Tales of the Huntsman

by M Palmeri

  (She shouldn’t be watching this, her mind screamed. It was improper, taboo, sinful, shocking… The only other women she had seen naked were her stepsisters when they changed and bathed pretending obliviousness to her gaze, but they were arguably family, no matter how much they seemed to be trying to make her uncomfortable. And they certainly weren’t about to do what Marie was expecting here…)

  The youth pulled one glove off with his teeth and dropped it. His hand was remarkably slender and delicate. It disappeared behind the blindfolded serving girl, and in a moment she lurched up on her toes with a slight cry. Marie caught sight of those delicate fingers sliding up between the maid’s legs from the rear, comb through the thick patch of golden brown fur there, and then, with another soft cry, the middle finger vanished up inside of her.

  “A story, my lord, if you please,” the pale youth commanded with a grin as he started to steadily pump his finger inside the girl, keeping her up on her toes.

  “I think I have one appropriate for the occasion…” Richard agreed with almost no hesitation. And began:

  “The Goddess of Love and the God of War had a son, who was the bane of both gods and men. He was as irresistibly beautiful as his mother, and all women (and some men) who laid eyes on him were doomed to fall immediately and hopelessly in love with him. Yet he was also as cruel as his father: for though he had the power to bring forth love and lust in anyone he chose—man or god—more often than not he wielded this power with mischief and maliciousness as his intent.

  “It is said he made his own mother fall in love with the ugly and misshapen God of the Forge, perhaps out of revenge for what had transpired with his own true love…”

  The pale youth whispered something in the serving wench’s ear then, and she followed compliantly as he led her to the bed. She laid down upon it on her back and spread herself out, still blindfolded, as her lover produced from his jacket a pair of silken cords. With a liquid grace, he looped her wrists and bound them to either post of the headboard, then bent over her, kissing her deeply on the mouth. His other glove had vanished, and his delicate hands took hold of her breasts as he kissed her, kneading them, rolling and pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger. He leaned down and licked, then bit, one nipple and then the other. The girl pushed her chest up to meet him with enthusiastic sighs, which turned to gasping as he pulled her breasts together and took both nipples in his mouth at the same time.

  Anticipating, she spread-eagled herself for him, but instead he pulled away and produced a single, long cord.

  “Not that way, beautiful one,” he whispered. “I know something better…”

  He hoisted one of her knees up toward her ribs and looped the cord—doubled—around her lower thigh just above the knee. Then he passed the cord under the small of her back. He pushed her other knee up and tied that thigh in place likewise, so that her legs were spread and pulled up to either side of her chest.

  Marie tried to look away, but the Count’s hands guided her gaze back to the spectacle. Her whole body was trembling. She tried shutting her eyes, but the Count quietly reminded her of her bargain and his instruction to watch and learn. She felt herself flush and thought she would be sick, grateful only that the position of the servant girl’s nearer leg was at least partially blocking the view of her flagrantly opened and exposed sex. (But Marie could smell her: sharp and musky.) And then Marie lost her breath along with the maid at what happened next:

  The youth lowered his head down between his blind victim’s bound legs and began to lick her. First playfully, teasingly, then diving in hungrily as soon as she realized what he was doing to her. She began to pant and thrust herself against his devouring mouth, struggling against her bonds (though not attempting to struggle out of them).

  And then Marie realized, to her own embarrassment, that her own horror was being replaced by building waves of arousal as her body involuntarily responded to what she imagined that hungry mouth must feel like. She realized she had unconsciously begun to grind herself against the hard seat, and forced herself to keep still.

  The Count ignored her distress and continued his tale:

  “There had been a king whose daughter was the most beautiful woman ever born, so lovely that all men who saw her became obsessed with her. And by the time she was ripe for marriage, suitors came by the hundreds to win her hand.

  “So great was her beauty, that the Goddess of Love was horrified to discover that men had turned away from worshipping at her temples to pursue this mortal woman. And in her jealousy, she commanded her son, whose name was Eros, to use his power to curse her, that she might fall in love only with the cruelest monster imaginable.

