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The Tales of Tamsyn
by Realoldbill (no address provided)

***

The lusty lady who made herself a duchess with her 
will and wiles has become so well known that there are 
oft-told tales of her adventures. (MMF, rom, fantasy)

***

Rain lashed the streaked widows and shook the shutters 
but within the old inn the chimney still rumbled and 
the cups were seldom empty. The weary travelers, a 
mixed lot and a round dozen, began exchanging stories 
to pass the time, a practice that was old when 
Boccaccio and the great Chaucer wrote down some of 
those entertaining tales for our enjoyment and 
enlightenment.

"Do you remember hearing of a lass called Tamsyn, a 
girl who made herself Duchess with a sword?" The gray-
haired man held his cup with both hands and looked 
about, lifting his shaggy eyebrows. "It was many years 
ago."

"Aye," said a woman across from him, "and didn't she 
cut a merry swath through the local swains as well?" 
She wriggled her ample hips.

"Once, so I heard, she went off to visit her younger 
brother at his school." He leaned back on his bench 
and scratched his back on the plastered wall with a 
smile of contentment. "That's how this tale begins."

"Didn't know she had a young brother," said a crone 
from the settle by the fire, her thin hands laced with 
heavy veins.

"Oh yes, a fine lad, Liam I believe was his name," 
said the story teller quickly, holding the floor, "he 
was nine or ten at the time his father died at his 
brother's vile hand, half his sister's age and in a 
school run by some of them saintly whores."

"Now, now," said a traveling monk, twirling his 
cincture, his solitary pilgrimage barely begun. He 
silently prayed that he had not fallen in with an 
impious group although he admitted to himself that he 
enjoyed salacious gossip and gory tales.

Oh aye, good sisters of course they were, each and 
every one, although ignorant perhaps, and they had the 
boy in their care at an abbey school from about the 
age of six.  Tamysn arrived alone and on a big horse, 
riding astride as was her wont, and had a fine visit 
with the lad, broke bread at his meager table, and met 
one or two of his instructors including a young man 
who had recently arrived from the Continent and was an 
itinerant teacher of French and fine manners.

"Manners, you said, manners, from the French?" A stout 
man patted his belly and sipped his mulled drink, 
touching the side of his nose with his forefinger and 
shaking his head, chuckling deep in his throat.

Well, Tamsyn took one look at the handsome young 
scholastic and decided two things; she needed to learn 
some French and she wanted very much to discover what 
lay beneath the bulge in his leggings for it seemed 
there might be a considerable weapon therein 
concealed. The Duchess of what came to be called 
Westcombridge was known for her lusty nature, a nature 
she did little or nothing to curb or conceal. She 
invited the handsome young man in the drab tunic, his 
clean-shaven face glowing with good health, to come 
visit her manse and teach her to read and speak some 
French.

The instructor, charmed by the fair young woman with 
the ripe body of a succubus and the mouth made for 
kissing, quickly consulted his copybook and they 
agreed on late Tuesday afternoons for an hour or so in 
exchange for a meal and a bed and, he suggested, 
perhaps six pence. Tamsyn smiled and shook his hand, 
holding it a bit longer than was needed and making 
sure he got a good look at her voluptuous curves as 
she nodded to him, the body which was, as I am sure 
all have heard, without equal in those years when she 
was a young and often wanton woman, but still far 
short of becoming the beautiful matron of her 
maturity.	

"And what's wrong with being a matron, may I ask?" 
hissed the woman across from the storyteller with a 
smile. She drank off her wine and raised her glass. 
"Here's to matrons, long may they strive for 
fulfillment."

The storyteller patted her knee and also raised his 
mug for a refill. "Nothing in the world," he said 
before he continued with his well-told tale.

The stripling had traveled widely in France and 
Flanders and through the lowland duchies and perhaps 
even among the Danes and had accumulated much 
knowledge and a smattering of French and other 
tongues, enough to survive on, as he would have said. 
He had also, since he was a comely young man, sampled 
numerous females of several nations who were willing 
to fall under him for a few moments pleasure. He had 
learned much and thought himself quite worldly, a 
self-taught rake with an impressive member. He was not 
without his charming wiles, and he was, to tell the 
truth and shame the devil, extremely well endowed by 
nature, sporting, when riled, a stiff manhood of about 
a great span in length and some three fingers in 
width.

"A woman pleaser that would be," said the crone near 
the burning logs. She cackled into her port, legs 
extended well before her and ankles crossed.

So the youth felt himself both experienced and 
worldly, this pedant of some twenty and two years, 
when he arrived at the walls of the newly raised 
castle and went through the seldom used portcullis and 
off to the stable near the manor house. Carrying his 
black bag of books, he entered the rather forbidding 
walls and told the young guard on duty who he was and 
why he was there. 

Within minutes Tamsyn appeared on the stairs, wearing 
a light and airy undergown and a long dark kirtle 
laced high to emphasize her lovely breasts, those ripe 
peaks without parallel. She took the teacher by the 
elbow and escorted him into her father's library where 
he admired the many books and the small bronzes of 
antiquity. They sat side-by-side at a table on a small 
bench with a curved back, and the young man asked 
where he should begin.

"Let me hear some French," said Tamsyn with a smile, 
tossing back her heavy mane with a practiced gesture 
she knew was attractive. "Tell me a story and then 
translate."

So the teacher gave her one of the old fables, a short 
barnyard tale of talking animals with an apt and 
amusing moral, of course, and the young woman was 
charmed and clapped her hands.

Discovering that his student was literate, a fact 
which surprised him for he was sure he had never met 
another female near his age who could read and write, 
he had her make a list of words she wanted to learn 
and then he wrote in the French, consulting one of his 
books now and then, and, where needed, he pronounced 
the more difficult terms and with his fingers showed 
her how to hold her mouth to make soft sounds and with 
his own mouth, displayed tongue placement. Tamsyn 
imitated and he corrected with their tongues just 
inches apart. They laughed together at some of the 
misspeaking and their hips rubbed as well as their 
elbows and forearms. His student's bulging chest was 
constantly below the teacher's longing eyes, her 
splendid orbs barely concealed by light folds of airy 
cloth.

