Tales of the Huntsman

by M Palmeri

  Rose stood herself very close in front of Marie, their breasts almost touching, and she leaned in to breathe the scent of her hair. Light hands ran down Marie’s arms, then settled on her hips. The fingers of one brushed the fur of her sex before tracing a line up between her breasts. Goose-bumps raised on Marie’s bare flesh, but Rose seemed more pleased that Marie seemed so determined not to flinch away. She met the proud defiance in Marie’s eyes then, and smiled back.

  “Shall we?”

  With Rose leading the way, the entourage of five naked women proceeded down the stairs to the Hall, then down a passage that Marie guessed must connect to the main tower of the castle. Rose stopped to show them what turned out to be the estate’s mill, a great round stone grinding against another, driven by wooden gears from a shaft that descended from above. Bakers were already at work dividing the flour it produced, and feeding the wheel fresh grain. Everything seemed very ordinary.

  “The wheel is driven by the force of a windmill atop the tower,” Rose explained. “But the axle powers more than just this grindstone.”

  She led them down a stairwell to another chamber, just below the mill, sealed with a heavy door. Marie was surprised to find it was not locked. But she was surprised by what lay within.

  Leanne had been bound face-up to a table-like platform, her legs splayed wide apart, her vulnerable sex facing the vertical axle of the mill. A series of gears engaged a horizontal shaft that appeared to be iron, making it pump back and forth. The end of the shaft had been set with a studded rod of silver, almost as big around as Marie’s wrist, which had been inserted into the helpless Leanne. Harriet knelt over the poor, whimpering girl, applying an oil to the shaft and the girl’s sex, and generally enjoying her predicament.

  “The previous master of this castle would leave his chosen victims strapped here for days. The original rod was much less kind than this addition, and would be inserted into the victim’s cunt or ass at his whim. The gears can be adjusted to alter the speed and depth of the stroke. In its day, a brazier was often placed to heat the rod to searing. I was told he tried to avoid inflicting mortal injury on his subjects, but the engine had been well capable of that. His mercy, however, was only motivated by his intent to use this device as a prelude to greater horrors. The rings you see on the walls were for binding the next victim in line, so that they could have a preview of what awaited them.”

  A flip of a lever disengaged the piston, which Rose then eased out of Leanne’s sex. Marie was relieved to see that it had only been inserted less than a hand’s breadth. The girl was unbound, and helped to her feet as best she could stand by Sofi and Juli.

  “Fear not, dear girl,” Rose told Marie. “This poor thing only suffered her fate for barely two hours. Ruth had insisted on having a turn first, with Harriet after her. They each lasted a good three hours.”

  Sofi unbound Marie’s arms, then bound Leanne’s with the same cord.

  “Take this tender creature to my husband,” Rose commanded the sisters. “Make certain he uses her roughly. She, after all, so badly desires a position with nobility…” And with that, Leanne was dragged away. Rose turned to Marie with a gleam in her eye.

  “I’m sure you won’t refuse my invitation to try my little machine.”

  Harriet and Mayleen were already getting Marie onto the platform. She surprised herself by how willingly she let them. Her legs were pulled apart and her ankles were tied to rings in the opposing walls, then Harriet knelt between them and began massaging oil into her sex. It was Rose herself that inserted the rod into her, though, and Marie bit her lip to keep from crying out as she felt the slick, still-warm metal fill her. A flick of the lever, and the machine started thrusting into her. It was much harder than Richard’s member, and the studs raked new sensations out of her with every thrust. But there was no passion, no feeling of another’s body against hers, only mechanical thrusting, a torture of pleasure.

  Rose knelt close by her side.

  “Just close your eyes and think of Richard,” she purred. Then softer: “There is no need to be ashamed of your pleasures. We are all sisters here, all women. There is no sin in what powers our bodies hold, what magic, what beauty…”

  Harriet poured oil onto the shaft.

  “I can make it go faster, if you like,” Rose whispered. Marie found herself shaking her head.

