Catch me if you can

[Maka]

Alys stood in the centre of the chamber, a thin linen nightgown adhering greedily to the smooth, mouthwatering lines of her slender, delicate body. She glistened all over. With her large, impossibly soft blue eyes, she looked like a pagan river nymph, shy and beautiful and ill at ease outside her waters.

A droplet of water ran down her neck and into the deep, enticing cleavage between her full breasts, creamy where the sun had not touched it. But Stephen had touched it, and even now he found himself longing to bury his face in that sweet valley, to kiss and lick and press those wondrously rounded breasts together, to hear again her urgent little cries and entreaties, to sense her body slowly giving in to its primal needs, as lust eroded long years of maidenly, ladylike caution. Alys of Crowsdale had the beautiful face and callimastian body of an angel but she was a lusty, trueborn daughter of Eve at heart.

Stephen's thoughts did not show on his face, which was schooled to a stony blank.

"My lady," he said. "I've come to discuss the future. I would speak in confidence," he added, with a frowning glance at Brae.

 

[Little_Zora]

The maid stared at the Norman lord, momentarily forgetting all etiquette. Surely he did not expect her to leave him with her young mistress who stood shivering, and barely dressed, in the middle of her chamber? Servants had been whipped for lesser negligence. If Lord Stephen wished to discuss the marriage, surely he would do so with Lady Alys’ noble father and mother?

Unless…Brae frowned. Her eyes wandered to her mistress who was still clumsily clutching the woollen shawl around her shoulders. The way she considered the young Norman lord, it was much different from the shy glances and the demure looks from under lowered lashes she had granted him the previous evening, when they had first met. The maid found herself catching her breath. How had she not noticed this earlier?

Alys’ large blue eyes were shining in the flickering light of the candles. She had both feared and anticipated this moment, and now that Stephen was finally here, she had to gather all her courage to find her voice again.

“It is fine”, she told Brae finally. “You may leave us.” The maid, still visibly astonished, nodded and curtsied. “Yes, my lady.” Then she shot a furtive glance at Lord Stephen, and added, blushing: “My lord.” With that, she silently left the chamber and closed the door behind her.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The future…after all that had happened in just one day it seemed to her that this might entail just one fleeting moment, or a whole lifetime. Alys drew the shawl around herself protectively. Had he come to ask for a confession of her treachery? Or to tell her that she was free to choose another husband for herself? His face did not betray any emotion. It was hard to imagine that she had caressed that face only hours earlier, that she had kissed these lips, had felt these hands on her naked skin, that he had taken her and made her a woman. And yet it was all she was now able to think about.

“My lord”, she finally managed to whisper. “What do you wish to discuss with me?”

***
The fire threw dancing shadows across the high trees, and its light tiptoed gingerly across the glittering snow, reflected a hundredfold. The mouthwatering scent of rabbit stew was lingering in the air, and the raucous laughter of several men drifted through the nightly forest, interrupted only by the far-away howling of wolves.

They were travelling through the land of Stephen de Valois, and yet these men – these traitors - were entirely unconcerned that they might be discovered and questioned. Symon suddenly felt a rush of anger. From a few stray snippets of conversation between his new companions he had caught wind of de Lacy’s plan to get his hands on Lord Marnoch’s daughter and to rid himself of his most dangerous rival at the same time. There would not be peace in the North for a long time to come. Despite his hunger, he had no mind for food.

Elwynn was staring into the flames. She warmed her hands against the bowl that someone had put into her hands, but did not eat either. What was she thinking of? Symon threw her a glance across the fire, and not without feeling a painful stab of guilt. What had he done? The poor lass tried to make a brave face, had even tried to take up with one or two of her abductors, obviously looking to find a protector, no matter how precarious. But none of them had been in a mood to defy Long James who kept a sharp eye on the little whore, and who had made it very clear that anyone who tried to stick their paws down her skirts would lose said hand.

Long James. Symon gritted his teeth. When he had first fallen in with the man and his dubious allies, all he had been looking for were fresh-faced young whores, plenty of wine and a few more coins to spend on both. He should have known better.

“Symon.” The voice of the hard-faced leader of their group startled him. Ever since his rash stunt in the brothel, James seemed to hover over him like a hawk ready to strike down his prey. Symon looked up, but said nothing. The taller man stood next to him, following his gaze. “She’s a pretty little cunt, isn’t she?”

“Aye.” Symon did not feel like striking up a conversation, but James paid no heed to his reluctance. “You, little whore, come here.” Elwynn, her eyes wide with apprehension, drew her cloak around her shoulders and complied. What else could she do? James scared her like no other man ever had – and that was saying a lot - but for some reason, she still felt safe as long as Symon was there, watching over her. She forced herself to lift her hand to James face, smiling teasingly. “So cold”, she said. “Do you need me to drive some blood in your cheeks?”

The taller man laughed without humour. “Maybe.” Symon shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. Where was this going? What was James playing at?

As Elwynn pulled back James stopped her, lifting her delicate fingers to his face as if inspecting a piece of delicious game. “A girl as pretty as she does not need all her fingers, don’t you think?” he finally said, smiling calmly. Symon and Elwynn both stared at him.

Symon tried a grin. “God’s wounds, a whore needs to be able to make a fist around a man’s cock, or she is no good.” James sneered. With the thumb of his free, gloved hand, he caressed Elwynn’s lips almost lovingly. “Oh I am sure she will find ways to entertain a man.” He gripped her chin and forced her to look up at him. “Won’t you, sweetheart?” Elwynn was paralysed with fear. “Please…” she pleaded with a hoarse whisper. “Please don’t…” James grinned and looked over his shoulder at his men. “She is very entertaining already, isn’t she?” A few laughed. Turning to Symon, he said: “They are so much more delicious when they are afraid, don’t you find?” The bearded archer was white with fury, but he did not reply. He swore to himself that whatever hell had spat out this bastard, he would kick him back in there, when the right moment had come. The other men had formed a circle around them.

James, still holding Elwynn’s shivering wrist in an iron-like grip, pulled a hunting knife from his belt and held it out to Symon, its sharp blade glittering dangerously. When the young whore, now panicking, tried to pull back, James’ grip around her wrist tightened, and she winced. Symon, his hands in fists, had to muster all his self-discipline not to throw himself at the man in front of him, thus forfeiting both his life and possibly that of the shivering girl.

“Come on, the poor thing might bleed to death before we can deliver her to your lord. What good would that be?” His casual tone sounded ominously hoarse. “You had your laugh, James. Now let’s eat before the fucking stew freezes over.”

James’ eyes were like ice. “I need to know where your loyalties lay, Symon. I am sure that we both agree that you have not yet proven that you can be trusted.” He calmly wrenched Elwynn’s small finger from her desperate fist, and nodded towards it. “Do it.”

“Symon, please…no…” Elwynn’s terrified expression was heartbreaking. Tears had formed in her eyes and clung to her lashes. The archer contemplated the knife in James hand. How good were his chances if he tried to take the knife and stick it instead into the bastard’s gut? Nine pairs of eyes rested on him. Not very good. He gritted his teeth. James’ raised his eyebrows. “It looks like I have to do it for you then.” He lifted the knife to Elwynn’s hand who desperately tried to struggle from his vice-like grip.

