“I do, milady,” Maeva said.
“We in Bellegarde prefer to be appealed as Mistress.”
Maeva nodded. “Pardon, Mistress.”
Bélise smiled, her black lips revealing a hint of white teeth. “Never mind.”
She came closer. Maeva could smell her perfume, a heady mix of smoke and blue berries, and something darker, more animal. She squeezed her thighs together.
Bélise cupped her right breast in her hand, her fingers black against the white skin of the nun. Maeva shuddered, and hummed softly.
“You are beautiful,” Bélise said.
Maeva squeezed her legs together tighter, the black fluff between her legs glistening wet. “I’m so horny!”
Bélise smiled. “We’ll take care of that, presently,” she whispered. “But come now. We need to find you a proper habit.”
“I’d rather be naked, mistress,” Maeva said, with a lewd leer.
The young woman laughed. “Wouldn’t we all?” she said. “But you will need a dress to signal your new station.”
Eight – Old Acquaintances
Berthe staggered out of the tent and stretched, yawning. The cold air gave her goose bumps and her nipples stiffened painfully. The sun was still hidden beyond the horizon, and the sky was a slate color that promised snow.
She wrapped herself in the blanket and yawned again. The camp of lady Liane’s beast-men was still asleep. Or, from the groaning sounds that came from a nearby tent, some were working out their morning wood.
Berthe rolled her head, trying to work out the kinks in her neck. It had been a rough night, and she was bruised and aching all over. She ran a hand through her tangle of black hair. The snow had coated the higher reaches of the Duchy in a thick blanket, muffling the sounds and making the air crisp and clear. The passes were chocked and the forces of the Hierophant were blocked on the other side of the hills, waiting for the spring and a new opportunity to strike. The wait and the forced inactivity made the beast-men in mistress Liane’s war-band restless, and the only ways they knew to unwind were fighting and fucking. There was a lot of work for the likes of Berthe.
There was a loud snap, a log in the nearby fire cracking and crashing in a cloud of embers.
A massive form pushed the flap of a lean-to aside, and walked out slowly. Berthe squinted. She took in the broad shoulders, the pillar-like legs, the scarred, tattooed arms. The newcomer was almost seven feet tall, but was so muscular that appeared shorter.
A wide smile curled Berthe’s lips. “Hi, there, warrior,” she cooed, walking closer.
The giant sat down by the fire and looked at her.
“Girl, is that you?”
Berthe did a double take. “Cook?”
The broad-shouldered woman laughed, and gestured for her to come close.
They had both served in the kitchens of Bellegarde, before the war, cook minding the pans and saucers, and Berthe scrubbing the floors and doing the washing up. But then things changed.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” she said, sitting by the side of her old friend. Cook was wearing a leather loincloth, and a dirty halter kept her big tits in place. She lifted her hands in front of her and laughed. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve changed.”
The Blue Flame had burned Cook and remade her into a creature of violence. She flexed her scarred fingers, and made two fists as big as Berthe’s head.
“You have changed too,” Cook said.
Berthe shrugged. “I have adapted,” she said casually.
The Flame had left her untouched, but she had learned fast that, in the new arrangement of the castle, there was no room for a silly girl that scrubbed the floors, but there would be a lot of room for a woman ready to spread her legs. The beast-men were a rowdy bunch, and she had enjoyed her stay at the camp, servicing them with enthusiasm, quickly losing every inhibition and every last bit of morals. She had acquired new muscles, new scars and bruises, and a new outlook. New tastes and vices, too. She had turned into a camp follower, a willing whore, and she was enjoying her new role.
“You look good,” Cook said. Her hair was cut in a short fuzz, bright pink, and there was a big tattoo on the side of her head. There were a lot of golden rings in her ear.
Berthe pouted and pushed her chest forward. The blanket slid off her shoulder, revealing a pink bite mark, a memory of the previous night’s activities. “I’m pretty popular,” she said.
Cook’s grin widened. “I can see that.”
