No longer devoted to a single man she decided to let life revolve around herself for a change, and as a widow she could do whatever pleased her, nothing stood in her way except her gossiping, bossy servants. Patrick and Guy helped her to replace each and every one of those meddling females with pliable male staff, Dick the last link in a whole chain of changes for the better. And despite preferring male company, actually mostly each other, to a woman, they devoted themselves to her pleasure whenever she wished,
spending only the slightest attention on each other until she was utterly sated and unable to work up even the tiniest spark of ardour.
And yet, something was lacking in Agnes' love-life. She did not always want to be the one receiving, sometimes she just wanted to lavish attention on her partner, but Patrick and Guy were very reticent when it came to letting her suck or even touch their dicks, they never told her off, always treated her with the greatest respect, but it was clear they did not enjoy it, and they never offered to just take her roughly, often leaving her slightly out of sorts, feeling that something was lacking. Like today, when she had retreated to the attic for half an hour to contemplate her latest idea to fill that lack of something in her life.
After they had all moved to the family manor some three years ago, Patrick and Guy had showed her how a woman could be loved by men.
Agnes had settled for the stable boy to give her just that tiny bit of extra they couldn't offer her, and for a while he did manage to keep her satisfied. But he was a local lad and not very sophisticated, he had trouble showing her the respect she wanted from a dependant, bedding her caused him to become a bit dominant towards her. There was nothing she could do but stop inviting him in her bed, after which he got engaged to a local girl. He asked her permission quite beautifully, and she gave it to him along with a set of rings for their wedding.
Then when the gardener retired she thought she could do better, offering the position to an artist from town who wanted a quiet place to work for a living and spend his spare time in the workshop that she gave him to create his works of art in. It had taken half a year to lure him in her bed but it had been worth it. That worked for nearly six months, their conversation was wonderful and the loving was new and exciting. But after some time she started to find him a bit too sensitive, and he started to get on her nerves, claiming her for himself, trying to get her to stop making love to Guy and Patrick. So though both stable boy and artist still worked at the manor, she no longer slept with them, and whenever she felt a little too heated after having been spoiled by her duo, she now rang for Dick to be sent to their special room, he was always ready to do his duty to her and he always enjoyed it.
But though he readily took her as roughly as she wanted, he was not the kind she wanted to lavish attention on herself, it felt a bit improper to devote herself to a man who did the most menial tasks in her house, though he was very sweet and quite attached to her without making any demands. She
couldn't forget that first time with him, though, when he had been overcome with ardour and had taken her almost like a wild thing. She so wanted to feel such passion and yes, such violence again, that she had thought up another plan.
Today she was not going to hunt, her mood was too distracted, she kept thinking of the past. There was no way she was going to be able to concentrate on being quiet enough to shoot a deer, or brave enough to go after a boar with nothing but her rifle, a tall hunter and her three large hounds. Today, she would merely ride out, take the dogs for a run, let the wind blow through her hair, then return and probably have Dick over to blow off some steam.
As she sat her tall horse and had the hounds released from their pen, she rode off towards the moors, her favourite place to go when she was not out for game. There was always plenty of wild meat in the house, even her staff got to eat venison and boar, her lands had been very prolific since she'd let the steward go who urged her to squeeze out every penny by having her tenants till soil too poor to bear other fruit than heath and game.
Dismissing him and returning the land to its original purpose, wild hunting ground, had done a world of good. Her tenants could actually grow something on the tiny pieces of land they had in cultivation, the abundant sheep and the few cattle that thrived here could fertilize a few small fields really well, or a lot of large fields really badly. They had less work to do and more gain from it in the shape of mutton and potatoes, she had more land to hunt and happier tenants. They were all winners.
Except Agnes was still bored.
Riding out here, she longed for that wildness she had tasted for a few blessed moments in Dick. He was never going to revert to that state, he adored her and followed her like a puppy, only ten years of abstinence had gotten him to the point where he'd dared dominate his mistress. She couldn't wait another ten years for him to build up some fervour.
