Chapter Six Perfection Of A Good And Particular Mistress
ON FRENCH SOIL
by T.S. Fesseln
Chapter Six: "Perfection Of A Good And Particular Mistress"
Edward de Valence trudged through the muddy streets of Harfleur back
toward his lodgings. Bundled under his left arm were several sets of clothes
he thought might fit Catherine since she had lost hers when the King Harry and
his men took the town. Also he had obtained some 'new' clothes for Margaret in
payment for her services to him. In his other hand he had a cooling pot of stew
he had brought from the King's retinue. Though Edward had gone against the
King's word about taking ransoms, he was still in good graces of the court. .
.at least that is what it seemed to him. Many in the court knew of Edward's
personal mission in France and he believed one or two of them had whispered
into King Harry's ear. Edward's transgression would have had more dire
consequences, he was sure.
The sleet was turning more and viscous, but Edward's thoughts were far
from the weather. After setting up the guns and watching them belch stone
after stone at the tower walls, Edward finally left to confer with a few of the
King's advisors and managed to talk them out of several trencher's of stew.
King Harry had been pleased with them and now they had wealth and good cheer
flowing out of the pouches from their shares of Harfleur's treasures.
The King had not asked for Edward's precious ransom, for his Catherine
D'Astier. He was glad the King had not asked. Edward did not know what he
would have done if the King had insisted on Edward's prize.
Catherine. . .the name warmed his loins. She was indeed something
precious. Edward had not expected such a beautiful woman as Catherine when he
first started planning his revenge upon his son's killer, Phillip D'Astier.
But many had told Edward of her dark gracefulness and beauty and that is how he
knew he had found her that night in her burning home. Fortune smiled upon him,
he thought. Edward's revenge upon the D'Astier house was blessed by her smile.
There was no guards at the doorway to his confiscated lodgings, but there
were many of his charges laying upon the floor, huddled in their cloaks and
sleeping like a pack of dogs. The noise of their sleep would have woke the
dead, Edward thought. The fire had died down to flickering embers licking
around some charred logs.
The room upstairs was the same, save a bit more emptier. There was the
litter of men at war all around. . .unsheathed daggers, rough bundles of loot,
stacked helmets, bucklers and jacks. A few of the men slept with their arms
around a woman or two, women that had followed Henry's army but were not
allowed into the camps until this day. It was a strange sight when there was
still daylight outside.
Edward rapped lightly on the locked door to his chamber.
The rap on the door startled Margaret, whose amatory thoughts were upon
the captive girl who still lay bound to the bed and upon the coming of her
Edward. Margaret slid out from beside Catherine and lightly walked over to the
door.
"Who it be?" Margaret whispered.
"It is I, Margaret, Edward."
Margaret smiled and slid the bolt open, "Welcome back, m'lord Edward!"
Edward looked upon the nude Margaret whose curves he enjoyed many a time
during his campaigns in France and Scotland, "Indeed, what a pleasant welcome
at that, Margaret."
Edward dropped his bundle of clothes and embraced Margaret with one arm
before closing the door and bolting it shut.
"I brought you and our charge a bit to eat, if you think she will," Edward
said, offering the washerwoman the pot.
"She 'as an appetite, m'Edward, that 'un does," Margaret smiled, thinking
about how much Catherine did buck and writhe in her bonds at Margaret's touch,
"Shall I dress or does m'lord prefer me thus."
"I think I prefer you thus, Margaret."
Edward sat down upon the bench and began unlacing his boot while Margaret
began to dig through her kit to find a horn spoon or two. Margaret was a short
woman whose ample breasts seemed almost too large for her slight frame. Her
hair was the color of sunsets and it draped about her like a coppery shawl.
Her skin was pale and stippled with a spray of freckles. The washerwoman's
figure was most like a sand clock, with her wide, flaring hips, narrow waist
and large breasts. If her station was different, Edward thought, he would have
made her his wife.
"M'lady is most pretty, I she not, m'Edward," Margaret said as she found
what she was looking for and started to ladle the stew into her wooden
trencher, "You will get a good ransom for 'er."
"It is not the ransom, dear Margaret, I want."
"Indeed, I know m'Edward, but it'll bring you nothin' but pain, I warrant.
But'll you do what you want, m'Edward, an your'n like a hound on th' hunt with
this revenge business of yours. You will'n not stop until you taste blood."