“No!” Symon hastily reached for the knife. “Don’t, James. She does not deserve that. None of this is her fault.”

James’s expression was one of utter disdain. “That’s what I thought.” With one fluid motion, he wrenched his hand from Symon’s grip and sank the blade to the hilt in the archer’s stomach. Symon’s eyes widened in shocked surprise, gazing slowly from James down to the deadly blade buried in his flesh. He did not feel the pain immediately. “You will understand that I cannot let you betray me, too”, James whispered. “I needed to be sure, and now I am.”

With that, he pulled the knife free, and Symon fell to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth. James spat out in front of him. “I should have known not to trust a fucking archer.” Another man laughed and, putting his boot against the fatally wounded man’s back, pushed him to the ground. His blood seeped into the snow, colouring it crimson.

Elwynn could not move. She stared at Symon, who was lying on the ground, moaning softly. James, the bloodied knife still in his other hand, lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “Lucky little whore”, he hissed. “Now show me what that hand can do with a man’s cock.”

 

[Maka]

Alys' shoulders were thrown back and her feet planted firmly apart, straightbacked and slender. She was a bewitching, irresistible young winter rose, begging to be plucked. Everything about her expressed that yearning, from the sidelong glances of her stunning blue eyes, to her half-parted, eager lips, to the way she held her nubile young body, half-warding off but half-inviting his expressionless scrutiny.

She loved another devoutly. But for all her innocent devotion, for all the unworldly beauty of her blue eyes, creamy skin and golden hair, she was a healthy young animal and her animal appetites had now been awoken. She craved Stephen's touch, longed for him to bring out that wild lust in her once again.

And Stephen wanted nothing more than to do it. He wanted to push away that shawl -there would be no more than a token murmur of resistance. He wanted to run his hard hands all over that body, down the smooth ivory of her back to cup those sweet, shapely buttocks, to listen to her coo with pleasure as he stroked those proud young breasts, crushed that tender mouth under his.

In Cairo, he had known a Saracen woman whose greatest pleasure had been to submit herself to his mastery, to unquestioningly devote her tawny body to the indulgence of his lust. Was beautiful, highborn Alys of Crowsdale one such? Was she secretly longing to hear him order her to strip off her scanty coverings and kneel before him in glorious nudity. Stephen's throat went dry with desire at the thought.

Instead, he said: "We should be married. The laws of man and God leave no other choice, after what happened."

He met her gaze directly.

"But we do not have to be, not if you do not wish it. You were not to blame for the events of today. But if you had not kept secrets from me, it could have been avoided. We have been lovers, and perhaps we shall be man and wife, but what I want most is for us to be friends. We have a common enemy, you and I. He has taken those we hold dear from both of us. I mean to make him pay for that, but I am short on allies, in this castle and in the north. Men don't realize the power women hold -they never have. Will you help me? Will you be my ally in this fight?"

 

[Little_Zora]

„I will.”

Her answer came straight and without hesitation. He was right. Moreover, it was brave thing to offer her, after all that had transpired, and she was deeply grateful for his trust. God knew that she did not deserve it.

And was she not in dire need of an ally herself? Who remained, after this day in the woods? Her father had not spoken to her once after Stephen had revealed the reason for the heinous attack. Her mother blamed her for it. And her brothers thought she was feeble, an easy weakness for their enemy to exploit. In her family’s eyes, Gael was only one victim of her failure. If she did not side with Stephen, she would stand completely alone.

She looked at him, water still dripping from her hair, rolling down her face like tears. But marriage?

It was a difficult choice. If she agreed to marry Stephen, Robert would be lost to her forever. But if she did not, all efforts of saving him, of at least getting revenge against his murderers, would come to naught. Alys was possibly more aware than Stephen that the alliance hung by a thin thread, that many Northern lords were on the brink of open rebellion, if not against their liege then against each other. De Valois had survived the bloody ambush in the woods, but in many eyes, he had not emerged the victor either. His strength was in question. His ability to unite the North, to pacify and to rule it, was now in doubt.

Alys nodded slowly. “And I will gladly be your wife.” She paused. “There is no other choice if we wish to succeed.” His face did not betray the slightest emotion. Was he glad? Doubtful? Indifferent? Surely he, too, understood that they would not be able to join forces without a lawful union before God. De Lacy needed to understand before everyone else that he would have to face the undivided rage of the North. It was time for him to be afraid. Stephen was right: men often underestimated the power that women were able to wield.

Something else occurred to her.

If she wanted to become his ally, his friend, and his wife, she would need to submit to him, too. If he was to appear strong and undefeated in the face of his enemies, her outward appearance had to be one of unquestioning devotion to her lord husband. The thought filled her with fear and excitement.
Her submission to him would be a demonstration of strength, not weakness. It was a sign of trust, not defeat. Alys sensed that he was the man to appreciate that.

Her bare feet made no sound on the stone floor as she walked closer towards him.

Without a word she knelt before him, putting her hands together as if in prayer. It was a gesture required of knights and nobles who swore allegiance to their liege, and Alys had watched countless men do the same before her father and before her uncle. Women did not have the privilege to do the same, but he had given her that opportunity now. The thought of serving him had a very different ring to it. To completely submit, and serve at his pleasure -. Alys could feel the blood rise to her cheeks, and a shiver ran down her spine.

“Accept my oath of fealty.” She looked up at him, her sapphire eyes shining in the light of the candles. The shawl slipped from her shoulders as she lifted her arms. The damp thin gown clung to her slender body like a second skin, and her breast rose and fell with her breaths. “As God is my witness we are to be allies, and I swear to obey you in all things.” A smile crossed her ruby lips. “I accept you as my lord and master, and I swear to be faithful to you, to never cause you harm.” She paused, her throat suddenly dry. Her voice a mere whisper, she finished her oath. “I will observe my homage to you completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit.”

 

[Maka]

Alys' deep blue gaze was steady, even if her slender, flawless body was shivering with a mixture of fear and desire. She was a creature of silk and fire, of gossamer and steel, something like sweet Helen of Troy must have been. She was the very ideal of perfect, maidenly beauty, a perfect cool winter rose and yet palpable, hot lust shone in her eyes and trembled on her full lips. Kneeling before him, she offered her total obedience and she knew what that meant, to such a man as Stephen de Valois. Her strength was her surrender. The thought filled his heart with a lusty fire.

"You're desired by all men who see you," he said. "But you're mine."

He held the delicate oval of her face between his calloused hands, her silky golden hair spilling over his fingers. His grip was not painful, but it was iron.

"Other men have tried to steal you from me. From now on, there can no longer be any doubt as to whom you belong to. When we sit in your father's hall, it must be clear that you serve at my will. They must know that if I wish it, you would strip your clothes off and kneel naked by my chair. That if I commanded, you would pleasure me with your mouth before them all. That you would suffer me to take you like a whore there and then in the hall, and that you would enjoy it beyond belief. All men desire you -you are not for them."

And to Hell with your chastity, with the shining pearl that is the maiden's reputation. One of the many hypocrisies that Stephen had begun to weary of was the idea that, though men might broil with lust and boast and brag of their conquests, women had to remain milk-mouthed virgins until their wedding night. And then men had the gall to complain of the timid, insipid performance of their wives in the bedchamber, and to seek out their whores once more.

