‘God but that feels good,’ he panted and began to bugger her.
Peggy’s noises became louder and more urgent as she was bounced up and down on his cock, an abandoned, dirty show of helpless response to what was being done to her. It was also a response that delighted Henry, especially at the thought that her coarse, animal grunting might be heard by the sailors above the creak of planking and cordage. Several knot-holes studded the crude walls of the cabin and, as he quickened his pace inside her, he looked back, thinking to sense a sudden movement by at least one of the holes. Delighting in the thought of the crew watching him bugger Peggy, he let go of her hips and pulled her plump cheeks wide apart, providing the hidden onlookers with a prime view of her anus straining around his intruding cock.
For a long while, he kept his pushes short and regular, delighting in the feel of having his cock squeezed in the velvet soft flesh of her rectum. Peggy continued to respond with grunts, which then became joined by little whimpering noises. Finally, she let go of her skirt and put her hand down between her thighs to masturbate.
‘Wanton trollop!’ Henry laughed, drawing a sob from Peggy that combined both pleasure and misery.
He began to pace himself, concentrating on the sight of her naked bottom and the way her anal ring was alternately sunk in and drawn out by his cock. His orgasm began and he slowed, breathing evenly as her masturbation became more urgent and she began to bounce herself on the rigid pole of flesh in her rectum. She began to sob, then pant, little urgent noises of total surrender to the pleasure of being buggered. Then her anus tensed around his shaft and he knew she was coming. With a flurry of frantic pushes, he took himself to his own orgasm, feeling his sperm erupt inside her as the powerful pulsing of her bottom-hole drew it out of his cock. She screamed his name, loud and urgent, then slowly began to sink down as he too finished his orgasm in her bowels.
‘You bastard!’ she managed weakly as she slumped back on to his body.
He made no response, despite several more or less witty rejoinders that came to mind. Instead he cuddled her to him, allowing his cock to slip slowly from the sticky embrace of her anus. Her mind, he knew, would be a flood of emotions, centring on shame, not for allowing him to sodomise her, but for taking so much enjoyment in the dirtiest of acts. Yet the ease of entry made him certain that he had not been the first to bugger her and he was confident of her ability to come to terms with her own wantonness. For a long time he held her, only kissing her and pushing gently at her shoulders when having her weight on top of him began to get uncomfortable, due to the string of the hammock cutting into his flesh.
‘That was a great treat,’ he said evenly as she dismounted. ‘May I assume that such delights will be a regular feature of our coming journey?’
‘You may,’ she responded very quietly.
‘Splendid,’ he answered, ‘but you should have said so in the first place, then I’d have come along happily.’
‘Until we reach St Romain, I want you to be mine,’ she said, suddenly passionate.
‘Why not after?’ Henry queried.
‘Eloise will want you,’ Peggy informed him resignedly. ‘She is in love with you.’
‘Well, she’s got a damned funny way of showing it!’ Henry exclaimed.
‘She is; she calls your name in her sleep, and sometimes when . . . when . . .’
‘When she plays with herself, you mean. Don’t worry, I know just what you girls are like. I’ll grant she fancies me, then, but love? Hardly, I think; else why leave me boot-blacked in a freezing alley? Mark you, I’ve known women with some damn peculiar tastes in my time – the piece Charles had, for instance, apparently she likes a lighted candle stuck up her arse, or so he said.’
‘You don’t understand. Eloise hates herself for loving you. She is too proud to admit to loving any man, least of all you, after the way you treated her.’
‘Teasing little baggage deserved it, have no doubt. Anyway, who’s to say I’d rather have her than you?’
Peggy responded with a weak smile, as if to imply that he was only humouring her. Dipping a cloth into a half-full bucket of water on the floor, she pulled it up and lifted her skirts to dab between her legs. Henry watched, fascinated by the process and entirely indifferent to the slight blush on her face. When she had dropped her skirts back into place, she took a fresh rag and wetted it before giving him an enquiring glance.
