When she felt the foggy air flowing under her gown, she thought at first it was torn. She shook her head and disregarded the momentary worry, listening to his footsteps. He stopped at her door and she was there, waiting and ready to usher him in.
"Kind Sir, this is for all the dreams."
For an instant he thought she might have changed her mind, but she leaned in to his lips and kissed.She pulled him into her room and closed the door behind them......
......Unfortunately, the manor, or chateau as it was known in local quarters, being an ancient building ...they found themselves - instead of in the luxurious bedroom that she had known and he had expected - on a crumbling ledge staring down into the abyss below watching the hungry crocodiles stirring below realising that there was food aplenty above. Milady stepped back and tried the door but even as she did so the lock clicked and an voice, familiar to both of them, echoed in both their heads:
"I may have lost my life at the hands of that wench, but my elemental toes are still as dexterous as ever"
"I don't understand the reference to toes, Milady?" he queried.
"Oh MiLord - It's the duke, he pursues us in our heads now," she sobbed, swaying fearfully on the ledge.
Her cheeks reddened, making a delightful contrast to her pale face, the Count noted. She licked her lips and remembered those delectable prehensile ducal toes swirling inside of her, moistening her in places that had never been damp before, making her back arch in passion and taking her back and fro across the waves of pleasure that always marked her crescendo of delight. Even now, at this moment of hazard, it made her want to swoon in desire.
"But the toes?"
"MiLord, I am too ashamed to say," she whispered.
He looked at her, smiling grimly and contemplated the ravenous jaws beneath them, snapping in practice. Envisioning them getting their little napkins out and tucking them neatly round their scaly backs, before selecting the correct sauce bottle, for fresh meat from on high. He barked a laugh and thought of the options - something piquant to offset the rush of air that would accompany their descent to join the duke's spirit, flapping above them, ever the watchful ghoul. He sat on the ledge and she knelt, trembling next to him.
"Well, we are in a pretty situation here, Milady. Any suggestions?"
She, plucked up her courage, smiled discreetly and looked up at him, her eyes sparkling: "Well MiLord you could always call your flying horse or I a pair of friendly purple dragons? Or alternatively, you could get your finger out and scale the wall like any supposed knight to yonder window."
"Blimey, great expectations, Milady?"
He looked across and spied across the lichen covered wall a narrow window. He tried to calculate the distance and the odds, but his thoughts were confused by the hideous snapping beneath their ledge. He leaned forward on the ledge and she reached out to him, fearing that he would abandon her there and go to his doom, to calm the ravenous appetites of the creatures below her. She breathed a sigh of relief, as he pulled off his boots and stockings, throwing them off the ledge onto the heads of the green horde below, a rough hors d'oeuvre for the reptilian beings.
"Mmmmm," she thought as his feet were bared, such possibilities again, might send those wicked memories of that night with the duke, back into the shades where they deserved.
"We have been through many perils before, Milady," he said boldly. "And I am sure that your sharp eyesight and my endurance will see us through again."
She shrieked as she suddenly felt herself flying through the air, head downwards. "Oh no," she thought, for one puzzled moment," has the ledge given way?"
And then she realised that she was draped over his manly shoulder, as he began the unsteady spiderlike crawl along the ledge to the welcoming window. His hand seemed tightly clenched around her thighs -- more so than necessary, but, looking into the slavering jaws below, what position was she in to object. And he had to concentrate and could not think of the rounded object of his desires, perched prettily over his shoulders. The softest, most curvaceous, most delicious rondeur that he could dream of.
There was a sudden raucous cry as an evil eyed crow perched on the battlements above them, voyeuristically gazing down at the tightly draped robe that now revealed the maidenly contours in full from a bird's eye view.
"If the morning watch were to look over the battlements, what a sight they would behold," she thought to herself. "My backside practically exposed to the elements."
"MiLord," she hissed." It is the stonework that you should be clutching at. It is NOT a special occasion to be groped at right now."
He nodded, yet she knew that even he, her beloved, joined the crocs in their slavering at that point. The distraction of that thought was such that he barely managed to get the next foothold. Even so, they gradually inched their way along the precipitous and slippery stonework. At long last his hand reached out to the narrow window and he clambered though, pulling her with him, her hair now unbraided, and the red flush transferred from her blush to his occasions.
The room was dark, discrete and close, as he held her trembling body in his arms. He looked from her to the bedstead there and pondered the options. She knelt down and looked down shyly, looking at his feet. they were cut and bruised from the desperate climb and she would have a maid servant bathe them and perfume them
.....And then, she thought, I might invite him to sample me even as the duke did those nights back and really see if MiLord is beyond compare.....or just a saucy varlet to give occasional pleasure and distract from the unbearable heaviness in the heart.
