From: Lysander@vnet.net (Lysander)

   Reply-To: Lysander@vnet.net

   Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

   Subject: REPOST: Droit du Signeur part 6 (mf, non-sexual violence)

   Date: Wed, 15 Nov 1995 12:16:11 GMT

   Organization: Hardly Any

   Message-ID: <48cpbc$iuk@mindy.vnet.net>

   **********

   DROIT DU SIGNEUR

   by Lysander

   Part Six

   Esmerelda's Tale:

   I was twelve when I was forced to marry Assan.  Assan only wanted me
because my father was a political rival of his.  Not even a powerful rival,
just an annoying one.  There were fourteen of us in all, because the only
thing that exceeded Assan's lust for power was his pride.  Having fourteen
wives was a symbol not only of his wealth, but of his virility.  Assan had
little taste for women otherwise, considering us to be unclean creatures,
fit only for domestic work and childbirth.  He preferred young men and boys
for his lovers.

   He would not even condescend to treat us like women in bed.  I was a
virgin on my wedding night, and at fifteen, I was still a virgin.  After
his sons were born (by his first and third wives),

   Assan took his wives like he took his boy lovers.  My mouth and bottom
were well-used, but my maidenhead remained untouched, except on occasion to
ensure that it was still there.  I knew the law as well as any man, for
there was little I was allowed to do except spend hours in Cordoba's
gardens and libraries.  Until the marriage was consummated, I was not
actually Hassan's wife.  But he was more powerful even than the Caliph, and
if I tried to escape my marriage that way, I or my father would have been
forced to pay a heavy price.

   At times, I plotted ways to be free of Assan, especially following those
nights when he was particularly brutal.  But Assan was simply too powerful
for me to exact my vengeance without certain retribution.  And the constant
watch on me and his other wives prevented me from conspiring with one or
another of his enemies.

   Then, one sunny winter day, Assan himself brought to me my salvation.

   At the time, I did not recognize my gift as such, however.  Assan had
hired a troop of mercenaries in Cadiz.  They were Christian warriors fresh
from the invasion of Palestine who had no way to get home.  Assan had even
managed to hire them at bargain rates because many of them were injured,
their commander worst of all.  Assan's physicians had managed to purge most
of the poison from his body, but he had been sorely ravaged by it for over
two months.  By the time he arrived in Cordoba, he was more skeleton than
man.  He did not look like a savior.

   I was given charge of his care by Assan.  "I promised those barbarians I
would give their leader the best care I could.  I give him over to you, for
I cannot yet risk offending them with kitchen drudges.  Just keep that
smelly, uncivilized brute alive while I break up his men and bring them
into my guard." Assan was forever playing people against one another.  He
did not even trust his own bodyguard and would set these Christians against
them.  But I was just a pawn, with not even the power that steel gave his
lowest soldier.  I was a "filthy, unclean woman" of no account to my
husband at all.

   For a few days, Heinrich remained in a delirium.  I cleaned and dressed
his wound, and fed him broths, for he could keep nothing else down, he was
so weak.  I would read to him -- in Arabic, of course, since I knew no
German.  And I talked to him about pleasant nothings.  And silently I
cursed him for binding me down, keeping me away from the few things in my
life that were enjoyable.

   The guards outside his door never gave me more notice than to leer at
me, except for their lieutenant, Lothair.  He came by several times every
day to check on his commander, and we got to know each other a little.  He
told me about the siege at the fortress and their escape.  The way he
described Heinrich -- as a man of honor and worthy of loyalty -- made me
see this infirm infidel in a new light.  I began to believe that perhaps
this man was the answer to my prayers for deliverance.

   Finally, one day Heinrich awoke.  He came to his senses immediately. 
One moment, he was sleeping peacefully, the next, he was staring up at me
with clear blue eyes.  But his eyes were the eyes of a man hunted and
running, running from something inside himself.

   Then, like a curtain falling, his eyes became calm again.  He asked a
question in German, then repeated it in Arabic.  "Where am I?" he asked. 
"Iberia?"

   I nodded, smiling.  "In the city of Cordoba."

   We introduced ourselves, as though we had met in a doorway on a rainy
day.  He was concerned about his men, of course.  I explained the
circumstances as far as I could.  I did not think it wise to detail Assan's
machinations.  His health had to be his first priority, and my own.

   The following weeks Heinrich spent slowly regaining strength.  We taught
each other our respective languages.  I had a great deal of trouble with
the gutteral sounds of German, and all he knew of Arabic were a few phrases
to deal with surrendering soldiers and whores.  I never told him about
Assan.  He never told me about the siege.  We spoke of little pleasantries
and his health.