As Tamysn sat next to him, enjoying his smell and 
warmth, her hand rested easily on his firm thigh, and 
as he concentrated and wrote, wrinkling his forehead 
at times, her fingers moved up his strong leg and 
found the head of his resting member, no bigger than 
pullet egg and much the same shape said her 
fingertips. She was, briefly, disappointed and pouted 
with chagrin.

When the young man became aware of Tamsyn's 
explorations and discoveries, to turned toward her so 
that their faces were only again inches apart, their 
handsome noses nearly touching, their lips parted, and 
he looked into her eyes, saw acquiescence there, and 
kissed her gently and at some length. She touched his 
face and felt his carefully shaved beard with her 
fingertips as she returned his kiss with vigor.

When their lips parted, Tamsyn smiled at him, her left 
hand now filled with his lengthening cock, stretching 
it out and upward, and said that she had been told 
that the French had another manner of kissing.

The teacher, well aware of his growing arousal and 
feeling sweat upon his brow, gulped and nodded, saying 
that she had heard correctly and proceeded to 
demonstrate with an open mouth and an extended tongue. 
While their tongues dueled in each other's mouth, he 
put down his pen and filled his hand with his 
student's ripe breast, opening laces, freeing it 
completely from her loose-fitting dress and feeling 
her nipple harden in his palm as her white garment 
fell from her shoulder with a little help from her 
ardent tutor.

Tamsyn pulled her mouth away from his, took a deep 
breath and kissed him again, very firmly and fiercely, 
gnawing at his lips while she undid his foreflap and 
found his extended ram, pleased and excited that it 
was so hard and so long and that its firm head was now 
the size and shape of a double-yoked duck egg. She 
could barely encircle it with her fingers as she 
slipped back the foreskin.

When their mouths parted again and they both gasped 
for breath, Tamsyn pushed away the table, swung her 
leg over the teacher's thighs and hoisted up her skirt 
to mount his rampant prick which jutted upward at just 
the right angle to penetrate the girl's dripping and 
quivering cunny. She captured it on the first try and 
made a pleased sound deep in her throat, closing her 
eyes briefly as she enveloped him, feeling him slide 
easily up into her and fill her throbbing tunnel. The 
sound she made was of satisfaction; his was of 
surprise.

The young man gasped with joy as he sank into her warm 
and clasping depths, never having entered anyone so 
tight and velvety, or so eager to please and be 
pleased. Tamsyn smiled and arched, taking him deeper 
and deeper, enraptured that she had guessed right 
about the boy's equipment, abilities, proclivities and 
talents.

The sturdy bench creaked and groaned as the young 
people grunted and heaved upon it. Tamsyn made sure 
both her breasts found their way to the striving man's 
mouth and that his pubis ground into her sensitive 
nub, but the teacher came relatively quickly, crying 
out wordlessly in relief as he jetted up into her deep 
chamber three times, hot as lava. Tamsyn held him 
tightly with her nether muscles to keep him from 
withdrawing from her unsatisfied pleasure slot and 
grasped his shoulders as she rolled to her right, 
getting her rump on the bench and pulling the teacher 
down to his knees before her, surprising him with her 
strength and thrilling him with her pulsing cunny that 
seemed to be milking his manhood.

He leaned back, buried in the girl and amazed that he 
was hardening once more as Tamsyn wrapped her long 
legs about him and moved her pelvis to and fro until 
he was once more ready to swive her energetically as 
her gown's laces seem to part of their own accord. 
When she came, by which time the teacher was sure his 
spine was shattered and his spleen ruptured, she 
spasmed five times in very close succession, clawed 
her teacher's back into bloody stripes and nearly 
ripped his striving spear from his sweating body.

Then she let him resume his seat, straighten his 
clothes and address the rest of the vocabulary list 
she had put before him while she relaced her kirtle 
and raked back her hair with her fingers, a smile on 
her bruised lips as they both regained their breath

"And was that the end of it?" asked the monk, his 
shaven pate gleaming with sweat, his tiny eyes alight.

Oh no, said the story teller, pleased to have held 
everyone's attention, the ardent teacher stayed at his 
task for nearly six months, but he learned to come to 
the manor house well rested and to be prepared to 
leave the next day feeling as emptied as a cider 
barrel. In his six month of academic labor he went 
from thirteen stone to twelve, and Tamsyn's French 
vocabulary became quite extensive.
	

And did you not hear of Tamsyn the bold,
The story is bloody but it should be told,
Of murder and virtue, of silver and gold,
And lovers `n liars and hearts that were cold.


In my youth, said the corpulent merchant, shrugging 
from his heavy cape as the room warmed, and you may 
find this hard to believe but it is nevertheless true, 
but I was an actor, a strolling player with a company 
that performed various short works, both comedy and 
drama, for audiences far and wide, from Hadrian's Wall 
to Offa's Dike. They said I had good legs and an 
excellent voice that carried well. We did neither the 
miracle nor the famous mystery plays but popular 
melodramas and comedies for the most part, trifles I 
must admit.

"Were you now?" said the old lady nearest the fire, 
"and did you ever play the women's roles."

"Oh no, but we had a lithe youngster who did those and 
that was what made me think of Tamsyn, for we played 
her well-built keep at for a spell, and I remember it 
well, those days and nights when I was young. Tamsyn 
was not forgettable. In the summer it was, high 
summer, and they had a stage with a canopy, a stage on 
which, we were later told, a terrible crime had been 
committed."

"When was this?" asked the monk, having recovered a 
bit from the story of the French teacher although he 
still trembled, praying for strength in support of his 
tattered vow of chastity.

Tamsyn had been duchess there perhaps six months when 
we arrived and were made welcome. We dined in the 
great hall with its smoky tapers, decent beef, as I 
recall, and good bread from their big ovens. There 
were eight or ten of us, a rep company they call it 
nowadays, and we always had one play on the boards and 
another in rehearsal. One of our lads could dash them 
off almost overnight, a formula it was called with 
expected twists and turns.

