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Lady Cecelia Ch. 01

By: HawkerDeHavilland



There is a joust.

Among the ladies of the court, there is the lovely Lady Cecelia. I am William of Edenbridge son of the Earl of Edenbridge and Knight to King and Country.

My turn in mock mounted battle awaits ...as the gallantry before me makes their runs at each other in the full regalia of sporting combat. Armored horses and knights charge each other separated by gold and royal banners. Pennants snap in the breeze from the viewing stand where the Lady Cecelia is seated attended by her ladies. The assembled beauty of the court is arrayed beneath the canopies being served their goblets of honey wine and grapes, but my eyes find room only for Cecelia.

The clash of shield and lance has left the field strewn with unseated riders , broken shafts and bent shields. As the armorers clear the remains of battle from the turf my turn comes. Accompanied by a bearer; I trot a sable warhorse to the viewing stand...armor glistening in the sun, the red cross and white field of St George is my shield...a crimson scarf brought to my tent by a shy Lady-in-waiting and affixed as a flourish to the peak of my helmet by my armorer matches exactly the color of Lady Cecelia's Barengaria gown.

She stands as I approach mounted. I bare my head and walking forward of the court, she greets me at the rail. In her hand is a garter, the colors of her family crest.

I bend solemnly towards her, rise and place my eyes on hers: dark, sparkling, expressive. Beneath a tapestry-band of woven flowers that circles her head...Lady Cecelia's dark hair flows beneath it towards her shoulders and she leans forward to whisper.

" Ride for me today, my love," she says softly, " win this victory and you shall win my heart as well!"

"Today I do combat in the holy name of Saint George ....and for you: my fair Lady Cecelia " I swear to her.

She straightens, the gold of her blouse shows beneath the crimson gown, and slides the garter over the point of my lance. I touch the fingertips of my chain-mailed glove to my forehead then to my lips without taking my eyes off hers. Anxious for the charge, my warhorse struggles under the weight of his armor, steps and snorts his bulging eyes bright with expectation. I slide on my steeled helmet and look once more into my Lady's eyes before closing my visor and wheeling my horse towards the field of battle.

Trotting towards the gauntlet end where my pennants fly and the monk waits to bless me, I pass my opponent shoulder to shoulder. He fails to meet my glare instead exercises his weapon in useless air. I shall win this combat. I feel it. My mount champs his bit and my armorer fights with two hands to hold him back. I reach my post to turn and face the long bannered line barely noticing the monks sign of the cross chanting his Celtic prayer for I am due my victory this day.

Far down the line My opponent rears his mount and lurches to his post facing me opposite and suddenly it is quiet save for the banners in the wind. I hear my own breathing inside my headgear..I feel my heart pounding beneath my chest armor. My boy hoists the shield and straps it to my forearm while my fingers grip and ungrip getting the mesh of chain mail seated on its handle. He lifts the battle lance towards me so I may rest its butt end on the iron sheath molded to my hip armor: ten lonf feet of lance point towards the sky. On its tip is my Lady's garter.

I grasp its weight...turning ...turning.. Trumpets blare...they blare again.

The flagman drops his marker and I spur my horse. For seconds all thats heard is the labored equine gasp in the scramble to charge. and then hooves, pounding, pounding all 17 hands of him lurching head to the fore! My target is in view and all but the red dragon painted on his shield has my sight . I drop the lance slowly as our gallop meets its limit. To hit the shield at the claws of his painted monkey means to drive through the shoulder. I'm squared up. He's onto my aim...coming...coming....

With a crash my lance finds its mark! As if he has stopped dead in his tracks it takes my opponent off his horse in a flash of dust splinters and falling iron.

I reach the end of the circle and turn. My opponent has regained his feet and raises his arm. I have won the day: this one event of many. My visor goes back. the review stand is politely clapping but my Lady, my Lady Cecelia, is on her tiptoes both hands in small fists at her chin and I raise my hand to her direction.

Large tournament tents are marked with banners and shields. With my mount stabled, I stand within the filtered darkness of my field quarters why my armorer and a page strip the mail off my body piece by heavy piece. Down to leggings, a wide waterfilled bowl stands nearby and I dip a cloth into its coolness, twist it out and wipe the dust and sweat from my skin. the glancing blow I had taken began to leave a bruise and I was smoothing my abdomen when a heard a young female voice clearing her throat. The heads of my servants turned towards the tentflaps. It came again.

" See what she wants."

The page was back. "Sir William, it is Lady Cecelia's lady-in-waiting. She asks if Lady Cecelia may see you."

"Tell her to tell her Lady that I will be ready in some minutes as soon as I dress"

He left. There was much discussion outside the flaps of the tent until the page returned, flustered He came back in.

" The Lady wishes to see you now, sir."

I paused. "Leave me. Both of you. Tell the Lady to enter."

Moments later Cecelia enetered this man's domain tentatively, searching these new surroundings: eyes bright with passion. Her eyes became used to the light and she stood hands clasped before him staring. The ground length crimson gown she wore was held to her with a band of embroidered gold cloth swooping around her hips to a V at her front where it opened to a lining in layers of gold . Matching bands at her elbows marked the billowing sleeves. The cape she had worn earlier was gone revealing the porcelain skin of her bustline, ample, pure, delicately pushed upwards ...revealing..ravishing...a gold cross hung from her neck nestling in her cleavage.

