Tales of the Huntsman

by M Palmeri

  She tried to cry out, but fingers touched her lips to silence her. Ella smiled at her.

  “You should know better than to disturb an animal while they are eating,” she admonished gently. “Or in this case, being eaten. Feeling vulnerable and threatened, they can become quite vicious.”

  Marie pulled away from Ella, realizing too late that she had dropped her wrap and was naked in the blonde’s strong embrace. Ella smiled and looked her over approvingly as she scrambled to cover herself.

  “Don’t worry, girl,” Ella assured. “I have more than enough young ladies willing to entertain my tastes. I very rarely take one by force, unless I think she might actually be willing and just not know it yet.” She smiled wickedly for a moment, then the warmth returned. “My ‘husband’ is still asleep with her newest acquisition. Rose has never been much good during the day. I have some time, if you’d like a tour. And I’ve also been recently well ‘fed’, so you are doubly assured that you are safe from me for awhile.”

  Ella first showed her the kitchen off the Great Hall, which she seemed to be particularly proud of. A dozen girls were at work prepping supper, as Ella reported they had well over a hundred mouths to feed most days. She seemed to take special pleasure in pointing out the large butcher block in the center of the room, all the more odd since it seemed to be the one surface in the chamber not being used for cooking.

  The chambers next door held the bakery with a great brick oven, and the buttery, walls lined with casks of wine, ale and cider. Ella explained that they did all their own brewing and vinting on the grounds, trading the finished product for grain and other resources. The orchards and vineyards they kept themselves, along with a vegetable and herb garden in the Outer Bailey.

  Women also tended the horses and what livestock they had, which Ella explained was supplemented by what they could purchase from the local farmers. When Marie asked what else they used to purchase supplies besides wine and ale, Ella smiled that wicked smile again.

  “We exact a small rental tax on our tenant farmers. We do the same with the miners who hold silver and gemstone claims in the mountains between here and my ‘husband’s’ estate—yes, we have more than one castle, though this is by far the greater of the two, being the Keep of a count as compared to that of a baron. Plus we sell other, more precious goods.”

  Ella evaded further explanations, instead showing Marie the chandlery, the spinning and tailor shops, the tanner and cobbler, and finally the blacksmith and armorer. All were run confidently by women.

  “We make fine mail here, and plate, though crossbows and guns have begun to render those useless. Still, there is demand, and no one need know they are not made by male hands. And I doubt if male hands could do the fine work of crossbow-making or gun-smithing as well as some of our masters, or the swords and daggers our blade-smiths produce. Princes and kings buy our weapons for their own delicate hands, blissfully unaware that they were designed by women for women.”

  Marie stood breathless, eyeing the collection of fine blades in the armory vault.

  “Does this shock you?” Ella asked.

  “How…? Did Richard do this…?”

  “Rose did this,” Ella corrected quickly. “Though Richard has been instrumental at every step. I doubt if many other males would have helped us so. But Richard has a unique respect and appreciation for women. I expect he has demonstrated that to you already.”

  Ella smiled wickedly again. Marie felt a surge of anger then, and turned away.

  “There is no room for jealousy in this place, girl,” Ella told her. “And I have seen how he looks at you, how he touches you. I expect he does feel love for you. But he loves quite a few, and quite a few more love him back. Including my ‘husband’, who became his wife back when such things were still important. Now, we should go freshen you up properly before supper.”

  Below the Great Hall was a large cellar with several massive stone tubs, which Marie saw were kept steaming warm by wood-fired ovens set into their foundations. Perhaps a dozen women from youth to middle age were bathing here, all completely nude and all appearing completely unconcerned by it.

  “This castle was originally built by the Romans, who installed the baths,” Ella explained, unceremoniously taking the blanket from Marie’s shoulders. “We have since gladly adopted their habits. Few kings have the resources to enjoy a hot soak whenever they like.”