  “So one fateful night, Eros appeared in the princess’ bedchamber while she slept, and infected her with the venom of his curse. But her beauty enticed him as well, and he could not help but pause before leaving. He pulled back her blankets and drank in the perfect loveliness of her naked body, and helpless to resist, bent to taste of her lips, her delicate breasts, and finally, the intoxicating nectar of her sex. Enchanted to keep from waking, she writhed in dreams of their passion, finally breaking free of sleep at the peak of her first orgasm. She only caught the slightest glimpse of her lover, between sleep and waking, before he disappeared into the night.

  But she was smitten irrevocably, and would from that night on have no other man as her husband.”

  The pale youth continued to devour the girl mercilessly, though it looked like she might faint from his attentions. His delicate fingers began to slip up inside her as he licked her, first one finger, then two, then three, pumping in and out of her.

  Marie could feel herself get slick and wet again, and covered her lap with her hands as she squeezed her legs together. But she found that the clenching only made it worse, and she could no longer keep herself from squirming, imagining what that tongue and fingers were doing.

  “The king, despairing at her daughter’s obsession, consulted the oracle, who proclaimed that his daughter was cursed to love a cruel monster, feared by men and gods alike, that lived alone on a mountain top.

  “The princess wrung this information from her heartbroken father, and she fled the palace in search of her love.

  “After many days, she was guided by visions to a magnificent palace high in the mountains, hidden by clouds from the eyes of men. The palace was completely deserted, but she could hear sweet music playing, and the table in the main hall was spread with the finest delicacies. After she had eaten and drunk, a voice spoke to her:

  ‘You have found me, my love. And if you would be my bride, you will live in this palace and all your desires shall be fulfilled for all eternity. I ask but one condition: you lay with me and make love with me only in dark of night, and light no candle. Because if you see me for what I really am, I must leave you.’”

  Marie almost cried out, but the Count put a finger to her lips. The pale youth had begun to undress as his mouth continued to work between the servant girl’s legs. He had peeled out of his leather jerkin and the linen tunic underneath, revealing a smooth and equally pale body, with small but definitely feminine breasts, strawberry-red nipples hardened to sharp points. “He” raised up to kneeling, still pumping the girl with one hand, and grinning at Marie, slipped off his cap. Pulling a few pins, long black hair fell over white-pale shoulders. Undoing “his” breeches, the hand that was not involved with the bound girl slipped down over a smooth and hairless mound and began to stroke long thin fingers between delicate nether petals.

  Hungrily, the steel-gray eyes looked over Marie, and the devouring tongue licked lips that had flushed ruby-red. Then the predatory eyes glanced commandingly at the Count, who left Marie’s side for the first time to silently slip something out of a saddlebag the youth had been carrying. It was a set of black leather belts, which the Count then helped fasten like a harness around the pale one’s pelvis. Then a second trip to the saddlebag produced something that made Marie bite her lip and press her hands hard over
her own sex: a cylinder of elaborately carved and polished ivory, perhaps eight inches long and almost two wide, with a rounded cone at one end.

  A pale hand took it, and slipped it between the ruby lips, sliding it in and out, a few inches at first, then almost all the way in, though the tip certainly must have passed down the creature’s throat. The rod came out with a wink and a wicked grin, and the pale hand set the base of it into a socket in the harness so that it projected forward from the hairless pubic mound like a unicorn’s horn.

  Then the pale woman shifted on her knees until she was kneeling between her blind victim’s spread legs, and Marie could see her rub the tip of the ivory prod against the girl’s sex, guiding it with her fingers, before sliding it all the way inside of her. The harnessed hips began to hammer the rod into the maid as her body arched and she cried out breathlessly in a delirious mix of panic and appreciation.

