ON FRENCH SOIL
by T.S. Fesseln
Chapter Five: "Of The Heat Of The Ginger"
The mist outside the window turned slowly into a hard rain, then sleet,
pelting against the panes like a drum calling troops to battle. Outside the
confines of the canopied bed she was bound to, Catherine listened to the
muffled laughs and harsh words of the Edward's men just on the other side of
the shut curtains and locked door. There in the dark, her arms and legs spread
wide apart and bound to each post, Catherine D' Astier imagined being used by
each of the English swaggers beyond the door. She could almost feel the rough
hands and lips upon her breasts and their engorged prickers battering through
her swollen gates again and again until she could feel no more.
But nothing happened.
Soon the noises of the men faded away and all Catherine could hear beyond
her curtained bed was the constant pelting of sleet against the panes of glass.
The warmth of the English's seed was still within her and the prickling
heat of her passions still left Catherine wanting more despite that she was
little more than a slave to the will of this Edward de Valence. There was
something dwelling deep within the dark corners of her soul that made her
delight in her rape, however. . .
Catherine tried to shake that thought from her head as soon as it emerged.
Once more Catherine tried pulling at her bindings and she still found them
as effective as before. It was more than just a ransom that this English was
keeping her here, she thought to herself. And it was more than just merely
pleasuring himself with her wares. There was a demonic passion within this man
that let itself out briefly when he coupled with her, which, she shamedly
thought to herself, was not all that horrible. Catherine wondered what was
driving her captor.
As Catherine laid there, her emotions and thoughts wrestling in a
whirlwind's flurry, she did not hear the lock being turned. Only when the
hinges squeaked closed she realized she was not alone. Catherine tried in vain
to make herself known to the unknown intruder, but her gag muffled her well.
Catherine then heard the door bolt being driven home.
The footsteps coming around her bed were not the heavy footsteps she
remembered Edward having, rather they were light, a strangers. . .
The drapes around the bed were suddenly thrown open and Catherine was
blinded momentarily by the brightness outside; her eyes having accustomed
themselves to the dark womb the drapes had created. Catherine shut her eyes
against the pale light and turned her head away.
"You are indeed a prize, m' dear," Margaret said in her melodious Irish
voice,"No wonder m' Edward keeps you locked away like th' royal jewels."
Catherine squinted to try and see the woman standing over her. She was a
short woman, Catherine could tell, with long, reddish tresses and a graceful,
smiling face partially hidden beneath her shawl. Her green eyes seemed to
study Catherine with the jealous, disapproving look of a wife just meeting her
husband's lover. Catherine struggled again anew as she tried to turn away from
this woman's preying eyes.
"A picture of m'Lady de Valence, I should say," Margaret said as she sat
down on the bed next to the struggling Catherine, "Mind you, I never met her,
God rest 'er soul, but m' Edward told me a great deal about 'er."
Margaret reach down and patted Catherine's hip, "No use 'n strugglin', m'
dear. I am sure m'Lord de Valence has made sure you cannot escape."
The woman bound on the bed did indeed looked what Edward had described his
Lady Eleanor de Valence to look like, Margaret thought to herself. Catherine's
skin was as white as cream and she was as slight as a yearling. Her hair was a
dark, tangled halo around her slim face and it matched her ebony eyes as she
continued her futile struggles on the bed.
Margaret smiled a bit watching the young woman struggle, remembering that
once in awhile, Edward had bound her like this, hands tied apart above her head
and her legs tied wide open. Edward had been gentle with her like that, but
rough at the same time, like a harnessed wolfhound during a hunt. In fact, as
Margaret's relationship grew with Edward, so did his need to bind her in their
swyving. It was not unpleasant, giving herself like that, in fact quite the
opposite. It let her just enjoy. As Margaret watched Catherine continue to
fight her bonds, she imagined what Edward would do to this helpless waif beside
her.
"There now, m'Edward wouldn't want you to hurt such a costly prize as
yourself," Margaret said as her hands gently started to caress Catherine.
The feel of Margaret's hands on Catherine was smooth and cool, not the
heated hands of a man. The washerwoman's touch glided over Catherine's hips
and belly and over the swell of her breasts, her nipples stiffening with the
pleasure of the other's touch. Catherine soon found herself accepting and
wanting the other woman's fingers to caress her more intimately; to work their
magic upon her as she could not upon herself. It was not the first time
Catherine enjoyed another woman's company. When Catherine had begun to
blossom, she had asked an older friend of hers, Carola, what it was like to be
with a man and her friend first told Catherine, then showed her. It was
Catherines first taste of the pleasures her body had to offer herself.
The redheaded woman continued to talk to Catherine, but she could make
little out of the woman's rough but musical language. But the woman's hands
never stopped gliding over her.
Margaret grinned as she saw what effects her hands were having on the
poor, bound child beside her.
"Let me get these wet things off, m'dear child, or I will catch a death
indeed."
Catherine watched as Margaret began to unlace her plain-looking skirts and
peel them down her slim legs. She carefully placed them beside the bed to dry,
then began to untie her bodice.
Feeling Catherine's eyes upon her, Margaret unlaced her bodice slowly, as
she had done to many a man. Slowly, the leather bodice opened and Margaret set
it aside also. Catherine could see Margarets generous breasts jiggling beneath
her chemise as she turned her back to the bound girl and lifted the chemise
off.
The roughness of the washerwoman's clothes belied her treasures beneath.
Margarets legs were slim and sturdy and tappered up nicely to her thick nest of
reddish brown curls. Her hips flared wide but her waist was much more narrow
than Catherine would have thought. Margarets breasts were large and heavy,
with nipples that turned upward and out slightly and were the color of pale
pink rose buds about to blossom. After shedding her clothes, Margaret settled
again on the bed beside Catherine.
