On French Soil 5 - Of The Heat Of The Ginger

by T S Fesslen

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© Copyright 2006 - T S Fesslen - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; F/f; bond; reluct; X

Disclaimer: This is a work of amatory fantasy.  Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental.  Many historical liberties have been taken in this work and apologies to those who notice them.  If you are under the age of 18, please stop reading here.  If you are a bit squeamish about rape and graphic depictions of violence and sex, please stop reading here.  The author takes no responsibility for those who wish to reenact anything written below.

Permission is granted for private use.  The author wishes any agencies that wish to publish this work, to please contact him at 
[email protected]  Any comments are gladly accepted and encouraged.

Chapter Five: "Of The Heat Of The Ginger"

The mist outside the window turned slowly into a hard rain, then sleet, pelting against the panes like a drum calling troops to battle. Outside the confines of the canopied bed she was bound to, Catherine listened to the muffled laughs and harsh words of the Edward's men just on the other side of the shut curtains and locked door. There in the dark, her arms and legs spread wide apart and bound to each post, Catherine D' Astier imagined being used by each of the English swaggers beyond the door. She could almost feel the rough hands and lips upon her breasts and their engorged prickers battering through her swollen gates again and again until she could feel no more.

But nothing happened.

Soon the noises of the men faded away and all Catherine could hear beyond her curtained bed was the constant pelting of sleet against the panes of glass.

The warmth of the English's seed was still within her and the prickling heat of her passions still left Catherine wanting more despite that she was little more than a slave to the will of this Edward de Valence. There was something dwelling deep within the dark corners of her soul that made her delight in her rape. . .

Catherine tried to shake that thought from her head as soon as it emerged.

Once more Catherine tried pulling at her bindings and she still found them as effective as before. It was more than just a ransom, she thought to herself, that this English knight was keeping her here. And it was more than just merely pleasuring himself with her wares. There was a demonic passion within this man that let itself out briefly when he coupled with her, which, she ashamedly thought to herself, was not all that horrible. Catherine wondered what demons were prodding her captor.

As Catherine lay there, her emotions and thoughts wrestling in a whirlwind's flurry, she did not hear the lock being turned. Only when the hinges squeaked closed she realized she was not alone. Catherine tried in vain to make herself known to the unknown intruder, but her gag muffled her well.

Catherine then heard the door bolt being driven home.

The footsteps coming around her bed were not the heavy footsteps she remembered Edward having, rather they were light, a strangers. . .

The drapes around the bed were suddenly thrown open and Catherine was blinded momentarily by the brightness outside; her eyes having accustomed themselves to the dark womb the drapes had created. Catherine shut her eyes against the pale light and turned her head away.

"You are indeed a prize, m' dear," Margaret said in her melodious Irish voice, "No wonder m' Edward keeps you locked away like th' royal jewels."

Catherine squinted to try and see the woman standing over her. She was a short woman, Catherine could tell, with long, reddish tresses and a graceful, smiling face partially hidden beneath her shawl. Her green eyes seemed to study Catherine with the jealous, disapproving look of a wife just meeting her husband's lover. Catherine struggled again anew as she tried to turn away from this woman's preying looks.

"A picture of m'Lady de Valence, I should say," Margaret said as she sat down on the bed next to the struggling Catherine, "Mind you, I never met her, God rest 'er soul, but m' Edward told me a great deal about 'er."

Margaret reach down and patted Catherine's hip, "No use 'n strugglin', m' dear. I am sure m'Lord de Valence has made sure you cannot escape."

The woman bound on the bed did indeed look like what Edward had described his Lady Eleanor de Valence to look, Margaret thought to herself. Catherine's skin was as white as cream and she was as slight as a yearling. Her hair was a dark, tangled halo around her slim face and it matched her ebony eyes as she continued her futile struggles on the bed.

