This has been lying around unpublished for some time. It was my attempt to write a historical story, using rather archaic language. I hope you like it. (Thanks to snoopercharmbrights for reviewing).
Carcassonne – Bad Hobbit ©
Chapter One – One Night, One Room, Two Ladies
It is strange, the way fate turns, is it not? By the time I was thirty I had travelled the seas of the East and far to the West. At eighteen I walked in the Americas, taking my share of loot and women as I saw fit with my fellow conquistadores. At twenty-five, aboard a Portuguese trader, I landed in the Indies, and spent five years with a Siamese woman, learning simplicity, love and cleanliness – before she was taken from me by malaria. Returning to Spain a wealthy man, I fetched up first in Cadiz, and then worked my way to Malaga, now a man of means – and not a little guile. But I could not settle among people so uncouth, having seen what I had seen, and I had little time for those who showed so little real civilisation, who so readily defiled the beauty the Moors had left them, who lived in filth, squalor, intolerance and ignorance.
I met Rodrigo in Almeria. Although ten years my junior, like myself he was a man of humble birth and a wanderer who saw the world for what it was – a sorry thing, directed by vile men who understood little and cared less. Like me, he had scant respect for the aristocrats, who were simply the many-generationed bastard offspring of pirates and brigands who had themselves taken their grand estates and lofty titles from the rightful owners by force. Equally, he hated the priests who used superstition and invented ritual which had little to do with the teachings of our Lord to justify their fat and meaningless existences.
With little persuasion he fell into the role of my manservant, companion and confidant, and we learned much from each other.
I tutored him in Portuguese, while he in turn taught me French. Our mutual facility for languages became useful as, more for sport than enrichment, we slid effortlessly into a life of trickery and deceit, aimed purely at those we despised. Wealthy merchants, landowners, bishops, cardinals, dukes and minor royalty were all charmed by the gentilhombre and his faithful companion, telling fascinating tales of strange places and wild adventures. More than a few young women fell under our spell, and while I charmed and seduced the wives and daughters of grandees, Rodrigo consorted with the maidservants.
Leaving Barcelona in some haste, due to a misunderstanding over the maidenhead of the Duke of Bilbao’s daughter and some trifling missing gemstones, we crossed the border into France, and descended into Carcassonne. The citadel was impressive, and we fetched up at an inn selected more for its anonymity and seclusion than for any obvious merit of meat or drink. (We suspected that the Duke was not a forgiving man, and we anticipated pursuit.) Nonetheless, the place was clean and comfortable enough, the food wholesome and the wine certainly better than passable. The beds were large and well-tightened, the feather mattresses clean and apparently free from vermin, and the rooms well-swept.
The establishment was run by a woman of perhaps thirty-five years, who looked rather care-worn, with just a young serving girl and a pot-boy to help her. That night we were the only guests staying, although a few locals were drinking in the quiet and subdued atmosphere, in sharp contrast to the more boisterous places on the main street. By the look of the landlady’s clothing, business was not good.
I sat with Rodrigo, enjoying what was undoubtedly the best wine we’d tasted in a week, watching the serving wench at her work. She was pretty, blonde, with a sweet smile and a graceful manner. As I watched, the landlady came to our table.
“Good evening, monsieur. Are you enjoying our wine?”
“It is good, thank you madame. Where is it from?”
“The local vineyards at Roussillon. The owner selects only the best for us. And the food? Was it to your liking?”
“Excellent thank you.”
“And how do you like my daughter?”
I felt a pang of concern here. The mother was about to warn me to stop admiring the young wench. But I looked from one woman to the other and smiled.
“Surely this girl is not really your daughter? For one thing, you are far too young to have a girl of her age as your own.” She smiled at the compliment. “And secondly, I see little family resemblance. The girl looks more as if she hails from much further North – Alsace, Bavaria perhaps – whilst you have the rich, dark good looks or this region. I see no shared features in your appearance.”
“Monsieur, you flatter me, but you are clearly no fool. Marie is my foster daughter. I took her in when her mother died – she came from the North, as you say. But she is a beauty, do you not think?”
“Indeed, a very pretty girl.”
“For a gentleman of refinement such as yourself, she would make a merry bedfellow.”