Margaret's hands began anew, caressing and stroking Catherine's warm skin,
exploring the gentle curves and soft, moistened nest without delving any
deeper. Catherine yielded to her feelings, letting the physical sensations
overpower her any mental reservations she might have had. There was nought she
could do anyhow, Catherine thought to herself, knowing her bindings were indeed
unforgiving in their hold on her.
The woman's finger's brushed lightly all over her body before coming to
rest on Catherine's breasts. The fingers began to slowly caressing circles
around her erect nipples, then pulling on them slightly, sending little waves
of bliss swirling in Catherine's womb. She could hear her own moans escaping
from in back of the gag as the passions within her started to build like a tide
against a dam.
The woman's hands were not rough at pulling and kneading Catherine's
nipples, rather slow and tender, letting her react to each caress before
beginning another. When the other woman's hands left her, Catherine open her
eyes and moaned her displeasure.
Margaret slipped down and laid down beside Catherine and began the brush
her tangled hair away from the frenchwoman's face. The heat of Edward's
captive's skin against her own was wonderful in the cool of the bedchamber and
Margaret's fingers soon began to explore the younger woman's curves again with
a liquid slowness. This woman beside her was one that enjoyed the pleasures of
being a woman, Margaret thought to herself. So many women she had met did not
enjoy the act of coupling and thought it was a sin to feel the bliss of
swyving. Not this one, Margaret smiled as she watched her own fingers enchant
this raven-haired beauty into writhing pleasure.
Catherine felt the woman's finger's start to brush through her soft nest
and begin to delicately part Catherine's already swollen petals. She tried to
raise her hips to the woman's touch, but Margaret backed off, leaving the
French captive wanting. Each time the washerwoman began to tickle at
Catherine's quim, Catherine would buck at her bonds and Margaret would stop her
attentions. It was a torture that seemed to go on forever.
Margaret could hear the bound Catherine's whines of frustration getting
more and more desperate through the girl's gag. Margaret giggled a bit when
she stopped her attentions a watched for Catherine's reactions.
Catherine's reaction was slow at first, thinking that the strange woman
would continue to tease her, but when Catherine realized that this was not the
case she looked up at the red-headed woman's grinning face and saw the teasing
smile there. Catherine threw herself at her bonds and wriggled and pleaded
through her gag. Did Edward send this woman here to torture her, Catherine
asked herself. The flames within her womb were raging yet she could not quench
them. She thought she would go mad.
Margaret heard the bound Catherine beginning to sob through her gag.
There were indeed tears in those doe-like eyes. Margaret took pity and
straddled the helpless maid and spread Catherine's moist petals wide and began
to tickle and the child's pearl with vigor.
Catherine was awash in the firestorm of bliss almost immediately. It
raged through her and she lost herself in the fiery storm. It was all that
Margaret could do to keep from being bucked of this randy frenchwoman; it was
as if Margaret was riding an unbroken mare. However, slowly the woman's
captive writhings eased and Margaret slipped off of her.
The effect of the bound woman's orgasm had an effect on Margaret and she
found herself wanting some attention. She knew Edward would not be back soon,
for not only did he have to find suitable clothes for his prize, but also food
and drink. Edward also had to check on his men and direct the siege of the two
towers that had not surrendered when the rest of the town had. Both Margaret
and Catherine could hear the loud, deep thunder of the cannons as they fired
their stones at the twin targets.
"They must know their lot is hopeless, M' lord," Richard Corfe said as he
and Edward looked at the tower before them.
"They think their King will get up off his arse and rescue them, I am
afraid, dear Richard. He will not. If he was to do so he would have done it
long ago."
Both Edward and his sergent watched as another canon belched it's deadly
missile and hurled it with a crack against the tower walls. The wooden
mantlets covered the canon quite well from the occasional arrow shot from
above.
Behind him, Edward could hear his retinue gathering pile of hay to pit against
the tower after the sun had set.
"Richard, make sure some of the men get rested. It is to be a long night,
I am afraid. This weather is not to the liking of anyone save the devyl
himself."
"Yes, m'lord. You should rest your bones as well. There is a nice bed
waiting for you," Richard smiled a roguish smile that seemed to light up his
face.
"Indeed there is," Edward gave a tired smile back.
From a distance aways, a few men mounted on tired horses watched the death
of their Harfleur at the hands of the English. Each of them was as silent as a
wraith as they watched the now thinning stream of exiles leaving the broken
port with little else but themselves. Once again their King's frail mind could
not issue the order to attack and drive the English back into the sea. It was
what angered Bois D'Astier so much.
He had not seen in sister, Catherine, in the long train of refugees
leaving the town. His father, Phillip, had sent him and several lances down to
see to her safety. But she had not appeared nor did anyone seem to know her
situation. One merchant, a craftsman of leather, had said he remembered
seeing his father's house burning, but that was it. No Catherine.
This would sit ill with his father and he would not enjoy giving him this
news. Unbeknownst to Catherine, her father had already betrothed her to Alois
d'Albret, second son of Charles d'Albret, Constable of France. The marriage
would be Bois' father closer to the ears and eyes of the court and where his
money would do better than be trifled away by a feeble-minded king.
"We should be away, m'lord Bois. The English have eyes too," John, one of
Bois' most trusted retainer, said.
"It is a shame to all of France." Bois said under his breath.
"True. m'lord Bois."
"We will wait and watch for Catherine from afar these next few days,
cloaking our shields and colors lest we be found not to be Englishmen. Then we
will enter the city as mercenaries and find out what has happened to our dear
sister."
With that said, the riders disappeared into the mist to find a warm fire
to warm themselves by.
********************End Chapter 5************************
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