But even on her very first step into the world of such pleasures, Alys of Crowsdale had been anything but insipid. She had been eager, confident, greedy for pleasure, both giving and recieving, brought to boiling point by his skill, learning so quickly even in the golden heights of ecstasy. Now her proud surrender was bringing them both forward another step into new and strange worlds.

"And obeying me, you will be rewarded."

He caressed her face, his thumbs brushing the upturned corners of her smiling lips, his fingertips surprisingly gentle against her finely chiselled cheekbones.

"Friends, lovers, allies, husband and wife, we'll see our enemies pay for what they've done. We'll see the north transformed -no more petty bandit kings, no more raids. And you will be rewarded elsewhere..."

In the bedchamber, but not just there. Stephen greatly doubted that their hot lusts could ever be contained within the four stone walls of that room. They would end up baptising every room in Castle de Courtney, and to the Devil with what his subjects might think.

It seemed as though Alys had not blinked or drew breath since he began speaking. She maintained her kneeling position on the cold stone floor without a hint of discomfort. It was time for the exercise that would seal their mutual trust.

"Stand up," he told her softly. "Strip off your gown. And blindfold yourself with the shawl."

 

[Little_Zora]

Alys looked up at him, her hands still joined together as if in prayer. But he did not take them into his, as it was custom and as she had seen in countless such ceremonies before. She frowned, confused. Did he not accept her pledge?

Instead, his fingers caressed her parted lips, her cheekbones, the silken skin of her face and she had to force herself not to pull herself up to embrace him, to feel his kiss, his caress once again. Alys had not thought it possible to feel such raw desire for anyone, not even Robert, and surely not for any man besides him. And yet there she was, kneeling before Stephen de Valois, nearly trembling with lust.

"Other men have tried to steal you from me. From now on, there can no longer be any doubt as to whom you belong to. When we sit in your father's hall, it must be clear that you serve at my will. They must know that if I wish it, you would strip your clothes off and kneel naked by my chair. That if I commanded, you would pleasure me with your mouth before them all. That you would suffer me to take you like a whore there and then in the hall, and that you would enjoy it beyond belief. All men desire you -you are not for them."

Alys stared up at him, unable to move, to breathe even. It was not so much the outrageous request he was making of her, the unmistakable order to cater to his every whim whenever and wherever he chose, to not only become his obedient wife but also his willing whore – but the thought of her complete and utter submission to not only his desire, but to her own. Because was this not what she craved above all else? And here he was, offering her exactly that, and she would willingly take it, and learn from him. Alys felt her throat go dry at the thought of the scenes he evoked. She did not reply, did not say anything. She did not have to.

"Stand up," he finally said. "Strip off your gown. And blindfold yourself with the shawl."

For one short, fleeting moment she hesitated. Was she making a mistake? Blinded by her hunger to feel what she had felt in that cave, and the hope for more? Was he tempting her, leading her astray? His calm blue eyes stared down at her, and she was unable to look away. What about the rumours she had heard, the whispers about Lord Stephen de Valois being in liege with the devil himself? His appetite for blood and the bodies of innocent girls? What was she in his eyes? His bride, his future wife and ally, as he said? Or a lamb that he would willingly sacrifice? Alys said nothing, but the fear was briefly visible on her fine features.

But did it even matter? If he really was a servant of the devil, was he not more likely to win? Was he not the best ally and companion that she could have, and his promises even more valuable to her? She stood up, her gaze never leaving his.

In a slow, controlled movement, Alys lifted the hem of her thin linen dress. First above her knees, then higher, revealing her thighs, then higher still. She was not afraid, but aware that she had never been more at his mercy than she was at that moment. Then she pulled the gown over her head and let it fall to the floor, the thin fabric pooling around her feet.

She stood in the middle of the room, the flames of the fire and of the candles throwing warm shadows onto her naked skin. Her body was slender and her limbs toned, her muscles more defined than one would expect from a girl as delicate and elven-like as Alys. She shivered, but did not move.

It was odd. Though they had been together in the cave only hours earlier, shamelessly indulging in their carnal desire for each other, and though he did not even touch her, Alys felt much more exposed, much more vulnerable now. Her first instinct was to hide, to lift her hands and cover her breasts, and the soft mound of her sex. But Alys knew that such false modesty was over between them. When she had sworn loyalty to her liege, she had granted him ownership over her body as well. It was not hers to hide from his view anymore.

Though the room was cool despite the fire, her skin was burning. She felt almost light-headed, dizzy with her nascent arousal, as if his gaze alone was more intimate now than his caresses had been before. She had to bite her lips to stifle a soft moan – still too afraid sto admit to her desire for him.

Forcing her arms to her side, she lifted her sparkling sapphire eyes to meet his, before bending down to take hold of the shawl. “I trust you, my lord”, she whispered, before covering the upper half of her face with the soft woollen material. She tied it into a knot behind her head, and let her arms drop to her sides again.

Her heart was fluttering in her chest like a small, trapped bird. Would he accept her oath now?

 

[Maka]

Alys stood stock still, her shoulders thrown back and her legs spread so as to conceal nothing from him, in the centre of the room, her brilliant blue eyes concealed by the blindfold over her head. Her soft golden hair fell to her bare, slender shoulders. Stephen's cool, hungry gaze took in every heartrendingly beautiful detail of her body. He paced around her.

Her skin was flawless, creamy, and smooth from her head to her toes. He put out his hand and ran his finger down her spine, from the golden tresses between her shoulder blades down to the small of her back, to the delicate, graceful swell of her derriere, seeming to feel her jump at the sudden contact. He reached out his hand to cup a buttock and squeezed slightly, luxuriating in the feel. Tight, toned muscle, but so deliciously ripe under his fingers. He drew his hand back and slapped that lovely behind lightly, like a man testing the fettle of a new horse.

He circled back around to examine the view Alys presented from the front. Her cleavage were magnificent -two large, incredibly firm and buoyant ivory breasts tipped by rosy little nipples that seemed to beg for attention, to be licked and kissed and tasted and tweaked and twirled. Reaching out a hand, he massaged one of those glorious, sculpted peaks, so firm yet incomparably soft and yielding. His hand felt achingly empty when he lifted it away.

And then there was the soft, wet, pink treasure waiting for him between Alys' legs. He traced a finger down the lines of her slender, elfin frame, across that smooth, flat stomach, and pressed on her clitoris, feeling the slick hard nub.

He'd compared her to a winter rose, and she had all the fragile beauty of such a flower, but there were deep roots of strength and pride to her. Alys of Crowsdale was, in her way, tougher than any of the soldiers under his command. She had the strength of character than he'd seen in only a handful of people, Rowan among them. Where are you, Rowan? Few women would have the courage to yield themselves up so completely, so utterly without reservation, to cast themselves like a sacrifice on the altar of a fierce, undeniable lust.

He took her hands in his.

"I accept your oath," he whispered, kissing her fingers softly, one by one.

 

[Little_Zora]

A whiff of cool air made her porcelain skin break out in goose bumps, but Alys did not feel the cold.

She dared not to breathe as she sensed him drawing a close circle around her, doubtlessly taking in every inch of her naked body. Again, Alys had to remind herself that her nakedness before him was not weakness, but a demonstration of strength, that she was as vulnerable as she was confident in her display. Nevertheless she jumped when he put on hand lightly on her body for the first time, tracing the curve of her back, and then wandering lower.

