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Subject: {Lysander}JDR"Caitlin's Tale A"( Mf M+f ff ds bd 1st best ws )[1/4]
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JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. Caveat lector; you read at your own
risk.
The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
Attractions," which includes some of the thinking behind the pattern of the
reposts, as well as the titles to be reposted in the next week.
These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of
those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked
the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a
comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories
itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way
to encourage them to continue entertaining you.
The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this
posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in
any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright
below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as
well.
=====================
Copyright 1994 by Lysander
This file may be distributed freely by electronic means only, provided
the text is unaltered and this notice is included. Each user may make one
hard copy for personal use. Any other method or purpose of duplication
requires the permission of the author.
=====================
This story contains an awful lot of sex and nudity, but at least it's
not gratuitous, like on some Emmy-winning TV shows I could mention. If
you're underage in your jurisdiction or are offended by this kind of thing,
then move along, folks, nothing to see here.
Author's note (you just knew there was gonna be one): This story
represents a bit of departure for me. It was written for a very dear
friend who gave me the name of her SCA persona and asked me to write a
story about her kidnapping and ravishment by a bunch of knights. Being the
gentleman I am, I asked her how far I could go with what I did to this
character and was told, in effect, that the sky was the limit. So I pulled
out all the stops and threw just about every kink that didn't turn my
stomach (and a few that did) into the story. The end result was that this
woman didn't like the story very much -- not for what happened to the girl,
but because I got the girl's history all wrong; otherwise, she thought it
was pretty good. That's a pretty bonehead mistake to make, and I've
avoided making it again by refusing to fulfill any requests except the
barest bones of a fantasy.
Free Agent wouldn't let me post this in its original length, so I
divided it roughly in half. If you upload this elsewhere (please feel free
to) make sure you stitch them together before you do.
A final note: This is not the real-life name of my friend, nor is it
the name of her persona, so don't go up to any Caitlins at an SCA fair and
say something that might get your face slapped.
=====================
CAITLIN'S TALE
by Lysander
Lysander@vnet.net
Lysander@abspleasure.com
Sit, child. Such a lovely girl. I'll wager the boys fall all over
themselves just to get a smile from you. They did when your mother was
your age, you know.
Such a beauty, but hot-blooded, as your mother tells it. Nay, it's
nae use protesting, for your mother was the same way; as was I when I was
just a village girl.
Eh? You mean your mother never told you? That we were not always
nobility? That we were not always English, nor even Norman?
Nay, child. I am full-blood Celt, daughter of kings, as all of our
blood are children of kings. So you are only one quarter Celt, but the
blood runs thick and the song is loud and strong in your heart.
I will tell you the story, the whole story, for I have nought to be
shamed about. But you must ne'er tell your mother, save she brings it up
first, for she has lived among Normans and Saxons all her life, and is
forever worrying over what is proper. She tries to deny her blood, though
it rages through her body, and the song, though it rings in her ears.
The shade-cooled grass tickled her toes as Caitlin walked out into the
meadow. Her mother had sent her after mushrooms and told her to hurry
back, and Caitlin would indeed hurry back -- after she found enough
mushrooms. But who could tell how long that would take? She could not
stand to be too long out of the light and warmth of the sun. Of course,
the moist cool shade of the deep forest was also nice. Her mother called
her fickle, but Caitlin had decided long ago that she liked many things
that seemed opposite to each other. Like the tartness of pickled cabbage
and the sweetness of wild honey; the soft petals of a rose, and the scrape
of the thorns against her smooth white skin.
It was the same with the boys who lived around her village. She liked
when they followed her around the fields, and she liked when they ran away
every time she showed that she knew they followed her. She wanted someday
for one not to run away, but she wanted to always be able to make them flee
if she wanted. She smiled to herself at the thought of what she would do if
any boy had the bravery to stay.
A shadow fell across her and she stepped back in surprise. So deep in
her thoughts had she been that she had not noticed the man who had ridden
up before her. He sat straight in a high cantled saddle, astride a
gigantic bay gelding. A warhorse, Caitlin thought immediately, and then
silently cursed herself. Of course, a warhorse. What else would a man
with sword and armor ride? He looked down at her in consternation.
"Are you deaf, girl?" he demanded in heavily-accented English. "I
asked you a question!"