Edward just grunted in reply as he unlaced his heavy canvas jack of
plates. As he slipped it off, it felt good to have it's weight off of his
shoulders. It was better than his full suit of armor, though. During his
siege of the two towers, he would not be putting that uncomfortable armor on.
The jack of plates was enough.
"I think your prisoner wants something of you," Margaret grinned.
From the canopied bed, Edward could hear the muffled pleadings of his
captive, Catherine D'Astier. Even her moans and whimpers stirred something
deep inside Edward making his lusty daemon want to ride his beauty again.
"In a bit," Edward replied.
Edward rolled each leg of his hose off before taking off his shirt. He
had been soaked to the bone, he realized, and the warm air of the chamber felt
like a woman's warm embrace. Margaret had set aside her meal to help Edward
arrange his clothes to dry by the fire beside her own.
"It is evil weather out, m'lord, no' even th' devyl would be out'n there,"
Margaret said.
"Indeed. But I must go out there this night to try to take those twin
towers. The French's arrows are less keen at night and our men can pile the
hay around the towers without much fear of being slain. I will be with them,
of course."
"Th' war is a terrible thing, mlord. So many young lives. . ."
"It is ours to serve the King's will. Now let us see to our captive,
shall we."
Catherine was bound as he had left her, her arms and legs spread wide
apart to each of the bed's posts and a gag in the form of a curtain sash tied
tightly between her lips. She continued to plead behind her gag, to beg
release from her bonds, but all that came out was muffled "Ummmphs". Her dark
eyes seemed to plead to Edward for something more than her bonds being loosed.
Her slender, pale body was as graceful as a swans and as smooth as polished
marble and her dark tresses formed a black halo about her head.
Catherine did writhe a bit against her bonds, more of an act than anything
else, for she knew that her bindings were as unforgiving now as they were when
Edward first tied them. The passions she had just experienced from the
washerwoman's gentle touch had not lessened. In fact, upon seeing the naked
Englishman beside her bed, her desire to have him within her again grew
unashamedly and she thrusted herself up to him, praying he would indeed pay
attention to her wants.
"I see m'lord has risen t' th' occasion," Margaret said, embracing Edward
from behind, "Perhaps m'Edward would see fit t' use his fine weapon?"
"And who should I prick, pray tell?"
"I think you know, m'Edward. . .I have longed for those arms around me and
your pricker deep within. . ."
"You are a wicked woman, Margaret. I think I shall prick my captive
first," Edward said.
"Then let me be you captive, m'lord de Valence," Margaret said holding out
her wrists together to be bound.
"We shall see if you want to be my captive," Edward replied, gripping
Margaret's wrist and pulling her over to his cloth kit bag.
With a deftness that Margaret found intriguing, Edward whipped out a
length of thong, spun Margaret around and laced-up her wrists in back of her.
It was done quickly and before Margaret could say much of anything, Edward tied
a strip of cloth between her lips to silence her tongue.
Margaret found the embrace of leather warming her inside, making her feel
wanton yet unable to do anything about it. What made her more aware of her
feelings was watching Catherine's dark eyes watching her with a lustful eyes.
It was then that Margaret knew that Catherine enjoyed her captivity as much as
Margaret did when Edward bound her like this.
Edward wound another length of leather thong around Margaret's ankles,
cinching them tightly. He repeat the process just above Margaret's knees,
making her legs as one.
Margaret began to question what Edward was doing through her gag, but Edward
ignored her and began tying Margaret's elbows together as he did her knees,
making Margaret more and more helpless.
"Enjoy being my captive yet, my dear Margaret?" questioned Edward.
Margaret was getting a little bit afraid, for Edward had never really
treated her like this before; not while tied up nor during their unfettered
swyving. But, even as she continued to moan her protests through her gag,
Edward looped a length of rope around Margaret's waist and tied it off, like a
lead to a horse.
"Come on, my captive, to my bed."
Edward yanked on the rope, forcing Margaret to hop forward. She struggled
to keep from falling over onto the floor. Edward yanked on the rope again, and
Margaret hopped again toward the bed.
Edward did enjoy the vision of Margaret hopping towards him, her breast
jiggling with every movement and her whole body struggling to try to stand
upright. Edward could see a little fear in the washerwoman's green eyes, but
it was tempered by her lust. When he had tied Margaret's knees together, he
could smell the musky perfume of her excitement. Edward sat on the edge of the
bed an reeled his captive towards him.
