Message-ID: <7781eli$9801251941@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7781.txt> From: Spoonbender <Theodore@spoonbender.demon.co.uk> Subject: The Legend 4 (nc) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: "Theodore Spoonbender"@spoonbender.demon.co.uk Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <34ca401d.4524989@post.demon.co.uk> Legend IV ******************************************************************** (c) 1997 Spoonbender. A short story of an adult nature. Not to be read by minors. If you don't like this sort of stuff or you are underage then don't read. Contains more innuendo than sex. Can be freely distributed as long as it is not changed, including this heading. If it is to archived on a fee paying archive then please email me first for permission. This story is set in Wales. Look you! Please email me with comments, constructive criticism, fantasies you want put into words etc. Don't flame me if you don't like the content or you don't like my style, I'm still learning the craft. ********************************************************************* "It happened like Oi sez" "Gwaan Da! We knows you bin tipplin' your ale. 'Tis the ale talkin." "Oi swears it. Your great grand-da he saw it, plain as day" "Where's it be happenin' then da?" "By 'ere. Close enough" "Tell us agen da" Owain Morgan settled back in his chair and tamped his clay pipe. He stared at the two youngsters, his sons, fifteen and seventeen. Hard men, farming men. Wresting a precarious living from the thin soil of the hills made them men before their time. The candle flickered as he grabbed his tankard, the head frothing over the side as he waved it towards the window, out across the rain drenched hills. He told the tale his father told him, passed on from generation to generation. "Twas the battle of Builth Wells." he started. Wyn, his eldest, cut in. "There wuren't no battle of Builth Wells." "Maybe battle tis too strong a word. The fight of Builth we'll be callin it then" "Aye the fight. Carry on da." "Then the fight. A little battle to be sure, but guts were spilt right enough. English guts. The boys had caught a coach, packed through with damsels and guarded by dragoons. Lady Morris of Trecwn and her three comely daughters. Visitin' their cousin in Strata Florida, a-worshipin' and a-takin' the waters see. Twas with the holy monks she was a stayin'. Travellin' at night they were, riding by the light 'o' the moon. Rich women, tidy women. Slim o' limb, proud o' breast. Noble women, 'igh of carriage, soft of flesh. Women you be dreamin' about." He looked at his sons. They sat mesmerised by the visions in their heads. It was just like when he first heard the tale. He took time to refresh his pipe as they fidgeted impatiently. At last he continued. "They wuz captured by the boys. 'Twas a good day. The dragoons were in terror o' naked Welsh Steel." "Ah!". The dream of the Welsh since Edward Longshanks had bestrode the Cambrian Mountains and built his mighty grey castles and Owain Glyndwr was slain by treachorous turncoats. Welsh Steel, English blood. The dream, the dream. "Then Da! What happened then?" "They were a'callin and a'wailin but the boys carried them off. Would make fine serving wenches. Made I laugh great grand da said, fine women serving the boys. Serving them in fine ways too, not just food and liquor, but in closer ways. In the ways of men and women." The younger man's eyes lit up. It was sex his dad be alluding to. The dark shadow between Anharad's legs when he caught her bathing in the brook. That be sex. He dreamed about it in his loft. His brother, who had bedded Blodwyn the Red in the haybarn last year smiled nonchalently. "Gwan da." "The next morning they came. The men from the valleys. Miners see. Brought from England. Called themselves Welsh. But they couldn't speak our language. Welshmen they were not. They came, tracking, looking for the boys." "Grrh!". Cursed miners, gathered from the flatlands of Derbyshire to hew the coal and the gold from under the feet of the true born Celts. "Leading the Redcoats. Findin' the boys. Surrounded them they did see." "How'd they get away Da? Was Great Granda kilt?" Owain looked askance at his yougest son. Bright he was not! "Look you. I'll be a'tellin the story. If you want me to finish then you will put the cover on the well." "Sorry Da." "Better. The boys they be a thinkin' with these big English turnabouts after them. They tried to get into the Lyswen Forest but the women were a draggin 'em back. It twas then that great granda had his idea. He forced the women to undress and he tied them to the trees on the edge of the forest, with nothing protecting them." "That musta been a sight ay da?" Exclaimed his youngest, his face flushed with the thought of it. "My Da, he told I that Great Granda says the same. Twas the same for the miners. A rabble they were see. Saw these women all defenceless and they forgets the chase see. Falls on the women. Taking their chastity like." Again he paused to relight his pipe. "Great granda he stayed on, hidden in the forest see. Watched the miners take the women, all screamin' and strugglin'. Then the dragoons they came. The leader was Lord Morris. He was powerful angry, seeing his womenfolk being used like that. So he sets his dragoons onto the miners. Twas a mighty fight, with no quarter given. Great Granda, he called the boys back and just as the dragoons started to win they fell on them and kilt them all." "They all got kilt? All the English?" "Tis true boy. Then great granda he says that it weren't right that the women should be left alone out there. 'Cause their master he be kilt too. So they took them. They produced many a fine son and a handsome girl 'cause they were made to serve all the single men in the hills. Put new blood into the hills it did see. Made us strong, helped us fight. They say there is a bit o' lady Morris in all of us. Maybe it be true." ******************************************************************** FOOTNOTE: I'm looking for a lady who enjoys my type of writing and who is prepared to collaborate with me on future stories. You will naturally share the credit, such as it is. If you are her and you want to help weave your own fantasy. Then please email me at thoedore@spoonbender.demon.co.uk Theodore Spoonbender. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/><http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>