He must be one of the Norman invaders, Caitlin thought. She had heard
that King Edward had fallen somewhere in the East and that the invaders
were swarming over the country.
But he was talking to her. She must not make him angry. "Sir?"
"I asked you who is the local lord and where his keep is!"
"S-sorry, milord. Thane Alfred's castle is on the rise just east of
this meadow."
"And where is this Alfred, girl?"
"Off fighting the Norman bas... Away at war, sir."
"Well if he is still alive, he is thane no longer. These are my lands
now."
"Your lands, milord?" Mother would be so upset. She had known the
thane when she was just a girl, though he had been old and seldom seen by
the time Caitlin was born.
"Granted by Duke William -- King William -- himself, not a month ago."
His grin was very self-satisfied. And there was something else in his
face. She had seen it in the adult men of the village more and more often
over the past year. She blushed bright red under the mounted man's gaze.
"Is there a stream or pond nearby? I need to water my horse and clean
the dust off. I must look presentable when I take over my new keep, after
all."
"Aye, milord. There is a small pool a few yards that way."
"Lead on, girl."
"Aye, milord."
As she walked, she heard the horse's steady steps behind her. How
could she have been deaf to that noise? Every step, she could feel the
eyes of the knight on her. She knew she was pretty. Dark auburn hair
spilled down her back. Her mother said she was not old enough yet to wear
it up, but that was all right with Caitlin, for she loved to feel it brush
against her. She was pleasingly plump, mostly from baby fat that seemed to
linger forever around her hips and face. And her bosom had lately grown so
much that her bodice was sometimes uncomfortably tight. She would have to
let it out soon... again. She smiled to herself at the thought of the
warrior behind her, unable to keep his eyes off her. She brushed a hand
through her long hair and swayed her hips a little more than usual as she
walked toward the tree line.
The knight had to dismount as they entered the woods. Despite the
heavy chain that draped his body, he landed almost lightly, without
stumbling. Taking reins in hand, he followed Caitlin to the little
spring-fed pool that she loved to dip her feet in after a long hot day. He
removed the horse's bridle but left him saddled. As the horse dipped his
muzzle in the clear water, he took off his helmet and Caitlin was able to
see his face clearly for the first time.
His nose had been broken at least once, but his face was otherwise
unscarred. Thick black hair covered the top of his scalp, but his head was
completely shaved all around to about two fingerwidths above his ears. His
face had thick stubble on chin and cheeks, beneath dark brown eyes and
thick eyebrows. Caitlin thought he must be very handsome and felt a slight
pang of envy toward his ladywife.
He pulled a cloth from his saddle bag, wetted it thoroughly in the
cool water, and mopped his face with it. She noticed that the index finger
of his right hand had been cut off below the first knuckle. "Help me get
this armor off, girl." He lifted an arm and she could see the leather
straps with buckles. With trembling fingers, she unbuckled the fasteners
and helped her new lord take of his mail shirt. He removed his thick wool
gambeson and then his tunic.
His bare chest was pale, almost white, but thickly covered with hair,
almost like fur. He ran the cloth over his chest and under his arms, then
handed it to Caitlin. "Wash my back."
Silently, intimidated by this large man, Caitlin took the cloth and
soaked it in the pool once more. She scrubbed down his sweaty back,
feeling the hard muscles beneath her hands. Like oak, she thought. She
forced herself to step back when she was through; she had probably spent
too long already.
He took off the steel guards covering his shins and thighs, then the
thick leather breeches. Caitlin knew she should look away, but could not.
His legs and buttocks were also covered in coarse hair, and also tightly
muscled. He was slightly bow-legged from years spent in the saddle.
Without turning or even looking at her over his shoulder, he said, "Now the
rest of me."
She knew she must be blushing all the way down to the bottom of her
feet, but she approached anyway. Kneeling on the grass, she ran her
cloth-covered hand up the back of the knight's right leg, from grimy ankle
to pale buttock. She massaged calf and thigh and cheek. She gently spread
the cheeks open to reveal a dark and hairy crevice, but couldn't bring
herself to move the cloth into it. Then she worked her way down the other
leg. When she finished, she rinsed the cloth out in the pool.
"Would you..." her voice caught, and she cleared her throat before
continuing. "Would you turn around, milord?" How could she be so bold?