He did not say a word. He did not even make a sound. Alys withstood the urge to turn her head. Did he like what he saw? Was it what he had expected? He thought that all men desired her. Did he, now? The thought of igniting his passion aroused her in turn. A soft slap on her bottom made her jump in surprise, then smile. Was this her liege lord inspecting his willing vassal, his ally, with the eyes of a general assessing the worth of a soldier?

She felt him move around her, felt his gaze as intently as she would have if her eyes had been open to witness it. His fingers close around one of her breasts, gently massaging the firm, soft globe, one finger brushing against an erect, pink nipple. Alys could not help a soft sigh, and she slightly arched her back when his hand abandoned her again, as if trying to coax him into another caress.

She held her breath as his hand snaked between her thighs, parting the soft lips of her sex and softly stroking against her most intimate, most sensitive spot. Alys moaned, feeling her sex grow slick at his touch. It was hard not give in to her desire, but she knew that just now, she had to show self-control. But she could not help the shivers, the faint trembling of her limbs, she was helpless against her body opening up to his touch and her own lust.

When he finally took his hand into hers, saying the words she had so hoped to hear, Alys smiled.
“I hope to serve you well, my lord”, she whispered. “And I hope that my service will be to your satisfaction.”

 

[Maka]

"It will be," Stephen whispered, her little hands still in his -Alys' delicate, slender digits clasped in strong hands hardened and calloused by labour and swordplay. With involuntary little sighs and stifled moans, with shivers all the way down her slender, ivory body, she had been opening herself up to him. That faint arch of her back after his hand had left her breast, as though inviting further touches, further stoking of her feminine flame. She was a wonder, a glory -a beautiful, ethereal aristocratic girl making herself a willing, eager whore for the man she had chosen to follow.

One hand slipped downwards and undid the elaborate buckle of his belt while with his other hand he drew her arms up over her head and together behind her back, so that they rested just above the tantalising, graceful swell of her nude buttocks. He drew his belt out and wound the pale, soft Corinthian leather around her slender wrists, knotting it by touch alone. He tied the bonds tight but not painfully so, leaving her blindfolded and bound, completely helpless.

Then he bent down and pulled her nude, slender body into his arms, pressing her full, ripe breasts against his chest. His lips descended on her soft, tender mouth and he kissed her fiercely, hungrily and passionately, holding her against him and taking what he would from her lips.

 

[Little_Zora]

Alice smiled at his words, blushed, her breath caught in her throat. Both the pride and the joy of submitting herself to him made her feel elated and strong.

She heard the whisper of soft leather, sensed that he was removing his belt. Would he…? Her lips parted in anticipation. Alice was unable to think of anything than of him taking her again, now. But he did not.

Instead he lifted her arms and guided them behind her back, her wrists still held together, slender enough to fit into his hand. She did not struggle or even move when he slipped the leather around them, rendering her even more helpless still. Was he still testing her loyalty? Testing if she would trust him unquestioningly?

Her heart was beating like a drum in her chest, but Alice was not afraid. “My lord, please…” she sighed, but the rest of her words were silenced by his lips, with a kiss so greedy that she was on tiptoes to meet it, and without his embrace, she would have collapsed. Her silken skin chafed against the rough fabric of his hunting tunic, she could smell the wood and the icy rock and leather on him, all the memories of the cave, of the fight, of the hunt both enhanced and forgotten.

The blindfold had enhanced all her senses. Every inch of her naked skin was burning for his touch, anticipating his caresses. She moaned softly against his mouth. Her helplessness and her inability to move her hands and to reach for him were both frustrating and exciting, inciting arousal she had never thought to be possible.

***
Brae held her breath. The narrow gap between the wooden planks of the door did not reveal much to her curious gaze, but enough, just enough, to be informed about what the young Norman lord was doing to her mistress. Her fingers rested against the rough wood. When Lady Alys kneeled before him, lifting her hands to his in a gesture of submission, Brae frowned. Their voices were too low, muted by the door and the distance, and the young maid did not understand what either was saying, no matter how much she strained to hear.

Then Lady Alys rose. And without hesitation, she lifted her thin linen gown over her head and let it fall to the floor, leaving her naked and exposed to her visitor’s gaze. Brae’s mouth fell open. Was her poor mistress under a spell? Worse, had he put it on her? There had been many whispers amongst the servants to that effect, that in secret he was a warlock, a cruel man in league with the devil himself. Just to be safe, Brae made the sign of the cross, and briefly considered to step away from the door, maybe even call on someone. But the sight before her was too captivating, she could not move.

How beautiful her mistress was! Yes, Brae had seen her naked many times, had dressed her every morning and prepared her for bed every night, but this was different. Holding her breath, she watched as Lady Alys picked up the shawl form the floor and bound it around her head, blindfolding herself. “Dear Lady Mary…”, she whispered. She was certain now that Alys was not herself. Why else would she act in this way? They were not yet married, and seeing the young lady naked, it was a sin, and not right. Surely he would not take advantage of her so? Was he such a man? Brae had trouble believing it, but there he was, feasting his eyes on a sight suitable only for a husband.

Then she heard a sound behind her, steps on the stone floor, and she flew around in alarm. If she was caught spying on her mistress, she would surely be whipped. But with a sigh of relief she saw that it was only the night watchman, doing his rounds. He briefly glanced over to her and walked on. Brae whispered a prayer of thanks, and turned back to the door, and bent down to watch Lord Stephen and Lady Alys.

One of his hands was cupping her breast. Brae felt a strange tingle on her skin. He was such a beautiful man, and yet she had never suspected such appetites in him when he had first seen him ride into the court, his face cold and inscrutable. She shyly put one of her hands on her own breast, as if trying to see what it would feel like. Through the linen dress she was wearing she could feel her fluttering heartbeat.

Then his fingers travelled lower, caressing her mistress’ slender stomach, and lower, between her thighs. Brae’s breathing became heavier as she mirrored each of his gestures on her own body. When she reached between her legs, shyly cupping her sex, she closed her eyes, and imagined that is was him touching her there. How good it felt! Brae pressed her thighs together, trapping her hand, desperate to fan the flame growing from the soles of her feet. One hand against the door she started to softly caress herself through her skirts, while still watching them. She could not help it.

Oh! He had removed his belt and was now winding it around her poor mistress’ wrists. Brae was torn between wanting to warn her, help her, and the violent arousal that froze her in place. But Alys did not move, no, she smiled even. It must be a powerful, evil spell that made her act so. And through the hazy clouds of her own arousal she watched him pull her into a passionate, breathless kiss and knew, understood, that both her and Alys were at his mercy now.

 

[Maka]

A muffled, imploring moan came from Alys' mouth as she tilted her head, standing up on tiptoe to press her body against his. Her total self-surrender was overwhelming in its erotic power, beyond anything Stephen had ever felt before. He felt like a ravenous beast, kissing and kissing and kissing, his tongue pushing into her honeysweet mouth. All he knew was that he wanted more, he wanted all of her. Their coupling in the cave had been wild and frenzied, two healthy and passionate young animals enjoying each other, letting themselves know they were alive.