Lady Tamsyn and several other young women came and 
watched us that afternoon as we practiced our 
movements, our entrances and exits, making what we 
must do fit the stage on which we would perform. She 
did not miss anything, and when young Raymond, who 
styled himself Raymond of Bruce although I doubt any 
connection to the Scot except in whisky, when he came 
out in his clinging tights and long skirt with his 
blonde wig on his head, she put her hand to her mouth 
and watched him like a bird of prey. I almost felt 
sorry for the lad although I would happily have 
changed places with him.

As I recall we were doing a petty drama called the 
"Pirates of Malta" or some such flamboyant thing. It 
was full of false oaths and swordplay, skullduggery 
and narrow escapes, false pretenses and shattered 
love. A bit of everything, including in and out the 
window of course and several interrupted trysts, but 
one we did well with many leaps and whirls, capes and 
doublets as well as clashing blades. I saved lovely 
Raymond, I can't recall his character's name, 
something romantic I'm sure, from certain violation at 
the hands of the dastardly pirates and was rewarded 
with a kiss while I groped his bottom grossly. The 
audience always roared at that scene.

When the performance ended at about sunset to polite 
applause and the lamps and torches were extinguished, 
Raymond was nowhere to be found and what had happened 
I only learned later in bits and pieces as it came out 
in drink over the next few months. He seemed both 
unwilling but somehow proud to talk about the events. 
It seems that Tamsyn had two of her burly guards grab 
the boy as soon as the curtain closed and haul him off 
to her bedchamber with a gag in his mouth and his 
blonde wig still on his curly head, feet kicking.

There he met Tamsyn, who had costumed herself much 
like one of our pirates wearing a flared jerkin, tight 
britches with bulging codpiece, high boots and a 
rapier plus a greedy smile. The girl proceeded, I 
cannot find another word for it, friends, and I mean 
not to offend, she proceeded to rape him. And I, of 
course, was not there to save him from what the 
melodramatic call a fate worse than death. She 
violated the poor young man, who, he said, actually 
feared for his life more than once, three times that 
first night, threatening him with a whip and her dirk 
to perform his manly duties on her ripe and willing 
body, smacking his lean backside with the flat of her 
blade to encourage him onward. I am sure he did his 
best, and after the initial surprise wore off 
cooperated fully with his attacker. Evidently his 
performance was good enough to rate an encore.

Now Raymond, I assure you, was a true man in all 
things. He was perhaps not as well-endowed as the 
French teacher we just heard about, but he had enough 
between his legs to please any woman of any age. But, 
my friends, Tamsyn was not just any woman. She wanted 
more, a great deal more evidently.

The only surprising aspect of this tale, and I hope 
you ladies will not be offended, is that she did not 
perform fellatio on the poor boy. I suspect that 
really might have killed him. In fact, there is a 
widely held belief that Tamsyn never sucked a man 
willingly. But that is another story, true or not, and 
not one for me to tell.

What she did was bind his wrists to the top of her 
bed, rip open his frilly dress to the waist, toss away 
his false bosom, kiss has mouth diligently and lick 
and suck at his poor nipples until he wept. The boy 
was nearly hairless, very smooth skinned, and Tamsyn 
opened her costume and rubbed herself on him until he 
was aroused and erect. Then she hoisted up his 
voluminous skirts, popped open her codpiece and 
pounced on him, swallowing him up and rutting like a 
mad thing, until Raymond could hold back no longer and 
blasted his seed up into her as she grinned above him, 
her hands clawing his chest as she bounced up and down 
on his shaft, growling false imprecations.

When he was thoroughly spent, she removed his gag and 
gave him something to drink; I know not what, but 
evidently some sort of stimulant and then she stripped 
him quite bare, except for his wig with its dangling 
curls, and mounted him again, still wearing her 
costume and sword, riding him wildly across hill and 
dale at both canter and gallop until he screamed for 
release and came in her again. The boy told me, a bit 
red-faced, that he was not sure whether or not the 
girl herself had climaxed during her assault on his 
young body, but, he said, she surely looked to be 
enjoying herself, fairly frothing at the lips, both 
upper and lower, and smacking his hip with her heavy 
gloves and blunt sword.

Tamsyn evidently revived Raymond after using him as 
much as she wished, held him to her breast and kissed 
him sweetly, helped him don his costume, pressed a 
gold coin in his hand and whispered, "Tomorrow."

In the next night's drama, a trifle called "The 
Prisoner of Assassins," Raymond played one of the 
brave heroes who rescue kidnapped Christians from the 
foul hands of dark skinned, scimitar wielding people 
in turbans and baggy pants. I played one of the 
villains of this piece and got run through at every 
performance, dying most artfully with a blade captured 
under my arm. There was a lot of sword clanging, a bit 
of screaming, some spilled blood, cattle blood of 
course, and a happy ending.

This time, Raymond, so he said, made it to the girl's 
bedchamber without help or encouragement. She was 
waiting for him wearing a gauzy nightgown of some sort 
which was completely transparent when she stepped 
before a lamp and barely clung to her rounded 
shoulders. Raymond, who was a very good quick-change 
man, said he was out of his clothes and into her bed 
before his pantaloons hit the floor and a hand deep in 
the glorious girl, his stones smacking her ass 
regularly, before she could say, "Wait."

I went looking for him that night, wandering the dank 
old place and listening in various hallways until I 
heard the grunting and moaning of coitus. It does have 
a distinctive sound as I assume you know. I very 
quietly opened the door of the girl's bedchamber and, 
in the golden lamplight, there she was, on her back, 
dark hair spread over her pillows, her luscious body 
on full display, and young Ray was kneeling between 
her legs with his face buried in her hirsute groin. 
The girl, I noticed, had one hand on the back of his 
head and her eyes closed. I eased in and took a seat, 
but he evidently was nearly finished and Tamysn was 
evidently satisfied. He smiled at me as he withdrew 
his soaked face from the moaning girl and fell onto 
his back, his tongue lolling.