When the knight turned around, he was grinning lewdly down at her.
Her boldness drained from her in an instant. Her face grew hot and her
heart beat painfully in her breast.
Before her, inches from her face, the knight's manhood thrust proudly
from his middle. It drooped slightly, and the skin was still wrinkled in
spots along the shaft, and only the pinkish tip could be seen beneath his
foreskin. But still, it was huge! Caitlin had never seen one even semi-
hard before, but this one must be the largest in the world. The scrotum
alone would probably cover the whole palm of her hand.
She washed his legs quickly. Then she moved to his pelvis. His cock
moved back and forth as she rubbed on the surrounding skin, hypnotizing
her. Once, she touched it. With bare fingertips. It may have been an
accident, or it may not, she was not sure herself. But she was amazed at
the softness of the skin, at the way it jumped a little when her fingers
touched it, getting a little harder. She was entranced.
"Stand up, girl," the knight said, bringing her out of her reverie.
She stood before him, head bowed as was proper before a man of his station.
No, that was no good, for her eyes immediately focused on his cock. So she
looked him in the eye. No, that was not proper, either. So she stared
directly at his chest.
"Take off your clothes."
"Milord? Milord, that would not be--"
Without warning, she was prostrate on the ground, pinned by the naked
man, his hands clenching her wrists so hard they might break, his knees
pushing in on her ribs.
"I gave you an order, girl," he said in a normal, soft voice. But his
eyes were angry and his jaw was clenched. "This time only will I repeat
myself. Never again. After this time, I will beat you until you obey. I
will whip you until you bleed. But I can make a whipping last hours
without drawing blood."
His hands and knees tightened around her. "Do you understand me?"
"Aye," she tried to say, but couldn't. She nodded her head, afraid to
move it more than a fraction of an inch. His hands tightened further; she
could feel the bones in her wrists rubbing together.
"AYE!" she shouted as pain overcame fear.
He released her suddenly. Blood rushed back into her wrists, making
the pain even worse for a moment. He stood back, arms crossed against
chest. "Now. Stand and take off your clothes."
Her hands quivered so violently she could not untie the laces of her
skirt. In fear and frustration she pushed it down her thighs. Too late,
she realized that the way she was forced to move her hips would do nothing
to dissuade the knight from doing what she knew he would. Even as the
garment pooled around her feet, she was pulling the blouse over her head.
The wool caught her shift and pulled it up as well. Though she knew she
would be completely bare in moments, Caitlin cursed herself for not wearing
anything under the shift as she felt it rise above her buttocks. With the
briefest of hesitations, Caitlin lifted the shift over her head and tossed
it to the ground.
She lifted her left arm and dropped her right to cover her breasts and
privates.
"Arms at sides," said the knight, conversationally. When Caitlin did
not immediately obey, he stepped toward her. She let her arms fall.
Her entire body was exposed to him now. Her breasts were large and
white, but with small, rosy pink nipples. She sometimes thought they were
too large, often getting in the way when she was running or trying to
sleep. But at least they didn't sag as her mother's did. Her skin was
flawless, with a scattering of freckles above her sternum and below her
elbows and knees, milky white everywhere else. Her hips were wide and
sloped gradually down into strong thighs. And between those thighs was a
thatch of light brown hair, glinting red in the midmorning sun, not yet
with the fullness of maturity.
"Turn," the knight said, and she did. Her feet tangled in the skirt
and she stumbled, causing her breasts to bobble in a delightful manner.
She stepped gingerly out of the circle of cloth, making dimples in her full
buttocks. "Your hair is in the way," the knight said, and Caitlin gathered
her locks and draped them over her left breast. Her back was soft and
smooth, with only the slightest bulge over her shoulder-blades.
Suddenly she felt fingertips between her shoulders and she gave a
little jump of surprise.
"Very beautiful," murmured the knight. His fingertips left
goosebumps in their trail. How many times had she wanted one of the
village boys, wanted Conal, to be this forward? They ran from her as often
as they followed her. And the men might stare at her, but when she met
their gazes, longing looks became sidelong glances. But this foreigner was
open enough to say what he wanted and expect to get it.
"Very beautiful," he repeated as he withdrew his hand. "It would be a
shame to scar it." At that, Caitlin felt a sharp tremor of fear course
through her.
But her nipples hardened like granite.