And a dominant man would satisfy her needs, but he would also try to take over her fortune and her life, and forbid her to see Patrick and Guy. He would probably force her to have a maid again instead of Patrick, who had been a valet when she met him but was just as good a personal servant to a lady as he had been to her uncle.
There was no way Agnes was ever going to let herself be ruled by a man again, but she did want a man like that to grace her bed. Therefore, she was
going to keep a slave.
Of course that was against the law, but no-one would find out, they would take a comely wild youth from the back streets of town, lock him up and tame him just enough to keep him interesting. Everything was in place in her attic, Cook didn't know, Dick wouldn't talk and wouldn't be believed if he did, and Patrick and Guy were hers and hers alone.
Chapter 2
From the moment of its completion, she spent half an hour of each day in that attic, sitting on the large, comfortable bed, stroking the heavy iron collar as if it already contained a humble victim, oppressed and obedient on the outside, but burning with fire within.
The room of course was clean and comfortable, Agnes was not going to visit her slave in a filthy dungeon, and naturally she wanted him to be well-cared for. His only problem would have to be lack of freedom, not discomfort.
Once she had her victim she would feed him well and offer him books to relieve his boredom, and of course herself. A whip would guarantee her safety, and Patrick could guard her from behind a screen. Or if her slave was very large and very dangerous, Dick, though Dick might be even harder to control than her slave in an emergency. Guy and Patrick didn't seem as enthusiastic about her plan as she was, but they had promised her to find her a suitable slave, and had a contact in town scouring the streets already.
The very idea of the attic soon having its inhabitant, living his life just for her, to please her, gave her a pleasant shiver, and she braved the cold and the worsening rain without so much as a mutter to herself.
Her horse was eager for a run, and it was time to stop woolgathering anyway, so she cantered towards the nearest dry spot and let it have its head. A real hunter, it was very spirited, and soon reached top speed in a flying gallop.
None of her men wanted to accompany her, neither of them had ever learned to ride, because of their low birth and having spent their youths in the city. So Agnes went out on her own, her dogs her sole companions, and well-able to keep her safe from wild animals or poachers alike.
Frederick had been an avid hunter, but when he was alive she had never even contemplated riding astride on a fiery hunter or shooting a live animal. She had accompanied him on rides but on a gentle palfrey, using a lady's saddle.
Getting back to the country with Patrick and Guy, finding both her own horse and Frederick's hunter still well-cared for in the stables, she decided to sell her palfrey, but she couldn't bear to part with her beloved's horse. So she
learned to ride it herself, feeling close to Frederick when she was out on the moors alone, with his pack of hounds and his gun.
As hill after hill covered in heath flew by she could feel the horse labouring fo
r breath, and since her dogs were nowhere in sight she brought the horse to a walk and looked around her. Behind her, she could hear one of the hounds baying, the deep sound carrying even in the strong wind. Turning her horse's head, it was time to return home anyway, she soon found them, gathered around some dead animal lying on the edge of a moor, a nasty, soggy place, with treacherous footing.
Her horse did not object to getting closer so it was probably safe to walk on, and Agnes wanted to see why the dogs hadn't snatched a few bites from the cadaver, as they usually did before she could call them off. They were trained not to attack live prey unless commanded to, so maybe there was still some life in this animal.
Coming close, the dogs made room for her horse, and she saw it wasn't an animal at all. Lying on the edge of a puddle, a mere two steps away from a watery grave in the spongy mosses of a moor, was a man.
Agnes slid off the saddle and secured the reins to her belt. It wouldn't do to let her horse run off, with her all alone and no-one in the house in the possession of even the slightest sense of direction or knowledge of the heath and the moors. No, she'd have to look out for herself.
