Tales of the Huntsman

by M Palmeri

  Claire withdrew to lick the back of her wrist and hand, purring and grinning. Marie ignored her own wounds.

  “You might just do,” Claire told her almost appreciatively.

  The next evening, after supper, Claire took Marie up onto the battlements and began teaching her how to fence. It was not so much a formal training in technique: Claire was trying to size up Marie’s natural responses, her strengths and instincts, the way she moved. Then she would tell her how to make better use of those things.

  “You are not a man, so there is no use teaching you how to fight like one,” Claire told her. “Nor are you me, so there is no use teaching you to move as I. Your own body and heart will teach you how best to use them, just as they will pick your weapons of choice. Of course, I doubt you’ll find a better weapon to use against a man than your own body.”

  These lessons had other effects on Marie.

  She found she was becoming more aggressive with Richard in the bedroom, especially so right after a particularly winding round with Claire. She was also rougher and more dominant in their play, and far less reluctant to take her pleasure into her own hands.

  This assertiveness began to play out when Richard had other women, too. Not only would Marie watch, but she began—tentatively at first, then more insistently—to give commands, telling the maids what to do for Richard and Richard what to do to them. And she was no longer hesitant to touch herself while she watched.

  And as a reward for her newfound boldness, Richard made sure to attend to her after he had done with whoever shared their bed—and Marie came to think of it as their bed—with even greater passion.

  But it was during some of these performances that Marie became aware that someone was watching her—movement from somewhere in the rafters—though this only seemed to embolden her further: she would make sure whoever it was had a clear view, wanting them to see just how much she had taken command of this bed and any who came to it.

  Until finally, one evening, Rose herself came.

  The Countess presented herself at the foot of the bed just as Marie had begun quietly directing Richard in foreplay, and without a word, slipped free of her black gown. She put her hands behind her back and lowered her eyes subserviently. When she spoke, it was in the voice of the most coyly timid of the serving girls.

  “Command me, milady,” Rose told her softly. “I am yours tonight.”

  Marie smiled, almost giggling as images flooded her mind’s eye. She commanded Richard:

  “Bind her wrists to the wall, my love. I want her to watch us, but she won’t be touching herself.”

  Richard did as he was told, tying Rose to the wall by the tub, arms up over her head.

  “Her ankles, too. She’ll be keeping those inviting legs closed.”

  A second rope completed the task, leaving Rose hung stretched on the wall facing the bed. Marie slid out of bed and approached the helpless Countess, putting her own naked body within an inch of Rose’s. She teased one of Rose’s nipples with the tip of her finger, locking eyes with Richard as Rose began to respond. Then she put her hands on the wall on either side of Rose, their breasts almost brushing each other (Rose, for her part, arched her back to try for contact, but Marie stayed just out of reach).

  “Now,” Marie ordered Richard with surprising authority. “Make love with me as if I were her, exactly so.”

  Richard embraced her from behind, running his hand the length of her flanks, then cupping her breasts and kneading them roughly. He rubbed himself across her ass, and one hand left her breast to take her by the hair, pulling her head aside to expose her neck, which he immediately began to devour. The hand slipped down the front of her and found the hood of her clit, beginning a slow (slower than Marie would have imagined for Rose) rhythm. When she began to respond, the hand retreated, but immediately came again from behind, two fingers parting her lips while the middle finger began to explore her with that same glacially-slow movement. She realized that he was pacing his touch to match his deep, steady breathing, and she found herself falling into that beat herself. Then he withdrew his hand, bringing his fingers up to his lips to taste. Then he made to offer a sample to Rose, only to withdraw it teasingly as she opened her mouth to accept. Marie giggled wickedly under her breath.

  Richard sank to his knees behind Marie, pushing her legs farther apart. His tongue attacking her hungrily from behind, he slipped his fingers back up inside of her, forming them into a cone that reminded Marie of the deck pyramid. Then he pushed upward, almost hard enough to lift her, and resumed that slow rhythm. She began to grind herself into him to match it, and he used his other arm to embrace her around the hips to guide her.