This time would be different. Stephen would play Alys' helpess, slender nude body like the most exquisitely calibrated instrument, each new move striking a new golden chord of pleasure, each note lifting her a little higher until a full, gorgeous symphony of lust and desire was playing, until every panted breath would bring fresh, unguessed of delights, until every inhibition or last vestige of shame had simply evaporated in the heat of her lust and need. Then he would take her, give her the reward for her trust and loyalty. That would be the final seal on their alliance.

He broke the kiss and let her gasp for breath. Her knees were tottering under the assault of pleasure -if he let go of the bound and blindfolded beauty now she would simply fall to the floor. He bent his head and began kissing the tops of her huge, heavy and buyoant breasts -creamy globes, so impossibly smooth and firm and soft under his flicking tongue. With her hands locked together behind her back, Alys could not help but square her shoulders, pushing her breasts forward as though offering them up to his mouth.

Slowly, Stephen added his hands to the sport. They lovingly explored and caressed the two breasts, pushed them together and smoothed, mounted up to the perky little nipples to tweak and tease. He placed his mouth on one breast, and traced a delicate circle around the rosy aureole, then flicked the nipple with the tongue, then traced a slow, measured descent into the sweet valley of her cleavage, his lips and tongue working all the way. Deprived of her sight, Stephen wanted Alys' entire world to be squeezed into the sensations she was feeling, the warmth of his lips on her breasts.

 

[Little_Zora]

Alys was panting heavily now, sighing under his assault, unable to move or touch or see. He broke the kiss with the same hunger that he had sealed her lips with earlier, breathless and demanding.

As his lips descended onto her naked flesh she jumped, tried to come closer, tried to guide him, but couldn’t. A frustrated small moan escaped her lips as he was playing with her with such sweet, cruel skill. Nothing could have prepared her for the shocks of pleasure running through every nerve of her body now. Every inch of her seemed alert and anticipating.

Her back was arched, and she moaned softly, helpless. She tried to move her wrists, tried to loosen her bonds, wanting to return his attentions, somehow. But she could not - the leather belt was tied to tightly. His hands were busy exploring, teasing, touching. Alys was close to fainting already, but sensed that he was just beginning to play with his sweet prey. All she could do was whimper, her body shivering under his lips.

***
Brae watched in wonder, her lips parted, incapable of averting her eyes. Her sweet mistress seemed so beautiful in her helplessness and her arousal, both innocent and uninhibited, never had she imagined her to be able to submit thus to lust.

One of her hands hastily untied the laces of her dress. Just as Lady Alys, Brae was now eager to feel a caressing hand on her naked skin. Shy fingers slipped into the neckline of her dress and down, cupping one warm, silken breast. She sighed as her fingers brushed over a sensitive nipple, her eyes glued to Lord Stephen’s hand doing the same to her lady.

 

[Maka]

Near-constant mewls and moans were now pouring forth between Alys' full, parted lips. She was writhing and squirming under Stephen's touch, arching her back to push her breasts against his lips, driven mad with pleasure. Every inch of her slender, lust-honed body was trembling with desire. Denied all other distractions, she could only focus on how her body was reacting to his touch and his kisses.

Stephen dropped to his knees and reached around her shapely legs, ironhard hands clamping down on on the sweet curve of Alys' buttocks. They were so enticingly silky soft and firm under his fingers. He held her so she could not move. then he dipped his head forward and began to lick ferociously at her clitoris with his tongue, letting her honey-sweet juices daub his lips, refusing to let her take even as much as a step backward.

 

[Little_Zora]

Alys threw her head back. “Oh…Stephen…you will kill me…” Her soft voice trailed off into a moan. She was no longer able to stifle her emotions, nor did she care to conceal them. Forgotten was her maid outside the door, or whoever else might happen to walk past. All she could focus on, all her body was focussing on was the pleasure her lord was giving her.

She was barely able to stand. Tiptoeing, desperately both trying to remain upright in his grip, Alys could not help but squirm in both frustration and delight. Oh, how she wanted to bury her fingers in his hair, pushing his mouth against her sex to urge him on. The brief, violent lust that had gripped them in the cave had been so very different than this. Writhing in her bindings she sighed, moaned, gasped for breath.

The sensation of steadily mounting pleasure, of racing towards a vague pinnacle of lust was rising from the bottom of her feet, from the very end of her fingertips again, but this time, it announced itself to be more violent than before. Alys did no longer have any conscious thought, only feeling, her body dissolving in his hands, trembling with anticipation.

***
Brae, panting, was transfixed. The young Norman lord sank to his knees, making it appear like he was worshipping Lady Alys, his hands gliding from her breasts around her haunches and down to cup her behind. He looked like an artist, a sculptor, freeing the figure of an angel from flawless white marble. For the length of one heartbeat, Lord Stephen looked up at the face of his lover, her lips parted and her head tilted back. She could not see it, but his lips curved into an admiring smile, before burying his face between her thighs.

The young maid gasped. What new devilry was that? He kissed her, licked her between her legs! Brae stared, her eye pressed against the wood of the door. She had heard rumours about the strange appetites of Norman men. One of the servant girls during the feast had boasted about it, had told her and two other maids about a Norman archer who had taken her in quite the same way, kissing her most intimate spot, greedily and with such skill that she had, as she said, passed out in his arms. Lady Alys was squirming and moaning with abandon, leaving little doubt about the pleasure the Norman lord was giving her.

Brae’s throat went dry. She wondered what it felt like to lose oneself like this, in the arms of a lover. Hesitantly, she hiked up the hem of her dress, lifting it over her knees, her hand trapped between trembling thighs. Her fingers brushed over the folds of her sex, slick already with ever more urgent arousal. The girl sighed, one hand flat against the rough wood of the door while her other desperately tried to emulate the caresses she was watching.

 

[Maka]

The ardent, throaty exhortations spilling from Alys' lips only spurred Stephen on. He wanted her wanton, frenzied, animalistic, abandoned to shame and begging him for the pleasure he alone could give her. He wanted her slender body to thrill and quiver with lust, for her to understand the feminine power that it held. By the end of the night, they would have forged an alliance to make their enemies tremble. Alys of Crowsdale, fully in command of her lithe body and rendered strong and proud by her sweet surrender to her lord, would be a formidable figure.

He licked teasingly at the underside of her exposed, sensitive clitoris, then dragged his tongue down her labia, then pushed it into the opening. He alternated between penetrating her sex with his tongue, bathing it in the sweet honeys of her juices, and sucking feverishly on her clitoris. It was like an irresistible drumbeat of sheer pleasure, pushing Alys inexorably over the edge.

"Cum for me", he growled huskily, in between kisses. "Cum for your lord."

 

[Little_Zora]

By now Alys did not pay any mind to the moans and soft gaps escaping her lips. They were her only means to counter the onslaught of pleasure on her senses – trapped in Lord Stephen’s embrace, she was helpless as each of his kisses pushed her steadily towards the edge

His softly whispered command to give in to the fall came only seconds before the blonde girl exploded in orgasm. All of her nerve endings seemed to snap and all sensations suddenly seemed to converge in one central spot of her body. With a muffled scream she collapsed into his arms, trembling and shivering.

***

Brae was losing herself in her own pleasure. With a suppressed moan, she came, one hand trapped between her thighs while the other scraped over the wood of the door in an attempt to stifle her violent release. Her heart was racing. For a moment, she pulled away from the gap in the planks of the door, too overwhelmed by myriad new sensations. Her head rested against the rough wood as she tried to calm herself, panting and gasping for breath.