Even bound as she was, Margaret found her lust for her Edward more
overpowering than any fear she might have at him treating her this way. M'Lord
Edward de Valence was a viral, tall man with dark hair cut like that of the
King, a trim beard and dark, piercing hazel eyes. His shanks were as sturdy as
oaks and his stomach was well muscled save for the long, purple scar that ran
across it. . .a sword wound Margaret had sewn closed herself. His pricker, oh
his gorgeous pricker was like a lion rampant. . .oh did she want him within
her.
She hopped closer and closer to Edward until she was between his legs. He
could feel her soft nest tickle at his manhood, teasing him. Margaret felt it
too and thrust herself at him, rubbing her thick nest upon his cock. Edward's
hands grasped at her buttocks and embraced Margaret to him.
Edward's rough hair upon his chest tickled at Margaret's already erect
nipples, sending licks of fiery pleasure down with her. Helpless to take in
his pricker, Margaret writhed against her Edward, as much for her pleasure as
for his.
Edward leaned over a bit and took Margaret's right nipple into his mouth
and began to slowly caress it's stiffness with his tongue and nibbling at it
with his teeth. His hands began to massage her buttocks open and close and
Margaret could feel the fires of her pleasure growing higher and higher within
her.
Edward's kisses and nibbles switched from one nipple to the other, then he
stopped and climbed off the bed and around in back of Margaret.
The washerwoman could feel the knots around her ankles and legs slip free
and Margaret thought that finally she would be taken. Edward looped a thong
around each ankle and tied the left one to one of the legs of the bed. He then
did the same to the right ankle, making Margaret spread her legs wide and open
her sex to Edward and to the eyes of Catherine who was watching with rapt
attention. Lastly, Edward undid Margaret's waist lead, took an emptied leather
pouch and enclosed Margaret's hands upon pulling the pouches drawstring.
Edward embraced Margaret again, his hands finding her pink, stiff nipples
and pulling upon the gently. She could feel Edward's hard pricker against her
ass and she would have taken it into her fingers to pleasure him save for
having the bag over them. All Margaret could do was to savor Edward's
masterful touch.
Margaret felt him kiss her behind her ear and then nibble on it's lobe.
His finger trailed down from her breasts and began to brush through her thick,
reddish nest; teasing at her quim. Edward's finger's never parted her swollen
lips, rather, he just brushed against them lightly, stoking the blissful fires
building within her.
Then he stopped.
Margaret whined through her gag loudly, but Edward ignored her as he
slipped into the bed beside Catherine.
"I think, my dear Margaret, I will prick this beautiful ride first, if you
do not mind."
Edward smiled at her a wicked smile.
Margaret again complained loudly through her gag, but as before, Edward
ignored her. His attentions were now focus of his real captive, Catherine.
Catherine could not believe what was happening to her nor that of her
lustful feelings at being bound and helpless at the hands of this English. She
never would have guessed at what lurked in her heart. She felt for the
washerwoman whose name she deduced was Margaret. Being bound and teased so
would be a torture. . .a sweet torture, but one she would rather not endure.
"Sweet Catherine," Edward said in her native French tongue, "how is my
captive beauty?"
Catherine mewled through her gag and writhed a bit more. As she looked
into Edward's hazel eye's she could see a lover's gentle look there, not the
cruelness of a villain.
Edward's hands began to gently brush over Catherine's flesh as he knelt
between her spread legs, his cock pointed at her like a prodding spear.
Although she knew she was a captive, she found herself yearning to be impaled
by Edward's shaft and Catherine rocked her hips the best she could, imploring
him to get on with their coupling.
Edward noticed this and smiled, "We are anxious, are we not, my sweet
Catherine."
Her captor's hands began to knead slowly at her breasts, his thumbs
flicking at her nipples and send small pulses of bliss into her womb which was
already aflame with her pent-up passions. She closed her eyes and just absorbed
his attentions as she would the sun on a summer's day. Soon, his hands were
replaced by his lips and teeth, gently suckling and nibbling at her achingly
stiff nipples. Her passions were a whirlwind of fire growing stronger and
stronger within but with no release in sight. Catherine felt herself moving
beneath Edward without control, as is possessed by a wanton daemon but
Catherine did not care. These feelings were an old friend yet very, very new
to her and she embraced them.
Edward's lips began to kiss lower and lower. Over her stone smooth
stomach and to the edge of her soft, moist coney. His fingers touched her sex
and opened her puffed outer lips to reveal the moist slit within and the pink
pearl that Edward's tongue touched and licked around.
