I spoke with him and I expected it to be sometime before the messenger returned with news of the proposed parley.
The day wears on. Reports indicate Boris has returned to his men and ordered them to return to battle. . Messengers come in droves reporting our victories or an occasional defeat or requests for reinforcements. Generally the battle goes in our favour, though it seems evident that Boris is holding back, awaiting Morgan to join the battle.
The evening comes and we have a small dinner in the mess tent. We overhear the officers gloat about their victories and the bravery they and their men have shown on the fields and telling tales of the enemy's cowardess and stupidity. Our meal is often interrupted by reports that come in and finally news that Morgan shall arrive for parley upon the dawn.
Darkness falls and the battle dies down. An armed guard takes posts throughout the night. When it seems no more business shall be conducted that day, I invite you to accompany me to the tent that has been set up for us.
We enter the tent pensively, in silence. You take a seat in the far corner and begin to check your weapons for damage, rust, and other weaknesses. Finding none, you polish them yourself, without calling your page. I set about tidying the tent, but there is nothing for me to straighten. Outside we can hear the sounds of the army as it settles down for the night.
I began to restlessly pace the tent, absorbed in my thoughts.
I am reeling from your latest revelations. Morgan and Elizabeth? Oh, it was too horrid to think of that shy child I once played with as lusting after his sister- and she requiting that lust! And rumors of her carrying his child! This was insufferable! She must have been MAD! That could be the only explanation for why she was unhappy in her marriage. Had she been given to a beast like I was- she did not know how lucky she was! And Morgan- he was no different from the hideous beast I was married off to! However, it was not surprising, as their family was full of unnatural creatures. Besides, it was many years since we last met, and if I had thought to have a happy reunion with my cousin, I was mistaken.
I had thought to speak with Morgan myself to dissuade him from this reckless course of action against you, however, I realize that it would be a futile and foolish attempt. I could wield no influence over this madman. I could do more with a rabid dog!
I had no doubts that you would vanquish both armies with your own and lay waste to them, however, I would that needless lives not be lost in their selfish greed...Horrible images coursed through my mind. But what if they should hire assassins against you? Fretting, I clutched my hands together and peered at your profile as you silently worked upon your sword, suddenly afraid. Your guards and retainers are faithful, I am certain. I breathe a sigh of relief as I know that your honorable rule has bound your men to you as just mere coin could never do.
At a pause in my thoughts, I find myself directly behind you, watching you at your task. Slowly, I approach you. I move aside your locks and place my hands upon your shoulders, feeling your strength through your shirt. You pause with your task and I take my hands to your neck to release the tension I feel there, kneading the muscles with my fingers. I feel your shoulders heave in a deep sigh and I move my hands to them next. I gently dig my thumbs into the muscles there to give you relief.
'Madame, if you continue thus, my sword will perish from neglect,' you chide me teasingly.
'Sir, I can see my reflection in that sword. If you polish it any further, it shall blind us with its light,' I counter pertly. 'Come, you must be weary, let me undress you for bed.'
I move to your front and, upon my knees and begin to unlace your boots, then remove them from your feet. Your stockings are next, much easier than the boots. At your chausses I lose my nerve, deciding to remove your outer garments and blouse. With that, I move to the bed to turn down the covers and fluff the mattress and pillows.
'What, you undress me only so far and leave me thus clothed to enter my bed?' you ask, mock incredulously. I smile innocently and tell you that your trousers looked too complicated to me and I felt I had not the skill to remove them. Turning my back to you as you finish undressing I begin removing my clothing, save for my fine lawn chemise.
I climb into the bed and beneath the covers for warmth as you snuff the candles. The night is chilly and I would not catch cold in this weather. 'Hurry!' I laugh, 'Or you shall freeze your toes off!' You return my laugh and make an exaggerated display of lifting the covers to get in, allowing the frigid air give me gooseflesh, eliciting a howl and a tugging match from me as I seek to being the heavy velvet coverlet back over me.
You ease into the bed, giving a muffled yawn, and settling yourself in the bed for sleep. I lie upon my back, covers clutched to my neck, suspicious that, in your mischief, you will strip them from me again. I relax as I hear your even breathing, wondering when Morpheus shall visit me.
