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The Wedding
It was the day before my wedding, and the village was astir – women baking, someone had slaughtered a pig, and the smell of roasted pork filled the village.
My father and I sat in his one-room small cottage in plain, hard wooden chairs, making last-minute arrangements.
“Tell me again, father,” I said dreamily. “Tell me what it will be like when my husband takes me.”
My father paused, considered a minute.
“After the wedding, the women will take you to the big tent and strip you and bathe you,” he said. “They’ll make sure every inch of you is clean, and then they’ll scent you and rub oil on your body. They’ll leave you in nothing but a white loincloth waiting on the bed for your husband.”
“Oh, it sounds wonderful,” I said, and meant it. “And he will know what to do?”
“Yes, just as I’ve shown you, his father will have talked to him.”
“Please, show me again, father.”
“Alright,” he said. “Take off thy smock.”
I lifted the smudged brown smock over my head. I was naked underneath. At 18, I was still fragile-looking; of medium build, but small quivering mouth, small hands, flat chest and small brown buds, and a small prick and balls standing out from a small cloud of red hair. I stood before him, unashamed, as he had seen me naked many times in this small, crowded cottage.
“Come to the bed,” he said, and I obediently lay down on the straw mattress, the rough blankets scratchy on my naked skin.
“Now spread thy legs and bend thy knees so you can show your little pussie better,” he said. He sat beside me and took some grease from a small pot near the bed. He smeared it on my little flower and I sighed.
“Now it wouldn’t do for me to put my prick in, that is only for your husband. But a few fingers, as I did yesterday, should feel like enough unto a prick. I have seen John’s, and it is fairly large, like a fat sausage.”
One finger snaked inside me, and I moaned. I pushed my arse higher to accommodate his gnarled finger.
“And he will spend his substance inside me?” I asked.
“Yes,” my child, “he said. He will make thee his in the way of a man.”
“Oh,” I pouted prettily. “Will tomorrow never come? Another finger, father, please.”
And he complied. Now there were two, and he moved them in and out of me. My breath came faster, and so did his. I took his free hand in my two and brought it to my mouth and kissed his palm fervently.
“I may not put my prick in thy cunny,” he groaned, “but I would put it in thy mouth and have thee suck.” He knelt on the bed, his big prick near my mouth.
“Of course, father,” I said, and took him in my mouth as I had done so many times before as part of my education in pleasing a man. He was thrusting now with prick and fingers at both my holes. He added another finger, and I began to buck with desire, the wooden bed creaking. I sucked him harder. He moaned, and began to pound away at my face. “I shall spend soon, daughter,” he said, and his substance flooded my mouth, and I swallowed dutifully as required. I lay a moment resting as my father got to his feet, readjusted his codpiece over his thick member.
“Thank you, father,” I said, as it was required to thank all men for any little thing.
My wedding day was a beautiful spring day; a warm breeze came up from the south, the sun shone down, painting this squalid little village in gold. The village women (my mother had died young, and I had no sisters) helped me dress. There wasn’t much; peasant garb was simple. A clean smock of one piece in white, rough cotton, open at the neck a little to show my hairless upper breast, a belt tied around my waist, and then a white cotton shift underneath, and sandals. The women scented my crotch and underarms and breath, braided my long reddish-brown hair into a pigtail with flowers woven in and painted my fingernails, lips, nipples and toe nails with the juice of dark blue berries.
The priest in the little chapel beamed on us.
“Remove thy clothing,” he said to me, and I slid out of my clothes and folded them neatly beside me on the floor. A ripple went through the audience behind me. I stood before the priest and the congregation naked and blushing, my husband proudly beside me, impossibly young-seeming to me, hardly a boy, although he was already 22, four years older than me. We were both marrying late, partly because my father wanted to push my bride price as high as he could, and partly because John had been busy planting crops and building a farm for a wife.
“Thou art naked to symbolize that all thy blessings, including thy clothing, come from thy husband,” the priest said. “Now bind her.”
The women came behind and tied my wrists tightly behind my back and my ankles with just enough play for me to hobble.
“This,” the priest intones, “symbolizes that all thy movement is now curtailed, and permission to do this thing or that thing now resides with thy husband.”
I nodded to show my acquiescence.
“A wife neither hears nor speaks nor smells or tastes without first her husband approving.”
The women plugged my nose and ears with soft wax.
“Nor sees,” said the priest, and they tied a dark cloth around my eyes.
I could see nothing and hear very little, only feel my own breathing.
Hands steadied me as they forced me onto my knees. I didn’t need to hear what came next. I knelt forward, still on my knees, hand bound behind my back, and licked and kissed my husband’s boots, a wife’s sign of respect and worship, my arse wobbling in the air for all to see, a sign of my submission.