  (Marie knew what this was, or at least what it was supposed to be, from watching the animals mate combined with the shameful talk of her step-siblings. But this was some simulated perversion of the natural act, and she could not help but feel somehow soiled for witnessing it. Worse, her arousal was not being abated by her revulsion, which she found was not as profound as her upbringing demanded it should be. She wanted to know what it would feel like to be so penetrated…)

  The Count returned to Marie’s side, stroked her hair gently and soothingly as if to reassure her, as if he fully understood her internal conflicts, and continued his story.

  “The Princess made love in the dark with her unseen husband, night after night. He was the most skillful and attentive lover she could imagine, and matched the exquisite fantasy of that first night’s dream perfectly—she had no doubt this was the lover who had come so mysteriously to her chambers and vanished as she woke. But she remembered in that fleeting glimpse the most handsome of youths, not some hideous monster. And despite her love for him and her happiness in his house and his bed, she felt curiosity begin to consume her, until she could not resist the nagging desire to see her lover, even if he was a terrible beast.

  “So one night, after they had made love and the princess was sure her lover was sound asleep, she lit a candle and brought it to their bed. And there she beheld the most beautiful of creatures, and knew immediately she was looking upon not a man, but something so much more…”

  Marie held her breath as the pale woman suddenly pulled the blindfold from her helpless lover. Marie expected the maid to begin screaming, to begin to struggle violently against this violation by deception, this unspeakable taboo. And she expected the pale woman would just continue on raping her mercilessly.

  But the servant girl smiled and purred, looking over the lean body of her lover approvingly.

  The ruby lips pouted, then smiled gently back. “You knew?”

  “Of course,” the maid told her, laughing playfully. “You think I’ve never lain with my own sex? That we girls don’t get bored during the long winter nights when travelers are few? That we don’t seek soothing respite from smelly, selfish men who only use our bodies to pleasure themselves?”

  (Marie felt profound relief at this. And amazement: how many acts like this did lovers engage in without shame?)

  (How many more would she have opportunity to learn of?)

  “When?” the pale woman wanted to know when her careful deception had failed.

  “Nuzzling you over dinner, sweet lover,” she admitted. “Not even the freshest lad has skin so smooth. And you have no Adam’s Apple. Nor do you smell like a man. And no man I’ve met has such skillful fingers or tongue—very few indeed even have enthusiasm for what you did to me with that marvelous mouth of yours.”

  “Don’t discount all men so,” the pale woman hummed, not breaking the steady rhythm of her hips into her partner’s. She looked at the Count. “You have yet to experience my husband.”

  “I have yet to fully experience you, my lady,” she replied, licking her lips. “Though your recommendation of your man does intrigue me.”

  The Count interrupted by laughing. The lovers shot him incredulous looks.

  “You ruined the end of my bittersweet tale!” he explained lightly, as if this was just social chatter over supper.

  “I know it well already, my lord,” the serving maid told him as the pale woman caressed her body thoughtfully and began to untie her. “She stares at him like a love-struck fool until the candle drips wax on him and wakes him. Realizing she has seen him, he cannot believe the love she now professes is anything more than the spell cast on any who look upon him, and he flees in despair. Heartbroken, she wanders the earth for years in fruitless search for him…”

  “Until the gods take pity on them both and reunite them,” the pale one completed, bending to kiss her lover, who—hands now unbound—embraced her in return.

  “To live happily ever after,” the Count concluded. The two ladies began to giggle as they kissed.

  “Marie,” the Count interrupted the moment. “You have been very well-behaved, and have kept your bargain so far with honor. I, however, realize that I have been a poor host. May I introduce my wife, the Countess Rose.”

  Marie felt herself flush again at the words, but not with desire or discomfort. Was it… disappointment? (Jealousy?) She steeled herself to show nothing.

  “She is as charming as she is currently speechless,” Rose returned, rising up from her lover. “It must all have been quite a shock for you, dear girl.” She looked down at the serving maid then in mock exasperation. “Though I’m glad I managed to shock someone tonight.”

  Rose had disengaged herself from the harness but had left the ivory rod buried where it was.

  “Will you join us, my love?” she tempted her husband, bringing the fingers she had so recently buried in her new lover to his lips. “If for no other reason than to demonstrate that men are not beyond all hope?”