Her calloused hand slid under the blanket, icy-cold against Berthe’s warm skin. The girl gasped, and laughed. “Cook!” she grinned.
“You are soft,” Cook said. “I could snap your spine with one hand.”
Berthe pouted, coyly. “Why would you do that?” she purred. “Don’t you like me?”
Cook laughed a deep belly laugh. Her fingers were squeezing Berthe’s flesh. “I like you a lot, little one.”
“Ooh,” Berthe pushed closer. “I didn’t know you were like that,” she cooed.
“Maybe I wasn’t,” Cook shrugged. “But I’ve changed.”
She was still holding Berthe. The girl placed her hand on Cook’s thick thigh. “You’ve changed for the better,” she whispered. “We both have.”
She rubbed her tits on the other woman’s arm. Cook’s skin was rough, crisscrossed with scars, covered in dark tattoos. Berthe’s head was spinning, her lust tempered by her opportunism. The snow was coming, and being the bitch of a strong warrior would make it easier, for her. So, why not Cook? She’d carved a place for herself among the beast-men. Berthe sighed, stood, sat astride Cook’s lap. “You are very strong,” she said. “You’ve got such beautiful muscles.” She dropped the blanket, and pushed herself against Cook’s chest. “I like muscles,” she said. “Muscles make me wet.”
“I can smell that,” Cook laughed.
“You like how it smells?” Berthe asked. “The taste is even better.”
She brushed her cheek against Cook’s cheek, her hair falling on the other woman’s face. She tickled the earlobe with her tongue. “Do you want to fuck?” she whispered.
She could feel the other woman’s heart start pounding faster in her thick chest. Cook grasped her ass, hard. “You are good,” she said.
Berthe’s grin became a leer of pure lust. “I’ll show you how good I am,” she whispered. “Do you have a place?”
Cook stood, lifting her bodily. “I’ll find one,” she grunted, growing excited.
“Let’s make it quick,” Berthe gasped.
Nine – The Bitch and the Wife
Giso walked into Liane’s bedroom. Léa was sitting at the dresser, hanging drop-like earrings to her earlobes. She was wearing a long blue gown with golden accents, a tight corset pressing up her tits. Her hair was piled up in a bouffant that left her long neck exposed. She had come a long way from when she was just the Millers’ Widow.
“We are ready to go,” Giso said.
Léa looked at her in the mirror. “I am coming.”
Giso smirked, and turned to go.
“Wait,” Léa said.
“What?”
The beast-woman stopped, and turned.
Léa stood, and took her mantle from the back of the chair. “There is one thing I need to ask you,” she said. “There is one thing I need to know before we go.”
Giso waited, a bemused look in her slanted cat’s eyes. Léa came closer. She could smell the animal husk of the warrior woman. She looked at her muscular shoulders, at her wild mane. She could understand Liane’s lust for such a beautiful, brutal creature.
“What do you think of—” she cleared her voice. “Of me?”
Giso’s eyes widened. “Think of you?”
Léa sighed. “Of me and Liane.”
Things had changed in the weeks since Liane of Bellegarde and her beast-men had freed the town of Tavin, slaying the occupying forces of the Hierophant. Since then, Léa the Miller’s Widow had moved to the castle of Bellegarde, sharing Liane’s bed as her
de facto wife. Most of her early worries had proven unfounded. The Duchess had accepted her role as Liane’s wife happily, blessing their union and welcoming her in the family just as she had welcomed Gerard, her daughter Coline’s new lover. Even Liuva, one of Liane’s two bitches, had accepted her presence, to the point that the three of them now shared the bedroom regularly. Léa had fast learned to appreciate Liuva’s rough attentions, and she had the bruises to prove it. But Giso, the other bitch, had refused to take part in their lovemaking, and remained aloof if not positively hostile.
Now, considering what was to come, Léa had to know.
“The chieftain fucks you,” Giso said now with a shrug. “It’s not for me to approve or not.”
Léa shook her head. “Liuva—”
“Liuva is different,” Giso grinned.