“I etiler escort doubt it not, but I suspect I am rather too old for her tastes. She will prefer young boys her own age.”
“Ah, sir, but for a mere five francs she will gladly overcome these shallow preferences for this evening, and show her appreciation of a man of quality.”
“Five francs, madame!” Rodrigo interjected with some scorn. “There are stews aplenty in this town where one can find a buxom lass for a franc or two. Is she a virgin?”
“Alas, sirs, I cannot lie. She will not bleed for you, though she is young and tight and will be of great pleasure, I have no doubt. She has had but a handful of men, and is still young and innocent.”
Rodrigo gave her an appraising look. “She looks barely old enough for the trade you speak of.”
“Monsieur, she came to me aged around six or seven. That was twelve years ago, and for the last six of those years she has been my sole companion since my husband departed this life. She may look barely fourteen in some lights, but that adds to her appeal to many. Why, she lost her maidenhead but six months past when she was fully eighteen. In these parts that would almost brand her as an old maid!”
I looked the girl up and down. Sweet, yes; attractive, definitely; but rather more skinny than I would normally pluck. “I usually prefer my women a little more mature, madame. And I am surprised that you would sell me a girl you count as your own daughter, even for such a high price.”
“Sir, she is a willing little minx when the mood takes her, and as you see, ours is not a wealthy establishment. It is necessary to provide extra services to make ends meet in these difficult times. The girl encourages the transaction for the right gentleman if the price is right, and she will not disappoint.”
“Indeed, and I can see that the girl would fetch a good price from one so inclined. But tell me, madame; what price for you in my bed tonight?”
“Me, monsieur?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “But sir, you should not jest with me so cruelly. I am an old woman, hardly a fair bedfellow for such as you? Look at my hair, my hands, my skin. Do you really think that I am the type of …”
“Madame, you would seem to be barely my own age, and I do not consider myself old. Both you and I have seen life, it is true, but you are still a very handsome woman.” She blushed at what was clearly an unaccustomed compliment.
But it was true. Her eyes were large, dark and smouldering, her cheekbones high, her hair thick and still mostly black, though tied in a tight bun and streaked with silver in places, making her look a little severe. There were some lines on her face, it was true, but these added, to my mind at least, character and allure. This woman had experienced much, and would show a man the benefit of that experience.
Her working clothes were shabby, and did little to accentuate her figure, but the practiced eye of one such as myself could tell that there was indeed a good body beneath the shapeless dress. Her apron cinched in around a still-slender waist, her ankles and calves, when visible, showed a promising curve that indicated well-muscled legs; legs that would comfortably encompass a man’s hips. Whilst she was not skinny like her foster daughter, she showed little unnecessary fat. The swell of her breast and a nicely-rounded behind promised that all was in better shape beneath her clothes than her modesty would confess.
“Monsieur, you flatter me. But I would not suggest I could take the place of Marie in this respect. Will you not consider my offer?”
“Madame, perhaps you will consider my offer. I will take Marie to my bed, but only on the condition that you join us. For this, I will offer to pay you twenty francs.” I could see the look of surprise on her face, but I pressed on. “You must do exactly as I say, and concede to all of my requests. I will seek to give pleasure as well as receive it, I will strive not to leave either of you with child, and I will do nothing deliberately to hurt you. However, I cannot guarantee that you will find everything I do pleasurable or even comfortable. That is my offer. What do you say?”
I watched her face carefully. It was clear that twenty francs was more than she would take in the tavern in a week, and the temptation was clearly strong. What it was that held her back I could not tell. Perhaps a reluctance to hand herself over entirely to the whims of a man like myself? I doubted it. More likely it was a shyness about having congress with a man in front of her adoptive daughter. I was about to goad her with the taunt that she was prepared to sell me her daughter’s body but not her own, when I saw her come to her decision.
“Monsieur, I will accept your offer. I take your word as a gentleman that you will not seek to hurt us, especially my daughter. I accede to your wishes to have complete control. I ask only that eve gelen escort you pay us half the money now, and half when you are fully satisfied – as I’m sure you will be.”
“Agreed. Now please boil lots of water. We will all bathe, and my man Rodrigo will need to prepare you for our encounter. Shall we say in one hour?”