Catherine's fires had not died down within her and Edward's rough tongue
soon had her flames climbing higher and higher within her womb. This English
had a devyl's touch, Catherine thought to herself, but oh, did she want more of
it. Edward's tongue continued to lick up and down her slit and with his teeth,
he would nip at her bud gently, causing a rush of bliss to engulf Catherine.
Then Edward's stopped.
Catherine's was so close to being engulfed in pleasure yet now her fires
starved for fuel. She looked down at Edward kneeling between her spread legs,
and saw him turn his attentions back to Margaret.
Edward ignored his ransom's pleas through her gag and instead turned to
Margaret, herself still making mewls and moans through her gag. Edward's hand
cupped each of her heavy breasts and flicked at her stiff nipples with his
thumbs. He could her Margaret's moans of pleasure at his touch.
Edward then reached down and began to tease at her nest, running his
fingers through it and over it and gently touching Margaret's inner thighs,
driving to madness with need. Once or twice Edward ran his fingers up her
slick sex, but never enough to help Margaret to come.
Edward leaned forward, kissed Margaret on the forehead, and turned back to
Catherine.
Edward could almost see a smile behind Catherine's gag as he looked into
her eyes. He knelt between her legs again and positioned his cock.
With one mighty thrust, Edward pierced Catherine.
There was no gentleness about him this time. Furiously he thrust into
Catherine again and again; faster and faster. Already she was engulf in pure
bliss as the English rammed into her and her bonds seemed to disappear amidst
the fiery orgasms that wracked her body. Catherine bucked and writhed to meet
his punishing thrusts and soon she felt his hot seed squirt into her like
molten lead.
Edward withdrew from Catherine quickly and with his pricker still rampant
and glistening with his and Catherine's coupling, he climbed off the bed and
around behind Margaret.
Margaret felt Edward's hand force her upper body down onto the mattress
and then felt his finger's open her gates. It did not take long until Margaret
felt Edward's cock thrusting into her from behind. Tied as she was, she could
do little but grip his shaft as he plunged into her at a slow but steady pace,
regaining his stiffness he had lost in coupling with his captive.
Soon, however, Edward gained speed and the whirlpool of passion that was
building with Margaret exploded in an orgasm so powerful that Margaret began to
weep. and cry into her gag. And the blissful release kept building and
building, getting more and more powerful until Margaret thought she would go
mad with pleasure.
It was then she felt Edward's seed spray into her.
Edward slowed his pace and withdrew slowly. Margaret was weak from the
effort and sagged in her bonds, the bliss running through her like a warm
stream and she just wanted to bath in it's waters.
Catherine had watched them with rapt attention and even though her thirst
had been quenched, she was still wanting more. The English had sparked a
wanton fire in her she did not know, as if being bound she could be free to
feel everything a man had to offer. Her friend Carola had spoke to Catherine
many times about the duties of pleasing a man and that she would be rewarded
for her efforts with a pleasure that could only be dreamt of. However, bound
as she was, the English found satisfaction in their coupling and Catherine did
not have to expend any effort, she could just enjoy the gifts of her body. It
was unlike anything she had ever experienced.
After a bit, Edward undid Margaret's ankles and sat her on the edge of the
bed. He did not undo her gag nor the thong or pouch that fettered her wrists.
When Margaret made questioning mewls through her gag, Edward just smiled and
kissed her forehead. He then tied her ankles together again, and her knees.
"I must pay attention to our French guest now, Margaret. I will come back
to you in a wink," Edward said.
Outside, Richard Corfe huddled in his cloak and waited the coming of
night. The sleet had stopped and now a cold breeze whispered through Harfleur
like a distant chant, mourning the loss of so many during the siege.
The guns pointed at the towers were all but silent now, only occasionally
blasting another stone ball at one of the towers. It was a half hearted
effort, Richard knew. The chill had etched away much of the gun crews
strength. He had sent many back to their lodgings to sleep and gather strength
for the night. His lord and friend, Edward, was doing the same. . .or at least
he was relaxing in the arms of his Margaret.
Another gun thundered.
It was going to be a long afternoon, Richard thought as he took another
swallow of beer to warm his insides.
*******************End Chapter Six**************************
Additional chapters will be added as time permits. Any comments, ideas,
and feelings, especially from the Lady Catherines out there, would be most
appreciated. Please e-mail me at FESSELN1.aol.com