They kept me helpless like this through the wedding feast, naked and symbolizing the wife’s obedience and reliance on her husband, there for all to see in the middle of the long trestle table set for the feast. Yes, modesty was important; even love was important, but obedience and reverence were everything. I certainly believed that. I loved my new husband, and had absolutely no intention of resisting any of his commands or refusing any of his desires.
Somebody, probably John, fed me small bites of crispy pork and sweet bread made of corn meal, but I could hear or smell or see nothing of the wedding celebration around me. Somebody, definitely John, gently squeezed my balls and fondled my cock constantly until it stood up and wept throughout the feast and I was squirming, helpless and bound, with desire.
After several hours, somebody got me to my feet and many hands led me away to what I knew was the tent on the outskirts of the village. There the women removed the blindfold and the wax and I could hear and see again. The tent was filled with candles that fluttered in the breeze and bundles of flowers, filling the tent with their sweet smell.
They let down and combed my long reddish-brown hair lovingly. They wiped my body with cloths dipped in hot water scented with flowers. Then the warm oil, their fingers making my flesh slick. Everywhere they wiped and prodded, and soon my little prick stood up at attention. “If thy husband is like to mine,” said one wife, “thy will have little need of that tonight, or ever.” They all laughed knowingly.
They tied on a white loincloth in my front, nothing but a string running around through my groin and buttocks in the back. They touched up my lips and breasts with the berries. They pushed me back onto the bed, now covered in flower petals, and let my long hair flow over the pillow. Then they left me, saying I would soon learn the joys of being a wife. I lay there, listening to the sounds of the night, the birds and the rustling of the trees, and suddenly became aware of an unusual one: galloping hooves.
The Abduction
Suddenly they stopped, and I could hear men shouting. Then a tall burly man in long, fur-lined cape and a big sword swept aside the tent flap and stood over me. I knew who it was – the baron of this place – and I knew why: As was his right, he was claiming The Right of the First Night to deflower any woman before her husband. The old baron had claimed every virgin on her wedding night, but the son who succeeded him – this man – had never exercised the right before.
Now he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me from the bed. I screamed. I went limp and would not get to my feet. He simply put his arms under me and lifted me over his shoulder and carried me out of the tent.
I screamed and wriggled in his arms. “John. Father. Oh, help me! Help a poor wife!”
He threw me over his saddle and climbed aboard the horse, as I kicked and screamed, naked and helpless. He cuffed me in the side of the head, dazing me for a minute, and I was quiet. I could hear loud voices as I drifted away.
A few moments later I came to, the saddle pommel gouging my stomach.
“Ouch,” I cried. “Thee are hurting me.”
He stopped the horse and pulled me up until I was sitting on the saddle in front of him. He wrapped his big cloak around me and a hand went around my waist.
“Now stop thy shouting,” he said. And on we rode, me too terrified to protest as the huge beast hurdled through the night, this strange man and one very frightened bride atop him.
We hurtle through a gate and into a cobblestoned courtyard. He hands me down to a servant, naked and screaming my lover’s name, and he dismounts, throws me over his back and carries up a winding stair lit by guttering torches. I pound my fists on his back but it is as if he feels nothing.
Finally we enter a huge chamber with a bed covered with fur robes. He throws me on the bed and I am up in an instant; he grabs me and I claw and scratch at him.
“A little hellcat, eh?” he said. “Good, I like some spirit.
And then he punched me and knocked me out. I came to, on my back on the great bed, among the fur rugs, hands tied behind my back, and the baron between my spread legs. I raised my head and looked down on him. He was two hands long. And thick around as three or four broomsticks, and I began to squirm and buck as he rubbed the head against my flower.
“Be still, blast thee,” the baron said “or I’ll beat thee within an inch of thy life and then throw thee in the moat.” He looked almost demonic, long curly hair in ringlets, a pointed beard, dark as midnight. His eyes gleamed with fire.
I stopped fighting, but I snuffled and the tears came. “I want my husband,” I cried. “I want my John.”
“You know I have the right,” he said. “I’ve had my eye on your for a long time, wandering in the hills picking flowers or seeking herbs.”
“This is wrong,” I sobbed. “I am married!”
“Cease thy chatter,” he said, and pushed at my flower again. I began to wriggle again, but he held me down, and with my hands tied behind my back, I could not deny him entrance.
“It will hurt much more if thou continues to try and deny me,” he said. “Though must push out and accept me, and thy pussie will stretch.”
I stopped. He entered an inch or so. I began to breathe a little harder. He pushed in a little more, and groaned. It hurt, but oh! It felt so wonderful and fulfilling too. I did not welcome him, but I did not fight anymore, and soon he was all the way inside me. He looked down into my eyes, but I looked away. He began to thrust gently. I remained inert.