" Forgive my state of undress, m'lady, " I apologized, "I was unprepared to have ...."

In two steps she was in my arms. Her mouth crushed to mine. I felt the heat of her against the nakedness of my chest, her arms clinging to my shoulders and sliding down my back finding the musculature until lower her fingers found the seam of the leggings , traced my hips then filled her hands with my butttocks .... pulling me to her torso. The smell of her filled my senses. One hand came front and openly roamed across the muscles of my chest. Her touch was tender arousing me completely.

" ...you will take me here, sir.." she whispered, "I can wait no longer." She held me at length furiously unfastening buttons at her back attached laboriously by some handmaiden earlier. Failing this she turned her back to me,

" William.... help me...quickly." She tossed her hair to the side to clear the way for my fingers to release them . There, inadvertently, she was offering her delicate throat and as I fumbled with this mystery of female garments I couldn't help but kiss its sweetness.

Her hand came up to cradle my head pressing me closer and for the moment her dress was forgotten while I pressed myself to her from behind. My lips found her neck. Her head thrown back against me, I was treated to the glorious sight of her breasts slowly coming unbound. I watched their fullness exposed.

I returned to her dress,freed it from her shoulders, turned her to me , pulled away the cotton undershirt to paw clumsily at the lacing of her bodice. My face was in Cecelia's hands, her kisses covering my cheeks, my eyes and my mouth. Between them came the whispering want of her for me and I, desperately, of her.

The beautiful dress of crimson and gold lay in a billowy tangle around her legs as she pulled at the remaining undergarments. I'd freed the last strand from the last eyelet. The bodice fell away and the loveliness of her breasts thrust towards me, nipples hardened with anticipation. Creamy white and exquisite: they were irresistable and I fell to my knees before them taking them in my grasp. Her hands took my head and guided me to them first one then the other savoring my smothering kisses.

"Take them, William..." she whispered, " they are yours....yours alone."

I felt her catch her breath as I let the stiffened cone of her nipple slip between my lips. Opening my mouth wider I felt it warm against my tongue and sucked lovingly: first one than the other as she held me. The last piece of clothing covering her was pulled away. I felt the mound of her womanhood press against my chest straining itself wetly against me. I held her there, feeling its pressure, rocking itself onto me.

A cot and chair were the spartan accoutrements of this simple tent. A blanket thereon would be our only requirement. But even that was ignored and we fell upon the tangle of her clothing. It became our bed. My leggings were off. She grasped my manhood. Pulsing in her hand. With it she drew me to the ground, opened her legs with her heels against my calves and worked it up and down the wetness between.

I held myself aloft and gazed into her eyes while she guided it with slow retreating and increasing inches. I was soon within the warm darkness of what she'd saved for me. Almost at its depth, I began to rock myself into her. Her hand came up and both encircled my neck to pull me down.

" fuck me, sir." she whispered into my ear, " fuck the Lady out of me."

I took the full course of action necessary; for it was my sworn chivalrous duty, yet more so...my glorious reward.

Lady Cecelia Ch. 02 Pt. 01



In the decade preceding the glorious victories of Henry V on the fields of France and long before he'd come of age, an ill-advised excursion to those same fields by his father Henry the IV resulted in unforeseen disaster and the capture of 5 English earls, eight hundred Knights and two thousand good esquires.

As was the custom of the day: The Dauphin of France and his lieutenants, those who had captured without injury English warriors, held them in trade for English gold crowns. Repatriating captured English invaders this way increased the capital of many a French Lord's estate throughout France. 

William of Edenbridge was one of those eight hundred. This good Knight had fought with courage dispatching many of the French who stood before him. His valor notwithstanding: the English line had failed in battle, the day belonged to France and he was led to captivity until such time as the coffers of Henry the IV could provide ransom for his release.

These were difficult months. From the moment Sir William surrendered his arms the disgrace and shame of defeat were compounded by his conquerors. The humiliation began by being paraded in a display through the villages of France where the English were pelted with garbage and stone at every turn. 

It ended in their incarceration. A castle prison owned by one of the fiefdom's Dauphin below a great moated city and fortress became their home. William and his countrymen were subjected to jeering jailers and constant subjection to the curiosities of the Lords and Ladies of this particular French court. As if observing caged exotic animals, the genteel gentry of the Dauphin's court uninitiated to the ways of war and the English barbarians before them, would parade past the English jail cells speaking their French in mocking tones laced with condescension and laughter. Their high status and rank within the gilded Lords and Ladies of this French Court differed not one bit from that of William's own in England, yet the bitter foreign retribution wore on his soul.

At first William was defiant. But as the weeks and months progressed with no answer to his messages from home he secretly yielded to homesickness and thoughts of the Lady who owned his heart. Through couriers William had sent his pleas for release to the command of his King. Through couriers he had mirrored those pleas in correspondence to his love Cecelia.

