From: Lysander@vnet.net (Lysander)

   Reply-To: Lysander@vnet.net

   Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

   Subject: Caitlin's Tale (1/2) (ds, bd, f/f, mm+/f, beast...)

   Date: Wed, 13 Sep 1995 16:21:00 GMT

   Organization: Hardly Any

   Message-ID: <4370g9$ff8@mindy.vnet.net>

   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

   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."

   When they arrived at the old stone keep, Ethan Jones, the old caretaker,
was waiting for them with his daughter -- and one of Caitlin's best friends
-- Heather.  Sir Robert ordered Caitlin to stand a ways off while he spoke
to Ethan.  Caitlin saw a parchment pass hands.  Ethan peered at it closely.
He could no more read than Caitlin could, but she supposed he was examining
the seal.  As he handed the parchment back to the knight, his shoulders
drooped in defeat.  Caitlin remembered that he and Thane Alfred had marched
together under King Edward's banner once, long ago.  It's not every day one
finds oneself ruled by a strange new master.  The thought ran like ice
water down Caitlin's back.  Robert then leaned down and spoke to Heather.
He gave her a purse and Heather ran off toward Caitlin's village after a
quick glance in her direction.

   Ethan led the knight through the gates of the keep, and Robert beckoned
Caitlin to follow.  All three went into the stable.  While Robert unsaddled
and rubbed down his charger, Ethan put saddle and bridle on the old nag he
used to run errands for the thane.

   "He goes to bring my men," Robert informed her.

   "Your men?" He ignored her, and she remembered.  "Your men, Master?"

   "Yes, girl.  These lands are no mere reward.  I am to keep the Welsh
tribes out, and keep the rebels in.  Or keep them from crossing through
this section of the March, at least.  To do that, I need soldiers and
knights.  So I brought my own.  They should arrive sometime tomorrow, with
enough servants to run this place."

   "But why did you no' bring them with you?  Master."

   "Because I am no longer a conqueror.  I am rightful lord of this place
and need no army to take what his mine." Like me, Caitlin thought.

   "And where did Heather go, Master?"

   "To pay your mother.  I told the girl that you are now 'working' for me.
No more questions, now.  I have been lenient with you because this is new
to you.  From now on, you will ask permission to speak to me.  Unless I ask
a direct question, which you will answer immediately.  Do you understand?"

   "Aye, Master."

   "Good girl.  Now see if you can find something for me to eat.  Bread and
cheese, cold meat.  Then we will begin your training in earnest."

   Caitlin sat at the small table in the kitchen and watched while Robert
ate enough for both of them.  He had given her permission to eat as well,
but she was much too nervous, frightened and -- she admitted it to herself
at last -- excited.

   She was naked again, as he had ordered.  She was amazed at how easily
she sat there, uncovered.  She did not even feel the desire to cover
herself with her arms.  She enjoyed being naked around him, even here in
the kitchen or outside in the courtyard.

   She found herself thinking of the feel of his skin when she washed him,
of the hardness of him.  She knew that soon he would take her, and now she
looked forward to it.  He wasn't Conal, but there was something similar
about him.  The life of a peasant and the life of a warrior had made them
strong, but where Conal was bulky, her master was lithe and wiry.  She
could never have gotten her arms around Conal's broad back, but she
imagined her master would fit very nicely into her embrace.  Her flesh
tingled in anticipation of that even.

   Her nipples were hard again, and she felt a delicious warmth between her
thighs.  The muscles spasmed occasionally and sent tremors through her
belly.

   Robert put a slice of cheese on the last piece of dark bread and popped
it into his mouth.  As he chewed, he looked thoughtfully at Caitlin. 
Unconsciously, she sat a little straighter under his gaze, thrust her
breasts out a little further.  He emptied his cup in a single mouthful and
placed his forearms on the table, surrounding the plate and cup.

   "Where shall we begin your training?"

   "The bedroom, Master?" Despite her nudity, Caitlin blushed at her
brashness.