  The maid looked Richard over and licked her lips again.

  “My companion has had a long and trying day,” Richard replied, gently pushing away his wife’s musky hand, and helping Marie to her feet. Marie found that she was dizzy and shaky, and again blushed with embarrassment at her body’s involuntary responses and the possibility that they might be detectable. “I should put her to bed. Then… We’ll see...”

  “No hurry,” the Countess purred. Marie watched her shift on the bed until she straddled her lover’s face. The maid reached up, took hold of Rose’s hips and lowered her down to meet her mouth.

  “Mmmm… You shave yourself…” Marie heard the maid hum approvingly as the Count led her to the door that adjoined this room to the one next door. “All the better to eat you…”

  And Marie could hear Rose begin to moan.

  The next room was somewhat larger and better furnished. There was a small fireplace glowing with embers, a bigger bed, and a privacy screen in the corner.

  “Undress,” the Count commanded, leading Marie behind the screen. “Give me your clothes. Then I will leave you to your privacy. Get some rest if you can—we have one more day’s journey.”

  Marie felt suddenly crushed—her dread had been building along with her unwelcome arousal (again) as he had pulled her in here, anticipating what he would certainly do with her, images made much more vivid by the example she had just been made watch—that now he was just going to leave her alone. (But he was married—and what did that mean to him, with his wife whoring with serving wenches in disguise?)

  “You aren’t afraid I’ll run away?” she challenged, pulling out of her torn dress and passing it over the screen to him.

  “You made me a promise. I expect you will keep it”

  “And you guarantee it by leaving me without clothing.” She found her tone surprisingly defiant despite her predicament.

  “No,” he told her, taking her undergarment from her as well. “You will guarantee it for all the reasons you agreed to come with me. But I also believe you’ll want to find out how the story progresses from here.”

/>   Not even trying to look at her exposed body, he left her there, naked, and shut the door behind him.

  Chapter Three: The Skillful Huntsman

  When Marie woke up the next morning, the sun had already been up for some time. She was initially disoriented at finding herself in the bed at the inn rather than in her own room, but then the events of the previous day and night came flooding back, almost paralyzing her with shock and shame (no matter what the Count had told her about accepting such things as beautiful).

  She was thankfully alone, but still quite naked under her blankets. She felt another flush of shame when she smelled what she’d spent part of the night doing on her fingers, and tried to shut all that she’d seen out of her mind, but it was futile. So she tried to distract herself with practical matters.

  Her mother’s cloak hung by a hook on the door, and she was surprised to find a new dress had been left for her, laid out on the bed. It was a royal blue velvet gown, long-sleeved but low cut, fine as any court lady’s, but laced in front so that it could be put on without the assistance of a handmaid. Her new blue boots were there as well, but there were no undergarments.

  A basin of warmed water and scented soap had been left for her to wash herself, and though this all clearly indicated that some unknown persons had been in and out of the room while she slept, she found was grateful for the opportunity to try to wash away some of the telltale musk of her prior adventures.

  Taking care of her body’s needs, she put on the dress. It was warm and soft, layered for the weather yet still flattering. On closer inspection, she found the skirts were slit front and back, almost exactly as Count Richard had sliced her own dress the previous day, held shut by lace frogs which were neatly concealed by pleats.

  The presence of the dress—in a color that too perfectly matched her mother’s cloak as well as the boots the Count had conveniently brought with him—only reinforced Marie’s unsettling suspicions that the Count had somehow planned all of this, or at least some version of the outcome. Had he simply anticipated the possibility of seducing one of Elsbeth’s would-be courtesan daughters? Or had he come with specific designs for her? But then, how could he have anticipated the circumstance of her surrendering to him? Or of her father’s loss? (Did he already know about the robbery? Or had he simply planned to win her away by some other means?) Marie’s mind spun and spun with the impossible questions, and she found herself almost dizzy with a sense of dread that seemed to make the unfamiliar little room grow all the smaller around her.