“Bathe, sir?” She looked shocked. “But is that not rather dangerous? It is well known that bathing weakens the body and lays us open to fluxes.”
“Madame, I have travelled widely, met with and consulted many wise people – and even more who claim to be wise but have no evidence on which to base their so-called wisdom. Trust me madame; when we are joined in my bed tonight, we will all appreciate the joys of well-washed, sweet-scented skin. Rodrigo, go with madame now and please instruct the ladies on the proper preparation for our mutual pleasures. Oh, and madame – I cannot be expected to spend the night in your arms or between your legs if I do not know your name. Mine is Don Carlos de Colmenar Mendoza. May I know yours?”
“Eleanor, monsieur. Eleanor Dutour. My daughter is Marie.”
“Well, Eleanor. Let us meet in an hour in my room. And bring plenty of candles – I like to see a lady properly when I make love to her.”
As she went to inform Marie of our plans for the evening and to send the few drinkers home, Rodrigo turned to me and in a low voice said “An expensive evening, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so. We could have found employment for our cocks in many other establishments for a fraction of what we’re paying here.”
“Ah, Rodrigo my friend, you fail to appreciate the real meaning of quality. These ladies will provide entertainment of a delicious and sublime nature, far above that we would find in a common stew. But Rodrigo, I have purchased these delights for myself alone. Whilst I may decide to share this bounty with you, you will need to be patient. Now go about your duties.” Rodrigo gave me a sour look, made a small, rather mocking bow, and set off to assist Eleanor and Marie.
The ladies were certainly surprised and a little shocked by the preparations Rodrigo required of them. Firstly, he produced a large syringe, filled it with warm water and a little of some precious oils I had brought back from the Indies, and cleansed each woman internally. Although alarmed and slightly disgusted, they acquiesced when he produced the first instalment of ten francs, and they allowed him to flush out not only their vaginas but also their back passages. Eleanor must have guessed that I intended to explore every orifice, but said nothing. Rodrigo simply explained that his master enjoyed the taste of a woman between the legs, and wanted no distractions from unpleasant odours.
After that, he shaved both women. I find this a sensible precaution against crab lice, and Rodrigo, who has shaved my face daily without a cut for three years, explained to them that I also was shaved below and required this of them. They again allowed him to prepare them as I had commanded, and then they finally bathed. Again, Rodrigo added some of my precious oriental oils to the water, and when they had washed their bodies and hair, provided soothing unguent cream for their shaved areas and some spicy perfume for their skins. I have little doubt that he enjoyed his tasks immensely.
Finally they were ready, and Rodrigo ushered me in with a wink that told me I would enjoy what I had bought, and then withdrew discreetly to the next room, closing the door behind him. I knew that he would stay within earshot, hoping at least for some vicarious pleasure through hearing our carnal noises, and perhaps an invitation to join the fun. Perhaps.
I was pleased to see that he had lit many candles and with a full moon shining through the uncurtained window, the ladies were shown off in a soft, sympathetic light. They stood, side by side, dressed in rather shabby white nightshirts, eyes shyly downcast. Their hair was loose and still damp. To me they looked radiant, the one dark and mature, the other pale and delicate.
“Ladies, come to me, kiss me I pray!”
Eleanor stepped forward and embraced me. Our lips met, and I think she was genuinely surprised at the tenderness of my kiss, for her lips, at first hard and unresponsive, softened as she found me not the ravening brute she may have expected. Our kiss became warmer, more as between lovers than as part of a business transaction. Her body softened against me and we embraced.
After a short while, I broke the kiss. “Was that to your liking, madame?”
“I confess, monsieur, that I have not been kissed like that for some time. It was indeed pleasant.”
“Good.” I turned to Marie. “Now child, perhaps you’d like to try a kiss?”
Where her maman had been at first unyielding and defensive, Marie was shy, soft, delicate. She trembled a little as our lips met, and as I showed her the pleasures of a real fatih escort kiss, perhaps for the first time in her life, she hung coyly in my arms, tentatively returning the explorations of my lips and tongue. Through her nightdress I could feel the contours of her slim frame, as I had felt the richer outlines of Eleanor’s curves. I knew I would enjoy this night and the delightful contrasts it offered.