  Marie expected Ella to take her to the nearest tub and begin bathing her, but Ella turned to leave her there instead. “You should find anything you need. Someone will come to fetch you for supper.” And she was gone, taking the blanket with her, leaving Marie to ponder that if she should decide to leave the bath house, she would be doing so naked. Not that this seemed to bother the other ladies: several came and went wearing nothing at all.

  Marie had been thankful to get a bath weekly at her father’s home. It seemed that here she was welcome—perhaps expected—to bathe daily. She found some space in a corner at a distance from the others, who smiled politely when she glanced at them shyly. She tried not to meet anyone’s eyes. They, thankfully, did not approach or engage her, perhaps sensing her discomfort.

  There were soap and cloths and a rinsing pitcher handy. Marie squatted over a drain in the floor and began to lather herself, taking special care in scrubbing her sex, which was still dully aching. Somewhat braver now, soap-slick fingers tentatively explored the tender gap where her maidenhead had been, and she felt a flash of panic at her circumstance, made more urgent by the self-consciousness that the others were discreetly watching her (probably knowing full well what she had experienced the night before, Marie realized with a hot blush). She rinsed quickly and slipped into the nearest and least populated tub up to her neck, and froze in place, hoping to become invisible, trying not to think about Richard and whether or not he actually cared for her or if she was just property to use as he wished (and how many of these other women did he make similar use of?), trying to resist exploring what he had done to her (at least the soak was soothing her “injuries”).

  She found herself missing Ella’s company. There was something about her that was nurturing, but also unexpectedly familiar, like a sister or an old friend. Marie wondered if she had possibly met Ella before, perhaps before Ella herself had come here, but could not match her face or her voice to a specific memory. Marie was sure she knew her face, her eyes—or it could just be that their striking green reminded her of her beautiful delivery boy…

  The obvious fear slapped her like ice, and she felt her stomach flop. Was is possible that Ella…? (Marie had always seen the youth wearing a full tunic and cap…)

  She shook the chilling doubt out of her head. It wasn’t possible. Rose and Claire could pass for males at casual glance, but Marie’s eyes had lingered on her crush as he worked. (She realized she had never been forward enough to ask him his name. But they had spoken—polite niceties—and his voice wasn’t Ella’s…)

  No. Ella just fit Marie’s fantasies of what having a real sister would be like: strong, nurturing, protective. Friend and confidant.

  And right now Marie very much wanted a friend or a sister to talk to.

  She had almost fallen asleep in the welcoming warmth of the water when a pair of serving maids came to fetch her hours later. They did not bring her anything to wear.

  Naked, Marie was marched upstairs and back to the Great Hall. Richard, Rose, Ella and Claire sat at the head table in their usual costumes. The table was already set with meat, bread and wine. A handful of girls tended them, all as naked as Marie. Harriet was among them.

  Richard met Marie’s eyes and smiled warmly, as if genuinely happy to see her, but then quickly resumed his air or regal detachment, like an actor unwilling to break character. But even that quick instant was enough for Marie: she had not simply been used and forgotten. And she remembered earlier Ella’s words: that she believed Richard did indeed feel something for her—perhaps even love, in whatever form that took in this world. She felt he
rself blushing, but it had nothing to do with her nudity.

  The maids sat Marie on a bench across the table from Richard and his companions. Richard seemed to be intentionally looking through her as she settled on the cool, well-worn wood. The maids turned to leave when Rose ordered, “Stay and eat.”

  The two maids went to the door just long enough to peel out of their dresses and hang them up on a row of wall hooks set there (apparently for that very purpose). Then they returned and sat on either side of Marie, completely casual in their nudity.

  “Marie,” Ella introduced, “this is Iris and this is Lily.”

  Marie tried not to look at them directly. Both maids were tanned and dirty-blonde, with strong bony features and bodies lean and wiry from work. They had moderate breasts that seemed somehow heavy and weathered, and—as they sat with their thighs separated in a most immodest fashion—Marie could see that their pubic hair, a shade darker than their manes, was trimmed very short.