If the nightwatchman would come by now he would be confronted with a curious sight: the young lady’s pretty maid steadying herself against the wall, her hair and her dress in disarray, her eyes closed and her face flushed as if she had just run from a pursuer, though the faint smile on her rosy lips did not hint at danger.

***
Rolled into a ball, Raven was sleeping under the edge of a large rock when she felt a soft prod and a blast of warm breath against her exposed cheek. It was a horse’s muzzle, gently nudging her against the shoulder, as if trying to wake her. She opened her eyes groggily, her lashes laced with ice. Was she dead? Was she dreaming? Raven groaned. Where was she? “What do you want?” The mare must have sensed something, danger maybe? The girl tried to shake off the icy sleep and the cold that had sucked all energy from her slender body.

Her limbs were stiff and frozen, and at first, Raven was unable to move at all. The storm had started to cease, and behind the dispersing clouds, stars dotted the black night sky. Her cloak was wet and frozen stiff, her lips blue and chapped with frost. “What…?” she croaked. “Who…?” A pair of large black eyes looked down at her, and the silken mane of Lord Stephen’s warhorse tickled her skin.

“Nimbus?” She pulled herself up by holding on to the reins, her fingers too frozen and stiff to close around the leather. How long had she slept like this? Her legs were prickly and aching, and she was barely able to stand. “What are you doing here? Where is your master?” The horse stood very still. Was Lord Stephen dead? Raven refused to believe that.

She looked around. The mare was gone. The storm had long wiped out her hoof prints. The black horse looked at her and whickered softly. Despite the desperation of her situation, Raven could not help but smile.

“You should go, go find Lord Stephen!” She pushed against the black stallion’s flanks almost angrily, but the horse did not move. Small clouds of steamy breath rose from his nostrils. Raven felt a few stray tears run down her cheeks as she was leaning against the warm silken mane. “I cannot come with you, Nimbus. You have to go without me. Go back to Crowsdale!” Her words and her trying to push the horse away were to no avail. It was almost as if Nimbus refused to abandon his master’s young squire in the mountains where she was sure to freeze to death.

Raven smiled through her tears as Nimbus nudged her softly. “Fine.” Trembling and slipping, her legs still too weak to obey, she attempted to mount the black horse. Of all the things Lord Stephen would have to forgive her for, borrowing his horse would be the least dangerous offense. If she could just get to the next village…with a groan of pain, Raven pulled herself up into the saddle. She fell against the horse’s neck, too tired to grab the reins. “Take me somewhere safe”, she whispered, her mind slipping into exhaustion again. “Take me somewhere warm.”

 

[Maka]

As though his command itself was enough for her now, Alys of Crowsdale with a shuddering scream of ecstasy, hooded head thrown back in pleasure. Stephen caught her in his arms, pushing those huge firm breasts against his chest with a hand on her back.

He kissed the swooning noble beauty mercilessly, feeling her warm body so pliant and resistless under his hands. He had brought her to the heights of pleasure, ravished her senseless with his hands and tongue but the best was yet to come.

But there was something else. Even with his mind as clouded by lust as it had been, he had a warrior's instinct. He had heard something -some muffled sound behind the door. And he was a man with many enemies. He gently guided Alys into a kneeling position, letting the gorgeous naked girl catch her breath, knowing that at present she would not stir without his command.

Moving swiftly and silently to the door, he drew it back. Alys' pretty young handmaiden was leaning against the wall, her clothing in disarray, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shut and a familiar dreamy smile on those lush lips. It was a mirror of the one on her mistress', although she was not as exhausted as Alys had been by sheer pleasure.

A maid who listened at doors, perhaps with her mistress' interests at heart, had gotten more than she bargained for.

"Inside," Stephen told her quietly. It was a tone that brooked no denials. He stood in the door, arms folded.

 

[Little_Zora]

The young maid was too surprised to defy his whispered order. Her hands fell to both sides of her body, paralysed with fear.

Brae, both terrified and embarrassed, followed him inside, trembling and close to tears. How was it possible that he had heard her? Surely, it was all because he was a warlock and in league with the devil! The young maid was sorely aware of the state of her dress, the loose neckline and the indecent view of her small, firm breasts.

What would he do to her now? Her eyes fell on her mistress who was kneeling on the stone floor, still panting and smiling blissfully.

Now that Alys heard that Stephen was returning with another person, she lifted her head and looked in their direction, even though she was unable to see. “Stephen…who…?” She was still recovering, still shivering, but wondering what was happening.

“Please…my lord…don’t curse me!” The maid intermittently dropped her gaze demurely and stared at the young Norman lord with imploring brown eyes. “Don’t hurt me, I beg you!” Then, as if remembering something even more terrifying, she put her hand over her mouth and looked at him.

Into the brief silence Alys laughed softly. “Brae, don’t be silly…” Strangely she was neither shocked nor angry at her maid who had obviously been caught listening in. “He won’t do any such thing.”

But Brae was undeterred. What if Lord Stephen would go and tell Lady Magaidh about her preposterous blunder? While the lady of Crowsdale Castle was by all means a just mistress, she had little tolerance for such missteps as she had afforded herself this night. Spying on her daughter and the liege lord! The punishment Brae was sure to receive would be severe.

“My lord de Valois…I beg you, please do not tell Lady Magaidh about this.” With these words, the pretty maid dropped to her knees, her eyes downcast and swimming with tears. She knew that she had no right to ask Lord Stephen anything, but she was too afraid not to at least try.

 

[Maka]

Her large, tear-filled brown eyes regarded the rush-strewn floor while Brae's fluttering hands did an inadequate job of preserving her modesty. Her small, firm and pert young breasts were exposed by the disarray of her dress. But nothing could have concealed the flush of arousal on her cheeks or the bright sparkle in those glowing brown eyes. She was a pretty and innocent little creature, perhaps a maid still, but she still understood pleasure -and desired it, in her own innocent way.

Stephen hushed her, placing a finger on the full lips, then crossed over to stand behind where Alys knelt, nude and still panting and trembling with the force of her orgasm. He laid a hand on either slender shoulder, feeling a rush of delight at the contact with her velvet skin, with the trembling miraculous warmth of her underneath his fingers.

"You won't be punished," he said, his voice rich and calm. "And I won't... cast a spell on you. Is that what they say of me? It's quite natural that you spied on us. Your mistress, an unmarried girl, was alone with a man not her kin. I think your instincts were to protect her, to sound the alarm if I should try to... ravish her."

He brushed a long strand of rich, golden hair away from the ivory sweep of Alys' shoulder, letting his touch linger.

"And who could blame you for keeping watching? Your mistress is the most beautiful woman in the North."

One hand idly traced the fine, delicate contours of Alys' face -touching her eyelids, her cheeks, her full mouth. Another came from behind and grasped the nipple of Alys' left breast, his tanned hand a wonderful contrast against the flawless creamy skin of her breast, holding it there as to exhibit her body to Brae's wondering gaze.

"Would you like to see all of her? Would you like her to stand, to bend over?"

Stephen's voice was cool and calm. His gaze never left Brae's face.

"Would you like to watch me take her? Would you like to see your mistress' face on the heights of ecstasy, to listen to her scream and moan in pleasure?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Or would you like even more? It can all be yours. But..."