She glanced down at his torn feet, pulling on the drawstring that called her handmaid, she thought of that hard grip and the shoulder over which she was flung. Looking at his form reclined on the chair in front of the fire, his long body stretched to the point of snapping, she knelt in front of him and lifted his foot to her chest and held it. Peeking through one eye, he did not move when the maid entered and asked how she could serve the mistress.
"A warm tub of water and some towels to care for these." was the answer.
Then uncertain whether to speak further, the maid bent and whispered in the Lady's ear. Looking up at him she stood and moved toward the window looking down to the ground. Glancing around the room she didn't find what she need.
"What is it?" he asked.
"We must get you out of here now. The Duke's guards have found you and are on the way up." she spoke quickly.
Then looking at her skirts and lifting the heavy outer one she began tearing the the petticoats in long strips telling the hand maid to help her. Soon she the tattered remains of a beautiful garment and was tying the ends tight together. Attaching on end to the post of the bed and the other tossed out the window.
"MiLord, it's time," She turned to him and said.
He giggled nervously at first, then held his hands to his sides and guffawed.
"You must think me a fool MiLady, I have no intent of scaling another wall for your fair features. There is only so many things I will do for your favours and my end has been reached." he quipped at her.
"MiLord, it's your backside that will be saved if you do this now, not mine. All I need do is tickle the Duke's claws a few times and he will squawk his delight with me. Now you have a few seconds to make your move or you will be culled with the others."
Looking at her eyes he saw her seriousness and stood. The rawness of his feet sending him in pain to the floor.
Just then the door burst open and the guards in their heavy shelled skins moved over him. Lifting only his feet and dragging him across the floor. He yelled in pain as they pulled. Two others took his hands and lifted as he disappeared from her view around the door but his screams came often.
Looking at the handmaid she thought for a few minutes then started barking orders for new robes to be brought out and a bath drawn. She had a plan, now to make it work.
After bathing, powdering soft spots, lotioning moist spots and scenting warm spots she dressed and took the long staircase to the dining hall where the Duke and his cronies spent their nightly ravings.
She played her most spoiled Lady and tempted him with all those spots until he could no longer deal with his cronies and sent them away.
She plied her temptations on him the night through, until sleep was all that remained for him to do.
When his guttural snore boomed across the room she dug into his pockets one by one until she heard the jingle of the keys.
Holding them tightly, she stepped lightly away.
Down the steps, around the corner until she could peer in at the guards. This is to easy she thought. They were nodding, leaning against the wall on their shells.
She tiptoed toward the door of the cell and holding the keys tightly so they would not jingle she opened it.
Lying on the floor, was her Lord. She moved closer and found his breathing a relief.
Touching his shoulder lightly he woke and sat up looking into her eyes.
She touched her finger to her lips, then motioned him to follow.
Just then the boom of laughter rang into the room, she turned to see the Duke standing there, hands on his hips, barrel chest heaving with each breath.
Looking at the guards he said, "They want to be together, then let them be forever." and he banged the door shut on them both.
Falling back against the wall, she slid to the floor and dejected.
"What have I done to us now?" and her head dropped to her chest.
She lay there on the floor of the darkened cell for a long while, half stunned by her predicament, knowing that the unconscious male form next to her would be of no assistance to her. Gazing up at the thick bars of the narrow cell window, she watched the fading evening light, that would disappear soon leaving them both to the damp and cold of the dark night. She could not stand for the chain that attached her to the black ring at the centre of the floor was too short to do more than let her kneel. So, she knelt to administer a soothing hand to her lover’s febrile brow. He turned and sighed as she pillowed him in her arms, a tear slipping slowly down her pale cheek.
She could hear the guests from the town departing, their carriages clipping off into the darkness. She listened for the familiar shout of the guards challenging each departing vehicle, but she stayed silent. There was no point in shouting out for assistance as the castle cells were so isolated and the shouts that seemed so close were, she knew only distant echoes to give prisoners false hope. Yes, she knew ever nook and cranny of the old place so well. She was not afraid though for the stonework that she had cared for throughout her long stay here with the Count, lichen covered and slow to awake, was she knew her final resort.
A cry now would only summon a kick from one of the thugs who had no doubt been placed on guard outside the cell door. Such idiot henchmen would not respond to her wiles, no matter what seductive techniques she were to use. They knew of the tortures the duke had inflicted on previous malingerers and the lingering death that they would endure were they to succumb to her sweet moans. More immediately, they would be aware of the likelihood that within her bodice a dagger or other deadly peril was concealed.