‘Going back to your earlier remarks on my character,’ Henry remarked as he lay back in the hammock. ‘It is true that I am fond of Charles, and I’d not like to see him put below ground by Jinks, nor any other. Yet I cannot lay claim to absolute altruism. The late Captain Jinks, you see, was one of those unpleasant types who actually enjoy killing their fellow men. So I had to do it, or sooner or later he’d have got to me, probably when —’
‘Do not so deprecate yourself, Henry,’ Peggy interrupted softly as she applied the wet rag to his genitals. ‘You need not hide your true nature from me.’
‘Oh, I have no illusions as to my qualities,’ Henry continued casually, ‘nor as to my failings – or what society deems failings. I am every bit the rake and ne’er-do-well my brother paints me but, for all that, I’ll not desert a friend. No, the thing with Jinks – as I was about to say – is that eventually he’d have been bound to discover that I’d bedded his little sister.’
Five
Henry Truscott, Peggy Wray and Todd Gurney came to a stop and peered out from among the scrub at the edge of the cliff they had reached. Below was the bowl of green that surrounded the village of St Romain, with the Château perched on its crag at the far side. If the disaster which Peggy had feared had happened, then no sign was evident. Indeed, the scene appeared to Henry to be one of rustic calm. Briefly, he wondered if the whole trip was not in fact some fantastic wild goose chase dreamt up by Eloise de la Tour-Romain.
Yet the turmoil of the French countryside had been fully evident during their long journey.4 Docking at St Nazaire, they had taken passage on a barge as far as Tours and then hired a skiff. At first the countryside had been quiet and Henry had wondered what all the fuss was about. Then, as they left the Vendee for Anjou and then Touraine, they had come across increasing signs of unrest. Twice they had seen the burnt ruins of Châteaux and, of those that remained, many were evidently deserted. The attitude of the people was also very different from what Henry had been used to on his previous visits to France. Fawning, indifference and miserable sulking had been replaced with disrespect, suspicion and surly antagonism, none of which had made the journey any easier. Nevertheless, by carefully avoiding trouble, they had arrived at Cosne unmolested.
Travelling east across the Bazois, they had found the land emptier and its people increasingly bucolic, to the point where once more it seemed as if nothing was amiss. On arriving at the small town of Châtillon, they had even taken rooms at an inn, spending their first night in real comfort since leaving St Nazaire. Throughout the journey, Henry had been sleeping with Peggy and also taking whatever other opportunities for sex with her were offered. Being of a generous nature and keen not to cause bad feeling among the party, he had also persuaded her to give Todd Gurney the pleasure of her mouth and breasts each evening. In their room at Châtillon, this took on a new dimension, with the two men sharing her eager cunt, once her excitement had broken down her reserve.
From there, they had struck out across country, keen to avoid Autun, which Peggy held to be a hotbed of insurrection. After three days of tramping through the dank black woods and precipitous valleys of the Morvan, they had arrived at the cliff above St Romain, wet, footsore and exhausted, but filled with elation at having made the journey. Now they watched the Château, each seeking evidence of Eloise’s presence.
‘No pennons fly from the Château,’ Peggy said in a small voice. ‘Perhaps we are too late.’
At her words, Henry realised that what he had taken for an air of peace was in fact one of desertion. Not only were there no pennons flying from the towe
rs and spires of the Château, but no smoke rose from its chimneys and no movement whatever could be seen in its environs. Feeling something of a heel, he placed his arm around Peggy’s shoulders.
‘Nonsense, nonsense,’ he assured her, with a good deal more confidence than he felt. ‘She’ll be there, slinging chamber pots and bullying the menials with all her normal fire.’
‘See, sir,’ Gurney spoke up, ‘two men in brown lounge by the gate to the left of the castle. They’ve no soldierly look to them, neither.’
‘There you are, you see,’ Henry addressed Peggy. ‘Why bother with a guard if nobody is within?’
Her only response was a faint sniff, which Henry chose to take for agreement.
‘So we need to get in,’ he continued. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Walk round the cliff top, knack their jolly knobs together and take the dells while they’re not in their senses,’ Gurney suggested.