"Face me," said the knight. And again Caitlin turned. The knight
brushed her hair back and peered closely into her face. "You have not the
look of a Saxon."
"Nay, milord. My mother is Irish. She came here with her father who
was a debt-slave to an English shipmaster. Thane Alfred won his bond at
dice. My father was a Welshman. He's dead, now."
He stared into her eyes for an eternity. Then, as quickly as he had
knocked her to the ground before, he spit on the first two fingers of his
left hand and thrust them between the lips of her sex. Caitlin winced in
pain when they entered, and she gasped when they bumped against her
maidenhead.
"A virgin," the Norman said with a smile as he removed his fingers.
"Very good. It has been a long time since I trained a virgin."
He turned and walked to his horse. As he rummaged through a saddle
bag, he told her to put her clothes back on, never looking back at her.
"Thank you, milord."
He faced her again, and began sharpening a small knife with a
whetstone. "Do not call me that. Other knights are 'milord' to you. Not
I. I am 'Master.'" Stroke, stroke. "I own you now. You are mine like
this horse is mine, like this knife is mine. I will do what I will, and
you will obey me. Or suffer punishment." He walked toward her, never
taking his eyes off her, stroking the knife along the stone. He knelt at
the pool and dipped out a handful of water. He damped his face and held
the knife out to Caitlin. "Shave me."
Caitlin took the knife and stood behind him. He was still talking in
an unconcerned voice. "Your training begins as soon as I have taken
possession of the keep. You will please me in every way I say or I will
punish you. Severely. I have been given these lands, and I have been given
you. I will use you."
Her stomach roiled with nausea at his bluntness. An afternoon's
dalliance was one thing. He was ungentle and crude, but she found that
somehow exciting. But to think he could own her and use her? She would be
damned before she let a man think he could own her. She stared at the
knife in her hand. It gleamed in the light that shone through the leaves.
She could see her eyes clearly in the steel. She looked into them as
though they were a stranger's. She realized that she no longer recognized
them. She felt like she might spew; so why did those eyes look so calm?
If she was so angry and afraid, why did those eyes seem so soft and
peaceful?
She dragged her gaze away from her reflection and advanced upon the
knight's back. She would not stand idly while this stranger seized her
fate and strangled it. She would do... something. In the three paces that
brought her to the invader, she considered her predicament. She felt his
knees against her ribs, his hands grasped around her wrists, his voice
cruel and cold... and strong. And his fingertips on her back. But owned?
Like a cow or pig? Trained like a dog or a hawk? Used like an ox or mule?
Not her! Boys ran from her and men refused to look her in the eye. She
had once stared down Father John, by God!
Caitlin brought the knife to his throat. Use me? Own me? The knife
was very sharp. It would part the skin easily and spill his blood into the
pool. Everyone would assume robbers had happened upon a traveling knight
who had stopped to rest. All she would have to do is apply a little
pressure against his neck. Then take his purse, to make it look like a
robbery, and run. Perhaps it would be best to hide the money for a while to
protect herself and her mother. Yes. That was it. Own me? Train me?
Use me?
She rested the edge of the blade against the knight's throat.
Directly upon the large artery. She pushed against the skin. She scraped
away a patch of stubble. Then another. Not a nick did she make.
When the knight's face was bare, he stood and began dressing. He left
the armor off, tying it in a bundle across the horse's back.
"You could have killed me and no one would have known. You could have
tried, at least." Caitlin said nothing.
"What is your name, slave? Only your Christian name, for you have no
family any longer."
"Caitlin," she answered in a trembling voice.
"I am Sir Robert. But you will never call me that, even when speaking
to other people. I am always 'Master' or 'My Master.' Do you understand
that?"
"Aye, Master."
Robert mounted his gelding and motioned Caitlin westward. "Now lead
me to my new home."
=======
Copyright 1994 by Lysander
This file may be distributed freely by electronic means only, provided
the text is unaltered and this notice is included. Each user may make one
hard copy for personal use. Any other method or purpose of duplication
requires the permission of the author.
E-mail: Lysander@vnet.net or Lysander@abspleasure.com
Lysander
Text-Op, Absolute Pleasure BBS
Skokie, Illinois
(708) 677-3369
=====================
CAITLIN'S TALE
by Lysander
Section A
-30-
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