"More, more," moaned Tamsyn from her bed as she too 
flopped, her knees widespread. Never one to refuse the 
requests of a lady, I pulled off my shoes and, well, 
modesty suggests that I should stop here. Enough to 
say, my friends, that we could not get Raymond to play 
a female part again.


Now Tamsyn was lovely so all men do say,
Her beauty remembered down to this day
And with many a lad they claim she did lay
Harvesting them all like fields of ripe hay.


You have reminded me, said the monk shyly, adjusting 
his rough garment and then bending to loosen his 
sandal strap, you have reminded me of a story I heard 
about a dark haired young woman of remarkable beauty, 
and I am now sure it was this Tamsyn, a duchess I'm 
positive I was told, and of some youthful choir boys.

"Oh mercy," croaked the crone, shaking her bony hand, 
"Not choirboys, surely. Spare us, spare us."

Oh yes, said the monk with a smile, the narrow chapel 
there within the keep had a small but locally famous 
choir and within a year or so of Tamsyn deposing her 
foul brother, nearly every boy in the fiefdom tried to 
become a member for they were fed, clothed and even 
paid a pittance for their rehearsals and performances 
on the Sabbath and the holy days and they had one 
other, most notable advantage in life. Now a boys' 
choir, as I am sure you know, tends to be quite high 
pitched, even soprano in its upper reaches and an 
often reedy tenor at its best. But when boys mature, 
as they have an unfortunate tendency to do, their 
voices often crack, squeak, tremble and, eventually, 
deepen.

The Lady Tamsyn, so they say, took an active interest 
in the choir during her tenure as Duchess, which she 
was for ten or twelve years I believe until she was 
convinced that her brother was not only of age but fit 
for the job. He, sadly, although Oxford educated, was 
never as good nor as popular as his sister, but that 
is a tale for someone else to tell.

It became Tamsyn's habit, when a boy's voice changed, 
to take him under her lovely wing, fete him for his 
growing maturity, and introduce him to the duties and 
acts of a true man. In other words, friends, she 
deflowered her virgin singers one after the other for 
about a decade. An elderly rector toted up the list 
and came to the remarkable figure of some three score 
young men who had their first sexual experience 
between the long, smooth legs of the fair but randy 
Duchess.

"Don't believe it," said the crusty soldier. "Pappekak 
as the Dutchies say."

I can understand your doubts, sir, but one of these 
lads later entered the monastery of my humble order, 
and it was from him that I heard the story, and I 
would swear he was a truthful man.

"Not in the confessional, I hope," said the thin man 
sitting beside the monk, blinking his eyes.

Of course not, said the rotund prelate, scratching at 
his sparse fringe of hair. In fact, if you do not mind 
a digression, I can think of absolutely nothing sinful 
in a willing congress, however fleshy, between two 
free people who have no other obligations such as vows 
of chastity or of marriage.

The old crone nearest the fire snorted in disgust and 
mumbled something about the low state of the modern 
church, but the monk ignored that show of 
disagreement. 

"St. Paul might disagree," a stout woman said with a 
smile.

The monk smiled, held back a comment about Paulism 
which displayed utter ignorance of the real world, 
nodded and plowed on. This lad told me that Tamsyn 
collected him from choir practice one fine spring 
afternoon when he was thirteen and had gone from 
contralto to tenor to broken baritone within a month, 
and that by the next morning he was a man who had 
enjoyed experiences well above his expectations, 
having seen and done things far beyond his wildest 
imaginings. First, he said, she had him bathed with 
the help of several giggling maids. The boy blushed 
and stammered of course as his simple tunic was 
removed and he stood bare in a wooden tub before 
smiling females, but his exposure evidently helped 
prepare him for what was to come for he said the girls 
oohed and ahhed over his young male member and tickled 
it most warmly.

Once clean, and in a few cases, so he was told, even 
shaved if facial hair had appeared, he was presented 
with new clothes including a short tunic of bold 
color, a red leather belt and purse and knitted 
stockings as well as a half-round cape and a soft cap 
of fine felt. Then Tamsyn greeted him, led him to her 
private chamber, dined with him and taught him some 
table manners as she did, introduced him to good wine 
and the need for moderation, and discussed his hopes 
for the future, which seldom extended beyond the next 
hedgerow and in the case of serfs and villians, of 
course, even less far.

Then she took the lad to her bed, had him undress her 
and taught him about the various parts of a woman's 
anatomy and about the ways a true man could excite, 
serve and please a lady. Her lecture and demonstration 
complete, she then had the boy mount her and proceed 
to enjoy coitus for the first time, usually in sweaty 
awe and for most, quite briefly. Some, my novice told, 
claimed they fainted when they ejaculated in the 
duchess but he, so he bragged, not only enjoyed a full 
and mighty orgasm but was able to excite the lady to 
her own climax and then, youth being what it is, 
perform repeatedly with her in various ways and 
positions for the next hour or so.

The old soldier chuckled and shook his head. The monk 
went on after seeing that he had the attention of 
most.

When he was finally spent and lay lolling beside the 
fair duchess, his heart loudly thumping, he said she 
cuddled and kissed him, praised his manliness, gave 
him a silver medal on a chain to wear about his neck 
and when he was able to stand, helped him don his new 
clothes and sent him back out into the world with a 
coin in his purse, his own money, another first.

A few boys, so I was told, were so far above average 
in either their equipment or their staying power, that 
Tamsyn invited them back to spend the whole night with 
her, but my novice was not among them.

Naturally, when the more mature boys told their 
stories to the younger fellows in the choir, 
anticipation of adolescence heightened greatly and 
membership in the choir increased fivefold within a 
very short time. Soon there were many more applicants 
for positions than the choirmaster could easily handle 
and occasionally it was said the fist fights broke out 
between choirboys and those eager to join the group. 
In at least one case, although I find it hard to 
believe, a slight but full grown man tried to bribe 
his way into the choir. Before the lady Tamsyn left 
her home and went to her fortunate husband's manor, 
her choir had performed at the cathedral three times 
and filled that huge hall with soaring sound.
	

No man can please her, one sad suitor cried,
Five score have come and each one has tried,
But Tamsyn rejects them like the outflowing tide
And says she will nere be any man's bride.