‘A plan that has the merits of simplicity and practicality,’ Henry replied, ‘but falls short on two counts. Firstly, they might resent the treatment and they appear to have muskets. Secondly, I would speculate that the approach to the Château is visible from at least part of the village. No, we need to get close without being recognised for who we are.’
‘A priest might pass,’ Peggy suggested.
‘I didn’t think the church was any too popular,’ Henry objected.
‘Only for their greed and ungodliness,’ she answered, ‘the faith of the peasants is strong and a simple priest would still command respect.’
‘Perhaps,’ Henry admitted reluctantly, ‘but could I pass? What do I know of papist mummery? Where would we get a cassock or whatever it is they wear?’
‘You could pass in a cowled habit, such as friars wear,’ she insisted, ‘and as for their ways, simply walk slowly with your head bowed, play with your rosary and mutter in Latin.’
‘I know only dog Latin,’ he answered, ‘and besides, where would I get the habit?’
‘Simply mutter words,’ she said.
‘As to the friar,’ Gurney cut in, ‘we find one, knack his jolly knob on a tree and pinch his habit.’
‘And how many friars have we seen since leaving Châtillon?’ Henry demanded.
‘Two, maybe three,’ Gurney admitted.
‘To our right is the hamlet of Orches,’ Peggy put in. ‘In the rocks above lives a hermit.’
‘For every objection you have an answer,’ Henry sighed. ‘So be it, then; let us accost this hermit and hope that he is not unduly lousy.’
Henry’s confidence waned as he approached the Château. After visiting the hermit of Orches and divesting the unfortunate man of his habit, they had returned to the top of the cliff. Henry had taken his leave of the others with a sense of bravado and mischief that at the time had been in keeping with his real feelings. Indeed, the venture seemed no more dangerous than had his youthful forays to seduce the village girls. The guards, he was sure, would prove to be merely local bumpkins, no more capable of distinguishing him from a real priest than of telling his English accent from a regional French one, and probably drunk at that.
On closer approach, they proved to be large, active-looking men with unpleasantly intelligent expressions, for all their evident boredom. Suddenly it seemed inevitable that they would penetrate his disguise, yet both were looking at him and it was too late to back out. Mumbling vaguely under his breath and toying nervously with his rosary, he came closer, hoping vainly that they might simply allow him to walk past.
‘What are you about, Father?’ the larger of the two enquired as Henry drew level.
The deference in the man’s voice immediately boosted Henry’s confidence. For all his presumed revolutionary ambitions, here was evidently a man who retained a life-time’s respect for the cloth. His sense of his own innate worth returned as quickly as it had fled.
‘I come to take the confession of the wicked hoyden de la Tour-Romain,’ he answered boldly. ‘I have travelled far, from the city of Nantes, at tales of her depravity. I understand that she is within.’
‘That she is,’ the guard replied, ‘and as to her wickedness, you may expect to be some hours inside.’
The other guard laughed, Henry giving a muttered blessing in dog Latin and continuing on his way, buoyed by the ease with which he had passed.
‘And don’t forget to ask her about the pool in Chaume woods,’ the second guard called after him, showing less reverence but no more suspicion than the first.
No challenge followed him as he crossed the space between gates and the door of the Château, nor was there any resistance as he pushed it open and stepped within. Looking from side to side, he wondered where Eloise would be, and wished he had thought to ask Peggy for a description of the interior of the Château. One route seemed as good as another, and he crossed the hall to a tall doorway.
This proved to enter on to the chapel, a grand, ornate structure that seemed to him entirely in keeping with his preconceptions of both Eloise’s family and of the Roman Catholic church. Glancing around, he wondered whether any of the smaller ornaments might serve a more useful purpose transferred to his purse. They would, after all, undoubtedly be looted by the local populace if he did not rescue them first. Just as he was about to examine a promising-looking chalice, he caught the sound of a footstep, turning to find Eloise herself coming into the chapel.
‘Father?’ she queried.