Across the water that split the two countries Lady Cecelia had been petitioning her King franticly for an audience. She held in her possession the letters William had written, letters she had appealed to the court be shown the King in formal style the French demanded. That quilled ink on rolled parchments written in William's own hand was Lady Cecelia's only tangible connection to him. Clamoring to the Court's solicitors with them daily, she pressed them to her breast at night weeping in solitude and fearing for his loss to her forever. 

In the castles quarters where Lady Cecelia had her chambers, her Lady in Waiting marked time by candles and glass. Its hour length burned almost to its end as Lydia prepared herself for the walk to Lady Cecelia's room. Although a daughter of royalty, Lydia was in service to her because Cecelia was sovereign; a birth Royal presumed to be betrothed one day to a Viscount, Earl or perhaps even a Prince due solely to her fathers' wide fortune and estates throughout the Kingdom. Befitting her status and rank The House of Henry deemed such a daughter be served by a Lady in waiting; the maiden Lydia.

Lydia's beauty was exceptional with authority of lineage enough to protect the secrecy surrounding her Lady's love for Sir William. On the occasion of the Joust it was Lydia who had preoccupied the awe-stricken armorer and Sir William's pages so thoroughly outside the canvas walls of the Knight's tent. Astounded by Lydia's beauty and rank they became deaf to the sounds of passion within. No lad of their standing had ever been within speaking distance to a Lady of the Court. 

Cecelia's trust in her sister royal was complete. With Lady Lydia she shared every confidence and With increasing frequency Lydia attended to the heartsick Lady's chambers. Only there it seemed Cecelia could speak in confidence of her passion for William to someone so familiar with his ways. Lydia became the only living soul with which Cecelia could unburden herself of admissions of love, plans and dreams. With increasing frequency Lydia attended to the heartsick Lady's chambers. 

The hearth would be ablaze with cherrywood illuminating tapestries hanging to keep the stone walls chill from the room. Arched windows of leaded glass, the blackness of night outside, reflected candlelight from candelabras which stood on tables dressers and ornate cabinets that stood against the walls. A dressing triptych, heavily cushioned chairs, carpets of royal burgundy and the accoutrements of a Lady of Royalty filled the room.

Each time she entered her Lady's chambers Lydia felt a certain sense of excitement, feeling of shared dominion and whether she lived an absent love life at her tender age of twenty years, Lydia enjoyed the vicarious deep attachment to Sir William as did her sovereign; beaming with joy at each happiness as well as burdened with grief at every sorrow.

On nights such as these expectation beamed from Cecelia's sparkling eyes for she had discovered, although belabored by time, a solution to her heartsickness.

"Oh Lydia...come, come!" Cecelia would show her another daily composition to a benefactor in France's court who showed a possibility of taking up her cause. A table covered with parchment, manuscripts, quills, ink and Royal stamps had become ubiquitous near her bedside. Her most recent composition spread out upon that table would be explained to Lydia in hopeful detail.

"These will go by envoy to the very daughter of the Dauphin himself," she excitedly smoothed out the parchment the ink still fresh upon its cream surface, "Witness, I have made my personal plea to her for the release of William!"

"Oh, my Lady!" Lydia exclaimed overjoyed at Cecelia's new expectations. Cecelia was once again miraculously infused with new energy.

"She MUST understand. I have been civil and diminutive, respectful and heartfelt in my requests. I shall express my Williams situation every day until I am sure she has received these entreaties. A courier will send my appeal at every tide to France. The gentleness of a woman's heart is all I have left." Yet, even as the days passed, these hopes were not enough to comfort her and she began to go absent from the Court's view for days on end as Lady Cecelia kept to her quarters attende to and visited by handmaidens to her service and Lydia to her friendship.

Throughout the months, in evening hours like these, Lydia would be asked to tell stories using her observances of her Lady and William's interaction together for Lydia had always been close by to their every meeting except the most intimate. Lydia knew of every interaction between her Lady and Sir William having hovered over them exclusively. These recollections of William whispered at Cecelia's bedside in Lydia's calming voice served to sooth the Lady's troubled soul.

"Lydia, come to my bedside," her Lady would beckon at the height of her loneliness," and tell me of William."

Her young confidant would relate the details of all the meetings she's witnessed between them embellished as one would tell a love story. She would retell of their loveliness together in her own words describing the marvel of their intimacy.

She reflected on Sir William's handsomeness, his strength, his manliness and his features using the best of her words to keep his memory fresh in Cecelia's thoughts as well as to brighten her spirit. Often these remembrances seemed to remedy her Lady's troubled soul. Yet there was intimacy she was unable to describe. Lydia's virgin heart comprehended none of it even in the depths of imagination.

And the days passed. Lydia had exhausted all she remembered and as the weeks passed Cecelia grew ever more despondent. More frequently servants were awakened in the still of night aware of their Lady's restlessness. Lydia's own handmaidens had, standing behind Cecelia's chamber door, experienced for themselves episodes of inconsolable grief within. These were sounds of forlorn and tragic weeping for lost love in the darkness as Cecelia called out to him in the darkness where, on occasions such as these, Lydia was sought from her chambers.