The man was indeed alive, though very cold and not conscious. He was young, not even thirty she guessed, and he had been lost or on the run for quite some time, judging from his beard and the state of his clothing. His coat was soaked and clearly military in origin. Could he be a deserter? The nearest military camp was half a day's ride away, Agnes guessed a three-day walk if one managed not to get lost, and very likely more, since navigating the moors was very difficult. The weather had been atrocious for weeks. No wonder he was dying at last, it was a sign of incredible determination that he had made it this far.
He had no signs of rank on his coat, which meant he had either lost them, thrown them away, or never had them. A private then, and privates in the regular army were reputed to be rabble from town, only one step up from criminals, headstrong and violent. Was this man the answer to her prayers?
Trying to evaluate how close he was to death, she counted his heartbeat and found it low. He was indeed cold, and his cheeks seemed hollow beneath a week's beard. He was too heavy to lift and besides, her horse was very tall,
she'd never be able to lift a grown man that high. If she wanted to rescue him, she'd have to warm him and get enough life back into him to get on the horse with nothing but her help.
Decision made she removed her cloak, and dragging him to a higher place with quite some effort, managed to wrap him in it. Too bad she didn't have a shot of liquor on her, as Frederick used to have when he went out. She sat down next to the man, trying to warm him a little with her own body heat, never even considering he might be a danger to her if he was indeed a deserter. After twenty minutes she guessed he should be a bit warmer, she was getting cold herself and needed to go home soon or risk her own life. A bit of noise might help to revive him, so she slapped his face a little and shouted, 'Wake up, wake up, you lazy bugger!'
That was what she guessed he was used to waking up to. And whether that was true or not, he did stir and mumbled something, so she kept going.
'Come on, you, wake up, it's life or death now, there's a nice warm room waiting for you if you get up. And hot food, a bed, blankets.'
And it worked!
The eyes opened, delirious with hunger and fatigue, but they opened, a semblance of intelligence entering their depths.
'Where am I?' a broken voice asked.
'Never mind, man, get on my horse or I'll have to get help, which means half an hour or an hour longer in your soggy coat. If it pleases the hounds to find you again. Get up, come on!'
She didn't doubt his being a soldier anymore, he was very sensitive to commands and tried to get up. With her support he managed to get to his legs, she prayed fervently that he was strong enough to get in a saddle, and that her horse wouldn't shy from a stranger.
He was up and seemed to have a last supply of courage to draw on, for he got one foot in the stirrup. One hand on the horse's flank she pushed his butt up with the other, grabbing his belt to keep him from falling off on the other side. But he didn't, he actually seemed able to ride. The stirrups didn't fit, of course, and he slumped in the saddle, and in a second Agnes decided to use the stirrup to climb on behind him. He was not very large and neither was she, they'd barely fit in Frederick's old saddle together, besides, it would be impossible to keep him on the horse from the ground, it was just too tall.
Releasing the rein quickly, and pulling it over the head of her horse, she
climbed on and sat awkwardly on the back of the saddle. Feeling her hand on the rein, having had its run, the horse did what she asked and ignored the extra weight and the awkward balance of it.
When they reached the house after half an hour Agnes was chilled to the bone and deadly tired keeping herself in the saddle whilst trying to balance a heavier man as well as guide the horse. But being late also had its advantages, the stable boy came running to take the rein, Patrick caught Agnes as she nearly fell off, and Guy caught the man as he really did fall off, unconscious once again.
Dick also came running, and Guy asked him to take the man into the house.
Looking helplessly at Agnes, she understood Dick would rather help her, but she could still stand.
'I can walk, Dick, thank you so much for your concern. But that poor man needs you more right now, please take him to the attic, Patrick will follow and tell you what to do. You can build a fire there.'
That pleased Dick and he carefully lifted the still shape to his shoulders and walked towards the house. Agnes left the horse and the dogs to the stable boy and was supported into the house herself by Guy and Patrick, until she felt life return to her legs as they warmed up.