His hands returned to Alys' shoulder and he stood, feet planted firmly apart, looming over the delicate, naked and blindfolded girl in front of him.

"Don't ask, don't get."

 

[Little_Zora]

Brae watched, transfixed, her lips parted in wonder and disbelief, as Lord Stephen’s hand closed around one of Lady Alys’ breasts, his cool blue gaze never leaving hers.

Was he mocking her? Was he playing with her? Or did he really invite her to ask for any of these things? Brae looked at him, shocked. Was this a trap? A test? Did Stephen de Valois really offer her command over her own sweet mistress? Brae’s doe eyes hesitatingly trailed from Stephen’s face to the radiantly beautiful Lady Alys. The blonde girl was still kneeling demurely before him, not even flinching at the discomfort of the cold stone floor. Her arms still bound behind her back she had to arch her slender back, thus proudly displaying her nudity to her maid.

So many times Brae had seen Lady Alys naked, had washed her, dressed her, tended to her every need. Never had she wished to reach out and cup one of her silken breasts with her fingers, caress one of her dusky nipples, just as Lord Stephen had done. But now, the urge was so strong that she had to interlace her hands in her lap with such fervour that it hurt.

The poor girl wanted to take refuge in her mistress’ orders, hoping that Lady Alys would free her from making any of these outrageous choices, but the young blonde woman remained silent, a faint smile on her lips. Brae did not dare to address her directly, not with Lord Stephen’s gaze weighing on her like this.

“My lord…”, she began, her voice trembling with fear, unsure how to proceed. His hands still rested on Lady Alys’ shoulders, waiting. Brae wanted him to caress her again, to draw another soft moan from his lover’s lips, but how would she be able to ask that of him? Surely, he was trying to wind her up, to tease her for her indiscreet curiosity.

Oh, would she like to see him take her? Few of the men she had laid eyes upon in her young life had been more desirable than Lord Stephen de Valois, and the thought of watching him with Lady Alys made her throat run dry with desire. Once, only once the petite maid had been party to such a scene before: when she had accidentally walked in on Lady Alys’ brother Gael and a lady she had not recognised, both too lost in their pleasure to notice her. But instead of turning away Brae had watched Gael take the noble beauty in a dimly lit corridor, hidden away from prying eyes, while only a few yards away guests had been dancing and enjoying a feast. The sight had excited her beyond belief and for weeks after she had suffered pangs of guilt that no confession was able to purge. Sometimes these images haunted her at night, invading her dreams and leaving her feeling exhausted and confused in the mornings.

A few times boys had tried to stick their hands down her bodice, a few of the more audacious squires had even ventured under her skirt, and sometimes she had let them. Once or twice it had felt good, but she had never actually been with a man, and she had always been fiercely proud of her chastity compared to some of the other girls in the castle who allowed men – squires, soldiers or even servant boys - to seduce them. Brae had sworn to remain untouched for her future husband, pure, as the laws of God and men commanded.

But now? The silence between her and the stunning pair across from her was heavy with promise and temptation. It surely was no sin if Lord Stephen seduced her young mistress! They were intended for each other, were they not? Yes, she wanted him to take her, caress her, make her moan and scream and writhe beneath him. Brae felt a tingle in her fingertips. She wanted to see her helpless, reduced to the trembling, wanton girl she had seen earlier.

The slender maid looked at him again, a shy, but mischievous glint in her pleading eyes. But how was she to ask for any of this?

 

[Maka]

There was a deep, half-fearful longing in Brae's sparkling brown eyes. She gazed at them transfixed, like a lithe young fawn on the verge of fleeing back into the forest. Her rosy lips parted, trembling, but she could not force words out, could not overcome a lifetime training in meek, chaste subservience to her mistress. Even though that mistress now knelt before her nude and bound and trembling with the satiation of her lust.

But Alys' regal beauty was only enhanced by her proud surrender. She was aware, underneath her blindfold, that her maid was watching her, that she had watched as the tides of an orgasm ravished her slender body, and then as Stephen's hand caressed her breasts. That knowledge simply brought a soft, calm smile to those sweetly kissable lips. As she had promised, she was willing to bare herself before the whole world as Lord Stephen de Valois' woman, his bride or his harlot.

Her soft, pale skin gleamed in the candle light. Silky golden hair fell in waves down to her bare shoulders. Breasts that were perfectly sculpted, flawless snowy peaks of femininity, pushed forward to invite her maid's inspection, perhaps her maid's touch. She quivered subtly under his touch, saying nothing and yet making him so aware of what she longed for, of the honey-sweet dew again gathering between her legs.

Stephen lifted a hand from Alys' shoulder to beckon the handmaiden.

"Come here, Brae."

His tone was soft, but brooked no denial.

"Undress me."

It was once the role of his much-missed squire Rowan. Stephen had to smile at the thought of his shy and softspoken squire being present at such a scene, although from the reports of how he had handled himself in the brothel, perhaps he would not be at such a loss after all.

 

[Little_Zora]

Brae looked up, her dark brown eyes widening. “Undress…you?” Lady Alys was smiling quietly. “My lord”, the maid added hastily. His gaze and voice did not leave any room for questions, however. She nodded, blushing. “Yes, my lord.” With feverish, shaking fingers, she tried to tie up her own dress enough to cover her decency while she rose to join him and her mistress.

Unable to look at him she quietly kneeled by his side to help him step out of his boots. She was almost grateful for the familiarity of these tasks, and her movements were controlled and without haste.

Then she rose again, and allowed herself a brief glance only at his face. The ice of his blue eyes had melted into something darker, softer, and deeper, something inescapable. Brae had to force herself to tear her eyes away, and continue.

She untied the thin, soft leather strings wrapped around the lower part of his linen sleeves, first one, and then the other. Coiling both carefully around one hand, she was reminded of his belt around Lady Alys’ wrists and Brae wondered what it was like to be so utterly at the mercy of one man’s pleasure. She briefly glanced at her mistress, still quietly kneeling at their feet. As she carefully put the coils of leather onto the bed, she also wondered what it was like to have another creature at one’s own command, someone who would unquestioningly obey. Brae felt a rush of excitement at the thought of a powerful young woman like Lady Alys reduced to such obedience. But doubtlessly a man like Lord de Valois was used to being obeyed, and did not see any novelty in it?

The girl turned back to face him, but did not look him in the eyes. Too great still was her fear of him, too afraid was she that he, the warlock, would guess her outrageous thoughts and force her to reveal them to her mistress. She helped him out of the woollen hunting tunic. He was quite a bit taller than her and Brae had to tiptoe in order to pull the garment over his head. Then her hands went to the hem of his linen shirt. She could feel the warmth radiating off his skin and when her fingers brushed against his stomach, she lingered, just for the length of two heartbeats. Brae felt a surge of desire to put her hand against the hard muscles, the smooth skin, just to feel what he felt like. But she did not dare to do so.

The linen shirt joined the other garments on the bed. The young maid was unsure where to look when she turned back to him. Surely it was not right that she should see her mistress’ future husband in this state before even the future bride would? But it was impossible not raise her eyes, to catch at least a glimpse. Battle scars criss-crossed his chest, and Brae wondered what it would feel like to trace them with her finger. He was a beautiful man, both strong and full of grace, his lean muscles clearly defined. Brae found herself staring. With a faint, angry shake of her head, she reminded herself that she was not done. Did he want her to…? Her cheeks coloured scarlet, she hesitated.