Eventually the rhythmic sounds of owls and crickets lulls you to sleep. When you awake, you see that I have already risen and begun to dress. I inform you that Lord Morgan has arrived for parley and await my company. He is reportedly drunk and accompanied by a minister, an unidentified young man, and three whores. As I assemble my finery, i put down the ceremonial sword and opt to wear a functional one, prepared for the worst behaviour from this lout.
You request permission to accompany me, which I grant, warning you that this might not be as civilized as a parley should be. If we are lucky, it may only become a circus. If not? I help you to dress and we go to the meeting tent. We enter the tent and find an awkward tableau. My retainers faithfully watch Morgan, but they are embarassed by what they see, and their reluctant voyerism is clear in their expressions. Morgan's minister and other guest are no more comfortable. Not feeling obliged to watch him, they are seated on either side of him with their backs to him and their faces turned away in disgust. Morgan has taken the liberty of sitting in my chair at the far side of the table. Two whores stand behind him messaging his shoulders. From the foot sticking out from beneith the table and the grin on his face, we can easily surmise the location of the third.
Slightly shocked to find the man so bold, I am at a momentary loss for words. But I retain my calm and composure. "Lord Morgan, it is good to see you here once again. It has been a long time since you accepted an invitation to my hospitality; it is unfortunate that we meet under such circumstances and I hope that we may resolve these matters as honourable and civilized men. . . "
In a drunken slurr, Morgan interupts, "I'd much prefer to resolve these matters dishonourably and likening to Sodom and Gemorah. It is good to see you have brought your own wench to the festivities, for I was not sure we would have enough between us. She's not a fitting replacement for Elizabeth, but no woman would be and of course as a man you have to find your jollies somewhere. Jason? Pour our guest some wine and another for myself."
The unknown young man replies, "Milord, Jason is not with us. This is not your tent and we have no goblets."
"Fairly well, Jackson?, pass me the bottle, for real men need no cups. And Lord Brian, tell your wench to remove her top for I should like to see the breasts of my next plaything."
My shock was replaced by blind fury. I was seeing red. How DARE he? I thought to take the dagger in my boot and fling it into his bleary eye. I was a good shot and had always met my mark. Or, perhaps I would cut his filthy tongue out, but that would entail getting close enough to touch him.
'Is this the way you treat your blood relatives, Bucky?!' I said coldly, hoping to shame him. It was a pet name that I had given him, as both he and his sister shared a distinct overbite in their youth. 'I should cuff you for your impertinence!'
Seemingly confused, he opened his mouth for a reply, but vomited on himself instead and passed out.
The whores quickly removed themselves from his foul presence, as they were spattered with his bile. His minister and the mysterious boy, lips curled, sought to get as far away as possible from Morgan as he slid, belching, to the floor.
In an imperious voice, I ordered the whores out of the tent and called out to a servant for a pail of water. I turned to you, and say quite softly, so that no one should overhear,
'I would that you put him out of his misery and slit his throat before he gained consciousness!'
A loud, long flatulence is heard from Morgan, and a blossom of wetness appears on the front of his pants as he urinates on himself. The room is aghast.
I knew my request was but a bad jest, and you give me a quick smile, ignore the incontinent Morgan, and turn to the minister, saying,
'Has Morgan stated his terms in writing?'
The minister looked pained and stammered, 'Somewhat, Milord…' Your retainers exchanged glances.
'Well then, let's have a look at them,' you replied curtly.
'He's not been in his right mind, Milord…'
The minister countered uneasily. He was worried that his head would roll if he read the crude terms Morgan had stated in his drunken tirade. His face burned to think of it to this day. He had served Morgan's father faithfully, and Morgan had inherited the minister at his father's death, much to the minister's dismay. If he had had any reservations as to Morgan's involvement in that death, he had kept the speculations to himself, as well as the foul rumors of incest.
Aware of the minister's discomfort, you judge him to be a honest man, despite his master. Regardless, you want to expedite the meeting and command the minister to read it to you and your men.
The minister, embarrassed suggests tentatively, 'This is not for a Lady's ears, Milord…' looking pointedly at me.