  “Then let me tell you a story…”

  Chapter Twelve: The Cat in Boots

  “Rosalie, the Red Baroness, loved her husband dearly, despite her dalliances with dozens of other young women, and his own. When they made love together, their passion and intimacy for each other only intensified over the passage of years. And because of this, Rosalie sought to give her husband even greater wealth and property.

  “Not that this was her sole motivation for her next adventure: She also had a desire to expand her estates, and with them, her women’s utopia. And she had some unfinished business to attend to.

  “So it was with these ends in mind that she presented herself to her skillful tailors and cobblers, had herself measured for a noble youth’s traveling jacket and breeches, and a fine pair of thigh boots, all in black. With this, her armorers produced a fine matched pair of sword and dagger with silver hilts. Complete with long-cuffed fencing gloves and her hair tied up under a rakish hat, she looked every bit the dandy boy. And then she presented herself as such to her husband.

  “Her disguise did not fool him, for he knew her better than any alive. But that was not her mind: what she wished was his consent to travel in the world of men as a man, to learn their business and be included among them. Richard was reluctant, to say the least, fearing for her safety. But his wife could be very persuasive.

  “And it was dressed just so that Rosalie presented herself at the castle estate of Duke Charles, with a letter of introduction naming her Roland, chief page of the Baron Richard. She found the Duke in exceptionally poor spirits, and inquired—on behalf of her master the Baron—if there was anything Richard might do to improve his mood.

  “The Duke composed a letter after some skillful cajoling by the unusually empathic page, explaining his twin distresses. He had been without a bride since the death in childbirth of his beloved wife, and though he actively pursued the maids in his service, he found them wholly unenthusiastic in matters of the bedroom. His wife, it appeared, had been a passionate and skillful lover, a rare find among the aristocracy. Now, still vital though advancing in years, the Duke had resigned himself to a life without passion.

  “His other complaint was a far more political and economic one: his lands neighbored that of a Count of dark reputation, that some considered a sorcerer in the gossip of the townsfolk, even more feared than Rosalie’s Stepmother Therese. He lived in a five-towered fortress that commanded some of the most fertile lands in the valley; fertility, some said, that was due to his blood sacrifices of the young virgin women that he was reputed to buy from the poor serfs, maids who would never leave his castle once they entered.

  “Charles’ plight was that his own estates had fallen into debt—if not for that, he confided in the charming boy, he could surely support adequate courtesans—and his own fields were laying fallow. He coveted the Count’s land, but could find no way to lay claim to it, despite the Count’s reputation as a heretic. The Count, you see, was careful to deny the prying eyes of visitors, and kept only a small, loyal guard that enforced his harsh will upon his serfs.

  “Rosalie knew well of this Count Frederick, because it was he who had apprenticed her stepmother in the ways of her cruel and carnal magics.

  “So the page took the letter, only to read it on the road: In it, the Duke asked Richard to consider his debt to him, to help sate his frustrated passions, to send him someone to comfort his heart and his body in his old age, and to restore his vigor for politicking against the Count.

  “Rosalie, as Roland, returned in two days with a solution to both problems: her apprentice Mayleen.

  “Charles granted a pr
ivate audience to be introduced to the fairest creature he had laid eyes on in decades, and Mayleen surprised him by being more than just a feast for his eyes. Standing her before his chair, the page slipped the gown from the young maid’s shoulders, presenting her to him completely. The page, sensitive to the Duke’s need for privacy, excused himself from the chamber, leaving the lady to demonstrate her skills.

  “But it was not the page Roland, but the Baroness Rosalie that the Duke found in his antechamber some hours later, when he had gathered himself to summon the page for a reply.

  “‘I take it that you have found my gift to your liking, my lord,’ Rosalie purred. And if the Duke noticed that she was wearing the same purple dress that Mayleen had arrived in, he did not say so.

  “‘She is an exceptional woman,’ the Duke agreed, unsure if he was dreaming. ‘I have known none like her, not since the passing of my wife. The things she can do, as if she knows my body as her own…’

  “‘I have inherited the magic of my step-mother as well as her estate, my lord,’ Rosalie continued. ‘Let it serve you, as well.’

