Tales of the Huntsman

by M Palmeri

  A comb and a small hand mirror had also been left, for Marie to try to make sense of her tousled hair. But when she saw her own face in the mirror, it was suddenly chilling to her, almost as if she did not recognize herself. She could not look herself in the eye. The events of the last day and night had changed her in some fundamental way, as if the Count had managed to bargain for more than just her body.

  Marie at least found some comfort in being clothed again. Putting on the boots and the cloak, she then checked the door to the adjoining room, which was left unlocked. The room was empty, though the air was still thick with what had transpired the night before. Flushing again with the memory of it, Marie left quickly to find some sign of the Count.

  She found him in the main hall of the inn, sitting down to a simple breakfast of bread and sausage. To her chagrin, he was not alone: Rose sat beside him, now appearing quite female and dressed in a black gown and adorned with silver jewelry embedded with rubies. The serving maid they had abused the night before was nowhere to be seen.

  Marie gladly took the food offered as he greeted her with a smile, while trying to ignore the barely-concealed leer of his “wife”. She found she was quite famished, and ate twice what she would normally, washed down with hot spiced cider. Richard complemented her on her dress, and inquired if she had slept well, as if this was some normal social conversation, and she tried to answer as politely minimally as she could. Rose, thankfully, said nothing to her, though the Countess seemed to be savoring her uncomfortable silence.

  After breakfast, he told her it was time to continue on the road, reminding her that his home was still most of a day from here. Rose left them while he led her out into the daylight, and Marie was surprised that instead of his horse, there now was a richly appointed closed coach.

  “Enough riding for now,” he told her. “I hope you will find this more comfortable.”

  The footman opened the door for her graciously, but there was something coolly hostile in the look of him. And his appearance was as striking as Rose’s had been: hair red as hot iron, face ruddy with freckles despite its boyish softness, his riveting eyes a ghostly pale blue.

  Marie felt herself flush. She scanned the footman’s build beneath the leather garments, found herself searching the high-collared throat for the bulge of an Adam’s apple, and—to her greater shame—found herself sniffing the air like an animal. The redhead caught her examinations and flashed a cruel smile, answering Marie’s question beyond a doubt.

  Richard distracted her then, taking her hand to his lips and kissing it. She pulled it away from him when she realized that he was smelling her fingers, and she feared he would be able to detect some evidence of what she had done after he had left her last night, despite her attempts to wash it away.

  Unable to sleep, and tormented by the noises from the next room which brought back the images of Rose and the serving maid with disturbing clarity, Marie had stealthily crept from her bed to the adjoining door. And despite her fears of what she might see, she was unable to resist being drawn to peer through the keyhole. From there, squatting naked, she had a clear view of the bed.

  Richard had indeed joined the pair, and Marie had almost fainted from the initial shock of it. Now Richard had the maid on all fours and was slamming into her from behind with a graceful violence. But worse: the maid, gasping to keep her breath under the pounding, had her face buried between Rose’s spread legs all the while. Rose, in turn, had the maid by the back of the head and was arching her pelvis up into her mouth like she was trying to smother her with it. This went on for an interminable stretch, until the Count promptly disengaged from the maid like a spent bull, and Marie caught sight of his swollen member for the first time—and the first time she had ever seen a man’s erect sex—for just long enough for the ladies to switch positions and for him to rebury himself in Rose while she devoured the writhing maid.

  And once more, Marie too-quickly felt her own desire rise from between her legs unbidden, stronger than it had ever been during all prior nights alone in bed with her imagination, and shame gave way to an irresistible impulse—she was both naked and quite alone in the dark, after all—and she reached a hand down and began to stroke her nether lips gently with her fingertips, in rhythm with the Count’s pumping. She felt herself swell and get moist and slick, and her light stroking settled into a small circular massage on the hood of skin just above her most sensitive secret (which was often too sensitive for her to touch directly). This, in turn, soon devolved into a violent tugging, more and more desperate as she continued to watch, and her other hand came down to apply a teasing finger to her now much wetter opening.