Realizing that the gentle man would spare me from the filth, I feel a pity for him that he should have to deal with Morgan at all. As much as I would stay to hear it, I reluctantly beg your pardon and ask if you would have me leave the room.
"Mayhaps it would be better if you did leave us for the moment". You take your leave from the tent and explore our camp as the men prepare for battle.
Once you have departed, the Minister reluctantly reads from a parchment filled with invectives and curses against me and my kingdom, indescriminantly invoking gods and devils to oversee and aid in his cause. The work was naught but madness. The terms he asked were mostly obscene. His demands were four: First, twice the land that my forefathers are accused of stealing from his forefathers. Second, the right to copulate with any woman in the kingdom whose grass has grown. Third, the reanimation of Elizabeth regardless of the costs of such necromancy. Four, to see me buggered in the town square no less than once a week even after death.
When the minister finishes reading the parchment he apologized profusely for having to present me with such filth. I tell him to calm himself, for I know he is not to be blamed. I ask him whether there is naught to be done reasonably to extricate ourselve from war with his kingdom. I should hate to squander precise lives against one man's madness.
The minister apologizes that he has no authorization or knowledge against which to discuss terms.
I wonder that Morgan should choose such a weak minister to accompany him. I had expected to find his companion as one of the puppet masters. Surely this wreck could not lead a country to war, angry as he may be in his rare sobriety. And who is this youth?
"I am noone, milord. i was simply invited to observe."
"Observe your lord making an arse out of himself."
"So it would seem, milord."
I can tell that this young man is hiding something. His courtesy is affected and there is a subtle but sinister undercurrent exuded in his speech and his mannerisms.
"Well, if you are noone, then you do not rank above cleaning your lord up since I should not have him fowling up my tent or my presence and I should not impose the task upon him men. You are to have to both Morgan and this tent cleaned by the time I return."
I instruct a retainer to bring the youth a sponge and a bucket of water. I apologize to the minister that I should have to detain him and the young man in the tent until Morgan is made awake and sober, as I can neither have them wondering my camp, nor send them back until I have again tried to speak with Morgan.
I send a second messenger to take word back to Morgan's camp that are parley has met with an unforeseen delay as per matters of Morgan's delicate health and that their sire should be back with them anon.
I leave the tent to find my generals and gather intelligence on Boris' activities this morning It is at this time when I hear a scream come from somewhere at the other end of the camp.
The man held a dagger to my throat as your men stood warily, ready to attack. It all happened too quickly. I had noted a ragged beggar in the group and I had assumed it was a camp follower. I felt secure in the encampment and was caught off guard when he jumped me.
'If anyone comes closer, I'll slit her throat! he growled, adding, 'You tell yer master not to follow or I'll kill her and leave her body by the side of the road!' With that, I felt a sting in my neck and a trickle of blood which followed.
He threw down a packet and snarled, 'Give this to yer master!' And took me off with him.
At knifepoint, he dragged me backward with him past a knoll, then was joined by his fellow mercenary who had the horses.
Quickly, the leader secured me wit a rope in front of him on the horse and we took off on a galop.
'Now I will deliver you back to yer husband and collect me fee,' he mumbled.
'Husband? My husband is dead. Who claims to be my husband?'
The man looked warily at me and said, 'We was hired by your Lord Boris to deliver his wife back to 'im.'
'Sir, he is not my husband, but my BROTHER!' I countered, suppressing the 'in-law' to my advantage.
He scowled at me and said, 'I care not what you are. I made a bargain with your Lord and will keep my word and deliver you to 'im!'
'Sir, I swear to you that Lord Boris is penniless and has no money to pay you. If you would just take me back to camp, Lord Brian-'
'I SAID I will keep me word to Lord Boris! Now, any other words out of you and I will gag you!' he threatened.
We raced into Boris' lair. It was in horrid disrepair, and any thing of value had long been stripped from the keep to sell in the market. I was brought to Boris in the filthy hall.
''Ere she is, Milord!'
'Put these shackles on her! Good job, Uther,' he threw a heavy pouch to the man, 'You deserve every penny.'