   Robert seemed to turn the thought over in his head before giving it a
small but firm shake.  "No, not the bedroom.  You will serve me in other
ways as well.  It should be someplace that is normally full of people, so
that when you are serving me, you can look at the place where a man took
you for the first time.  The main hall, I think.  Yes, that will be
perfect."

   They left the kitchen and walked down the short passageway toward the
central building.  As they passed the kennel, Thane Albert's dogs began
barking furiously.  Robert's face lit up in the

   first truly pleasant smile Caitlin had ever seen on him.  He walked to
the gate and looked over.  Two wolfhounds snarled at him, drool dripping
off their muzzles.  Each was as big as a man, and as ferocious as the
beasts it was bred to fight.  Robert made to open the gate.

   Caitlin grabbed his arm before he could lift the latch.  "Master!  Do
not!  Only Thane Albert and his huntmaster are able to handle these
animals. When they bait wolves, the only bets made are on which of these
will kill the wolf!  They will kill you!"

   Robert pried her fingers from his arm and held her at arm's length. 
"You show concern for your master, and that is proper, but you also show a
lack of trust.  You will have to be punished for that.  After I make these
fine dogs' acquaintance."

   He opened the gate and stepped into the kennel.  Immediately the dogs
rushed him.  Caitlin knew they would crush him with their weight and rip
him apart with their teeth and claws.  She could not look, but she could
not turn away.

   Robert shouted something in French at the dogs.  She could not make out
the word, but the dogs halted as though they had run into a wall.  Robert
rose on his toes and walked toward the dogs.  And they backed up!  Heads
lowered and tails tucked between legs, they retreated from her master step
for step.  Robert held out his hands, palms down, and the dogs walked
forward and placed their heads against his hands.  He stroked their heads
and backs for a few moments before

   turning on his heel and walking out of the kennel.

   "May I speak, Master?"

   "You want to know how I did that." She nodded.  "I learned it from an
old woman who practically raised me."

   "What kind of woman can teach a man that?"

   "She was a...  I do not know the word.  She...  spoke with the trees."
He looked embarrassed, expecting disbelief, despite the feat he had
accomplished with the dogs.

   "My mother said her grandmother also spoke with the trees, Master." He
said nothing, merely placed an arm across her bare shoulders and led her
into the keep proper.  Strangely, Caitlin felt not only nervousness and
excitement, she felt comfort as she pressed her bare flesh into her
master's (when had she started *thinking* of him as her master?) side.

   The main hall was the central room of the keep.  It served as chapel and
dining hall most of the time, but was used when the Thane heard grievances
once a month, and as hospital and dormitory when the Welsh attacked.  At
the moment it was empty of furnishings because the keep's master -- former
master -- was gone and likely to never return.

   "Go stand where the thane kept his chair." A slight nudge got her
moving; she walked to the spot and stood.

   "Thane Albert sat here on audience days and feast days, Master.  This is
where the altar stands for Mass."

   Robert's long strides carried him quickly to her side.  "Excellent.  The
center of attention always.  Power and sacrifice, eh?"

   A quick search of the small rooms off the main hall found blankets,
pillows and a chair.  Pillows and blanket were arranged on the selected
spot and Robert ordered Caitlin to lie down.  He sat in the chair a short
distance from her feet.

   His voice was soft, echoing slightly in the great chamber as he spoke to
her.  "You like the boys, don't you Caitlin?  You like to think about them.
At night.  The thoughts are pleasant, aren't they?  Is there one boy you
think about more than the others?"

   Conal, with his dark blonde hair curling around his head.  His shoulders
wide and powerful as he tosses hay onto the wagon, skin glowing under a
sheen of sweat.  Caitlin nodded.  "Yes, Master.  His name is--"

   "I do not need to know his name.  Do you think of his arms around you?
His kisses on your lips?  His hands on your body?  I thought so.  And at
night, when you want him but cannot have him, do you pretend that your
hands are his?  Do you touch yourself as you long for him to touch you?"