“I need you to stand by my side in this. By Liane’s side.”
Giso’s eyes flared, and her hands contracted. “You think I’d betray my chieftain?”
“Of course not. You are Liane’s bitch.”
“That I am. She still shares my bed, and we fight together.”
“I know. I’m happy.”
Giso nodded. “Then we all are.”
Lèa placed her hand on Giso’s muscular arm, her fingers tracing a long jagged scar that faded into a barbed tattoo. “I hope you will share my bed too,” she said, softly.
Giso snorted. “Maybe I will,” she said.
Léa wrapped herself in the cloak. “Let’s go then,” she said with a sigh. They walked out of the room and into the courtyard, where the others were waiting.
Ten - Distractions
Liane entered her mother’s bedroom, frowning at the rhythmic moans coming from the four-poster bed. Contrary to her daughter’s expectations, the Duchess was sitting in a chair by the table, enjoying a cup of hot chocolate. Her blue and gold dressing gown was open, and she was gently massaging her mound with her free hand.
On the bed, Rose the maid was on all fours, her hair falling on her face. She was stark naked but for her stockings, her boobs dangling free over Irvig’s face. She was grinding on the beast-man's cock, while Berig crouched behind her, his hands on her hips, pushing into her ass from behind.
Liane chuckled. Her mother knew how to start her morning.
“They are so full of energy!” the Duchess said, sipping a little chocolate. It painted her full lips a dark brown.
“Are you ready to go?” Adele asked.
On the bed, Rose let out a deep throaty moan. Irvig was biting into her tits.
“Yes, the snow is coming, already the mountains are white, and we need to make it to the old Crow’s Nest before the roads become impracticable.”
Liane was wearing her usual blue and gold-striped pants and jacket, thigh-high boots and an armored sleeve covering her left arm. Her hand rested on the hilt of her Flamberge. The night of revels in the beast-men's camp had left her ready for this new adventure. She needed some action
“There are no proper roads to the Crow’s Nest,” Adele observed. “Are you and your wife convinced—”
“Oh, yes, please, deeper!” Rose gasped.
Liane grinned, her eyebrows arched. Rose’s flexibility was surprising.
“Don’t be distracted, dear,” Adele said, peevishly.
Liane chuckled. “Yes, Léa is positive,” she said, turning again to look at her mother. “The winter will be over all too soon, and we need all the allies and the resources we can muster. By the end of spring the Black Crusade will be here.”
The bedsprings creaked rhythmically. “Ooh, yes, you beast fuck my ass!”
Adele’s eyes widened.
“Now it’s you that are being distracted, mother,” Liane grinned.
The Duchess stopped rubbing herself and gave her a hard stare. “Not at all, dear. Not at all.”
“Any news from Gisla and Bélise?”
“Not yet. But I must admit I found their plan a lot more agreeable than yours.”
“We will need both to come to fruition, if we want to face the Five Stars armies when they will pour in our lands.”
With a deep satisfied moan, Rose collapsed on top of Irvig, and Berig piled on her. They were panting, their bodies glistening for the strain, and there was a beatific smile on Rose’s face when she pushed back her sweat-soaked curls.
“Good morning, mistress Liane,” she panted.
Liane took a deep breath. “I better be going.”
“Is your sister still pining for her absent beau?” Adele asked. She cleaned her lips on a napkin and stood. She pulled her dressing gown closed, fastening a single button in front of her navel. The gown hugged her big tits, leaving her cleavage exposed, and still gave more than a hint of her pussy.
“I am sure she, too, has ways of distracting herself,” Liane said. They shared a grin.
Her mother leaned close, her breasts pressing against Liane, and kissed her gently on the lips. “Be careful out there, lovely,” she said.
“I will.”
Liane turned on her heels and strode towards the door.
Adele crossed her arms and waked slowly to the bed. She sat down, and grabbed a handful of Rose’s curls, dragging the girl’s face to hers.
Interlude
Genovefa pulled the strings of her blouse and arched her back, sighing.