Uther reached the pouch to see if I was correct about the money and withdrew a gold coin. He gave a look to his henchman, and they left the keep, listening to Boris' lecherous laughter.
Quickly riding a kilometer down the road, Uther and his henchman decided to part ways and split the booty. For a criminal, Uther was an honest man, and would split the loot between them. Uther emptied the pouch in his hand to count the pieces out. A few coins dropped out, along with a handful of flattened lead balls. Incredulously, Uther rubbed the few coins together and found them also worthless painted metal.
'Well, my dear,' Boris sneered suggestively, 'I expect to receive a heavy ransom for you.'
'You won't get it, as Lord Brian knows this is a trap,' I countered coolly despite my bondage.
'Slut! I'll get my money, but Brian will not get YOU!' he chortled menacingly. 'I will get the money," he continued, 'and I will send a veiled doxy in your place, carring a dowery chest which will contain your body parts! He won't know until too late and then Morgan and I will attack him and kill him, too!' he giggled hysterically. He was mad!
'But enough of my plans fo HIM, my dear, I have plans for YOU!'
I stood mute. He called for a guard to take me to his chamber. When none came, he grabbed shackles that bound my hands and legs and dragged me, struggling, to his room.
Boris pushes me though the door to his chamber and I fall to the floor. Thinking me weak, he stalks toward me, reaching down for me. I take him off guard as I slam my shackled wrists into the side of his head, eliciting a howl out of him.
'You bitch!' he screams, hitting me on the jaw and flooring me. He pounces upon me, padlocking my arms and legs to the stone floor. I am face down and cannot see his approach.
I figured the bastard would have his chamber set up for torture. Catching my breath, I am startled when he brings a knife to my neck laughing in my ear, 'I could slit your throat for what you've done, but that would be too easy!'
I hear an explosion of tearing fabric and feel a cold draft as he cuts away my gown and tears it away from my body.
'If you plead for your life, I MAY spare you,' he taunts, 'anything to say to me, my dear?'
'Yes,' I gasp. 'Rot in hell!'
Infuriated, he lashes the whip across my bare back and buttocks. With each lash, through the searing pain, I vow to see him dead before I die.
'How pretty you look lying there,' he sneers. 'I will do what my weak brother was afraid to do to you! After he raped you that first night, he was afraid to touch you again...he thought you would kill him!' He laughed disparagingly.
'If only he had been man enough to beat you, he could have done what our mother taught us to do with women!' He was breathing heavy, aroused by my pain. 'I should take you now before I let my men have you.' He is quickly unfastening his trousers, drooling with lust.
'This will only be the beginning of your pain and humiliation,' he whispers, parting my buttocks. I pray that I lose consciouness before he brutally sodomizes me.
Unbeknownst to your abductors, a single trained hawk followed them from some distance in the sky. Eddie, the hawk's master, faithfully sent his loyal companion to be our eyes, watch over you, and to protect you from harm. As the bird followed your assailants, so did Eddie and a troop of my most loyal and brave men. Though I would have followed, I yet had business with Lord Morgan and needed to be at hand for the ensuing combat between my army and either of mine enemies. My men followed the bird at such distance that the assailants themselves would not detect the pursuit. In short order, they caught up with the criminals who were shackled and sent back to our kingdom to remain so in the town square until such time as they should be heard, judged, and most likely executed.
The hawk was ever vigilant in it's watch of you. For once you were in the lair's walls, it circled the lair until it could spy you through the windows. And now he spied you in the bedchamber about to be manhandled. The clever bird saw the worm that should make it's lunch etching forth from Boris' trousers and went into a sudden dive through the bedchamber's open window. Before Boris noticed the turbulence in the air, the bird of prey was already upon him who was no longer a he. A high pitched scream echo'd throughout the lair, but it was ignored since the inhabitants all thought the screaming came forth from your own lips.
As Boris went into shock, the bird was no less relentless in it's attack, clawing out both the Lord's eyes as it perched upon his head. Boris continued to scream as he stumbled around his chamber and the bird continued to rip at his flesh.
When my troop was spotted approaching Boris' lair, a detachment of guards went to inform Boris and receive further orders...