   Caitlin nodded.  Her eyes were closed as she listened to her master's
soft, powerful voice and thought of Conal.

   "Show me."

   Her eyes opened abruptly.  His gaze bored into her, but he did not
repeat himself.  She did not want to make him repeat himself.

   She closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was alone, under her blankets
with her mother asleep on the other side of the room.  Tentatively, her
hands moved to her breasts.  They were too full to stand up on her chest,
but fell slightly to the sides.  She lifted them, caressed their undersides
with her hands.  She traced patterns over them with her fingertips.  She
scraped her nails across the flesh, making goose bumps rise.  With the pads
of her fingers, she rubbed the very tips of her nipples, making them even
harder.  She pressed firmly against them, imagining Conal's strong hands on
her.  She pulled on her nipples with thumbs and forefingers, but in her
mind, it was Conal's lips tugging on them.

   A moan escaped from her lips.  It wasn't her tongue caressing them, it
was Conal's.  Her hands moved lower, down her belly, fingers tickling the
rim of her bellybutton.  As she neared the juncture of her thighs, she
spread her knees apart, as Conal would do.  She stretched her fingers
toward her moistening slit; Conal spoke to her.  "You are mine.  You belong
to me." Yes, I am yours.  Her fingers found their target.  While one index
finger lightly tapped on her clitoris, the others traced the lips of her
opening.  Take me, Conal, take me!  She suddenly buried two fingers in her
cunt up to the first joint.  She felt Conal's body crush hers as he laid
himself along her torso.

   Her breasts were crushed by his hairy chest.

   Only...  Conal's chest was smooth and hairless.  She opened her eyes in
surprise, fingers still working in and on her cunt.  Robert sat in his
chair, naked.  His prick pointed skyward.  "You're thinking of me now,
yes?"

   "Master," she moaned.  "Take me, Master.  Fuck me, please." She thrust
three fingers into herself as deeply as she could.  In and out at a furious
pace.  But she wanted more.  She wanted that magnificent cock completely in
her.  More than anything else, she wanted her master to possess her
totally.

   He knelt between her thighs.  He removed her hands from her cunt.  He
sucked the juices from her fingers before placing them on her breasts.  He
slowly slid the fingers of his right hand into her wetness.  They were
large, and thickly callused, causing a little discomfort as they pressed
deeper.  She felt the nub of his index finger bump into her clitoris.  It
had not healed smooth.  Rough scar tissue covered the tip, and every move
it made seemed to drag her clit with it.  She gasped at the sensation.

   She felt his other fingers move inside her, all three of them she
thought.  They curled and spread inside her, stretching the muscles of her
sex.  Getting her ready.

   He crawled above her.  Supporting himself with one hand, he rubbed the
head of his cock up and down her slit, wetting it with her own juices.  He
guided himself to her entrance.  He pushed slowly until the head was
inside. He paused for a moment, too long for Caitlin.

   "Do it, Master," she hissed.  "Do it!"

   He thrust his hips forward and ripped through her maidenhead.  Her eyes
closed tightly against the bright lights and her back arched in an
instinctive attempt to escape the source of hurt, causing more of her flesh
to press against Robert's hirsute body.  A wordless cry erupted from
Caitlin's lips as her womanhood began in pain and joy.

   Again, Robert held himself still above her.  He was buried completely
inside her, his groin pressed into hers.  She pushed against him with her
hips.

   "Fuck me, Master.  Fuck your slave."

   So he did.  His strokes were slow and steady.  Almost all the way out,
then all the way back in.  Caitlin thrust her hips against him, desperate
to have him inside her.  Quickly Robert's thrusts

   matched hers.  Frantically, they fucked each other.  Robert let his arms
collapse and he fell on top of Caitlin.  It knocked the breath out of her
for a moment, but she wrapped her arms and legs around his back, trying to
draw all of him into her.  Only his hips moved now.  They pounded at her
violently, painfully.  But the pleasure, the rapturous pleasure, washed the
pain away.