Margaret smiled a bit watching the young woman struggle, remembering that once in awhile, Edward had bound her like this, hands tied apart above her head and her legs tied wide open. Edward had been gentle with her like that, but rough at the same time, like a harnessed wolfhound during a hunt. In fact, as Margaret's relationship grew with Edward, so did his need to bind her in their swyving. It was not unpleasant, giving herself like that, in fact quite the opposite. It let her just enjoy. As Margaret watched Catherine continue to fight her bonds, she imagined what Edward would do to this helpless waif beside her.

"There now, m'Edward wouldn't want you to hurt such a costly prize as yourself," Margaret said as her hands gently started to caress Catherine.

The feel of Margaret's hands on Catherine was smooth and cool, not the heated hands of a man. The washerwoman's touch glided over Catherine's hips and belly and over the swell of her breasts, her nipples stiffening with the pleasure of the other's touch. Catherine soon found herself accepting and wanting the other woman's fingers to caress her more intimately; to work their magic upon her as she could not upon herself. It was not the first time Catherine enjoyed another woman's company. When Catherine had begun to blossom, she had asked an older friend of hers, Carola, what it was like to be with a man and her friend first told Catherine, then showed her. It was Catherine's first taste of the pleasures her body had to offer to herself.

The redheaded woman continued to talk to Catherine, but she could make little out of the woman's rough but musical language. But the woman's hands never stopped gliding over her.

Margaret grinned as she saw what effects her hands were having on the poor, bound child beside her.

"Let me get these wet things off, m'dear child, or I will catch a death indeed."

Catherine watched as Margaret began to unlace her plain-looking skirts and peel them down her slim legs. She carefully placed them beside the bed to dry, then began to untie her bodice.

Feeling Catherine's eyes upon her, Margaret unlaced her bodice slowly, as she had done to many a man. Slowly, the leather bodice opened and Margaret set it aside also. Catherine could see Margaret's generous breasts jiggling beneath her chemise as she turned her back to the bound girl and lifted the chemise off.

The roughness of the washerwoman's clothes belied her treasures beneath. Margaret's legs were slim and sturdy and tapered up nicely to her thick nest of reddish brown curls. Her hips flared wide but her waist was much more narrow than Catherine would have thought. Margaret's breasts were large and heavy, with nipples that turned upward and out slightly and were the color of pale pink rose buds about to blossom. After shedding her clothes, Margaret settled again on the bed beside Catherine.

Margaret's hands began anew, caressing and stroking Catherine's warm skin, exploring the gentle curves and soft, moistened nest without delving any deeper. Catherine yielded to her feelings, letting the physical sensations overpower any mental reservations she may have had. There was nought she could do anyhow, Catherine thought to herself, knowing her bindings were indeed unforgiving in their embrace on her.

The woman's finger's brushed lightly all over her body before coming to rest on Catherine's breasts. The fingers began to slowly caressing circles around her erect nipples, then pulling on them slightly, sending little waves of bliss swirling in Catherine's womb. She could hear her own moans escaping from in back of the gag as the passions within her started to build like a tide against a dam.

The woman's hands were not rough at pulling and kneading Catherine's nipples, rather slow and tender, letting her react to each caress before beginning another. When the other woman's hands left her, Catherine open her eyes and moaned her displeasure.

Margaret slipped down and lay down beside Catherine and began the brush her tangled hair away from the Frenchwoman's face. The heat of Edward's captive's skin against her own was wonderful in the cool of the bedchamber and Margaret's fingers soon began to explore the younger woman's curves again with a liquid slowness. This woman beside her was one that enjoyed the pleasures of being a woman, Margaret thought to herself. So many women she had met did not enjoy the act of coupling and thought it was a sin to feel the bliss of swyving. Not this one, Margaret smiled as she watched her own fingers enchant this raven-haired beauty into writhing pleasure.

Catherine felt the woman's finger's start to brush through her soft nest and begin to delicately part Catherine's already swollen petals. She tried to raise her hips to the woman's touch, but Margaret backed off, leaving the French captive wanting. Each time the washerwoman began to tickle at Catherine's quim, Catherine would buck at her bonds and Margaret would stop her attentions. It was a torture that seemed to go on forever.