  Suddenly, as if by some signal, Richard pulled himself out of Rose and she leapt up, taking the serving maid by the neck and turning them both to face him. Holding her female lover’s face close by her own, Rose knelt and opened her mouth, swiftly and hungrily taking her husband’s member all the way in between her grinning teeth (as she had done before with the ivory rod). Marie could see her tongue dancing madly on it before she closed her lips over it and began to slide it in and out of her mouth. Richard’s body shivered in what looked like a combination of animal rage and ecstasy that Marie had never seen. Rose herself looked like she was suckling ambrosia, almost equally enraptured. Then Rose took his member out of her mouth and quickly shoved it into the maid’s, guiding the girl’s head to match the rhythm she had used. Richard convulsed with a rough cry, and Marie could see the maid’s swallow reflex working feverishly. Rose pulled the member back out, and something thick and milky drooled from the maid’s lips. Rose kissed her deeply and gleefully then, while her hand pumped her husband’s sex like she was milking it—and milk it she did, as more of the thick liquid squirted and dribbled out at the ladies’ faces. Unwilling to waste the product of her labors, Rose took the member back in her mouth and sucked until it looked like her husband would faint.

  Both ladies fell back on the bed laughing like young girls. Composing himself, Richard promptly set to repaying their attentions, going first at the serving maid and then at his wife alternately with his own devouring mouth. Rose and the maid seemed more than content to lay back and let him go at it, which he was still doing when Marie finally exhausted herself imagining what his mouth was doing. Her legs spasming as she crouched at the keyhole, she had sent wave after wave of her secret pleasure breaking up through her body, until her hot and increasingly slick privates had gone numb and raw, her fingers cramping as she had to press so hard to continue to feel anything.

  Breathless, sore and not just a bit dizzy, Marie managed to stand with the help of a hand on the wooden door frame, her knees and hips hurting from how long she had been squatting. Feeling embarrassed and dirty despite her privacy, she crept quietly back to bed and buried herself beneath the blankets, as if hiding from what she had done, and eventually fell asleep to the steady animal music that continued from the next room.

  Entering the coach, Marie was further upset to see she had company in the form of the wanton serving maid, now dressed for the road. The blonde forwardly introduced herself as Harriet, and explained that the Countess had purchased her contract from the innkeeper. She was coyly inquiring how Marie had slept the previous night when Rose joined them, informed them that Richard would be riding ahead, and signaled the “coachman” to drive. Then Rose cuddled up with her bought lover, eyeing Marie from time to time in a way that made her wish that Richard had stayed with them.

  “Perhaps a story to pass the time,” Rose offered after several miles of silence, though there seemed to be an ulterior tone in her voice. “One particularly dear to my husband, though I doubt he’ll mind my telling it…

  “There once was a poor farmer who had two sons. Knowing that the farm would not support two families, and hoping to spare his father a difficult choice (and, perhaps, out of his own distaste for farming) the younger son declared his intention to go seek his fortune in the world, leaving his elder brother to inherit unchallenged.

/>   “Striking off into the forest with little but the clothes on his back, a walking stick and a good knife, he took to living off the land by constructing elaborate traps for small game.

  “So it came that one day, recovering a rabbit from his most recent snare and preparing it for his campfire, he was approached by an older man, who praised the youth’s ingenuity with traps, though criticizing his roughness and inefficiency with the preparation of the kill. The older man introduced himself as Peter, the retired huntsman and gamekeeper of a local noble family, and offered to apprentice the young man in exchange for labor around his small home in the wood.

  “The youth—whom I will call Richard out of fondness for the name—agreed to the bargain, hoping to secure employment with nobility in a way that would still appeal to his adventurous sensibilities. Peter took the youth home and introduced him to his wife, Margarite, a former kitchen maid with silvering blonde hair, who still maintained a rustic beauty even into middle-age.