  Her supports gave as she began to writhe, letting herself rub—slick with sweat—against Rose, who was quite unconvincing in pretending to recoil and struggle. Then Richard was back on his feet. He slipped his hand out of Marie and thrust all four of his fingers violently into Rose’s mouth, muzzling her gasp, and simultaneously he thrust himself all the way into Marie from behind.

  Keeping his fingers gagging Rose, Richard began to fuck Marie furiously, crushing her body into Rose’s. Marie buried her face in Rose’s hair, singing her pleasure into the Countess’ ear even as Richard threatened to take her breath away. Richard began to keen as well, and she could feel the hand gripping her start trembling uncontrollably. Knowing what was imminent, Marie was ready when Richard pulled himself out of her and guided her down to her knees. She got there just in time to take his seed in her mouth, Richard roaring almost as primally as Claire, his nectared hand still shoved in Rose’s mouth.

  Marie stood up then, pulled Richard’s fingers from Rose’s mouth, parted her lips with her own fingers, then kissed her playfully, letting Rose taste what she had just won. Then she savored the look on Richard’s face.

  And then Rose’s: The Countess hung from her bonds almost breathless, flushed, licking the remnants of Richard and Marie’s mixed chemistry from her lips. She kept her eyes lowered sheepishly, but purred her approval under her breath, squirming against the ropes to try to thrust her body back toward Marie. But Marie kept just inches out of reach, savoring Rose’s desperation. Her fingertips played again with Rose’s breasts, then she traced her nails idly down Rose’s belly until her index finger threatened to disappear into the crevice between her still-closed thighs. Rose pushed her pelvis forward with an even greater desperation now, only to have Marie remove her hand.

  Marie appraised Richard’s mood again as he watched them both, and she offered him:

  “Would you like to watch me torture her?”

  Richard’s response as she began to caress his sex inspired her.

  “Not here, though…” Marie considered wickedly.

  The evening was briskly cool, and the breeze across the battlements of the tower hardened Marie’s skin. She took satisfaction in knowing, however, how much more intense the sensation must have been for Rose, as she marched her naked, wrists bound behind her, out onto the roof of the tower.

  Richard—wearing an open robe to give him some protection from the air—followed them with a torch that he promptly used to light the other torches on the tower, before putting his to light the brazier.

  “Help me tie her,” Marie commanded him, releasing Rose’s wrists temporarily, and the two of them stretched her out onto the great horizontal cross. Once securely spread-eagled against the starry sky, Marie herself cranked up the central support, stretching Rose until she moaned and gasped for breath, bent backwards in a graceful arch. Then Marie’s eyes locked Richard’s, and she watched him as he watched her begin to play her hands over Rose’s breasts, belly and thighs.

  The Countess struggled on the cross, and now—with her legs open—the musk she had been yielding began to scent the breeze.

  Marie considered the spectacle for a moment, then bent herself down over Rose. Taking her left nipple between her teeth, she bit it playfully, then lashed it feather-light with her tongue. Rose suppressed a squeal, and wr
ithed like she was trying to get more of her breast into Marie’s mouth, but was pulled too taught to do more than squirm. Then Marie, looking again to Richard for approval, let her hand slide over Rose’s shaved sex. Her fingers recoiled for an instant—a startled reflex—on finding her wet. Recovering quickly, she hummed and began to work a fingertip between Rose’s nether lips, getting it slick, using the same slow firm stroking that Richard had just shown her.

  Rose began to draw air in deep, slow breaths, a barely audibly moan under the sound of the wind, and Marie could feel her get even wetter. It was a shocking sensation, feeling the response of another woman’s body, feeling her wetness, smelling her, and knowing what she must be doing to her. But then, Rose had done this very thing to her, and told her not to be ashamed of it, to think of Richard; and looking into his eyes, she found herself driven to even greater aggression. First her middle finger slipped inside, then her index finger joined it. The heat of her was especially intense in contrast to the night air. Marie pumped and rolled her fingers, adding a third, accelerating her rhythm and violence.