  “Sisters,” Ella confirmed, “abandoned in the wood by a poor mother who made the choice to feed herself over them.”

  “Excellent alewives,” Rose complemented, raising her mug in a most masculine salute. “I’m grateful they were daring—or hungry—enough to seek admission into my humble estate. Too bad they only have a taste for men. Don’t you agree, Lady Claire?”

  Claire shot a cold look across the table at the two maids, but then fixed it on Marie, who realized then what it was borne of: Claire was jealous, despite Ella’s statement of the philosophy of this place. And Rose knew it, was—for some reason—exploiting it.

  Richard turned to the redhead and whispered something close in her ear, then pulled her in for another rather rough kiss, which appeared to soothe her.

  They ate and drank in relative silence, Marie finding herself grateful for the presence of other naked women at table, as well as the abundance of sweet ale. The meats and bread were indeed quite good, followed by a dessert of dates and honey, which Rose seemed to delight in having Ella lick her fingers clean of.

  “I have been rude,” Rose announced to Marie. “I began a story which I promised to continue before I was distracted.” Marie saw Harriet blush at Rose’s grin. Then Rose turned to Richard. “I must apologize, my husband, for in your absence, I took it upon myself to begin a story that I know is dear to you.”

  “I am sure your telling is more than adequate, my love.”

  Rose leapt up from her seat with an almost girlish delight at his approval and kissed him, dropping back down in her chair with a cruel grin. “I will endeavor to make it so much more than that, I promise.

  “Now, where was I? Oh yes…

  “And so it was that Richard the skillful huntsman appeared at the gates of the mountain fortress of the Baroness that he’d been both warned of and recommended to.

  “The castle was dark and foreboding, its grounds and walls unkempt, moat stagnant, apparently deserted. There were no fields of serfs anywhere visible to support it, no town or village within many miles, just a rectangular fortress with six square towers. A narrow road wound up the steep climb of the bluff it perched upon, ending at a tower that had been divided into a gatehouse, its portal barely large enough for cart traffic.

  “Announcing himself, a small wicket gate in the main door opened for him, which he had to stoop to pass through. Within the gatehouse, a frail and fearful girl with white-blonde hair and a simple servant’s dress greeted him without speaking, and led him through the inner gate into the Bailey. Though the courtyard was uninhabited, the huntsman’s sharp senses could detect the timidly curious whispers and stirring of perhaps two dozen women hidden behind the shutters of the galleries. His guide took him to the Great Hall directly, as if in fear of some punishment should she delay, and brought him before the Baroness.

  “She was fearsome and beautiful, with skin almost white, eyes like iron, lips blood red, hair black as coal, wearing a fine black gown adorned with silver and rubies. She sat on her throne, toying idly with a dagger whose silver handle was almost as long as the blade. She did not respond verbally to his polite introduction, but took his letters and cut the seals with her blade as he bowed before her. Reading them, she laughed wickedly, then spoke with a purr:

  “‘So Margarite sent you. She claims you have learned her lessons well. I have no real interest in your sex, but I do find myself in need of a man with strong hands who is as skilled with a blade as Peter’s letter claims. So I will give you the opportunity to prove Margarite’s recommendation. Do not disappoint me, man, or you will most certainly know regret.’

  “With that she lifted her dress and splayed her legs, hooking her knees up over the arms of her throne, and commanded him:

  “‘Show me.’”

  Rose suddenly jerked her chair around to face Richard, lifted her own skirts, and threw a leg up on the table, grinning hungrily. Hesitating in amused surprise only for an instant, Richard pushed his own chair away, knelt down in front of her, and began to devour her open sex as she purred approvingly. Ella leaned over Rose’s shoulder to watch, gnawing her lip, and in moments Marie realized that Ella was fingering herself under her own dress. Claire feigned disinterest, but the performance quickly made her squirm despite herself, and from what Marie could read on her face, it was not all out of disgust. Indeed, Marie herself began getting aroused by watching Richard make Rose writhe under his tongue, now having a good sense of what it felt like. Rose took his head in one hand while the fingers of the other spread her sex even wider for him, and she guided his work until she convulsed with a strangely girlish squeal, grinding against him.