  “Peter took Richard out hunting during the summer and autumn of that year, teaching him how to stalk prey, how to track, how to shoot, and how to skin, gut and joint all manner of game with the grace of a fine artisan. In turn, Richard helped cut wood, tend the vegetable garden, feed the animals and make repairs on the modest cottage.

  “Peter seemed to have no interest in domestic tasks, preferring the solitude of the forest, so often left Richard alone with Margarite while he was tending his chores. And as autumn became winter, Peter was gone for longer, going for hunts on his own, because (he said) that Richard was not up to such arduous conditions, and game was scarce and wary.

  “These absences, however, gave Margarite opportunity to apprentice the young man in even finer and more valuable skills.

  “Richard became aware of Margarite’s eyes on him from the very first, and it was on his second afternoon alone with her that Margarite suddenly appeared to him in the barn, completely naked. Stunned still but aroused by her beauty, Richard found himself backed against a post, with Margarite pressing in close, her hand stroking his manhood hard through his breeches. She then took his hand and led it on an exploration of her body, her breasts, and finally her sex. Richard was shocked by the heat and wetness of it, but she guided his fingers between her nether lips, and moaned in appreciation at his quick study. Richard could feel her slip her own fingers inside herself, then she held the fingers to his lips. Her musk made him shudder, and she bade him suck it from her fingertips, telling him he would find no sweeter wine in all the world, once he learned to properly appreciate it. Then she pulled his cock from his breeches, wrapped one leg around him and positioned his hands to support her while she impaled herself on him. Then she showed him how to move with her the way she liked, and in moments she was shuddering in his arms. But when she felt him begin to respond in kind, she pulled off of him, took him in her skillful hands and, dropping to her knees, milked his seed from him with her mouth, before gently scolding him never to spill his seed in her womb. Then she left him without a word, and acted as if nothing had transpired, until their next afternoon alone.

  “Richard was cutting wood when he heard her calling from the cottage, and when he entered warily, found her on her bed, her legs splayed open to him, fingering herself shamelessly. It was time, she told him, for another lesson.

  “There were many lessons, when Peter was away. She taught him how to touch her, how to kiss her. She taught him how to play her sex like a fine instrument with his fingers, then she taught him how to do it with his tongue. She showed him how to bring her to orgasm just by touching and kissing her breasts, and she cultivated his taste for her precious nectar, which he drank from her body at every opportunity. And, of course, she taught him how to fuck her, in all the positions she liked (and she liked quite a few), training him to hold his seed for longer and longer, and only to spill it when he was out of her (or in her mouth). And because he was a strong youth, she delighted in how quickly she could make him recover himself, which proved useful by the onset of Peter’s long, winter trips.

  “If Peter suspected anything, he made no indication. And it wasn’t that Peter did not show interest in his wife: Richard often listened jealously while they made love in their room. Richard even suspected she made sure to be loud so that he would hear them, and perhaps even peek in through the shutters to watch them.

  “The next spring, Peter presented Richard with a letter of introduction to any lord in the land, certifying his skill and the name of his own former employer—a baroness—as reference to Peter’s own expertise. Peter, however, gave Richard an unexplained warning: that he could seek employment with any noble house except that of his own former employer.

  “Margarite, however, had other recommendations. She wrote out her own letter for him, a specific introduction to the baroness that had employed both her and her husband, with an assurance of her own of Richard’s proven ‘skills’.

  “It was with these two letters that Richard reluctantly left his first teachers (and first lover), to seek the estate of the Baroness…”

  Chapter Four: The Enchanted Castle

  The sun was setting again by the time the coach pulled up to the gatehouse of the five-towered castle. Marie was exhausted by the trip, but more so numbed beyond disgust by the behavior of her traveling companions.

  Rose’s foray into storytelling had led to autoerotic arousal that Harriet had gleefully responded two. Marie quickly learned that the split-skirt design of their dresses made for easy (and thankfully somewhat discreet) access to slip a hand inside, and the two began fingering each other shamelessly into fits of delirium. After an interminable episode of this, they slipped off into sleep in each other’s arms until the coach stopped in the forest for lunch, during which Marie had to endure the leering and giggling of the lovers as well as the chilling stares of the redheaded “footman”.