“A game is always better when two play,” he breathed.
I would not. Soon he picked up speed and shortly he had thrust further than I had thought possible as he spent his seed inside me.
He lay on top of me, and, had I not been tied, my arms might have gone around him involuntarily.
I was exhausted and I drifted off among the furs. Much later, the fire in the fireplace having burned low, and the candles guttering, he took me again. Again I refused to engage him.
Much later still, I had to make water, and I woke him.
“Go back to sleep,” he said groggily.
“I cannot,” I said. “I shall make water on thy furs.”
Groaning, he got up, and lifted me up, and marched me to a small closet where a commode sat, built out away from the walls so waste went trough the hole and dropped down into the moat. He wouldn’t untie me so he had to hold my prick to steer the piss through the hole, and I leaned back against his hairy naked chest and closed my eyes; I may even have wiggled my ass at him. The beautiful room; his lusty way; the fire and the candles – they had all started to work on me a little. And he was a baron, and a handsome one, too.
I came awake in the early morning as he rolled me onto my stomach, grabbed me around the waist and pulled me onto his erect cock. I pushed back at him this time, his balls slapping on my arse, his big hands on my hips.
The sounds of an angry crowd came through the tall windows at the far end of the room. He got up naked and I watched his arse move as he walked – or I should say prowled, since he moved like a stalking beast – and went to the window. Someone knocked on the chamber door.
“Enter,” he said.
“A middle-aged man came in and barely glanced at my nudity sprawled on the bed.
“The villagers, my Lord,” he said. “I told thee thou were courting trouble with this undernourished trollop.”
“I will not stand for this effrontery,” the baron said. “I’ll take her out on the battlement and fuck her in front of the whole village. I will show them who rules here.”
“Nay, my Lord,” I cried, getting to my knees on the bed, hands still tied behind my back. “Why inflame them needlessly? They will fight and be hurt. Give me back now and I shall go and explain to them.”
“I do not bow to rabble,” he said. “Besides, I am of a mind to keep thee, not give thee back to these swineherds and farmers.”
My heart sank at this. I leaped from the bed and went to my knees before him. I kissed one of his mighty thighs. “Please, my Lord, I’ll do anything you say. Just don’t hurt anyone.”
The other man spoke up. “There is a way, Lord,” he said. “We go to the priest, have him marry you. Then it’s all legal and no one except maybe the bridegroom can complain.”
“But the bitch is already married,” the baron said.
“We get it annulled,” he said. “It’s simply a matter of paying off the abbot. So you get married this morning, all legal pending an annulment of the old marriage.”
“I do fancy the bitch,” he said. “In fact, my heart bursts into flame when I see her. She will make a fine wife, with a little training to take the commoner out of her.”
“NO!” I cried. “I will not.”
“Thou will,” he said. “Or I will take my soldiers and cut that rabble down like so much wheat.”
And that is how I came to be married one night and married again the next morning.
Making Bargains
That night, after a big, drunken feast, we lay in bed together, both a little tipsy. The furs were warm, the fire flickered. He put his arms around me, and I hugged him back, shameless little hussy.
“I have loved thee since I first saw thee years ago, a maiden on a hill, her hair flying in the wind, a basket of flowers in her hand.”
“I remember,” I said, and I did. “Thou looked so handsome on thy great horse.”
He kissed me, hard, and I responded. I snuggled against him, swaddled in all those furs. I kissed his neck, his shoulders, took his big rough hands in mine and kissed them, kissed his cheeks and nose and eyelids and mouth. We lay like that forever.
“Dost though love me too, wife?” he asked.
“With all my heart,” I lied.
I thought about my husband, my John, in the village, and a sadness stole over me. But he was safe now. I had kept him and the others alive. And I had gone from a mud and timber cottage to a small castle overnight. I sighed, partly with sadness, partly with contentment. Then my husband rolled partly onto me and kissed me again. I lay wide open to him. I would deny my husband nothing.
“Thou art so beautiful,” he said softly. “Thy beautiful arse like two hills covered with snow. Thy breasts with thy brown teats, the way they rise and fall with thy breath, each an invitation to suckle. Thy hair, thy soft mouth, beautiful sweet eyes under long lashes. Thy sweet, sweet cunnie. From this day, when we are apart, I shall wonder, where is my cunny now? What is it doing?
And that is how I learned a wife can control a husband, with her pussie and a sharp word, as long as she does not go too far. I did something once that enraged him, so small a matter I cannot even remember now, and he made me go to the dance in the great hall naked and dance amid all the lords and ladies in their finery without a stitch on, my little prick wobbling, and everyone looking and laughing behind their hands. Yet he made me dance every elaborate dance.