Margaret could hear the bound Catherine's whines of frustration getting more and more desperate through the girl's gag. Margaret giggled a bit when she stopped her attentions and watched for Catherine's reactions.

Catherine's reaction was slow at first, thinking that the strange woman would continue to tease her, but when Catherine realized that this was not the case she looked up at the red-headed woman's grinning face and saw the teasing smile there. Catherine threw herself at her bonds and wriggled and pleaded through her gag. Did Edward send this woman here to torture her, Catherine asked herself. The flames within her womb were raging yet she could not quench them. She thought she would go mad.

Margaret heard the bound Catherine beginning to sob through her gag. There were indeed tears in those doe-like eyes. Margaret took pity and straddled the helpless maid and spread Catherine's moist petals wide and began to tickle and the child's pearl with vigor.

Catherine was awash in the firestorm of bliss almost immediately. It raged through her and she lost herself in the fiery storm. It was all that Margaret could do to keep from being bucked of this randy Frenchwoman; it was as if Margaret was riding an unbroken mare. However, slowly the woman's captive writhings eased and Margaret slipped off of her.

The effect of the bound woman's orgasm had an effect on Margaret and she found herself wanting some attention. She knew Edward would not be back soon, for not only did he have to find suitable clothes for his prize, but also food and drink. Edward also had to check on his men and direct the siege of the two towers that had not surrendered when the rest of the town had. Both Margaret and Catherine could hear the loud, deep thunder of the cannons as they fired their stones at the twin targets.


"They must know their lot is hopeless, M' lord," Richard Corfe said as he and Edward looked at the tower before them.

"They think their King will get up off his arse and rescue them, I am afraid, dear Richard. He will not. If he was to do so he would have done it long ago."

Both Edward and his sergent watched as another canon belched it's deadly missile and hurled it with a crack against the tower walls. The wooden mantlets covered the canon quite well from the occasional arrow shot from above. Behind him, Edward could hear his retinue gathering piles of hay to pit against the tower after the sun had set.

"Richard, make sure some of the men get rested. It is to be a long night, I am afraid. This weather is not to the liking of anyone save the devil himself."

"Yes, m'Lord. You should rest your bones as well. There is a nice bed waiting for you," Richard smiled a roguish smile that seemed to light up his face.

"Indeed there is," Edward gave a tired smile back.

From a distance aways, a few men mounted on tired horses watched the death of their Harfleur at the hands of the English. Each of them was as silent as a wraith as they watched the now thinning stream of exiles leaving the broken port with little else but themselves. Once again their King's frail mind could not issue the order to attack and drive the English back into the sea. It was what angered Bois D'Astier so much.

Bois had not seen in sister, Catherine, in the long train of refugees leaving the town. His father, Phillip, had sent him and several lances down to see to her safety. But she had not appeared nor did anyone seem to know her situation. One merchant, a craftsman of leather, had said he remembered seeing his father's house burning, but that was it. No Catherine.

This would sit ill with his father and he would not enjoy giving him this news. Unbeknownst to Catherine, her father had already betrothed her to Alois d'Albret, second son of Charles d'Albret, Constable of France. The marriage would be Bois' father closer to the ears and eyes of the court and where his money would do better than be trifled away by a feeble-minded king.

"We should be away, m'Lord Bois. The English have eyes too," John, one of Bois' most trusted retainers, said.

"It is a shame to all of France." Bois said under his breath.

"True. m'Lord Bois."

"We will wait and watch for Catherine from afar these next few days, cloaking our shields and colors lest we be found not to be Englishmen. Then we will enter the city as mercenaries and find out what has happened to our dear sister."

With that said, the riders disappeared into the mist to find a fire to warm their chill bones by.

********************End Chapter 5************************

Any comments, ideas, and feelings would be most appreciated. Please e-mail me at FESSELN1.aol.com

This story continues in Chapter Six: "Perfection Of A Good And Particular Mistress"


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