  Almost out of breath, she continued her story.

  “Once Richard the skillful huntsman had proven himself with his tongue, making the Baroness roar shamelessly with pleasure over the period of an hour to prove his endurance as well as his finesse, he rose up, drenched in her nectar, to stand between the Baroness’ legs and began to unfasten his breeches. But as soon as his manhood had sprung out, she seized it roughly…”

  Richard followed Rose’s narrative like an actor following a director’s commands, and in a moment Rose had him firmly by his erect member, demonstrating as she described:

  “She took control over it, and guided the tip to stroke her clit… taking pleasure in that for a moment… then held it away from her, almost disdainfully, telling him:

  “‘You have indeed comported yourself well. You do have a skillful tongue for a man. But as I implied, I have little desire for what else your sex has to offer, at least for myself. Not that I don’t have other uses I could put it to.’

  “Still holding him by his manhood, she got up and led him directly to the kitchens.”

  Rising and composing herself (as she had obviously become more aroused than that character she was performing as), Rose commanded her audience to the kitchen.

  Chapter Seven: Rough Magic

  There were still a handful of maids busy in the kitchens. All stopped working when they saw Rose leading Richard in by his still-erect manhood, with Claire dragging the naked Marie by the arm roughly, and Ella coming up behind, guiding Harriet. Not one of the kitchen maids seemed a bit surprised by the spectacle.

  Rose stood Richard by the great (and still unused) butcher block, then took Marie from Claire’s grip and had her kneel down in front of him on the wooden floor. Then she selected one of the kitchen maids and had her strip out of her servant’s dress to kneel next to her. She appeared somewhat older than the others, but had thick dark hair, full breasts and a wasp-waist, with muscular but lean arms and thighs, and a smooth, taught belly. Her eyes were deep and dark with thick lashes, and her lips were full. What fine lines were visible on her face and neck did not detract from her beauty. In fact, every feature seemed selected to make Marie feel all the more plain and inexperienced by comparison, and Rose’s wicked grin as she eyed them both proved her intent.

  Rose continued her tale:

  “The Baroness led Richard into her kitchens, which were staffed
by a number of young women in simple dresses, and showed him a large freestanding cutting block in the center of the room. The maids seemed aroused by the Huntsman’s presence, as if they had not seen a male in their midst for some time, yet they also showed a definite fear of their mistress. The Baroness selected two of the maids: one dark and strongly feminine, the other the same frail blonde who had greeted Richard at the gate, introducing them as Chloe and Collette. Then she stripped them both naked and forced them to kneel before the Huntsman, announcing that a contest they had not played in some time was to be renewed:

  “‘These girls will take turns showing you what they can do with their mouths, each getting three minutes at a turn.’ The Baroness produced a small sand-glass used for timing boiled eggs. ‘The one who succeeds in getting you to spill your seed down her throat is the winner, but only if she swallows every drop. Should she lose any of it, she will forfeit. The victor will accompany me to my bedchamber for the night, and I will do with her as I will. The loser will be punished here, for the benefit of all to see.’

  “At the turn of the glass, Chloe went to work first, taking the Huntsman’s cock confidently into her mouth all the way to the root, dancing her tongue over it as she slid it smoothly in and out between her lips. Poor Richard almost did not last through the first round.

  “Collette was not nearly as skilled. Hesitant, awkward, lacking rhythm, almost gagging if she took him in too deep, and gasping for breath by the time her sand was up.

  “Chloe was merciless in her second round, humming to add vibration to her work, her fingers caressing his scrotum, her dark eyes locking Richard’s with hungry determination. And despite his sympathy for Collette, he could not hold himself back, and felt Chloe suck every last drop of his emission and swallow it down before releasing him from her lips with a grin…’