On one particular night, roused by women's voices, Lydia cloaked herself in a robe and made her way to Lady Cecelia's chambers. Handmaidens were distraught," Oh, dear Lady...our Cecelia is possessed. The sounds she makes are one as if tortured!" They stood wringing hands, faces pale with alarm.

The hallway was dark as they opened Lady Cecelia's doors to a room dark save the firelight from the hearth. Peering into the bedchamber, their eyes adjusted to the darkness and beheld Cecelia lying beneath her covers knees making tents of the spread. She was shaking to and fro as one possessed. The sounds of her groans were barely audible.

"Wait here," Lydia whispered to the frightened girl and she made her way tentatively to Cecelia's bedside. Her Lady became still as she approached head turned away. 

"My Lady," Lydia began, "are you ill? Shall I call for an apothecary...a physician?"

"No...no..." Cecelia's breathless voice was barely audible. Her features were transfixed with expression Lydia had never witnessed on her Lady's face before, "Stay with me. Stay Lydia, please." She gestured to the maid at the door," Send her away."

"Leave us." Lydia ordered, "Close the door. Let no one enter until you are bidden to open it by me." She sat on Cecelia's bedside taking her Lady's hands in her own leaning forward to hear Cecelia's desperately whispered words.

"I am burdened with a thousand cares, "Cecelia began, " yet I have found the place within me which William claims as his. I cannot bear to be without his touch. I see the vision of him in my mind's eye and entertain this place he holds so dear as if my hands were William's very own. This touch, so mired with a sense of false heaven has become the Devil's own incarnate. May God forgive me for this falseness for now that I have found it I cannot forsake its sweet sin."

Lydia was unsure of her Lady's meaning and tried to calm her.

"My Lady," Lydia swore, " I have the will to keep your confidence for I am dedicated in spirit and bound to your heart's command as would be any faithful sister. But I do not understand. "

"Oh, the sight of him...his manhood...oh to know he will soon offer it to me. Yet...Oh, my soon to be husband confined in French prison has redoubled this inconsolable desire for him," Cecelia was breathless, "he is lost to me! And yet to touch, to stroke, to desire its precious gift in complete fulfillment...the want of him Lydia...the weight of it."

Lydia gulped at the words from her Lady's lips. These were inexpressible thoughts of her sex, a man's sex and their interaction. "My Lady," Lydia offered what strength she could having never experienced comparable temptation, "should you not force these visions from your thought? A priest...through prayer..."

"Why deny this treasure?" Cecelia interrupted, "Why cover this heaven in a burial shroud or disguise this love under the ruse of genteel self-restriction? You cannot know what my William has caused within me! Once uncaged it cannot be recaptured! It cannot be ignored!"

Lydia felt a tightness take her throat. Cecelia's words, so foreign, began to peal their knowledge as a carillion of bells from a tower. These were words befitting an unchaste scullery maid, rude and strangely unfamiliar, yet they excited Lydia's young heart.

"You are forgiven by me as God in his mercy forgives you my dear sister." Lydia's soft voice trembled.

"And then would God in all his mercy keep me from this? You must stay with me then. Tell me words of comfort Lydia. Take this care from my heart sweet sister and comfort me" Cecelia's hands tightened on hers, "If you will not speak then be with me while I minister to myself. Help make this agony pass quickly with your words of love sweet sister so that I may fall into blissful sleep. This ache shall never leave me and I shall face the dawn with exhaustion." 

"My Lady..." Lydia stammered, "Why?"

"Lying together, the William you cannot know entreats me to shed my garments and I do so willingly watching as he disrobes, watching his wonderful chest and I, so close to him put my hands against it and feel my heart pound. The manhood he possesses is revealed unlike an animal it is a magnificent thing and I reach to hold it. Cock so utterly hard, yet silky and soft yearns to be inside me. His words tell me so. He entreats me, pleasures my flesh as it moves to me. He craves me. He worships my flesh. My breasts become playthings in his hands. The pleasure administered to my helpless bosom is indescribable. His kiss seduces my every sense. His arms enfold me.

"Every thought of him arrests my senses, royal sister, how can I lie in this bed with the ghost of him haunting my sex? To be lifted to the gates of heaven, his scepter warm and hardened as if stone. A beautiful spear waiting to fill me with his length, his thickness, Lydia, my legs open wide for him! I beg for him like some debased bitch. Beg him, Lydia!, beg him for the hardness of his manhood to plunge itself into the depths of all that makes me a woman."

As Cecelia spoke Lydia became aware of an unoccupied hand reaching beneath the covers where Cecelia allowed it to linger.

"Cecelia," her maiden companion, overwhelmed by a bombardment of images whispered, "why....what is it that occupies your touch this way?"

"William is the cause of my need. William is the counselor of my hand and my touch," she whispered desperately ," pleasure I must have in his absence. Please do not judge me dear sister."

".....Cecelia." Lydia's voice was barely audible.

"Do not judge me...sweet dear sister...just know before God how I need this...please do not leave me alone...honor all I ask of you."

There came a soft liquid slippery sound from beneath her Lady's covers. Knees bent causing a canopy between. Cecelia had reached hands between her own legs to administer their fingers touch to the womanhood between. Bed sheets slipped from her knees to ankles exposing her actions to Lydia's wide unbelieving eyes.