“All of your clothes, my lord?” Her voice was low and hoarse, her eyes downcast. Again she was afraid that he would guess what she was thinking, that he would see straight into her heart, and her treacherous, lustful mind.

 

[Maka]

Brae's eyes were downcast and there was a rich warm flush on her cheeks, but her fingers were sure and confident as they unlaced Stephen's sleeves and lifted off his tunic and the linen shirt underneath. Her fingertips brushed the firm muscle of his chest underneath, tempered to unyielding hardness on the anvil of battle and hunt, and her blush deepened as her hands fluttered away.

Stephen's manhood was a huge, rigidly defined rod within his breeches. Only his own will was allowing him to patiently allow Brae's neat, methodical business about his person. Only sheer will was preventing him from tear his clothes off himself and placing Lady Alys on all fours, to take her like a lust-crazed beast.

"All of my clothes, Brae," he said, cool voice not hinting at the volcanic fires burning underneath. He caught her by a slender wrist and held her shy, fearful gaze.

"And afterwards, I wish you to lead the Lady Alys by the hand to the foot of the bed. I want her bent over it."

 

[Little_Zora]

Alys kneeled, her head bent demurely, listening to Stephen offering Brae full command over the body of her bound mistress. Strangely his words did not upset or anger her. What would the girl decide?

“Undress me.”

Alys smiled. Yes, please, she wanted to whisper. Undress him, girl, and be quick about it. Never have I wanted anything – anyone – as much as I do him right this moment. It was a curious feeling, submitting to her own desire this way, making her feel both weak and strong, both fearful and courageous in the face of things yet to come.

There was the soft footfall of Brae’s leather shoes as she walked over to obey Stephen’s command. It was a strange feeling to kneel, naked, with her hands bound behind her back, in front of her servant, exposed and vulnerable. Alys knew that this was a test, and that she needed to pass it if she was to gain Stephen’s unquestioning trust.

There was the rustle of fabric, of soft leather. Alys, her senses heightened by the blindfold, felt as if it was her who discarded each piece of his hunting garb – the boots, the leather strings binding the sleeves of the archer, the tunic, the undershirt. Her arousal grew more unbearable, more urgent with each piece that was removed. Her wrists writhed impatiently against her restraints. Hurry Brae, oh please, hurry!

“All of your clothes, my lord?”

Alys could not help but sigh in frustration. Yes, she wanted to shout. All!

But Stephen sounded calm, collected. His orders came softly, but did not leave any room for denial.

"And afterwards, I wish you to lead the Lady Alys by the hand to the foot of the bed. I want her bent over it."

Alys flinched at the words, but kept her head lowered. She was his, undeniably his. She would prove it to be so.

The subsequent silence between them was tense and electrifying. There was the familiar sound of strings being untied by quick, experienced fingers, then the rustle of soft leather, as Stephen stepped out of his hunting trousers. Then the fainter sound of linen, and the last piece of clothing was discarded.

She heard her maid gasp softly.

Alys did not move. There was moment’s silence. Then she felt the soft touch of her maid’s arms around her shoulders as she helped her to stand. Brae’s warm breath caressed her naked skin, made her break out in goose bumps in expectation of what was to come. Brae picked a few stray straws off her legs, and Alys felt that her fingers lingered longer than necessary, caressing the silken skin of her thighs before she broke the touch.

“My lady?” It was half question, half lingering command. Alys nodded, smiling softly.

The maid carefully led her over to the end of the bed. It occurred to her that this was the same spot where she and the maid kneeled to pray every night before bed, but now she was to be worshipping a different deity. The thought turned her knees weak with anticipation.

There was another brief hesitation. Did Brae not dare to follow the second part of Stephen’s command? Was she too fearful to ask her mistress to bend over in this most indecent fashion? Alys was just about to execute Stephen’s wish herself as she felt Brae’s warm hand against her back, forcing her to bend over until her upper body was lying on the bed.

Alys was conscious that her position was revealing her most intimate places to the gaze of her maid and the Norman lord. It mattered not. All Alys now wanted was to feel his hands on her body again.

“My lord…” Brae’s voice was soft, devout, but not void of a provocative note Alys had never noticed before. “Will there be anything else?”

 

[Maka]

Alys was bent over the bed, her slender wrists tied behind her bare back, in a position of total vulnerability -her delectable, pert rear thrust invitingly into the air, the lips of her sex glistening softly with her juices. Her firm, ample young breasts were pressed against the linen of the bed, her long golden hair streaming down from her shoulders but doing nothing to conceal the fine, delicate lines and gorgeous proportions of her slim body.

She was bent there for ravishing like a whore, like a shameless harlot desperate for nothing but pleasure. By the thinking of most men, Stephen knew, that was what she had become. Women of noble birth should be pure, milk and honey, untainted by carnal knowledge. When their husband came to claim them at last, they should endure his attentions in stillness and meek silence -their men, after all, had whores to serve their other needs. For their wives to be too responsive, too active in their own debauchery -that was not proper. It was not the act of a Christian woman. And perhaps too ardent a display might lead to fears and uneasiness on the part of their menfolk of their own prowess. Would they be able to sate such a thirst, once aroused? Might their wives not seek elsewhere?

For his part, Stephen had never had any doubts about his ability to fully please, even exhaust women -his gifts from God included a huge and thick manhood, a strong unyielding body and the stamina of a destrier. And from the moment he'd first kissed Alys of Crowsdale and felt her kiss him back, he'd understood that it would never be within her nature to be a milk and honey wife, a pious little mouse afraid of pleasure. She'd screamed like a wildcat when they'd first made love, calling to him in her own tongue, praying for more, ever more, to be taken higher and higher. Every inch of her perfect body had shuddered and writhed beneath him, ripples of pleasure turning to floods with his every movement.

Now she was bent before him, open to his lustful gaze and open to being claimed by him. Her golden body was quivering, ripe for new bouts of pleasure -but she said nothing, because he had not commanded it. She was showing him her devotion, her total trust and submission. She would adopt any position, no matter how obscene or shameful, and perform any act -in front of Brae or in front of the whole household, if it was his will. And that was her strength, a strength that transcended steel blades and castle walls. Stephen knew that he had found the first ally he could trust absolutely since Rowan's disappearance.

Brae was casting a sidelong glance at him. A little gasp had escaped the handmaiden's rosy lips as his gigantic manhood had come free, and those large doe eyes had widened and softened with fear and desire and mischevious speculation. Now there was an unconscious sway to her hips, something a little coquettish about the way she tilted her head to cast sidelong glances at him, a dreamy smile that never seemed far from her lips, a certain quickening of her breath and a blush that seemed to tint her cheeks as though at thoughts that came unbidden.

The girl was a chaste innocent, but there were some things that were bred in the bone between men and women. When her question came, there was a husky, provocative undertone to it and a half-bold, half-shy way of looking at him under fluttering lashes.

"Yes indeed," Stephen said, still cool and unruffled. "You are to undress yourself and get on the bed. I have said your mistress is very beautiful -pay homage to that beauty. Kiss, tease and caress her -and listen to her. Very shortly, you will see how a queen among women is taken by her man -and her cries will be the sweetest carol you ever heard."