   She was his, truly.  His possession of her was complete, total.  His
panting in her ear was as sweet music, his coarse hair on her soft skin was
as velvet, his pounding at her groin was as a gentle caress.  Everything
about him was perfect, broken nose and missing finger and all, for without
those flaws he would be someone else, and it would not be her master making
her a woman, but someone else in another body.

   This was a hundred, a thousand times better than when she pleasured
herself at night.  She could not predict what Robert's next move would be.
Would he caress her breast or pinch her nipple?  Was he going to speed up
or slow down his thrusts?  Was he going to kiss her lips or her throat? 
Would he ever stop?  Please God, don't let him stop.  She felt the wave
building up, the pressure inside her increasing, demanding release.  Sweet
release.  Her body was no longer hers, not even Robert's.  It was its own
being, and it had power of its own, which it was going to release.  Soon...
soon...  soon...  Now!

   "Oh God!  Master!  Fuck me!" she screamed as her climax took her.  "Aye!
Aye!  Aiieeee!!!"

   At the same time, Robert lay stock still on top of her as he emptied
inside of her.  Give me all of you, Caitlin silently cried.

   For minutes they lay like that, master on top of slave, bodies quivering
against each other.

   Robert stirred first.  Slowly, he withdrew from her warmth.  He knelt
above her and walked on his knees until he was astride her shoulders.  His
cock was above her face, streaked with her blood and soaked in their
mingled juices.

   "Lick it," he told her.  "Take the blood back into you."

   Caitlin's tongue stretched up toward the half-hard cock above her. 
Hesitantly, it touched a spot of pink on the underside.  Robert's cock
jerked in response.  Emboldened, Caitlin sent her tongue all along the
underside, gathering up her blood and their spendings.  Greedily, she
lapped at the shaft.  She peeled back the foreskin and sucked the head into
her mouth.  She circled the rim with her tongue a dozen times, and felt him
harden in her mouth.

   She wriggled out from between his thighs and knelt on hands and knees,
so she could get at more of his cock.  She licked and sucked on the shaft
until it was spotlessly clean.  And she kept licking and sucking.  Her head
pushed it in all directions, and her mouth chased it.  She took the head
between her lips once more, and moved further down the shaft until it
nudged the back of her throat.  She tried to take even more, but gagged. 
She wanted him to come in her mouth.  She was determined to taste his seed.

   But he pulled out and stood.  Caitlin let out a small whimper and tried
to suck him back in.  "No," he said, pushing her head away.  "It's time for
your punishment.  Lean over the chair and wait until I return."

   When he was satisfied with Caitlin's posture, he walked out of the hall,
cock swinging in front of him.  He was gone an awfully long time, Caitlin
thought.  She reached underneath her, between her thighs, with one hand. 
She diddled her clit, and snaked a finger between her labia.  Lazily, she
played with her sex, awaiting her master's return.

   She heard a whistle and then a sharp sting on her left buttock.  She
shrieked, from surprise more than pain.  Robert stood beside her, a thin
birch branch held tightly in one hand, a stern look on his face.

   "I did not give you permission to play with yourself.  Ten lashes. 
Outside the kennels, you displayed a lack of trust.  Ten lashes.  You spoke
without permission.  Five lashes.  But you spoke out of concern, so I will
withhold five lashes.  Twenty lashes in all.  You will count them, and if
you miss one, we will of course begin again."

   "Yes, Master," she answered meekly.

   Whistle.  Sting.  "One, Master."

   "The number will be sufficient."

   Whistle.  Sting.  "Two."

   The individual strikes were only annoying, but their cumulative effect
was painful.  "Five."

   She began to squirm under the assault.  Her thighs rubbed together
between lashes.  Partly this was to relieve the pain, partly it was to
stimulate her clitoris.

   Oh God.  Was that ten or eleven?  She could only guess.  "Ten."

   Whistle.  Sting.  "Eleven." Would he never reach twenty?