I pulled back a little and unlaced the bodice of Marie’s thin, frayed nightshirt. I reached inside and gently cupped her breast, tiny but very firm, teasing the nipple with my palm and eliciting a small gasp from the young girl. As I continued to caress her, I turned to her maman. “Eleanor, please unlace your shift and show me your breasts”.
Eleanor complied, watching all the while as I caressed her foster-daughter, seeing in the girl’s face a little of the pleasure – unexpected, it seemed – that I hoped to bring to them both. With her bosom exposed, Eleanor seemed transformed from a woman severe and a little resentful into a creature of smouldering sexuality. I reached out and cupped one of her full globes, feeling its relative heaviness in my hand, and again felt her nipple swell against my palm. The contrast between the two breasts that I was caressing was marked; the one small, very pert and hard, the other softer, fuller, somehow richer in promise. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the feel of them both, and also the reaction I was eliciting from the two women.
I bent forward and applied my tongue to Eleanor’s free nipple, and felt a little tremor as she reacted to the unwonted caress. I then repeated the exercise with young Marie, alternately dipping, licking and suckling until their breasts were wet with my saliva, their nipples hard and erect, and both women were becoming aroused.
I smiled at my handiwork. “Ladies, please now remove your shifts. I would like to view the entirety of your beauty.”
I withdrew my hands, and Eleanor, with little fuss, pulled the rather ragged garment off over her head. Marie shyly opened the neckline wider and let her garment fall from her shoulders and down her slender frame to puddle about her feet. Instinctively her hands moved to cover her pubic area, hunching so that her upper arms shielded her nipples from view.
Eleanor’s body was all I could have wished for. Her breasts, though full, were still proudly erect. Since she had never borne child, and had worked hard with her arms and shoulders, the years had not sagged them and their shape was, to my eyes, perfect. Her belly was softly curved, and her hips flared but not fleshy. Initially, she too covered her pubic area with her hand, but saw no reason to mask her breasts. Her thighs and calves showed the strong musculature of a woman used to running up and down stairs and carrying loads. I had a strong desire to climb between those thighs and feel them squeezing me.
Marie was skinny, but delicate in every way. Her Germanic fair hair and bright blue eyes accentuated this, and her pale skin seemed to glow white in the mixture of candlelight and moonlight. I guessed she would be inexperienced and deliciously tight. I love all types of women, especially when their bodies are lean and well-toned. Young creatures like Marie can have a special appeal, if handled carefully. What they lack in experience and finesse, they make up for in freshness and delicacy. I love the pure delight of seeing the astonishment on their enraptured faces as you introduce them to practices and sensations they had likely never imagined. Recalling the wide-eyed, squealing climax of my lost darling Mae Ling when I first ploughed her pert, tight back passage as a skinny china doll of just nineteen years, I felt familiar pangs of lust and sadness. Marie would be a delight, but she would require gentleness and patience. Eleanor, on the other hand, seemed to me a repressed cauldron of lust which, with the right application of heat, would boil over deliciously.
“Ladies, you are both so beautiful. It will be my great privilege to make love to you this night – and my immense pleasure. Please rest assured that you have nothing to fear from me – I will do you no harm, but on the contrary will show you new or forgotten pleasures. I ask you only to trust me. So first, please remove you hands from in front of your delicious slits. Place your arms by your sides so that I may better appreciate you.”
I love the sight of a shaven quim. There is something intensely erotic about a woman’s vulva, so boldly exposed. Perhaps it is a suppressed desire in a man, recalling innocent – or not so innocent – childhood days, spent in the company of near-naked girls, unripe but full of promise. Or maybe it is the unspoken invitation of the up-pointing slit and the plump, softly-swelling lips that is so much more enticing than a rough tangle of coarse hairs. In any case, the sight of two naked quims had my member pointing skywards in no time at all.
“Now ladies, come to me I pray.” As the two naked women approached me I loosened the sash of the black silk oriental robe that I wore, part of my precious collection of treasures from my days in the East, and let it fall to the ground, then opened my arms wide to embrace them.
Eleanor’s eyes widened and Marie gasped and raised a hand reflexively to her mouth. “Mon Dieu, maman! C’est enorme!”