Henry turned, intent on making a dramatic revelation of himself as her saviour, then stopped abruptly.
‘My child,’ he said gruffly. ‘I have come to take your confession.’
Without a word, Eloise stepped towards a double chamber of dark, intricately carved wood, entering it and closing the tall, narrow door behind her. Henry followed suit, entering the other half of the confessional and seating himself on the bench within, entirely at a loss for the orthodox form of the Roman Catholic confession, yet still full of the sense of mischief that had brought him so far. Also, a number of suspicious-looking stains within the confessional hinted at a somewhat dilute reverence among its usual occupants.
‘Speak, my child,’ he ventured, still talking in a low, guttural voice to disguise his accent.
‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,’ Eloise’s voice came quietly from beyond the screen.
‘Confess your sin, my child,’ Henry continued.
Eloise paused and Henry realised that he had said the wrong thing, but then her voice started once more, quiet and urgent.
‘It has been a month since my last confession, Father,’ she said.
‘That is a long time, my child,’ Henry replied, taking a guess that such a break would be unusual.
‘Life has not been as it might, Father,’ Eloise answered, the apology evident in her voice raising Henry’s confidence.
‘What then of your sin?’ he enquired.
‘I have had many wicked and unworthy thoughts . . .’ she began.
‘Carnal thoughts, my child?’ Henry interrupted, keen not to get into the minor and undoubtedly extensive details of Eloise’s sins.
‘Some . . . yes . . . many,’ she admitted.
‘And have you acted upon these?’
‘Yes.’
‘In what way, my child?’
‘I . . . I . . .’
‘You may speak freely. God, remember, already knows what is in your heart.’
‘I . . . I have had carnal knowledge of my maidservants,’ Eloise answered in a tiny, quite voice.
‘Indeed?’ Henry replied. ‘And what form did this take?’
‘I . . . I am shamed to say, Father,’ Eloise replied.
‘You must do so,’ Henry responded firmly.
‘It has happened many times since my last confession,’ she stammered. ‘Once, I became aroused while beating my lady in waiting and commanded her to . . . to perform an act upon my person with her tongue. The night my father left, I took her into my bed, for comfort, but that night and each night since we have had knowledge
of each other’s bodies.’
‘This is a most grievous sin, my child,’ he replied in the most dolorous tones he could manage. ‘Confess the full depth of your shame, that your soul may be relieved of its burden. I fear you must be specific.’
‘I . . . I have taken her in my arms and had carnal thoughts while kissing her full on the mouth,’ Eloise continued haltingly. ‘I have kissed her breasts and known pleasure in the act, to which she has also responded in a like manner. She has kissed me in that most intimate of places and I have done likewise, both in the hours of night and in the light. We have even come together head to toe, with our lips pressed to the private persons of one another . . .’
Henry swallowed. His cock was a hard lump within the confines of his breeches, straining for release and the satisfaction of Eloise’s body.
‘. . . and a yet darker sin have I committed,’ she continued from behind the carved screen. Following the beating I mentioned, I had her kiss my posteriors, and . . . and between them . . .’
‘You made her lick your breech?’ Henry gurgled.
‘No, Father,’ Eloise responded hastily. ‘She did it willingly, for pleasure . . .’
‘That is worse!’ Henry exclaimed. ‘Filthy, lascivious harlot! Worse still, if it was done without darkness to cover your shame, was it?’
‘Yes, Father,’ Eloise replied as Henry gave in to his lust and lifted his habit.
‘How so?’ he demanded as he pulled his penis free of his breeches.
‘I . . . I bade her lie on the floor,’ she went on, ‘and I made to curtsey over her face, settling myself upon her so that she might kiss my posteriors. She put her lips to one and then the other, and so great was my pleasure that I could not resist settling my self full upon her mouth, and . . . and . . .’
‘And she kissed your fundament?’ Henry asked weakly, his head swimming with the image of Eloise sat proudly on Natalie’s face, the maid’s tongue pushed well into her mistress’s anus. ‘For how long?’
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