   "Nineteen."

   Whistle.  Sting.  "Twenty." She heard the branch fall to the floor. 
Then she felt her master's hands caressing her reddened buttocks.  The
flesh was so tender that at first his touch was more

   painful than the branch's, but soon his hands were soothing away the
pain.  Robert fell to his knees and planted his face between her buttocks.
His tongue and lips roamed over her weeping pussy.  He sucked on her lips.
His tongue darted into her over and over.  He nibbled on the folds of flesh
surrounding her cunt.  He sucked her blood-engorged clit between his lips.
The fluttering in her stomach began again as his mouth worked its magic on
her sex.

   "Oh, Master!  I'm going to...  I'm going to..." He sucked hard on her
clit, drawing in air at the same time so that her button vibrated against
his lips.

   She cried out her pleasure and passion, and collapsed across the arm of
the chair.  "Mmm, Master..." Darkness.

   When Caitlin awoke, it was to the sun shining in her eyes.  Had she
slept the entire night?  No, it was just dusk.  Shielding her eyes, she
looked out the window.  She saw a line of packhorses and wagons following a
pennant.  She thought she could make out several women.  Robert's men and
their servants.

   She found her clothes lying across a chest but left them there, and went
to search for her master.  She heard his whisper from behind the first door
she came to.  Does a slave open the door or knock?  She knocked and heard
Robert call her in.

   He sat on the edge of his bed, naked.  Kneeling between his legs was a
woman, also naked.  Caitlin only noticed her long blonde hair, slim back
and waist, and rounded buttocks covered with pinkish red stripes.  Robert's
hands held her head and she could tell by the slurping sounds that she was
sucking his cock.  But that was HER job!

   Rushing across the small room, she grabbed a handful of blonde hair and
pulled, hard.  She smiled in satisfaction at the resultant scream.

   "What do you think you're doing, bitch?!  He's mine!  Do you understand
me?"

   She looked down into tearful, fear-filled eyes.  It was Heather.  The
closest thing to a best friend she had.  Her friend, sucking her master's
cock!  Still holding Heather's head back by the hair, she slapped her
ex-friend across the face, as hard as she could.  She raised her hand for
another slap, but was stopped by a crushing grip on her wrist.

   She turned to see Robert's angry eyes focused tightly on her.  His jaw
was clenched, and she could see a vein throbbing in his forehead.  She felt
her stomach sink in fear.  He had been stern with her, cold with her, but
this was the first time she had ever seen anger in his face.

   "I am yours, slave?" His voice was like steel, cold and hard, cutting.
"I am yours?  No.  You are mine, as Heather is mine.  You are both my
slaves."

   "But--"

   "SILENCE!" He took her other wrist, forcing her to let go of her hold on
Heather.  "Heather saw us.  Saw me taking you, saw me punishing you, saw
your reactions.  She asked to serve me as well.  I accepted," he concluded
simply.

   "But that is irrelevant.  You do not control my body, I control yours.
Who I..." He squinted, trying to remember the word.  "Who I fuck is no
concern of yours.  Who you fuck is entirely up to me." His voice lowered,
almost as though her were talking to himself.  "I thought you had learned,
but I see you have not.  I have never had to punish a slave for something
so serious, for believing *she* owned *me*.  Perhaps when my men come..."

   "Master?"

   "What!"

   "I saw...  I wanted to tell...  That was why I came looking for you."

   "What are you babbling about?"

   "Your men, Master." She pointed out the window.

   He watched them for a minute.  "About half an hour away." He stood,
pulling on a tunic.  He looked down at Heather, who knelt on the floor,
silently crying.  "Your father will be with them.  Merde!"

   As he finished dressing, he spoke to Caitlin.  "If you cannot learn with
one master, perhaps you can learn with two.  You are both my slaves, but
from this moment, you are also Heather's.  You will follow all her orders
that do not conflict with mine.  You will...  Merde!  We'll work this out
later.  Heather, do what you will with her, but do not mark or injure her.
If you strike her, you may only use your hand.  On her head or face, only
your open hand.  Anything else is your decision.  I have to go head off
your father."