“I want to play a game,” he said one night as we got ready for bed.
“What game?” I asked. “I love playing hide thy prick in my holes.”
“It is something I call ‘The Maiden and the Turk.’ You are a Christian maiden taken captive by a beastly Mohammaden who has his way with thee.”
“What must I do, my lord?” I asked.
“Stand,” he said. “Come over here under this beam. Take off thy chemise.”
I stood naked to the waist before him in my ankle length skirt.
“Now put thy hands out before thee.”
I did and he looped a rope around my wrists, tying my hands. He threw the rope over a high beam and pulled my hands over my head, revealing the little tufts of hair under my armpits. He pulled harder, and I went up on my toes. He took a length of cane I had not seen before and whipped it through the air. It hissed wickedly. I grew a little afraid.
“Thou will not hurt thy wife, will thee, my Lord?”
“Not much,” he said, considering the thin length of cane.
He went to the chamber door, bellowed “Send in the girl.”
A meek, pretty man-wife appeared, her head down, long curly blond hair cascading down her breast. She wore a pretty smock of shimmering green and lovely dainty satin shoes. She was clearly in awe of this man, and a little frightened, as I was.
“This is my wife,” he said, nodding at me. “Kiss her.”
“My lord?”
“You heard. Kiss her.”
She came to me, the beautiful green dress setting off her pale skin and blonde hair. I looked in her eyes. She was beautiful. She leaned in delicately, closed her eyes, and kissed me on the lips.
“No, no,” he said. “Kiss her like a lover, not a sister. Fondle her. Pretend thou are in the harem of a great Sultan, and am at his mercy, and must fulfill his every wish. Or thou will feel the lash bite. Take this lady in thy arms and kiss her and feel and probe her secret places.”
The girl put her arms around me, her velvety gown soft on my naked chest. She kissed my neck, then my cheek, then found my mouth.
“With thy tongue,” he said, and her tongue entered my mouth. I began to kiss her back. Our breath came quicker.
“Kiss her teats,” he said, and her mouth went to my breast, and I moaned, the soft sunlight glinting off her golden hair. She suckled gently, her arms around me.
Suddenly the thin, sinister cane whistled and cracked hard on my back. I jumped and shrieked, startling the girl, who leaped back.
“Oh, the pain!” I screamed. “Oh, oh, it is like fire!”
Another crack and I shrieked again.
“Please, husband, do not be so cruel!”
“I am not thy husband,” he said. “I am a cruel, lustful Turk who has thee in his power in his seraglio.”
He spoke to the girl. “Put your arms around her neck and hold her tight and be a comfort to her as I beat her.”
The frightened girl obeyed.
The whip cracked again, and we both jumped. The girl held on. I shrieked and began to sob. “Oh, this is too cruel. This is no way to treat a Christian lady.”
Again it hit. I could not see him behind me, but I could hear the whip whistle. The girl whispered in my ear. “Be brave, my lady. I will hold thee and comfort thee and soon this will be over.”
There were five or six more blows. I pissed myself at one point, my beautiful linen skirt turning yellow and sodden. Still my brave friend clung to me.
“Take those pissy things away,” he said to her. “The stink offends me.”
The girl tugged my wet skirt down, then the frilly pantaloons underneath, and finally the under drawers of silk, and I was naked, by prick still dribbling piss, my thighs shiny with it, my feet in a small puddle.
I could feel him studying my arse. And then I heard the whistle. I shrieked again. My brave girl came to me unbidden and held me while he whipped. Two more strokes. Another. Another. I could feel him putting his back into them. I wondered if he had broken the skin, as I could feel no blood. But they must be leaving large angry welts.
Suddenly the girl let go of me and leaped between my back and the man.
“No more, prithee, my Lord,” she cried, her voice quaking with fear. “This lady has had enough, Sir. Whatever she hath done, she has paid amply.”
There was silence for a long moment. I was of two minds: I desperately wanted the pain to end, and I was humiliatingly grateful for this brave girl. But part of me also wanted more pain – because, yes, I admit it, it fired my loins, and because it felt an appropriate punishment for abandoning the man I had loved and professing falsely to love another. Which was more powerful, I could not tell.
“All right, then,” he said, and the whip fell to the floor.
“Take her down and bring her over here to the bed.”
She untied my wrists but couldn’t hold me up as I sank to the floor into the puddle of piss. I moaned and sobbed, lying on my side so I wouldn’t have to sit on my aching arse.
“Please, Sir, let me wash her and care for her poor back a moment first,” the girl said. “Call for some hot water, Sir.”