  “‘For a price?’ Charles concluded swiftly. ‘If you read my letter to your husband, you know I have little to pay.’

  “‘Consider my gift as a payment of my debt to you,’ Rosalie gave him. ‘She comes to you as willingly as I do give her. But you will find she has exquisite hungers. As do you, I believe, if you have retained them since the time of my stepmother.’

  “‘I should have you lashed for your forwardness, lady,” the Duke put on airs of propriety for the sake of his honor, “though I do appreciate your gift.’

  “‘I have more to give you, lord. Much more. For a price, but not gold. And I may let you whip me anyway, if it pleases you.’

  “‘What price, witch?’ But the Duke was more intrigued and aroused than angered.

  “‘Nothing of yours,’ Rosalie teased. ‘Go back to your bed, my lord. Enjoy my gift, as I am certain she will be ready for you again. I will send my page to you again in time, with my terms.’

  “She left his chambers then, and when he later inquired, she had not been seen entering or leaving his estate.

  “The page Roland returned two weeks later, bringing three more skillful young women. The Duke, for his part, had become quite fond of Mayleen in this time (because she was as intelligent and witty as she was beautiful and skilled in the bedroom arts), and he was reluctant to accept them, despite their fairness. It was Mayleen herself that convinced him, and in turn, shared them with him.

  “Again, the Duke found Rosalie in his chambers in the morning.

  “‘Any price, my lady,’ he agreed readily.

  “‘The castle and title of Count Frederick,’ Rosalie named. ‘For my husband.’

  “The Duke was aghast: ‘Impossible!’ he exclaimed. ‘Something else… Anything else! That is not mine to give…’

  “‘My lord, you do not understand,’ Rosalie soothed him. ‘It is I who will give it to you. Then, you may give it to my husband.’”

  Rose had put her hand gently over Marie’s eyes, and Harriet added oil to the shaft that continued pumping into her. Mayleen seemed content to watch from somewhere over by the wall. Marie did not need to see to know that the women had been idly masturbating while they watched her, but found she was grateful for being kept from seeing it. Blindness allowed her mind to wander, to fantasize. But though she tried to imagine Richard’s attentions as the mill kept up the steady, mechanical fucking, she kept getting drawn back into Rose’s tale.

  “It was early on the next day when Roland, with the Duke’s wary consent, escorted Mayleen by carriage to the gates of his rival’s castle. Presenting as an emissary of the Baroness bearing a special gift, they were granted entry and audience.

  “Count Frederick was a graying but impressive figure, gaunt in face but strong of body, who met them in rather informal though richly embroidered robes, as if he had just been called from his bed at midday. The scent that hung upon him betrayed something of what he had been about, yet he seemed particularly intrigued by Mayleen. The Count was equally eager to dismiss the lad from his presence that he might take possession of his gift, without so much as a statement of gratitude in reply.

  “‘My lord,’ the page interrupted daringly, ‘I must insist that I be allowed to remain for what follows.’

  “The Count turned in anger and was about to have the lad seized and thrown in chains, but the boy was already undressing. Throwing aside hat and gloves, revealing delicate hands and long coal-black hair. Pulling open jacket and tunic to give hint of what lay concealed there.

  “‘Rosalie…’ the Count identified, quickly signaling his guardsmen to leave them. ‘Daughter of Therese. Betrayer of Therese.’ His intrigue began to quickly return to anger. Her blouse undone to her belt, Rosalie went to Mayleen and casually disrobed her.

  “‘A fair turn, my lord. She wanted me dead. But she taught me well. Though not as well as you taught her. Which is what brings me to you.’

  “‘To betray me as well?’

  “‘I am prepared to provide proof to the contrary. This girl, for a start: you will find her quite skilled, and more than that: willing and eager to serve you up to and including the ultimate sacrifice. I condition my slaves to embrace this as the ultimate expression of their love and devotion, to give their very lives for my pleasure.’