"My brother and a friend of his," said the stout woman 
who had listened to the previous tales and sat 
comfortably with her knees wide apart beneath her 
heavy skirts, "were acquainted with, perhaps involved 
with is a better word, let us say they knew this young 
duchess." She chuckled and passed her glass to the 
original storyteller for a refill. "When I say 'knew,' 
at least in regard to my brother, I mean in the 
Biblical sense."

"Oh ho," cried the bluff army officer, steepling his 
fingers before his lips, "knew is it, ah yes, knew 
indeed." He made a crude gesture that all understood.

My brother while he was up at one of the cathedral 
schools, made his tuition by painting and drawing, a 
gift he had. He and another chap, a friend of his from 
his childhood, who was skilled with charcoal 
especially, wandered about from castle to manse and 
from mill to manor house in the summer months, usually 
with an ass bearing their equipment but often packing 
it on their backs, offering to draw or paint the home 
or its occupants for a small fee, depending on the 
size and scope of the undertaking.

Before they entered the keep at Westcombridge, my 
brother sketched out the place from a hilltop and his 
friend added shadowing and tone to the drawing. Once 
through the gate, they told one of the guards their 
mission and were led to a small anteroom where they 
waited, hoping for a boon since the home as well as 
the land about it looked quite prosperous.

The Duchess Tamsyn herself greeted them, striking them 
tongue-tied with her grace and beauty, led them to a 
room with a wide table and a fireplace and then 
examined and praised the examples of their work which 
they spread before her. She asked for a finished 
painting based on the sketch they had made of her so-
called castle, which she said she admired greatly, and 
then asked about a portrait since most of their 
samples were of buildings or animals. My brother was 
an expert on cows.

Tamsyn told the young men that her late father had his 
likeness painted, although she said she did not like 
the work much and did not think it favored him 
greatly. She took them out to the great hall and 
pointed to a large, dark portrait hung high on the 
wall. The youthful artists agreed with her, and said 
they would try to create one that was happier looking 
with her help and advice. 

Then Lady Tamsyn asked them if either had painted any 
nudes for, she said, she had seen images of Greek and 
Roman works of both men and women that she thought 
beautiful. The young men looked at each other and 
admitted that they had not. My brother told her that 
he surely agreed that some of the statues and images 
from the distant past were indeed very beautiful. But, 
he said, neither of them had any real training and 
could never afford models to study or attempt to draw 
from life.

Tamsyn smiled at them and crooked a finger. They 
followed her up the stairs to a bright and airy tower 
room with several narrow windows facing the south and 
looking out over the rolling downs. When they turned 
from admiring the scenery and pointing out the route 
over which they had traveled, Tamsyn stood before them 
completely unclothed, her dark kirtle and white 
underdress in her hand and a smile on her lips.

To say that my brother was speechless and that his 
friend was taken aback is to understate the matter. 
They were frozen in place, stupefied he told me, 
except for their private parts which, of course, were 
quiet excited. Her young body, evidently, was peerless 
as well as flawless. Grecian, he said. Tamsyn asked 
them if she would do for a model and if they could 
draw or paint her in the light and time available.

When my brother could speak, he sent his friend for 
their easels, brushes and paints and, reminding 
himself to breath now and then, walked around the 
girl, studying her lush body from every angle and, 
despite his best efforts, feeling himself becoming 
fully aroused, a condition he found difficult to hide 
for his tunic was quite short. She stood with such 
ease and natural grace that he could not think of a 
single suggestion to improve her pose, and he found 
nary a mole nor birthmark upon her pale hide. Her 
nipples, he claimed, were the size and shape of tiny 
rosebuds.

His friend returned very quickly, and they both set to 
work, my brother at his easel and his companion with a 
large sketchpad on his lap. Tamsyn seemed completely 
at ease, breathing slowly and keeping her eyes on the 
distant horizon, her chin high and lips parted, quite 
relaxed which is not likely to have been the artists' 
condition. Her body glowed with good health and her 
small nipples stood, turned slightly away from each 
other, as the only dark color on his flawless skin 
other than the small triangle of curly hair between 
her legs. 

For nearly an hour, my brother estimated, they worked 
and then a knock at the door summoned the woman to 
other duties. While she dressed, seemingly without 
hurrying, she strolled behind the artists and looked 
at what they had done. My brother had roughed in the 
basic form and proportions of her body, the angle of 
her legs, the tilt of her hips, the rise of her chest, 
the line of her chin, the flow of her long hair, and 
his friend had made a dozen or more drawings and quick 
sketches of the young woman's face, head and shoulders 
and a series of a half dozen of just her lovely 
breasts. When Tamsyn saw those, she shuffled quickly 
through them, handed them back and asked the men if 
they could stay for a meal and spend the night in that 
room.

In the next two hours or so my brother and his partner 
made a nearly finished ink and charcoal of the 
Westcombridge Keep and its outbuildings including the 
small chapel which was attached and well within the 
old wall. The work was about two feet by three and 
both men were pleased with the outcome after adding 
some touches of color. They looked at each other's 
work on the female figure that had been presented to 
them and offered a few suggestions back and forth. 
Then they looked at each other and laughed.

As the sun set, food was brought to their room and the 
servants prepared beds within the shallow alcoves. The 
stars were out when Tamsyn returned bearing a candle. 
They showed her their finished picture, and she said 
she thought it was fine but would wait to see it in 
the daylight. She asked if they needed anything, and 
then she bade my brother's friend a good night, took 
my astonished brother by the elbow and led him from 
the room.

I must admit that my brother was quite reticent in 
describing the next hour that he spent serving the 
physical needs of the Duchess. He admitted that he was 
not at all sure that he had satisfied their hostess, 
but did admit she that had completely exhausted him. 
He crept back to the small room where he had painted 
that day, refused to tell his friend what had 
happened, fell to his pallet and slept like the dead.