He did and she bathed me tenderly, dipping a cloth in a big bowl of hot water. Then she spread an unguent on my back and arse and rubbed it in tenderly. I sighed.
“You were so brave,” I whispered to her. “Thank you.”
Her hand went down and cupped my balls gently and squeezed. Then she kissed me.
“Thank me later, my Lady,” she whispered.
Later we crawled onto the huge bed, where he lay, already naked. I pulled the girl’s dress off and then her drawers, and she was naked, soft and velvety like a ripe peach. I loved licking her nakedness. He arranged me and the girl, whose name was Mary Anne, in pretty tableaux, me licking her little balls and the little cloud of blond hair over her prick. She sucked again on my teats, and I must admit I moaned even before her hand found my prick. I found her spot, the little space between balls and arse, and licked with my mouth. It made her crazy and she writhed under my tongue and squealed. Since my backside ached, I stayed on all fours. The girl crawled underneath me lying flat on her back, her pretty cock to my face. I nuzzled her little beauty. She began to kiss my prick, to run her tongue around the foreskin. I shuddered with excitement. I kissed her balls, big with sparse hairs, skin soft as down. My lord meanwhile was growing a little jealous. He pulled us toward him and signaled we should both lick his cock. It already stood at attention. Then he pulled me up and positioned me on my knees over his prick. I could feel him at the entrance to my flower, prodding gently. The girl lapped his balls too, and he moaned. His greased cock slipped into me.
The First Time
After a time, my lord began to trust me more, and to let me go abroad in the company of one of his most trusted knights, Sir Bernard. As we rode, we spoke, and found we had much in common. And eventually we had even more in common, for I began to fall in love with him.
One day we came to a meadow golden with flowers and a little grove of trees near a brook. He reined up.
“It is beautiful,” I said. “Yet so far from the road.”
“Not near so beautiful as you, my Lady,” he said.
I decided to flirt back a little with this gorgeous man.
“You compare me to a untended field of common sunflowers? You must think me drab indeed,” I said.
“Nay, you are lovely, my Lady,” he said. “I am not so versed in refined speech as my lady’s courtiers. I am but a simple soldier.”
“Yet you are almost as adroit with thy tongue as with thy sword, it seems,” I said, laughing.
“Do not jest with me, Lady,” he said, all in earnest, so much so it frightened me a little that I had gone too far and was getting into a position I might not like finding myself in. “Though I have been wounded many times in body, it would wound me too deep in my soul.”
I was silent a moment. “Then I shall be more solicitous of thy soul,” I said sweetly. “And thy body.”
He dismounted, came around to my horse and lifted up his arms. I slid down the side of the horse and his hands caught me around my waist and gently put me down. He held me just a moment overlong, his face close to mine, his sweet breath on my cheeks. He looked into my eyes. “Oh,” I said, eyes wide. I caught my breath. Then he let me go and both of us turned away awkwardly. He turned to the saddlebags on the horses, within which were bread, butter, a little pot of jelly, some sweet cakes, a little sausage and a bottle of wine. I stood by the stream looking at anything but him, hearing his clatter behind me.
When I turned, he had spread a blanket beside the stream and laid out the food. Neither of us ate much, though, and we sat for most of an hour in silence in the warm sunlight.
The horses grazed nearby. The little stream gurgled. The flowers were a brilliant yellow in the spring sunshine.
I knew he was looking at me, but I could not look him in the eye. So we sat and said nothing.
Then his hand was on my face, and I knew what he would do when he turned my face toward him and I at last looked into his eyes. Yet I turned to look at him anyway. He leaned in and kissed me. For a few seconds I returned the kiss, then broke away.
“Thou art over-bold, Sir Knight, to steal a kiss from thy baron’s wife.”
I have loved thee ere the day I met thee, he said, and do not pretend thou dost not know it. The eyes do not lie, and I have seen your love for me shine in yours.
He tried to kiss me again, but I turned away.
If thou truly loved me, thou would not tempt me so sorely, for I am married, as thou know well.
I am sorry, my Lady, but I could no more cease to love thee than I could reach up and pluck the sun down for thee as a pretty gift. I have no choice, my lady. I have no more command over myself than a babe when it comes to this. I thirst for thee as a parched man thirsts for water. And thou know thee return this love.
I looked at him, so brave and beautiful, speaking these words of love.
Oh god it is true. I love thee too, I said. Am I so easy to discern?
Aye, plain as a book, he said, to one who but look closely. He took my hands in his. Thy glances and thy coyness in my presence are easy signs to read, for those who have wit to read them.
Oh am I so plain, then? So simple that even a manly knight, so lacking in a woman’s keen intuition and intimate study and knowledge of love, can see so deep into my soul, as if I were unclothed before thee?