Falling into a fitful sleep, she dreamed of the past and that first sight that she had had of the castle through the swirling mist so long ago. Each bare tree had seemed a bigger threat than the duke right now, the white ghostly branch reaching down, vast hag-like fingers tearing at her cape, the gorse bushes slashing at the long velvet skirts as she rode side saddle on her gray mare, towards Miramur and the love that she had desired for so long.
She started from her sleep at a real clawing touch and woke on the cold dank cell floor. It was her handmaid, the one who had betrayed her to the duke in the first place, she was sure. She looked angrily up and reached out to slap the wretch's hand away. She knew that the slut was after the ankle bracelet that had given her the key to Miramur and possession over the living stone that formed the mystical castle.
“You'll not have it,” she moaned, but found her blow slapping futilely through the empty air as rough hands of a guard pulled her back. The girl, thinking her mistress captive and controlled now, ignored the sibilant threats and reached down again, pulling Milady's dress up to reveal her bare calves, to the heavy breathing delight of the oaf pulling her arms from their sockets or so it seemed.
“I will have the anklet, or perhaps he will have you milady,” the handmaid taunted. “Would you like his rough peasant hands running over your soft flesh? Would you like to scream as his hardness thrust into you in the peasant rutting style, none of the gentle preludes to which you are accustomed? Perhaps I should give you to him, to suffer debasement?”
The guard slipped his grubby paw into her bodice as the sibilant hissing of the maid continued, checking for that dagger or vial of poison that he believed he might find there, advancing gingerly, fearful of the sharp prick that he knew would bring his search and his life to abrupt ends together. He barked a short sharp laugh as his hands came to rest on nothing more threatening than her soft paps. Gleefully he kneaded her breasts between his thumb and forefinger, making the rosy nubs thicken under the rough pressure and press unwillingly into the palm of his hand. He chuckled nastily under his breath.
“The Duke would never allow it, ”Milady retorted, shuddering at the intrusion of this churl.
“Duke Ambergris, Milady, has entrusted you to my tender mercies,” she laughed. “For services rendered and Miramur will be mine once I have that anklet.”
"You fool. You don't know the power that you meddle with,” Milady warned her, her voice filled with contempt.
“Garn! I’ll have what I want and leave you exposed for this hulking lad’s pleasure I think. The duke just wants your body at his feet tomorrow and leaves the method to me, so what matters it that someone should have enjoyment from your suffering. I have heard your sobs of pleasure often enough, so tears of hatred and fear would make a refreshing change. Perhaps, I might enjoy MiLord while you are pleasured? A final foursome for the loving couple?” she spat and kicked the recumbent form, next to milady, eliciting a groan.
“You must not release their chains,” the guard warned. “They are too dangerous free.”
“Be silent, oaf,” the wench commanded, but hesitated, realising that she’d not get much excitement from riding MiLord in his current state in any case. She looked at the guard’s breeches and her licked her lips, seeing him straining against the thin cloth.
“Perhaps Milady’s soft mouth might prepare you for me, my friend, chained though she be. and I’m sure that kneeling there in this misty hell hole she would warm you well.”
The guard laughed at the thought and pushing Milady forward, reached down with a trembling hand to unbutton himself, remembering not to release her hand from the lock in which he held her, knowing how dangerous the lady was. The maid stood and she moved behind Milady to pull her head back suddenly, viciously.
“Will this hair that I have braided so often in the past, prove a fine tissue to clean away his excitement?” she asked rhetorically. “Perhaps, I should leave him to enjoy himself on you alone, Milady? Then I can release this damned anklet while you are otherwise occupied.”
And so saying she yanked at the unyielding golden chain, so firmly attached round Milady’s calf.
“You have been warned, slut,” Milady murmured through clenched teeth, keeping her lips as near closed as possible for fear of allowing the guard’s member access to her. Then she lapsed into silence, looking up again and realising that a mist was forming outside, even as a plan was forming in her mind. Though the mist was heavy and thick, she smiled as it penetrated the cell, it being colder in the subterranean cell than outside. With each new swirl of thick white dampness, she gathered her wits about her and reached out to touch the body of her would-be lover for warmth.
She looked away from the pair, casting a sideways look at the patterns that the fog was reforming in the darkness, white swirls of warning that only she could read, in the flickering candlelight that her tormentors had brought with them to light their plundering. Her reading of these signs kept her from observing the thick peasant member approach her face until it was almost slapping at her cheek. It stood there, stark and greasy, thick and weeping, a second tallow candle dripping its unpleasant glutinous excited flow over her torn gown....
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