'Patrick, will you see to Dick and our guest? I can manage to get to my room with Guy's help. I'll be with you as quickly as I can.'
And she did indeed reach her room, life returning to her hands and feet quickly as she walked through the warm house. Once there, Guy advised her to take a hot bath, but she didn't want to waste any time, so he merely rubbed her hands and legs warm, then helped her into dry clothes and towelled her hair dry.
Within half an hour she was in her attic, a cheery fire chasing away the cold and most of the dark, her soldier lying on the bed, still unconscious but cleaned up, dressed in a nightshirt, and tucked into the bed comfortably.
Patrick had everything well in hand, that was obvious, Dick was happy because he got to build the fire, and as Guy and the mistress came in, Patrick was just on his way out.
'I was going to fetch some broth and some smelling salts, I think he needs fluids, salts and a bit of nourishment more than anything. Know what you are about, mistress, his back was covered with stripes healed over. You asked for a bad boy, but this one may be more than we can handle.'
Agnes was not impressed, everyone knew that army sergeants liked to whip
the privates under their command, and anyway, she wanted a violent man.
'Better get what you need, Patrick, if he turns out wrong we can always set him on his way. He's a deserter, who will listen to his ramblings?'
Pretty soon, Patrick had their patient vaguely awake and sitting up, spooning some rich broth into his mouth, which the man eagerly swallowed, waking up a little more to fill his empty stomach.
When the young soldier became restless, Patrick stayed perfectly calm, talking soothingly.
'That's good, isn't it? There will be more later, but if you eat too much now you'll be sick. Here, have some water as well. There is a pot under your bed if you need to go, if you are too weak, ring the bell and help will come. Calm now, you're safe here, just finish this broth, and rest and get warm. You're not hurt or sick, are you?'
A thin voice said, 'Just tired, and still cold. Haven't had a bite in five days. A lady saved me, or was it a dream?'
Agnes sat on the other side of the bed and took the man's hand.
'It was I who found you and put you on my horse. Plea
se rest, you will be fed regularly.'
When the broth was finished, Patrick helped him back under the blankets where he fell asleep instantly.
That was a difficult moment, for it was clear Patrick was not going to take well to keeping someone who wasn't violent or raving mad restrained against his will.
'You need not watch this, Patrick, you did well. Guy, better take him downstairs and get some rest. This man will need a lot of care, we'll share the burden equally.'
As Guy took Patrick down the stairs, Agnes picked up the collar, and slowly, lovingly, shut it around the sleeping man's throat, putting the key in her pocket.
'I'll take great care of you, whoever you are.'
Then she resolutely turned her back on him, she was still heated and wanted her release.
'Come Dick, let's go to our room.'
Of course Dick followed readily, down the stairs, then further down to the ground floor and three doors to the right. Closing the door behind them she removed his shirt, then started on his trousers, as he carefully released her dress and helped her out of it. Their underwear followed and this time, Dick
tried to kiss her, and she let him. As ever, she was surprised at the skills he had acquired despite his slowness, he really was a good kisser and he even smelled nice, clean, but also rather exciting.
The sight of his manhood caused her pussy to burn, and his legs were strong and well-shaped. He was actually quite a good specimen, if he had been normally gifted he would have had girls for the picking. But his mental capacity didn't matter to her, she had others to talk to, Dick was very useful to Agnes and his affection for her was touching.
Soon, they were stroking with heat, and he actually wanted to sit between her legs and lick her first. Where did he get that idea? She had never taught him to do that, Dick was good for firm coupling, not for tender loving, but he looked at her so pleadingly that she allowed him to. And it was good, he was so eager to please, so greedy, he really wanted this, and now she was used to the idea of having him there she wanted it, too, he wasn't slow anymore but positively active, he stuck a large finger inside her and found the exact right spot to get a surprised little cry out of her.
Mistress Agnes Page 2