  “Put your cock in her mouth,” Marie commanded, and Richard complied—passively at first, simply putting it where Rose could lick it, then tentatively darting it between her teeth as she tried to catch her breath enough to suck him. Marie started pumping harder. “Don’t just let her suck you,” Marie corrected him, “fuck her mouth. Fuck her mouth while I put my whole hand inside of her for you.”

  Richard took Rose’s head on his hands, tilted it back, held her jaw open with one hand, and fed her his cock far enough not to choke her. Meanwhile, Marie worked four fingers and then thumb into Rose, coning her hand. Marie’s pumping thrust Rose’s mouth further up Richard’s member, and he took her by the throat and slowly pushed himself deep enough in that Marie could feel Rose’s whole body contract in response. He held it there for several seconds as she began to struggle against suffocation, then eased out to let her breathe. To Marie’s amazement, Rose roared in satisfaction as she took air, and eagerly opened her jaw for a repeat performance. This was followed by another. And another. And each time, Richard seemed to hold her at the edge of suffocation for longer and longer.

  Marie used her other hand to pull Rose far enough open to work the bridge of her knuckles in, and she curled her fingers back into a half-fist inside of her. Then she looked to Richard again:

  “Do you want to see me lick her?”

  The dare was out of her lips before she realized what she was offering, but she knew that the more intensely she ravaged Rose (and the more daring she became) the more Richard felt the benefits. Rose was now pumping her face at his sex for dear life, humming her pleasure—now intensified by Marie’s latest offer. Tentatively, Marie bent low over Rose’s fist-impaled sex, and let the tip of her tongue dart out to tease the hood of Rose’s clit. The tang and brine of her—as well as her musk—was not too far removed from her own, so she found it surprisingly familiar. She held there, starting a slow, light licking as her hand continued to stretch and pump, and she could feel Rose spasm and clamp down on her, getting wetter, her moans turning into a keening scream.

  “Her ass, now,” Marie ordered. “Fill her while I make her tight for you.”

  Richard came around quickly and Marie pulled up on Rose’s pelvis enough to give him access. She was wet enough by now to allow him to work his way inside her—Marie assisting by using her free hand to spread Rose wider—though it was slow work. Marie marveled at the way she could feel his cock inside of Rose against her own hand, and felt how much her fist-work must be pressing back against the action, intensifying it. It was like she could masturbate him while he was fucking Rose.

  Rose, for her part, was reduced to a hoarse animal roaring, broken by spates of rapid panting. Her body twisted and convulsed, stretched taught on the cross, the ropes around her wrists and ankles threatening to cut into her.

  Then Marie felt Richard start to convulse, building quickly toward explosion. She slipped her hand out of Rose and took Richard by the root of his sex, wrapping her fingers around him and pumping him violently into Rose’s ass, making sure that when he emptied himself into her, it was by Marie’s efforts.

  To savor the victory, Marie pulled Richard out of Rose and pumped the last of his seed out across Rose’s stretched belly. Then, using the hand that was still slick from fisting her, Marie rubbed the combination of both their juices all over Rose’s belly and breasts, finally slipping her fingers—all four of them together—into Rose’s breathless mouth. Rose sucked as best she could, winded, as Richard embraced Marie from behind and kissed her deeply. Marie wondered if she still tasted like Rose.

  Chapter Seventeen: The Red Hood

  After the night on the roof, Rose began encouraging Marie to explore a number of skills.

  She arranged for Ella and Julie to give her lessons in the arts of the whip, and took time herself to teach her the secrets of the rope, showing her some of her favorite ties to elicit the optimum combination of discomfort, arousal and helplessness from her subject.