   When he could move about, we went into the gardens.  We were watched, I
know.  When in his room, Heinrich was guarded by his own men.  Lothair was
no fool; he knew that Assan was trying to bribe some of his soldiers away
from the troop, and that for Heinrich to succumb to his illness would
facilitate its dissolution.  Heinrich was in no danger in the gardens, but
there were eyes everywhere, so I dared not broach the subject of escaping
Assan's power.  I did not worry about Assan punishing me for spending so
much time with Heinrich.  As long as I was waiting for him on the nights it
was "my turn," he could not care less how I conducted myself.  I was no
threat to him, I was mere property.  More valuable than other properties,
perhaps, but with no more volition.

   Weeks I spent vacillating.  Can I ask his help, dare I ask his help? 
No, I cannot.  But I must.  I could not -- even when Assan bruised my back
because he was too drunk for his manhood to function.  Once I took that
step, begging for Sir Heinrich's help, there would be no turning back.  It
would be success or death, no half measures, no backing out.  I was too
weak: As horrid as my life was, I feared losing it.  The very thought of it
paralyzed me.

   But when I was with Heinrich, the fear fell away from me.  For a few
hours, I could love life as life was meant to be loved.  I could look into
his eyes and see the hardness there.  I knew what he had gone through, the
summits of living and the depths of dying, and I could live vicariously by
staring into those eyes over a chessboard or a volume of poetry.

   When Heinrich could hold his great sword for ten minutes without
trembling, he began training, retraining weakened muscles and a ravaged
body.  His body was beautiful as it moved through the forms, striking out
at invisible opponents, defending against phantom swords.  As weak as his
body was, it seemed to move effortlessly, for a few minutes at least.  He
dueled shadows until he literally staggered and sweat dripped from him like
rain.  His was a singularity of purpose I did not have, but longed to.

   One day I mentioned to him that I had heard his nightmares.  How could
he bring himself to brandish his sword again, I asked.

   He stopped his swings and parries and turned to me.  He held the sword
perfectly parallel to the floor, as he considered his answer.  "Were it my
choice," he said at last, "I would let it rust away to nothing." He held it
before his face and stared at the edge.  "I loathe it.  But I swore an oath
to my men.  They depend on me.  I would do anything for them." Then he
turned his back to me to fight his unseen enemies.

   I think that was when I began to fall in love with him.  I had seen
strength and determination in him.  I had seen tenderness and humor.  Now I
had seen sacrifice.  True nobility.

   Over the next days, our conversations became more personal -- or at
least I thought they were.  Heinrich's eyes seemed to linger on me when we
talked or played chess, and he chose more love poems for me to read during
his Arabic lessons.  Was it my imagination?  I was not sure, but I could
not afford to be unsure.  If he was not in love with me, I could not stand
being rejected.

   One night, I found out for certain.

   I was enjoying the moonlight and the scent of the orange blossoms in one
of the gardens.  The man in the moon reminded me of Heinrich, but lately
everything had reminded me of Heinrich.

   I could hear him on the other side of the garden wall, in a small
courtyard, striking at a wooden post with a double-weight practice sword.
We were the only people out and about.  A head appeared over the wall that
separated Assan's house from the countryside.  Assassin!  Assan had many
enemies, none of whom could afford to strike out openly.  Assassins were a
constant threat.  The shortest route to Assan's quarters would have been
through the courtyard that held Heinrich.  Hoping to avoid one witness, the
assassin had stumbled into another.

   The assassin hesitated for a brief moment.  I could read his thoughts:
abandon the mission and lose the opportunity for months, or kill this girl?
He made his decision, and leapt the rest of the way over the wall.  I
wanted to tell him to go ahead and kill Assan, but I couldn't speak.  Not a
whisper.  He came at me with a long dagger and murder in his eyes.  I ran
around the other side of a fountain, and he pursued me.  I have never been
so incredibly terrified in my life.

   Finally, I was able to scream.  Actually, it was more like a squeak.  No
one could have heard me.  I managed to increase the distance between myself
and my pursuer, only to find myself trapped in a corner of the garden.  The
assassin's teeth gleamed as he advanced upon me, dagger held for a killing
stroke.  And still I could not scream.

   Then the assassin grunted and fell to the ground.  Before me stood
Heinrich, wearing only a loincloth and holding his practice sword, a wooden
staff with a lead core.  He glanced at me, to be

   certain I was unharmed, then turned to his opponent, who had rolled to
his feet.  They circled each other warily, each testing the other with a
lunge here and a swipe there.  Heinrich attempted an overhead stroke, an
attempt to crush the assassin's skull.  But the killer crouched down and
swept his blade upward.  He severed Heinrich's loincloth and sliced open
his side.