They were there for nearly a month and the work they 
did, much of it at least, can be seen on the walls and 
in some of the public rooms. For some reason Tamsyn 
never took my brother's friend to her bed, nor did she 
invite him again to her loins. The new portrait of the 
old duke, Tamsyn's murdered father, pleased nearly 
everyone as did the pen and ink of the keep which is 
in the entrance hall. The full length portrait of the 
Duchess herself in her fanciest robes and wearing her 
mother's jewels was, most agreed, not a complete 
success although the face was very good, especially 
the eyes and the luxuriant hair. Tamsyn let my brother 
keep the nude he painted of her and retained only a 
few of the sketches his friend made of her body. One 
she had framed and kept behind the door of her own 
room and that was a charcoal of her bare young breasts 
in all their high and healthy beauty, their nipples 
extended which the artist had imagined since he had 
never seen her like that.


Oh, they's many fine pictures up on the wall
And each shows her standing, lovely and tall,
But none show her heart, or her will or her gall
For Tamsyn was fearless, she never would fall.


"Capital," said the officer, standing to stride about, 
hands behind his back, "I recall now a story about a 
youthful female of Tamsyn's description and a knight 
recently returned from the Holy Land or the Crusades 
or some such military adventure in the East."

"I knew a knight would be involved somehow tonight," 
said the merchant. "They always are. I assume his 
heart is pure."

The officer ignored the question and proceeded with 
his story. He made his way up from the coast, this 
haggard knight did, on foot with a staff in his hand 
and his battered shield on his back, having crossed 
with a fisherman, a Basque I believe he said but I may 
have misheard him, and well into the third day of his 
solitary traipse northward came into the suzerainty of 
the Lady Tamsyn. In the fall of the year this was. The 
nights were still soft and mild so I was told. He 
looked about to see if his listeners attended his 
words.

Whatever the season, he was welcomed, brought into the 
great hall and served a meal, sharing a trencher with 
the handsome Duchess herself and letting her use his 
dirk from time to time to slice from the joint. The 
meal over, most of the ale consumed and the dogs 
satisfied, the company asked the traveler to tell them 
of his adventures in the Holy Land.

He stood and gave them a tale of Saracen bastions 
breached and Christians slaughtered for their faith, 
demurring to take any credit for what may have been 
his own role in these sanguine adventures. The 
audience seemed pleased with his storytelling 
abilities, would I had them tonight, friends, and 
admired his humility. The knight sat and nodded to 
their applause.

Tamsyn had a room prepared for him, walked him to the 
doorway and asked if there was anything else he needed 
for his comfort. She stood waiting, her dark eyes on 
his, her wonderful body nearly touching his tired one.

The man looked at the lovely young woman and his long 
dormant lust was inflamed. He had taken an oath of 
chastity before leaving England two years previously 
and never in all the time that had passed, had he felt 
such an overwhelming urge to slake his human needs in 
a female's flesh. He shuddered as he drew her to his 
chest, and she raised her head to welcome his lips. 
His hands trembled; his will crumpled. The sound of 
other guests coming through the hallways forced the 
two to separate before their lips could meet, and 
Tamsyn bade the knight a good rest and took her leave 
quickly and demurely.

The aroused knight bolted the door of his sleeping 
chamber, stepped to the window and, as he had done 
many times before, relieved himself with his hand, 
spurting out thick streams of jism into the starry 
night and groaning with relief. He fell to his knees 
praying for strength and was still at his window and 
on his knees when there was a light tapping at his 
door. By then his prayers had been answered in a 
manner, and he had recalled that he had sworn to 
refrain from fleshy relations until he returned from 
the holy wars. Now, he said to himself, I am back. And 
he cursed his faulty memory silently and longed again 
for his hostess and her lush, young body.

He rose, rearranged his clothing and welcomed a maid 
with a basin and pitcher of water. The young woman in 
her peasant dress stood by the knight's narrow bed and 
asked if there was any way she could be of service. 
She smiled and looked up at him, licking her full 
lips.

Feeling the fool and cursing his own impatience, the 
knight told her no, not wishing to embarrass himself 
in bed for he now was limp and spent, and he thanked 
her for the offer. Then he slept after picturing the 
Lady Tamsyn smiling up at him while he lay between her 
slim legs. He even forgot to say his usual evening 
prayers.

**

The next morning, after a decent breakfast, the 
Duchess invited the visiting knight to come out and 
ride with her. He begged off, telling her that an old 
back injury now prevented him for riding anything more 
active than a plodding donkey or a mule cart. Tamsyn 
make a rueful face and went off to gallop across the 
ripe fields. Once more that day he dined at the lady's 
left hand and again they shared bread and meat and 
talked in a relaxed manner of various things. Tamsyn 
tried some of her school-book French on him and he 
attempted a bit of Italian for her. They laughed 
together. She discovered that he had no wife, that he 
was a second son of a minor lord with a fiefdom a 
third the size of hers, and that he planned to read 
the law.

After they supped, the Lady and the Knight strolled in 
the garden behind the manor house arm in arm, and 
Tamsyn told him of her father who had wished to join 
one of the late Crusades but stayed home under orders 
from his liege lord. When the stars came out, they sat 
upon a bench near the herb garden, held hands and 
traded kisses.

One of my maids, Tamsyn said after a bit, tells me 
that you rejected her offer to warm your bed.

The knight chuckled bitterly and released the woman's 
hand. 

Is there a problem, asked the young woman, concerned 
and hoping she had not embarrassed the gaunt man.

The knight told her of his oath of chastity and 
bitterly admitted that he had been aroused by Tamsyn's 
beauty and had enjoyed the awakening of feelings that 
had lain long dormant in his body. He claimed that he 
was unused to having clean and comely women near him 
and feared he would not be able to, and he stopped 
with the girl's fingers on his lips.

Tamsyn took the knight to her bed, undressed him with 
much good humor, was pleased with the state of his 
well-rested manhood when it was revealed, washed him 
tenderly, and they lay and loved for much of the night 
and all of the early morning. Now, Sir Knight, said 
Tamsyn when they were sated but she still perched on 
his loins with his proud root squirming inside her, 
tell me again how you went two years without a woman.

The happy knight shook his head.