Nay, lady, thy soul is open to me, the one who knows it so well, because it so like unto his own. Prithee, let us lie together in this field of flowers, as a man and a maid, and let our love flower too.
Thy honeyed words are poison, I said bitterly. This love will kill us both, when it is discovered, as such a thing must eventually be. How can I hide the love I bear thee from all, especially now that such words have passed between us?
He took my face in both hands. Turned it towards him. Kissed me passionately. And me, God help me, I did not resist, did not fight, did not beat my fists on his chest, but instead surrendered – indeed, caught fire, as if my soul itself were in flames. I put my arms around his neck, leaned back and pulled him down to me, where he kissed me again.
Oh, lady, he said.
I pulled him on top of me squirmed against him shamelessly; he ground his hardness into my thigh. We both gasped and moaned.
Help me unfasten my riding skirt, I urged him. He fumbled with the buttons down the side, and then tugged it down over my legs. I unlaced my bodice and threw it aside as if it, too, were on fire. He reached up and pulled his tunic over his head and his naked chest appeared, a dark furze of hair over his ropey muscles. He undid his sword belt, set it carefully aside, wrenched off his boots and then tugged down his leggings. He was hard already, his rod twice the length of the dainty hand I reached out for it and thick around as a sword handle, already drooling. Meanwhile with the other hand I pulled my pretty white chemise over my head and he helped me slide like an eel out of the long frilly pantaloons and then the soft short drawers that hid my sex from him. He gasped as my cock and balls appeared.
“Thou art lovely,” he said.
And then I lay before him among the flowers in only my riding boots and stockings, as open as a flower, my hands clasped over my head so he could see everything.
He looked at my nakedness hungrily
Do I please thee, my lord? I asked coyly.
Very much, lady, he said, almost breathless. Very much indeed.
Then prove it, I said, reaching my arms for him. He sank into them, kissing my face and then sucking hungrily on my teats. Enter me, I gasped as he suckled. Take what is thine. He got to his knees, stuck his fingers into the butter from a little pot and smeared it on my cunny. His finger entered me and I gasped, spread my legs wider and pushed my groin up at him. As I watched, he smeared the rest on his prick.
My booted legs went into the air for him and slowly, his eyes on mine, he entered me. My hands were on his arse, urging him further into me. And he took me amidst the flowers, and I began to cry, I know not why. I was looking up at the pale blue sky, his rough unshaven cheek next to mine, watching the fleeting clouds. He began to establish a rhythm, like all good riders, and I pushed back at him in time, grunting each time his prick went a little further in. He was gentle, as if I was fragile, almost too considerate.
Fuck me harder, my love, I said. I will not break.
He began to thrust harder and faster, and I bucked against him.
“I am about to spend, my love,” he cried.
Fill me with thy seed, I said, contracting my muscles around him.
Oh! Oh! He said and collapsed on me. I held him close, and we were quiet a long time, just feeling each other breathe, my head on his chest. Soon I felt him shrink and slide out of me. I felt suddenly light and empty and insubstantial down there. At last he rolled off me and lay beside me. Our hands intertwined, and he looked at me. I stared up at the spring sky.
I had thought I was a man of experience, he said softly, but I have known nothing like this.
Thou, who hath had every woman – and man – thou wanted at court?
You mock me, he said. For so passionate a lover, thou has a touch of vinegar on thy tongue?
Would it be sweeter if it merely whispered sweet nothings, and pretended to know aught of thy amorous adventures in the castle, a matter even the lowliest maid speaks of, and some, it is said, from experience.
Thy tongue hath a sharp edge, too, he said.
My tongue hath many skills, I said, and laughed, and broke his dark mood, for he smiled. In fact, I know another place thy fleshly arrow can come to rest, where my tongue can show how honeyed it is, I said, and slid down him, kissing his hard, furry, flat stomach, until I came to the cloud of hair above his prick. I twined it, rolling strands around my fingers; my other hand cupped his balls, squeezed them gently and rubbed them, and he sprang to attention. And my mouth came at last to the base of his rod, and suddenly their was the smell of him, sweaty, acrid, and the smell of his leather codpiece and my pussie on his prick, but honest and manly smells, and I kissed the base of his rod and then gently took the tip in my mouth. He groaned.
Where is thy maidenly modesty, he laughed.
It fled the moment thou kissed me, I smiled, taking him out of my mouth for a minute, and died when thou discovered and conquered all my privy places.
Then I shall not miss it, he said.
I cupped his great, hairy balls in one hand and tugged at his manhood with my other. His head popped out of its monk’s cowl and winked up at me. I covered it with my mouth again, to another groan from him.