   Heinrich, in obvious pain, dropped his sword.  It fell on the assassin's
foot and tangled his legs.  Again the assassin went down.  Heinrich leapt
upon him and took his head in his hands.  Over and over he lifted the man's
head and slammed it back down on the stone walkway.  I heard a sickening
crunch, and Heinrich slumped over the assassin's corpse, exhausted.

   He stood and examined his side.  He shrugged to himself, as though it
were spilled wine running down his side rather than his own blood.  "Are
you all right, Esmerelda?" he asked.  "Are you hurt?"

   "No, I mean yes.  I'm fine." I stared at his body.  He had an enormous
erection.  I could actually see it throbbing in the moonlight, jerking
rhythmically.

   Heinrich looked down and saw that he was naked.  He blushed, but his
erection did not shrink.  He picked up the tatters of his loincloth and
covered himself as best he could.  "i'm sorry,

   Esmerelda.  I hate it, but the excitement just takes over me."

   I ran to him and wrapped my arms around him, as though seeking comfort.
That was true, but I did have an ulterior motive.  I pushed my arms between
his arms and his torso.  As he put his arms about me, he was forced to
uncover himself completely.  I felt his beautiful manhood poking into my
stomach.  I buried my head in his chest and sobbed out the fear that was
pent up inside me.  He caressed my back, comfortingly, but I felt him get
even harder.  His blood was hot on my arm, and his skin warm under my
hands. To me, his sweat was sweeter than any perfume, more luxurious than
any oil.  I reached up and pulled his face down to mine.

   "Oh, Esmerelda," he whispered as our faces neared each other.  "I love
you, have loved you since first I saw you." Our lips met and we devoured
each other.  I ran my fingers through his matted hair, pulling him tighter
against me.  I felt his hot breath against my cheek as he panted from his
pain and passion.  Then, sweet Allah, I felt his hands fumbling at the
hooks of my gown.  His hands were trembling too much and anyway were too
callused to make much progress.  He took the fabric in his fists and ripped
it away and the thin shift beneath it.

   I stood against him, bared to the waist.  For the first time in my life,
I was naked before a man who really appreciated a woman.  I reached behind
me to untie the belt that kept my gown at my waist.  It fell to my feet.  I
stepped out of the dress and slipped off my slippers.  The stones were cold
against my soles.  The body of the assassin lay a few feet away, but it
might have not existed so far as I was concerned.  I took Heinrich's hand
and pulled him into the shrubbery, off the walkway and onto the soft grass.


   Heinrich stared at my body, taking in the sight of me, the parts and the
whole, as though he would never see me again.  "Come to me," I whispered.
"Take me."

   He put his hands to my flesh once more.  They were so hard but tender,
so unlike Assan's, which were soft and cruel.  I stood there, beneath the
pale moon, surrounded by greenery and budding blossoms, as those hands,
which had minutes ago taken a man's life, brought me back to life after
three years of dormancy.

   His hands roamed over my body, exploring me.  He seemed fascinated by my
smooth skin.  "So soft," he murmured as he stroked and caressed my arms and
shoulders, my neck and breasts.  Oh, my breasts.  As he at last touched
them, I gasped for breath, like I was stepping into an icy lake.  Every
nerve seemed to be sensitized.  When I threw my head back, I could feel
each strand of hair flick across my buttocks.  I could feel every stray
breeze across my flesh, each ridge of Heinrich's fingertips on my nipples.
I swear I actually felt the moonlight on my body.

   Lower, lower, Heinrich's hands moved.  Along the undersides of my
breast, across my taut stomach and down to my pelvis.  "Why don't you have
any hair?" he asked, puzzled.

   I wasn't sure I heard him correctly.  "What?"

   "You have no hair on your..." He knew no Arabic term, and I did not know
the German.  "You have no hair down there."

   "No woman of status in the Caliphate does.  I have a cream that keeps my
body hair from growing.  Don't German noblewomen do the same?"

   "No, never." He ran his fingers across the area where hair should have
been, utterly fascinated.  How could German women stand it?  Had they no
concept of hygiene?  And the itching under their arms.  I shuddered
inwardly at the thought.