And how is your back this morning? asked Tamsyn.

The knight smiled, pulled her down and kissed her 
breasts, saying she had cured him completely and that 
her chapel should be put on the route of pilgrimages. 
He was ready for the lists, so he said.

Well then, asked the young Duchess, tell me why you 
swore such a foolish oath.

They laughed together as the lean man rolled the girl 
over and enjoyed being between her legs and seeing her 
smiling face. Their bodies began moving together once 
more. I think I will stop there. The storyteller sat 
and sipped his hock.

"And the moral of this story?" asked the monk, looking 
disappointed and confused.

"I am not sure," said the storyteller, "perhaps it is 
all things come to him who waits."

"No, no," said the merchant with a laugh, "it has to 
do with contracts I'd swear. Read the fine print, that 
is the story's point."


A knight came to woo her in armor so bright
It seemed to have captured the moon's glowing light
But Tamsyn rejected this man of proved might
And sent him away after only one night


"I am," said the old lady, her palsied hand shaking, 
"the widow of Sergeant Forest, late of the palace 
guards for Tamsyn, the randy Duchess as she was 
known."

Several eyebrows were raised.

"Oh yes," said the woman, adjusting her wimple, "I met 
and married Forest after he left the lady's service, 
when he was eight and sixty and I was but sixteen. He 
was a fine man, a nonpareil."

Now aware that she had her listeners' attention, she 
continued. My late husband, she said, was one of Lady 
Tamsyn's favorites, indeed he was. I must admit that 
he told me once, when he was in his cups, that he had 
foully assaulted the girl when her brother was making 
himself Duke, but that she not only forgave him but 
also invited him to her bed on many occasions.

"He raped her, your husband did?" asked the monk.

The woman nodded and sighed and crossed herself. But 
he remained as a loyal guard in her service and in the 
service of her young brother until he could no longer 
mount the battlements or draw the long bow. But, and I 
can attest to this, it was not his military 
accomplishments or his unfailing loyalty that endeared 
him to the Lady Tamsyn. On no, it was his sturdy prick 
that the young woman desired and used and enjoyed.

I bore him seven children in ten years, and he sired 
his last on me when he was nearly eighty years of age, 
and, although it shames me to tell it, he died the 
next winter in another woman's arms, his horn hard as 
iron even in death. The unfortunate woman had to be 
pried off him with barrel staves.

That picture produced some chuckles and raised cocked 
eyebrows among the listeners.

Shortly after she became Duchess, by slaying her 
murderous brother and his cohorts as I assume we all 
know, Tamsyn asked my late husband, may he rest in 
peace, to recruit more men like himself into her 
service. When he made a muscle for her and stood up 
tall and straight, she laughed and said she really did 
not care how big and strong the men were if they could 
rutt as he did, both long and hard, and if they were 
as well equipped as he was for that kind of duty, for 
she said, he had a most admirable manhood.

Well, as you might imagine, Forest was rather 
surprised at this request having lain with the girl 
several times by then and being well aware that the 
lady was taking most of the other guards to her bed 
from time to time as well as their young officer, the 
man who actually struck the blow that made her the 
undoubted duchess.

She said she had talked with the captain and told him 
of her wishes and that from that day onward, no man 
would became a member of her palace guard unless he 
passed muster with her in her bed and in her arms. 
Forest said he smiled at that and could not think of a 
more strenuous or more pleasant test. She gave him a 
list of the men she wanted let go as soon as 
replacements could be found, men she found wanting in 
her lusty precincts.

And so it was that within a year the manor house was 
guarded by a cadre of young studs whose fame as 
cocksmen soon spread far and wide. Tamsyn, being of a 
generous nature, apparently lent them to out to young 
widows, grass widows and women whose husbands were 
abroad or astray, and the guards, my late husband, may 
he rest in peace, told me, pleased many and sired not 
a few vassals as part of their duties.

After Forest drilled each man on the fundamentals of 
his weapons and taught him his duties and manner of 
address, and after the novice was fed and clothed, 
perhaps after a fortnight had passed since his 
apprenticeship began, the would-be palace guard was 
summoned to attend the Lady Tamsyn for an hour or so. 
Bathed, shaved, brushed and spurred on by his fellows 
with many a jest, apprehensive I am sure, each young 
man then faced his liege lord, bent his knee, vowed 
his fealty and then served the young woman sexually to 
the best of his ability. Most, my husband told me, had 
kept themselves chaste for at least a week before 
their trial, but still fully half of those Forest 
recruited, and he swore to me that not one had a prong 
that my two hands could cover completely, more than 
half of them failed and were sent away disconsolate, 
with a few farthings and a bright memory as their only 
recompense. Tamsyn was very selective, very demanding, 
and very hot blooded.

Forest told me that at the end of her time as duchess, 
after a dozen years as liege lord, Tamsyn was still as 
firm, eager and vigorous a lover as she had been when 
Forest and his comrades raped her on that canopied 
stage. And, he said, although no one had ever counted 
it up, he was sure that the lady had enjoyed more than 
a thousand different men by then.
	

Oh say, fair Tamsyn, come out if you please,
There are boys begging, down on their knees,
Here from the hills and from over the seas
To their locked hearts they offer the keys
	

"You lubbers," said a grizzled man who had remained in 
the shadows and now stood with his back to the fire, 
"might not know it but at least one tale of the Lady 
Tamsyn involves what in those old days passed for a 
navy. Pirates, that's what most of them were; pirates, 
fisherfolk and traders." He chuckled, "Smugglers of 
course."

"True, true, surely no navy guarded these shores in 
the days of yore," said Forest's widow.

True, true, the man said, now here's the tale: Tamsyn, 
having learned some French, decided to cross the 
Channel and try it out among her Norman kinfolk. It 
was, in a manner of speaking, a bit of a pilgrimage, 
so she said. She and two or three of her maids boarded 
a deep-bottomed ship, down at Dover I expect, for that 
old Roman town has served the cross-channel trade as 
long as anyone can remember.