  Marie, for her part, found tormenting the other women of the castle to be strangely stimulating, even if Richard wasn’t present. She imagined how she might entertain Richard with her performances, much as she had so thoroughly aroused him by binding and tormenting his wife. And the control thrilled her, giving her a satisfying level of power over the other maids in the castle. Like her night with Rose and Richard, she felt keenly aroused by the idea that she was the one in control when Richard “serviced” one of the other girls—that, indeed, it was Marie that was making love to Richard using another’s body as a kind of sexual toy (not completely unlike the carven phalluses and torture devices that the other ladies so liberally employed to please).

  In the next few weeks, she perfected the use of a variety of whips and restraints, and—in the chandelry—even learned the delicate application of searing wax to sensitive anatomy. And after each days’ education, she would seek Richard out (with a willing “volunteer” in tow) to demonstrate her newest tricks, sometimes (and with great pride) inviting her “teachers”—Rose and Ella—to attend and observe her performances.

  And then there was Claire…

  Marie’s lessons with the huntress continued as well, as she was taught to shoot as well as fence. Her redheaded mistress coached her with a sisterly patience, giving her subtle purrs of praise when she excelled (though providing equally rough reminders of the seriousness of her subject should she be careless—Marie returned with a fresh cut or bruise on most days). And after two months, over another highly-praised dinner of Claire’s own roasted bear, the huntress suggested they go on a hunt together. Richard, with a disturbingly knowing smile, consented with a nod.

  Claire fetched Marie the next morning before light, appearing at Richard’s beside without a sound to announce her. Marie—anticipating their outing with no small anxiety—had been laying awake, waiting for her, but still did not hear Claire’s coming until the redhead was inches away. She surprised herself by not starting too much, having gotten somewhat accustomed to Claire’s ghostlike stealth.

  Marie dressed quietly—careful not to wake Richard, who was still wrapped around the exhausted kitchen maid they had tormented together the previous evening—putting on what Claire had brought for her to wear: a blue suede jerkin and breeches, not too unlike Rose’s black leather boy’s costume, to which she added the hip-boots Richard had given her on the night he carried her off. She finished with her mother’s cloak, and followed Claire down to the stables. Two horses were waiting for them, saddled and loaded.

  “Here, girl,” Claire offered, pulling a very large blade from her cloak and handing it butt-first to Marie. It was like a hunter’s knife, but longer and stouter: almost two feet long, with a heavy, wide single-edged blade that came to a clipped point. The metal showed the pitting of great age and the scars of hard use, but the edge was sharpened to mirror-polish. “This is called a Seax. A young lass in the dark forest may have need of s
uch a thing.”

  But there was more to it than that, Marie was sure: the blade had some meaning—some specific history—to the huntress, and gave special weight to the gift. Marie accepted with a quiet but reverent nod, and found the weapon a place in her belt.

  Marie wished she had spent more time at riding lessons. Her horse, thankfully, was tolerant of her awkwardness and well-trained to follow where Claire’s mount went. The forests around the estate were lush and dark, and what slight trails Claire followed often seemed non-existent. By the time they stopped to eat—some bread and bacon Claire had packed—Marie had no idea where she was or how to find her way back to the estate.

  Claire seemed to catch on to the way Marie’s gaze scanned the forest for some kind of bearing, and grinned at her discomfort.

  “The horses know the way home, girl, should anything become of me.”

  Marie didn’t know what was more unsettling: the casualness in Claire’s voice about the possibility that something might befall her, or trying to imagine what in this wood could possibly pose a threat to Claire.

  And worse, after lunch, Claire took her miles further into the wood.

  The sun was beginning to get low in the sky when Claire stopped the horses and signaled for Marie to be quiet. Then she pointed off through the trees. Three deer—a three-point buck and two does—made their way idly across their path, stopping only briefly: they froze at the sight of them, but when Claire only sat in her saddle and watched them, they moved on through the thicket.

  Smiling, she guided them on into the evening.

  The howl of wolves chilled Marie more than the rapidly cooling air. Her hand found the thick hilt of the Seax under her cloak, and she found this somewhat more comforting even than her crossbow. She wondered if her lessons in fencing would suffice against a non-human opponent.