  “Rosalie then commanded Mayleen: ‘Speak. What have I promised you this day?’

  “’That I may die for you, Mistress,’ Mayleen answered with both obedience and enthusiasm. ‘And that you will torture me for your enjoyment for a long time beforehand.’

  “’And you willingly submit to this?’ Rosalie pressed her.

  “’It is all that I dream of, all that I live for,’ Mayleen recited submissively.

  “’The ultimate expression of love: to die for another,’ Rosalie mocked, then promised the Count: ‘I can provide you dozens like her. In exchange for teaching me your own skills, lord, there is no price I will not pay.’ And so saying, she rendered herself as equally bare as Mayleen.

  “‘We shall see…’ the Count hissed ,unconvinced by the performance, and led them directly to this very room.

  “There, hung by her wrists from the rings on the wall, was the lean body of a dark-haired farm girl, her flesh striped with lashes. One leg had been hauled up so that she stood on the toes of one foot. The Count promptly returned to what he’d been about, picking up a long switch and whipping the girl’s exposed sex from below. It seemed that he had been at this so long that she could no longer even manage to whimper.

  “‘I usually prefer to torment my charges in pairs,’ he explained, ‘until they choose who will go first, and who will watch. But now, perhaps you will offer me your young lady to go ahead.’

  “Rosalie expressed the utmost enthusiasm, and Mayleen the utmost obedience, as if this is what they had come expecting. So the Count directed Rosalie in binding Mayleen to this very platform, spreading her legs wide, and operating the mill’s piston. But it was Rosalie who boldly suggested placing the shaft in Mayleen’s ass, and Mayleen began impressing the Count with her willing ascension, and her commitment did not falter even when he threatened to set a brazier to the rod.

  “It was Rosalie that coyly suggested another option: that she be allowed to demonstrate not only her own favorite passions, but the absolute obedience of her servants. Mounting Mayleen in reverse, Rosalie added to the ravaging of the rod by inserting her hand to the wrist inside Mayleen’s vulnerable sex, and set to licking the doubly-impaled girl while planting her own sex squarely on Mayleen’s mouth, smothering her repeatedly almost to unconsciousness. And though breathless, the maid serviced her mistress impressively…”

  Marie jerked against her bonds. A gentle finger—she wasn’t sure whose—had begun to lightly massage her oiled clit with a quick rhythm. She gasped in protest, but Rose hushed her.

  “Do not be ashamed by the pleasures of your body,” she repeated. “We
are all intimates here, sisters, sharing with each other what we would otherwise do to ourselves alone—not even with our men. Have you touched yourself like this for him yet? See: you can do it while he is penetrating you. You can take control of your pleasure, guide it, enhance it—and his as well, because he will be aroused all the more by the beauty of your orgasm, and your enthusiasm for it. Let us teach you how. Let us show you what is possible…”

  And in the moment that it took Marie to catch in her breath, she felt yet another caress on her clit: lighter, softer, wetter. And then the unmistakable warmth of breath. Rose was licking her. Then another pair of skilled hands took hold of her breasts and began to massage them, to knead them, turning and pinching her nipples between slender fingers.

  Marie began to whimper, though she no longer tried to struggle away from what was happening to her. She was overcome with shock and horror, made more maddening because her body was indeed betraying her: the attentions of her tormenters were carrying her into ecstasy. And she remembered something Richard had said: “Bound, you are free.”

  Marie caught a breath thick with another woman’s musk, and Rose’s hand came away from her eyes. Mayleen—still at work on her breasts, was straddling her face, her slick sex only inches away. Harriet abandoned her post as Rose’s mouth was maintaining Marie’s lubrication now, and Harriet’s hand met Mayleen’s wetness and began to finger her furiously, with a rhythm that matched what Rose’s tongue was doing to Marie.

  Marie began to convulse in her bonds, her mind flashing with images of Richard and more: again came images of her naïve and haughty stepsisters surrendered to tortures like this, tortures that were being meted out at her own direction…