"He holds my breasts in his hands providing me with infinite pleasure," Cecelia said entreating, " let your hands be mirrors of his own. Heed my description and touch these unsatisfied privacies of our delicate sex. Put your hands to their sensual use upon me Lydia so I may put an end to this impossible yearning and be able to do so quickly. This touch from you is all I ask." 

"Oh.....dear," Lydia's hands once in Cecelia's grasp, were released. Lydia trembled; unsure and weak with confusion. Her voice was troubled, "Dear Cecelia, my rights in this cause are yours alone. Yet surely , should someone know we should be banished! Am I to be directed by you this way is my sworn duty and I would do so lovingly at your command, my Lady....yet the shame if ...we....are discovered."

" It is such false honor girl," Cecelia said softly looking into Lydia's confused eyes, "Hold my breasts in your hands. Take them as you would your own. Tell me not you have never, for I would demand you swear before God you have not....here...girl....be counseled by me...for my sake, for the sake of love and our fairest sex. In the name of passion, in the name of my desire."

"Oh Cecelia" Lydia's voice broke with emotion.

"Raise it and take this gown from my body. Place pillows and bedding beneath my back. " Cecelia was softy insistent.

"Oh my Lady..."



Lady Cecelia Ch. 02 Pt. 02



On the hill of Cecelia's rising chest they lay like twin worlds of female excess: fascinatingly large, a warm opulence huge in Lydia's small hands, areola's wide and raised with nipples displaying a capacity for surprising length and thickness. After caressing the pliant globes of them gently, familiarizing herself with their heft and weight, she smoothed upwards to their peaks plying bumpy dark flesh into support for Cecelia's excessive coned nipples. These she captured and rolled in her fingertips stiffened and erect. Lydia pulled them gently upwards and away to elongate Cecelia's breastflesh then rolled her wrists.

Cecelia groaned. There was a rhythm to her fingers teasing caress about the bead of her clitoris. She neither slowed nor quickened its pace, relishing in Lydia's attention to her breasts. Having her arms tight against her body to allow her hands to do their work below served to capture and intensify the presentation of her overflowing bosum to Lydia's warm hands. The mountains of them were offered to the canopy above. Cecelia's head tilted back. Her dark ravenlike hair spilled across the covers as she rocked her head slowly back and forth. Her hips imperceptably rose and fell to meet her own fingers while the insistent caress administered to her breasts flooded her body with pleasure connecting it to the sensation of fingers demanding a helplessly fuck-hungry cunt open for them. It did. It swallowed each thrust. It tightened on them. It ached for them.

Cecelia's legs splayed wide. Her hips rose to each entry involuntarily. The heavy pliant pearl of her stiffened clitoris absorbed a thrashing of fingertips about its entire length and breadth. Each inhale came, was held, then released with a moan.

Lydia had been requested. Her Lady had required it. There had been no hesitation from her for everything between them was shared. Their inseparable lives demanded an attention to the needs of the other and she bent to her task with relish. Even more so: Lydia, with this deed, had become an indispensable confidant.

She also found herself discovering pleasure in the feminine luxury of offered willing breasts and what her manipulation of them could do, growing fonder of the experience with each passing moment. The sighs coming from Cecelia's impassioned lips filled her with inexplicable warmth. Aside and leaning over Cecelia this way had caused ribbons to escape their hold on her hair. It began to spill from its ties.

Being oldest in her family there was a time she had watched in fascination as her dearest mother, on the event of the most recent infant's hunger, had offered a breast to the baby for feeding in her presence. She had watched the serenity blossom on her mother's face sensing a oneness with the world. Once witnessed, Lydia found herself drawn to each feeding and its presented breast from which a fattened nipple was urged towards moving lips. There came the soft comforting voice from her mother as the baby sucked. When time came to offer the other, Lydia watched the swollen nipple dripping milk feeling both envy and a certain jealousy each time. Those were breasts swollen and pink. Yet even milk laden and at their most demonstrative size, those breasts were diminutive when compared to the ones in her hands.

From above Lydia allowed her undone chestnut hair to feather across the work she was doing. She drew it to and fro across hands breasts and nipples so that Cecelia might experience its softness until, engrossed by the effort, she found herself presented with breast tip only inches from her lips. She stilled. Hands filled with bosom she squeezed. They rose. Nipple touched her lips. Without hesitation Lydia presented kisses to its sides, its tip, its base and then the other. Its warm stiffness caressed her lips. Cecelia poised in anticipation. Lydia pressed her lips to areola to begin tonguing its bumpy slope and with her lips parted, took the nipple between them to tongue its thickness within. Her Lady groaned. The cone of it slipped squirming between tongue and the roof of her mouth erect. She sucked laving it with her saliva then drew at its softness walking her lips to the cone of areola. Opening wide, she collected as much of breast flesh as she could take in and began sucking.