   By now, I was frantic.  I had to have him inside me.  I pulled him to
the ground and laid him on his back.  His rod stood stiffly above his hips.
I took it into my mouth and ran my tongue all around it.  My mouth had been
watering at the thought of tasting him, and in no time he was almost as wet
as I was.  I wet my fingers in my dripping slit and thrust them into my
back opening.  Remember, Assan had me checked on occasion to be certain I
had no lovers and was still a virgin.  My bottom was the only place I could
risk having Heinrich enter.  And while my skin crawled at the thought of
Assan back there, it tingled when I imagined Heinrich plunging into me.

   I straddled him and carefully placed the head of his prick against my
anus.  Gently, I pushed down on it.  He was much bigger than I was used to,
but I persevered.  I made myself bounce slowly up and down.  Gradually, I
felt the head enter me.  I pushed harder and harder still.  Then, suddenly,
my sphincter muscles were clamped around the neck of his prick.  I let
gravity take over and sank slowly down until I felt his testicles nestled
between my buttocks.

   "Ahhh," we both said.

   For a few moments, I just sat there astride his hips, letting my passage
grow accustomed to his girth.  I clamped my muscles against him and felt
him flex inside me in response.  I smiled down at him and raised my hips an
inch or two, then dropped back down.  His face went into contortions of
pleasure such as I had never seen.  I supposed it was his first time
buggering a girl.

   I took his beard between my fingers and pulled his upper body up to me.
Heinrich leaned back on stiffened arms, but was sitting up enough for me to
be able to lean down and kiss him and still be fully penetrated.  He tried
to thrust up into me awkwardly.  Concerned about his wound, and worried
that he might hurt me in his inexperience, I pushed down on his hips.  "Let
me do all the work," I told him.  He nodded, jaw clenched and eyes squeezed
shut.

   I leaned in and kissed him.  I nibbled his cheek and tugged on his beard
with my teeth.  I kissed him.  We held our lips pressed together as I rode
him, tongues dancing in each other's mouth.  We broke away, panting.  I was
nearing orgasm.  My strokes on Heinrich's staff were become longer and
faster.  I bit my lip to keep from screaming in passion, as I knew I surely
must.  Heinrich's eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned, softly and
deep in his chest.  I felt a new warmth flood my bowels as he emptied
himself in me.  It drove me over the edge.  I bit his neck where it met his
shoulder and screamed into his flesh.

   I fell back along his legs in a daze.  Heinrich remained hard inside me.
He eased his prick out and slid out from underneath me.  I just wanted to
lie beside him for the rest of the night.  I felt

   completely drained.  After all, this was the first time I had ever made
*love* to a man, and my emotions had overwhelmed me.  But Heinrich was
insistent.  He crawled between my spread thighs.  In one smooth motion, he
placed the tip of his prick against the mouth of my slit and slid inside. I
imagine he didn't even feel my maidenhead, so great was his need.  All I
felt was sick with fear.  When Assan learned I was no longer virgin, there
was no predicting what he would do, or how cruel he would be.

   But after a few strokes, I no longer cared.  All that mattered was that
Heinrich lay on top of me, taking what was rightfully his as the only man I
had ever loved.  Now I was glad that Assan had always had me like a boy,
because now a real man was making me a real woman.

   I wrapped my legs around his waist, wanting him inside me forever.  I
felt him stretching me, invading unexplored territory.  I was in pain and
the pain was sweet.  Let the future happen, the

   present was everything.  Heinrich assumed that, since I was married, I
was used to this kind of love.  He moved inside me with certainty, unaware
of my pain because he wanted to give me pleasure.  The pain wore away
quickly though, and I learned just what pleasure Heinrich could give me. 
Pleasure radiated from my womb, making my fingers and toes and scalp
tingle. It built up inside me, demanding release.  I let go and it flowed
through my body like a torrent.  I was lost in pleasure, in love for
Heinrich.  The two were intertwined, I thought, for there could not be one
without the other.

   My orgasm rushed upon me quickly.  It was of an intensity I had never
felt, and I am sorry to say I remember little of what happened after it
began.

   Heinrich awoke me from a light doze.  "Wake up, my love.  Wake up.  You
have to go back to your rooms, and I have to hide the body.  It's cold now
and people would otherwise wonder why I didn't report it."

   I came to my senses.  In more ways than one.  I was discovered.  It was
only a matter of time before Assan would learn that my maidenhood was no
more.

   Heinrich was still talking.  He was leaving tomorrow.  The entire troop
would be gone, making the rounds of Assan's properties, collecting rents
and ensuring that none of his administrators were taking bribes to under
count the crops.  He would think of me every day, and when he returned, it
would be like he had never left.

   But all I could think of was my lost virginity and Assan's anger.  You
have killed me, my love.

   Copyright 1993 by Lysander