They started out on a fine day with a brisk breeze 
from the northeast when about halfway to Le Harve, 
which was a newly opened port back then, the wind 
shifted, the waves became angry and they found 
themselves being pushed back toward the chalk hills 
behind them. After an hour or so of fruitless tacking 
and colorful swearing, they were becalmed. The 
contrary winds died completely, the sun dried the 
sails, and the angry channel looked like a mill pond 
where children might paddle and splash.

Tamsyn conferred with the red-faced captain whose 
wide-spread gestures told of his inability to do 
anything useful. His small crew, there were perhaps 
eight or ten men, was insufficient to try to row them 
to France or back to England. So they sat and bobbed 
up and down and the sun sank, big and orange in the 
lapping wavelets, and the stars came out.

With nothing worth reading, no embroidery to work on, 
and, unlike our group, no tale tellers of any merit, 
for sailors' stories, as I'm sure you know, are seldom 
fit for gentlewomen's ears, Tamsyn decided to indulge 
in her favorite sport and encouraged her maids to do 
likewise. The Duchess began by taking the captain to 
his tiny cabin at the vessel's stern and making the 
beast with two backs, as they say. The captain did his 
absolute best, but it was not good enough.

Leaving the bluff man exhausted on his cot and 
mounting a short ladder, the Duchess approached the 
first mate who had strode the deck above the amorous 
couple and listened to their grunts and groans. She 
convinced him with a kiss or two to enter the lists, 
turned her back to him, grasped the sturdy rail, and 
he tossed up her skirts and did his best to please her 
but, unfortunately for both of them, found himself 
unmanned by her undoubted beauty and his barely-
restrained lust within a minute or two. Tamsyn snorted 
with disgust and queried her maids about their 
ventures among the crew. Finding no encouragement in 
that quarter, the lady approached a tall young 
apprentice seaman with a queue of golden hair and took 
him down to the crews' sleeping quarters and 
discovered, first, that is was possible to make love 
in a hammock, and second, that the young man, who 
claimed to be a virgin, was well endowed to be of 
service and that he was strong, diligent and nearly 
tireless once he was schooled at his tasks. In 
ignorance, friends, there may indeed lie bliss.

Once she was satisfied, she sent her maids to him and 
then in the cool morning, she and the tyro mated once 
more, this time on carefully folded sails on the 
foredeck, watched and admired by the men up in the 
rigging who were looking for signs of a breeze. 
Shortly after the stove was lit, clouds appeared and 
the wind came up. The ship reached France by the time 
the sun was high overhead, and the Lady Tamsyn and her 
serving ladies tripped ashore and found their hired 
carriage waiting. Off to visit cathedrals they gaily 
went, including I believe Angers, St. Remi and, of 
course, Mont St. Michel.

A week later, they returned to Le Harve, and as 
promised, the same ship was there with the same 
smiling crew. Tamsyn and the tall, fair-haired sailor 
disappeared below decks before the ropes had been cast 
free, and they had an uneventful trip back to England 
at which time the Duchess reappeared from below deck, 
looking refreshed. It was several hours later when the 
young sailor managed to crawl out on deck.


Tamsyn sailed to France, so they say,
On a tall masted ship with no way to pay
But no sailor complained on that sunny day
For the girl treated each like the queen of the May.



The next storyteller was a wispy man with a straggly 
gray beard and rheumy eyes. "Now we are not on 
pilgrimage, of course," he began, "but there was a 
time when pilgrimages were very common and good folk 
did one as often as they could. Tamsyn, so I was told, 
began hers at Bath, at the old Norman church that is 
no longer there."

"Fine place to start a holy journey," said the old 
woman with a sniff, a wiggle of her nose and a lift of 
her chin. "Sinful town."

The old man ignored her. They were headed all the way 
north to York, York Minster as it's now called with 
its Roman grottoes. I am not sure they have finished 
it yet, that glorious pile of stone. The group that 
the lady Tamsyn joined that spring consisted of a 
dozen or so men and three other women, two of them 
semi-cloistered nuns and the other a cripple who was 
pushed in a cart by a half-wit servant. 

As they moved slowly toward their goal, trudging from 
town to town and church to church, they relieved the 
tedium with songs and jest, and just as we do, with 
storytelling. Tamsyn, however, undertook another vow 
and that was to seduce and bed every man along the 
way. On their first night, foot sore and hungry, they 
took refuge at an inn of some size. Tamsyn looked over 
the group and decided that only two or three men were 
going to be a challenge for her ways and wiles. One 
was a robed priest, Benedictine she assumed although 
she turned out to be mistaken; another was quite 
elderly and seemingly unworldly. He kept pace with a 
long staff in one gnarled hand and rosary beads in the 
other while the third was a callow youth who was under 
his doting mother's protection. Tamsyn smiled to 
herself at the thought of the work ahead, rubbed up 
against one of the larger men in the entourage and 
soon found herself being pleased mightily in his bed.

"Wait, just a minute," cried a commanding voice from 
near the window. "Go no further, I beg you."

"Who calls like that?" asked the officer, hand on the 
hilt of his old sword.

The woman strode across the room, tossed back her 
hood, smiled and said, "I am Tamsyn, a one-time 
Duchess and now, as I assume you know, Lady West of 
Greenshire. Those tales were of my youth." She looked 
from person to person.

"And were they true?" asked the monk bravely.

"In some respects, I fear they were, but all have been 
embroidered over the years so that I hardly recognize 
them myself."

"And did you seduce every man on that pilgrimage, the 
story I was telling?" asked the graybeard, somewhat 
anger by her interruption.

"I did not. It never happened. This trip is as close 
to pilgrimage as I had come, but if you bear with me 
patiently for a bit, I will tell you what really 
happened, oh, so long ago." She smiled and looked 
about.

And then Tamsyn told the story of how she met the 
handsome Baron she soon married and of how he tamed 
her and brought her to become his true and faithful 
wife and helpmate. But, of course, that is another 
tale altogether.
	
Now hoist glasses to Tamsyn, lovely and brave,
Who fought for her freedom and would not be a slave
To many a good man much pleasure she gave
Now bid her farewell with a fine, hearty wave

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 75