  Afterward, Marie was grateful that she only had to endure Harriet’s life story, which was mostly one of colorless whoring at the inn, and ridicule of the overall incompetence of the male sex in the bedroom, salted with vivid complaints regarding the horrendous hygiene of the average traveler. Rose remained attentive and thoughtful but thankfully silent during this narrative, and was equally silent to Harriet’s attempts to inquire into Rose’s own history, or that of her husband, though promised to tell those tales in due time.

  Marie was so tired of the endless hours of gutter-talk, and so dreading a repeat of their masturbatory games, that she hid herself under the hood of her mother’s cloak, and therefore did not see the castle walls until they were almost on the narrow rising road up to the drawbridge. There was light in the gatehouse arrow loops, and the bridge was down to greet them. The portcullis rolled up just as the carriage approached, and then closed behind.

  They stopped in the Bailey before the gates of the Keep, and Marie jumped in fright as a large, dark shape fluttered down in a silent rush from the roof of the coach. She was not comforted when the flurry of fabric solidified into the form of a slight woman in a red dress and cloak, whose flaming red hair, freckled skin and pale eyes identified her as their former “footman”. The woman had not only managed (and dared) change clothes atop the coach, but had made almost no sound whatsoever doing so. Her almost equally silent and fluid leap from the coach had Marie considering whether she was looking at flesh or phantom, but it was a solid and strong hand (under a red leather glove) that pulled open the coach door.

  “Thank you, Claire,” Rose greeted her as she debarked the coach, her tone more that of a noble addressing a peer than a servant. Harriet was quick to stay close to Rose’s side, and Marie was thankful to realize that she wasn’t the only one unsettled by this rather unexpected display. But then there was more that she did not expect:

  The courtyard was filling with women, dressed in the simple, functional clothing of housemaids, spinners and cooks. But then Marie saw others dressed in the more masculine trappings of grooms, blacksmiths, carpenters and masons. And guards.

&nb
sp; The redhead Claire was wearing a sword and daggar as Rose had in her masculine clothing, but at the gate and up on the walls were women on watch with crossbows, swords and glaives, looking as comfortable with their tools as any male soldier she had ever seen.

  Marie had heard the tale of the “Castle of Women” from legend, but that was a Keep of maidens captive to a male lord. This was an apparent kingdom of women, and Marie could not grasp the possibility of such a thing.

  She had no real time to consider this, however, as two of the maids led her into the Keep behind Rose and the close-clinging Harriet.

  Once they were within the halls, however, it was Harriet who received perhaps the worst shock. A tall, strong-looking woman with blonde hair and green eyes, wearing a golden gown, met Rose, embraced her warmly and then kissed her deeply on the mouth. Rose readily returned this affection, apparently made more urgent by her recent absence, and only broke the kiss after becoming aware of the discomforted squirming of her recent lover. She turned to the newcomers and presented an unexpected introduction:

  “Harriet. Marie. May I introduce you to the Baroness Ella, my wife.”

  Marie found some strength then in her own reaction, which was to resist rolling her eyes and sighing with exasperation. From what she had been forced to witness these last two days, she found this new madness was no real surprise. What did take her somewhat aback was Rose, who turned to Harriet and kissed her just as passionately in front of Ella, who seemed to take no offense. Rose then presented Harriet to Ella, who looked her over appraisingly, ran fingers through her hair, then idly traced them over the serving maid’s fleshy bosom. Much taller and physically larger than Harriet, Ella bent down to press their lips together, lightly and furtively, and her tongue danced over them a bit, as if she was tasting Rose’s new prize. Harriet seemed about to melt in Ella’s hands, and then Ella stopped and looked at Marie with an approving—if strangely familiar—smile, then back to Rose.