Cecelia's breath caught in her throat. She began a furious session of fingers sliding within her vagina. Slender arms directed their own hands between soft thighs into splayed pussy. The ringless fingers untouched by labor ruled the innermost depths of her womanhood. The wet sounds of entry, the slurp of mouth on breast, the scent of flesh covered with wetness and the unmistakable aroma of womanhood in its most drenching heat dripping with juices filled the air around them. Cecelia's groans were guttural and deep. The bedchamber faintly echoed with its liquid slippery sounds. It assaulted her senses. Lydia, an innocent of but twenty years, found herself lost in a paradise of flesh. Her fine hair draped in a sweep across her Lady's chest curling against chin, neck and covering Cecelia's shoulders with its length.

These chambers had become a haven of femininity. A woman's bed with all its whimsical touches of color and softness, sheets of satin, pillows of down and covers of burgundy encompassed smooth bodies and tenderness of flesh. Soft thighs opened, sculptured collarbones pressed forward, the silken tangle of cast aside bedclothes, the willful wanton heart of women possessed with desire these had become the unbecoming universe of two secretive friends.

Lydia's femininity began to weep like a sweet wound. Desire had blossomed impossibly within her yet being so far behind she knew not what else to do and moved to the other capturing Cecelia's waiting breast. With this Lydia indulged herself tonguing heavily against its offered flesh. The pulse of her Lady's ministrations held constant. Each breath was an appeal, a moan a gasp for release with chin tilting ever farther towards headboard. Her hips rose. Her belly tightened and Lydia widened her lips over warm helpless breast flesh to draw it into her mouth taking it to Cecelia's very core, nipple bearing against the back of her mouth.

"Oh my god, "Cecelia blurted out, "oh my god oh my god." Her hips came off the bed held high for her thrusting hand, the fat bead of her clitoris scissored madly by the other. 

Suddenly Cecelia brought her head forward chin on chest to meet Lydia's eyes. Wide opened desperate want consumed them, the pupils dilated, color surrounded by pure white. Her brows knit, eyebrows raised. Cecelia's jaw dropped, her face transfixed. " Please dear god please let me come."

Lydia stared into them. Authority had charged her actions with sudden activity. Lydia grasped both hard nippled breasts in her hands. Leaning on and supported by torso she began to quickly lick and suck each one after the other. Cecelia's gaze melted.

Her nipples felt tongue in rapid sucession. She gasped. Hips froze in mid air in the depths of a thrust and held. Fingertips laced a clitoris frantically staring at Lydia for as long as she could until her head fell back into a tangle of raven hair. She trembled and felt orgasm course through her in a beautiful wave.

"oh......fuck...oh fuck...." she blurted out; her breath came in great short gasps.

Lydia felt it and knew. Her Lady shuddered again. In a voice unrecognizable, she heard Cecelia choke out a cry: first one, then another at each overwhelming clutch of vagina against the fingers held inside her. At first powerful and all-consuming spasms that seized her Lady from head to toe, they subsided to gentle seizures that pulsed her hips.

Somewhere within; fingers had slipped from their womb, driven out by their contractions and slipped from the thick lace of her labia. Both hands pressed there for protection; pressed there in the chance one final hint of pleasure lurked beneath the soaked curls of her sweetly tortured womanhood: to find her touch ready.

Lydia had long relaxed her grasp now that stimulation had abandoned one of them. She lay across her Lady's torso. An overwhelming sense of shyness caused her to disentangle herself and she slid her hands slowly and gently from the breasts she'd so forcefully handled. They were bright pink in the firelight. The astounding nipples returned flattened to their reserved demeanor. The slow pace of Cecelia's breathing allowed Lydia to rise and sit aside her Lady's prone body.

"pull these covers from beneath me," Cecelia whispered," Lie next to me that I might tell you my heart before the night takes us both to bed, dear sweet girl."

Lydia wanted to weep. Holding her tears of frustration at bay she arranged covers across Cecelia and lay herself above them next to her satiated protector and listened to Cecelia as she spoke softly.

"At the start...I only thought of William," she began, "but soon I am the devil's plaything. My loss and sorrow for my Knight disappears. What I do here has no language of love....only base desire. My want of release rules me! All has changed. What was once a respite from the ache in my heart for him has become an excuse. I find want only my own satisfaction. All of this is of my own choosing! Dear Lydia, whatever am I going to do? My desire is almost an obsession!"

They spoke for many minutes with no answer or conclusion until Lydia sensed her Lady was drifting into sleep. 

"Rescue your William, my Lady." Lydia said gently," All will be well once you are in his arms and safe in England."



Lady Cecelia Ch. 02 Pt. 03



Lydia took up her robe, hooded cloak and candle to make her way from Cecelia's chamber door. Satisfied she was asleep she opened it to find both their handmaidens waiting.

"Is my Lady asleep?" she was asked.

"She is well comforted and sleeping, girl," Lydia instructed, closing the door," Now go find your bed and rest." The girl turned toward the steps and disappeared into the darkness.

"Come then, Annalette." Lydia spoke quietly to the girl who remained and she began leading Annalette to the steps that led down from Cecelia's solar. Had she noticed something different in her handmaiden's demeanor? 