I kissed it, I sucked, I licked, and all the time he thrust up at me, slowly at first and then faster, and finally his hands went around my head and pressed me down on his tool, thrusting so hard I began to choke. Finally he filled my mouth. I took it all, and as he subsided I cleaned him with my mouth.
I love the taste of thee, I said as I worked.
And I the feel of thee, he said. Thou was right about the many talents of thy tongue. I shall all the more ready to endure the vinegar to get to the honey.
He sat up, and caught sight of my naked back. It was crisscrossed with whip marks. Suddenly he spoke, fury in his voice.
There are whip marks on thy back and arse, he said angrily. I will kill him.
Nay, nay, I said, it is alright. For in truth I have come to love the kiss of the whip. I beg him for it. The pain somehow makes me forget that thought I am a rich lady my heart still is heavy with want. I cry while he chains me down, and while he wields the whip, but afterword I am happy, and proud I have endured the marks that he hath made.
I sat up, untied the ribbons around my braid, and shook my hair loose. He put a hand on my closest breast and toyed with it.
Careful, good Sir, I said. Be careful not to start anything thou is in no shape to complete.
I lay down beside him, our arms and legs entwined, and caressed each other’s backs and kissed and looked longingly at each other. The birdsong lulled me, and I fell asleep in his arms.
When I awoke he lay beside me, on his back, his thick prick at rest. I sat up, tugged off my riding boots and stockings, pinned up my hair, stood and waded into the stream. It was only several dozen feet across, and about waist-high in the middle, and just cool enough to be pleasant as it rose above my knees and then my cock and balls. I carefully washed my cunnie with a finger to make sure the tell-tale juice was gone.
I wandered in the field naked, sleek and wet, gathering flowers. I dumped them on the blanket, sat cross-legged and weaved them into a small pretty chain. When I had done, I lifted my lover’s prick and put the flowers around it. At this he awoke and looked down.
“Lovely,” he said.
“A crown for my little king,” I said. I took the red ribbons I had worn in my hair and tied bows around his prick. He grew hard again.
“He seems to need a kiss,” I said mischievously.
“No,” he said, “let me tend to thy needs.”
“Prithee,” I sad in a mocking tone, “hath a wife needs? All she needs is to serve her husband.”
“Nevertheless,” he said. I shall now serve thee.
He lay me down, and again the butter on his fingers. He sat cross-legged at my waist and, with his finger, probed my pussy.
“Oh,” I gasped.
“Thou art so beautiful,” he said in a rapt voice.
I gasped again as he entered me. Another finger probed at my hole, already clasped around his first finger. His other hand went to my balls and their slight veil of sparse hair. He cupped them. I moaned and began to wriggle slightly. The other finger entered me. My eyes widened. I pushed back against his fingers. My nearest hand went to his flower-covered prick and fondled it.
“And so wanton,” he said.
“only for you,” I replied between moans.
Another finger. It hurt, but in a curious mixture of pleasure and ache, a bittersweet feeling. My legs were braced now and my arse in the air, thrusting back at his fingers. His other hand went to my prick, and soon it grew hard in his hand, and he began to jerk gently.
“Oh, I am near,” I said. “I shall soon die the little death.”
He jerked harder. His fingers fucked my arse. And then I spent, the nectar spurting onto my smooth belly and breasts. I collapsed with a sigh, like wind spilling out of a sail. My love was still for a minute, considering his handiwork, then reached out and smeared my essence on his fingers and, as I watched, put them in his mouth.
“You taste good, too,” he said. I was on my knees, covering him in kisses.
We were quiet on the ride back, the sun starting to sink behind the trees.
Finally I said “Run away with me, and be my husband.”
“Lady, I cannot. I swore an oath to serve.”
“And well has thou served indeed,” I said bitterly.
‘As best I can,” he said. “I had not counted on falling in love.”
“And yet, here we are. He will kill us, if he finds out. I know him, James. Not even the love he bears me would save me, and as for thee, I shudder…Come away now. We will go far away, and thou will be my husband and we will make love every morning and every night.”
“Please,” he said.
“What would you have me do?” I said. “I must sleep with him tonight.”
“I know not,” he said, miserable.
“An awful plight we have put ourselves in,” I said.
“I know.”
Exposure
We began to steal away even whilst right in the castle, to old storerooms and the cellars, so avid were we to taste of each other’s flesh.
I giggled and shook my head as he pulled me into the lumber room that day by my wrists, then closed and locked the door. He turned and took me in his arms and kissed me deeply, and I moaned and clutched him hungrily. He backed me up slowly until I came to the edge of a big wooden table, still locked in the kiss. I held his head in my hands, ran my fingers through his long brown hair. Then he was bending and undoing the long skirt, sliding it down to my pale silk slippers. I stepped out of the skirt and he tossed it aside. Then the lacy pantaloons that came to mid-calf, and then the soft drawers that covered my most intimate places. With fumbling fingers, I hurried unlaced my bodice and slipped it off, and the lovely puffy blouse underneath, and I then was naked.