   He strode quickly out of the room and Caitlin was left alone with
Heather, who had stopped crying and was now looking eagerly and maliciously
at her.  And grinning evilly.

   "I'm really sorry, Heather.  Had I known it was you, I'd not..." Heather
only peered stonily at her.

   Caitlin dropped to her knees and bowed her head.  "I'm sorry, Mistress."

   Heather stood.  "Better.  But you still have to be punished.  However,
first let's see if you are as good as our master at sucking cunt."

   She reached down and jerked Caitlin's head back by the hair.  Caitlin's
mouth opened wide to gasp, but was silenced by Heather's wet slit.  Caitlin
had tasted her own juices, mixed with Robert's and her own blood.  She
could taste Robert in the drippings from Heather's pussy, so she knew he
had already fucked her.  Had she been a virgin, as well?  Heather's fist
tightened in her hair and she growled down at her, "I said lick my cunt!"

   Dutifully, Caitlin's tongue ventured out to the slit that was smearing
its juices over her mouth.  She dabbed at the labia, gathering up the
fluids that clung to them.  She discovered that she liked the taste.  Her
tongue grew more insistent, poking at the entrance, forcing its way past
the yielding lips.  She tasted the musk of Heather and smelled her sweat.
Pubic hair tickled her nostrils as Heather ground her sex on Caitlin's
mouth.  Ever deeper, her tongue explored the girl she had grown up with,
straining against the inner muscles.

   She looked up Heather's body, between her apple-sized breasts to a face
screwed up in passion.  She plastered her mouth to her pussy.  She sucked
hard on her labia, on her clitoris.  She nibbled on her flesh.  Heather
hunched against her face, moaning in pleasure.  Caitlin tried to push her
whole head inside Heather, so great was her hunger for the girl and her
desire to please her mistress.  Heather's body jerked and convulsed.  Her
body bent forward, as though she were trying to curl into a ball. 
Suddenly, Caitlin's mouth, her entire face, was flooded with hot musky
fluid as she brought her first woman to orgasm.

   Heather fell back on the bed, overcome.  Her legs were splayed wide, and
Caitlin could see her pussy lips still quivering slightly.  She reached
between her thighs to her own cunt and slipped a couple of fingers in.  She
frigged herself frantically, almost clawing at her pussy, desperate to
come. Heather stood over her again and planted her wet slit on Caitlin's
face.

   "Whatever you do, don't stop sucking."

   Happily, Caitlin complied.  She would gladly suck all day on the pussy
above her, whether ordered to or not.  She heard Heather grunt, and the
flavor of her secretions changed slightly.  Then, they were obviously more
bitter, and the scent was sour rather than musky.

   "Swallow it," Heather ordered, just as Caitlin realized what was
happening to her.  As her mouth filled with urine, Caitlin tried to pull
away.  But Heather was holding her too tightly.  Her thighs kept Caitlin's
head immobile, and her mouth was too tightly clamped to the other girl's
pussy for her to even spit it out.  She had to swallow or choke, so she
swallowed.

   As soon as her mouth was empty, it was filled again.  She swallowed yet
again, but this time the flavor did not have time to register in her brain.
All she could think about was her utter

   humiliation.  Sir Robert would likely never know anyone in her village
by name, but Heather's friends were her friends, she could keep this moment
secret or not.  Caitlin's pride was completely in her hands.  She had power
over Caitlin now, even more than Robert had given her.

   Of their own accord, her hands went up to Heather's breasts.  She
fondled and caressed them as she swallowed as much of Heather's piss as she
could.  Some of it ran down the sides of her face, along her neck, and down
her body, and it felt pleasantly warm on her skin.  Heather didn't have
much urine in her, apparently, for the flood soon turned into a trickle,
and then stopped.

   "Clean me.  With your tongue."

   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

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