With each step Lydia trembled. Her knees buckled. Cecelia's words consumed her thoughts. As passions rose they rang in Lydia's memory revealing and lustful :

"What am I to do," She had whispered when it was done. The dizzying smell of a woman's ascension floating in the still air between them was exacerbated by hands which had caused such shameless self-pleasure rising to take her own! Long silken fingers still damp with wetness had intertwined with Lydia's as she spoke, "I cannot keep these shameless hands from my own....cunt. For my cunt, and that is what it most assuredly is...my irresistible gluttonous cock-hungry cunt, god help me...pleads for me to use it this way at its every desirous vision of him....so shameful...so utterly shameful, tempting me ceaselessly with cunning desire. It finds every excuse to be caressed as if I have no control over it! I am no more than a whore to my own depraved womanhood!"

"There is no shame in this Cecelia," Lydia had sworn, "That love is itself illicit and humiliating...should therefore such impassioned release be denied? It is well that you should be satisfied dear Cecelia, or fall into madness with desire!" Lydia had stroked her Lady's hair, her cheeks, her neck and shoulders until she fell into blissful slumber. Only then had she removed herself from Cecelia's side.

Yet this unrepulsed tryst shadowed each of Lydia's steps to her own chambers below. She had found herself fascinated by the pulchritude of warm breast flesh. The recollection of it had Lydia warming beneath her robe even as they walked. How thick nipples peaked above swelling areolas, how Cecelia's hands had dropped away as Lydia gathered their warmth to manipulate without guidance, how she had hovered over the helpless upthrust hills of them, how her thumbs and forefingers made fattened nipples into stiffened cones, how she had pinched twisting gently at nipple areola and breast until she was milking them to Cecelia's very core, how Cecelia was entering herself repeatedly wetly noisily , how mature hips thrust when Lydia clamped diligently to those magnificent breasts, how transfixed Cecelia eyes had become at the sight of her mouth sucking and how incredibly it served to hasten a release that became a bounding powerful orgasm; all of these memories and more crowded every other thought from Lydia's mind. As they descended the staircase the sound, the sight and the passion of what had occurred only moments before became all-consuming and so powerful she felt compelled to hold the bannister for support for reasons she might swoon.

What Cecelia had shared with her in words and in unabated passion, Lydia would never have revealed had their places been reversed. Lydia's own secret, separate and dark, was a deeply private creature that would appear as unnatural sorcery to any witness who might have mistakenly stumbled upon her in the heat of these compulsions. That no one had, she was certain. No intrigue had revealed anyone's knowledge otherwise. Her tortures were her own. She loved them that way.

Unknown to Lydia; one who longed in the night just for the stolen exposure to her willful self-possession that was Lydia's private sin of flesh she diligently sought to keep secret from all the world but herself had been laid bare to other watchful eyes for these many past months.

At the foot of the steps, with candle in hand, Annalette preceded her in the hallway so that she would be first to open her Lady's door.

"Are you chilled M'lady, "her handmaiden asked, " I can bring wood for your hearth."

"Yes," she answered absently. Her waif of a handmaiden dressed all in blue with apron and linen coif covering her hair looked to her with upturned hazel eyes. The demeanor at Lydia's chamber door still had not escaped her pretty face. An arresting thought occurred that Lydia carried scents around her only women possessed. God knew she was wet from this! That and the aroma of flesh laved by saliva combined with the impossible drench between her legs, evaporated, would be unmistakable to a girl beyond pubescence. Her handmaiden's eyes were cast down respectfully.

"Annalette, come here and stand before me."

"Yes, milady." Her handmaiden stepped towards her. 

"What is your age girl?" Lydia raised her hand and placed it against the girl's flushed cheek. Eyes closed then gazed slowly back at her.

"Eighteen years milady," then added," On the feast of Saint Thomas. Though, if I may say, I am truly ready to make my way in the world milady," the girl answered, "Through your guidance and the council of my family although they be of low nobility. I much look forward from the days of my youth."

"I must find something for you to use besides my title when we speak privately, Annalette" she said, "Suppose you should try and use my given name."

"If it pleaseth you, milady." She answered

"It is well that you are of noble blood. Your fairness of face will most certainly garner the attention of a noble in this court and that is how it should be. "Lydia said lowering her hand, "So be it then. When we are in the privacies of these walls; I shall be Lydia."

"Yes milady..." she stammered, " ....Lydia."

"Let us both look forward to the dawn of a new day Annalette," Lydia paused for many seconds before taking emphatic hold of her handmaiden's arm and saying sternly," But for this night... mark me well, see to'it that Chamberlain does not hear word of what has passed or anyone in the household. If tales or rumor catches the ear of those who need not know of Lady Cecelia's distress, I can promise that those who've told those tales will be turned out. If not? Should an evening's secret stay so, then emoluments will be yours for your confidence." she added letting go of the girls arm," to advantages."

"Yes, Lydia." Annalette answered gravely.

"Now bring some wood for the hearth and Annalette," Lydia paused," some warm water, cloths and soap for the basin. Go now, bring them back to me for I have devotions to attend to."