He put his hands on my waist and lifted me onto the edge of the table. I clung to him, covering him with kisses.
He unlaced his breeches now, urgently, and without troubling with his boots, merely pushed the breeches down his legs. His beautiful instrument of pleasure stood up and peeked out of its little hood. It would soon be seeking the center of my being.
I took it in both hands and tugged gently.
“Every time I caress my littie friend,” I said, breathing heavily,” it is as pleasant as the first time. “
“He is pleased to meet his love again,” he said. “He stands at attention in thy loving hands, to honor thee.”
“Let him wait no longer, then,” I urged him. And he did not. He spit on his hands and rubbed his prick. Then he tilted me back and I spread my legs until my pussie was visible. His cock pushed at my tight rosebud. He pushed inside a little, while we looked into each others eyes. I could feel him enter. It was done. He was inside me. Slowly, he filled me up, until I could feel his balls against my ass. Still he did not begin to thrust.
“Thou hast impaled me so deeply, I fear thou hath touched my heart,” I said.
“If that be so, it pleaseth me, for thy heart is what I wan, far more than thy bosom or thy lips or thy pussie,” he cried.
“Thou own it,” I said, “as though owneth me.”
He stopped, still inside me, and looked in my eyes.
“This defies all reason,” he frowned, “for he would kill us, did he know.”
“I would die every day, “I said, “if I did not have thou even these few minutes.”
He began to move inside me. My arms went around his neck, and I crooked my legs around his waist. “But it is not me, but thee I worry about. I would die without thee,” I said fiercely into his neck. He moved further inside me
“Feel it inside thou,” he said. “It is my love.”
“I feel it,” I cried. “And I return thy love a hundredfold. A thousandfold.” I showered him in kisses.
He pushed deeper, and I thrust back at him, nothing now but a wanton, as base and lustful as the lowest village slattern, come adrift, lost completely to lust, no lady anymore. Finally he was all the way in, and he stopped and merely looked down at me. I wriggled on his fullness so deep inside me. I was like a fish caught on a hook, but happy indeed to be caught.
His hands went round my waist, holding me as he thrust long and slow. I jerked and gasped with each thrust.
“Say thy pretty words to me,” he whispered.
“Thou art my life, I breathed to him. Thou art the sun and the moon and all the things on the earth and all the things in the sky and under the sea. Thou art not my husband in name, but yet in spirit and every other way, thou art my mate for as long as I shall live. Thine is the name I will whisper in my heart at night and sing in the morning when the sunlight and the birdsong gladden me.”
He thrust faster, and the table began to creak. We paid no attention, made careless by love. One last thrust, and he lay on my breast, me naked under him, legs locked around his waist. I felt him diminish and slacken inside me, a feeling that always left me bereft.
Finally I said, “I have been gone overlong. They shall start to miss me.”
After a moment, he stood up, reached down and pulled up his breeches. I found my underthings and blouse and skirt and hurriedly pulled them on.
I reached into the folds of the skirt, found a pocket and produced a small vial. I handed it to him, and he squinted as he carefully applied the berry stain to my smudged lips, covering the evidence of my sin.
I could hear footsteps pattering away on the stone as we stepped into the corridor.
It was, of course, one of my lord’s toadies outside listening, and my love and I were hauled before a church court and found guilty of lese majeste before my furious lord. My love was beheaded in the courtyard outside whilst I watched. Then I was stripped naked and a cart was brought with a set of stocks in the middle. I was bent over as my head and hands were put in the grooves, the top board was set and there I was bent over, my ass protruding, my ankles chained wide apart to bolts on the floor of the cart. What had once been so private was now bare to every churl and peasant, and they laughed as the cart set off slowly into the country to where I was to be burned at the stake.
The townspeople were allowed to mount the cart and then to mount me or put their privities in my mouth as we passed by the crowd. At first of course I was humiliated, but then found myself thinking I have but a short while to live, perhaps I should be the whore they think me to be and enjoy one last brief moment of carnality before the awful darkness. I pushed back against the man inside my ass, and I began to lick at the man in front’s private parts and moan like a trull. I sucked first one dry and then another took his place. Behind me I could feel the men’s essence roll down my thighs from my pussie. One man – sweet man – reached around and tugged at my tiny cock while he fucked me. I grew hard immediately and shortly before he came I, bucking and squealing, came too. It was to be my last.
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