“The sun is not yet up,” Bernt said, yawning.
Genò counted the coins he had placed for her n the bed-stand. “I’ve to ring the fire back to life, and then scrub the floors clean,” she said. She slipped them her money in her cleavage. “I work in this place, you know?”
Bernt laughed. “You mean that you fucked me as a pastime? Had I known, I’d have saved my money.”
She chuckled, and rolled on the mattress by his side, cuddling against him. “You’re so much fun,” she whispered in his ear, “that I’d do you for free.”
He pulled her closer, and squeezed her boob. “And you’re such a good lay, I’d pay double to bed you.”
Genò hummed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder. “I’m still horny,” she whispered. “What about a blow job? Half silver.”
“You’re a true whore!” Bernt laughed out loud. “What about the fireplace and the floor?”
She shrugged, and changed position, her hand finding his cock.
“I see you like the idea,” she grinned. “And Bossu’s out anyway. Today is market day.”
He pulled himself up, sitting with the back against the wall. “I thought the market was no longer happening.”
“No market,” she said. She kept rubbing his hard on. “But on market days Bossu is always in late. He goes somewhere, in the night.” She leered. “Maybe he’s poking some lady.”
Bernt caressed her chestnut hair, and ran his fingers along her neck. “He goes out at night?”
Genò nodded. “After hours,” she said. Then she let go of him, and changed position. “So, now, you want me to blow you, or do you want to make conversation?”
Bernt laughed and pulled her closer. “No conversation,” he said, kissing her on the lips.
She giggled, and bent down, taking him into her mouth.
“Genò, you are a true artist!” he gasped.
Genovefa found the fire already burning in the fireplace, and the big man Ulf, Bernt’s friend, sitting in front of it, his big back curved, his hands stretched towards the fire.
He wished her a good day.
“There’s some rabbit left over from last night,” she said. “Want me to heat it up for you?”
Ulf nodded and thanked her.
He was finishing the rabbit when Bert came down the stairs and joined him, pulling a stool close to the fire.
“The boss still sleeping?” he asked.
Ulf groaned. “He’s been up since dawn. He’s taking a look around town.”
Genovefa passed by, carrying a broom, and Bernt pinched her ass. She laughed and slapped his hand away.
Ulf sighed, and shook his head.
“Come on,” Bernt prodded him with his elbow. “She’s good. Cheap too. You should give her a try.”
Ulf cleaned the last of the rabbit bones, and placed his bowl on the fireplace. “You know me—” he said.
“Likes to talk too,” Bernt said, glancing at the wench.
“It’s really love, uh?” the big man grinned.
“Ah, you big dullard, the world’s full of women, but one that’s a good lay and also likes to talk? That’s a treasure. Look at the master—”
Ulf eyed him. “Are you comparing your two-bit whore to mistress Coline?”
“Never!” the short man said. “But the spirit’s the same.”
“You want to take her for your wife?”
“I’m not the marrying kind,” Bernt said philosophically. “But as a regular lover? Why not. It would be fun., And cheaper than paying her by the hour.”
The door opened, and Gerard came in.
Genovefa was fast to come over and ask him whether he needed anything.
“He’s married!” Bernt laughed.
She kicked him. Gerard laughed, and asked for some mulled wine. She curtsied and pushed an iron in the fireplace’s embers.
The he sat down with his two lieutenants.
“Seen anything interesting?” Bernt asked.
“With the pass of Lo blocked by the snow,” Gerard said, scratching his beard, “this town id dead.”
Genò brought the wine, and heated it with the red-hot iron. She then pulled her leg at Bernt, and went on with her business.
“Bernt is about to marry,” Ulf said.
The short man snorted. “What if I was.”
Gerard looked from one to the other.
“She’s nicely stacked,” he admitted, sipping his wine.
“And she likes to talk,” Ulf smirked.
Bernt stared daggers at him. “She does. And she told our host is in the habit of spending the night before market day somewhere.”
Gerard frowned. “Somewhere?”
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