And so Annalette turned to her duties. Minor nobles sent their daughters and sons to serve the court as Ladies in Waiting, Handmaidens, scribes and Pages in the hope they would find a husband or wife and thereby help the family gain more power. For someone as young as Annalette the frivolities and carelessness of youth could easily interfere with her charge but these she hid beneath the sense of duty grown in her heart over many months. Her sense of dedication had been secured through service to a Lady who caused both joy and dread in her innocent life for as did the winds sweeping over the English countryside Lydia's persona twisted like the vane above the ramparts. Pointing south; those breezes were soft and gentle, but pointing north they were cold and brutal. Annalette had been subjected to both.

First to the Castle stores then to the scullery, Annalette instructed their watches that there be wood and a vessel of hot water left at her Lady's door for her. Both were there when she returned. Annalette knocked softly and was bid entry to find Lydia at her devotional table: a chairless sloped piece at its summit a triptych which opened in three pieces to display the icons of her faith. Within were brilliant painted images applied to the inner surfaces. There she knelt on a cushioned prayer stool. The King James bible on its sloped surface remained unopened. Annalette had never seen it any other way. Lydia's elbows on either side brought folded hands to her chin and there she concentrated on the images before her dressed in stockinged coverlets and shrouded by a scarlet cape.

Distracted and impatient, Lydia's previous expressions of friendliness had disappeared. Without speaking she pointed to the shed nightgown and robe lying on the floor in a jumble. With a 'yes milady" Annalette gathered the used clothing, left them outside, brought in the vessel of water and split wood for the hearth placing them onto the glowing embers. She then hastened to leave without the verbal dismissal which would have certainly come angrily and with a condescension which always accompanied nightfall in Lydia's chambers.

Annalette closed the door behind her. Seconds later the bolt was thrown on the other side and locked. She paused filling her arms with Lydia's clothing to be washed and as she had so many times before, the girl lingered. Those many nights early in her service found Annalette struggling to find composure through tears caused by her Lady's unreasonable unwarranted meanness. It seemed that her anger always came at night and leaning against Lydia's door she would search for reasons why and wait until calmed so she could go on. 

But one evening in Spring as she languished sadly against the door closed to her a dawn of realization had come to her. As her ears felt the ringing of bitterly shed tears it was soon replaced with sounds from within the room she had just left. That night Annalette had fallen into silence straining to discern their meaning. The oaken planks which made up the heavy door was gapped near its hinges afforded the smallest slice of observance into her Lady's chambers and through this she dared look.

There were nights when all was silent darkness within. But there were others when a fire was demanded, 'devotions' performed and candlelight flickered wildly between the slats through which Annalette peered, that her Lady performed what Annalette could only call witchcraft. From the darkness of an abandoned hallway the girl stared heart pounding holding her eye to the slip of view within and shamelessly waited for what was to come.



Lady Cecelia Ch. 02 Pt. 04



The house of the Dauphin of Agincourt was rife with corruption and debauchery. Know all at the outset that never in French history was one more decadent than this.

In France, King Henry's men languished in Agincourt castle prison. 

Their humiliation at the hands of the French was ceaseless. English Knights of higher order found themselves visited for the sole purpose of the French Court's entertainment. French men, some of them, lost interest in these Anglican nobles who soon found themselves on display more frequently for the French Court's curious women. 

Englishmen with no French words available to their tongues had begun giving the parade of frequent Lady visitors names. Knights and English nobles chiding each other on the repeated visitations of Laurette, Regine, Angeline, Felicite accompanied by their giggling handmaidens: there for the sole purpose of seeing the English 'barbarians'. Safely isolated from them like exotic animals in cages the Englishmen's solidity, stature, strength and manliness contrasted widely from the effeminate men to which French Aristocratic women were accustomed. Unrestricted by mores or modesty, French court women became brazenly flirtatious with the prisoners from the distance of incarceration behind stone and iron.

With much protestation and calamity, shaking of bars and threats to the guards in the pitch darkness lit only by a French soldiers torch: one English knight of high order was dragged from his cell of eight and placed in irons to be taken away. Rumor raced through the dungeon that they were to be chained and flailed one after the other for indiscretion.

The 'unfortunate' English noble returned to the population next morning with fantastic tales of intrigue at the hands of a Lady of the Court; one of their frequent visitors. This churned a tempest within the hearts of many Knights.

To these ends, William felt dismay. To hold his love of Cecelia on a certain pedestal and see English manhood subjected to willful desire of the flesh and submit gleefully grated at his sense of honor. William perished the hopeful temptation others had embraced by banishing these thoughts from his mind until he himself was singled out for these attentions.

A red-haired fair skinned, tall and angular Lady of the Dauphin's Court had come accompanied by her handmaiden to linger at his cell. No one had seen her before and she , being new to the debauchery and never observed by captive knights of the chamber , ignored the leering jests with haughty dismissal. The Lady followed by a vacant handmaiden came directly to the cell of Sir William of Edenbridge and made a gesture to the guard.

"Le non, ceci est celui que je veux" while her handmaiden's eyes cast down the red-haired Lady of the Dauphin's Court stared at William without expression and instructed, "Ayez-le amené à mes chambres ce soir"

.......................Have him brought to my chambers tonight......................

The women departed quickly as they had come. Within the resultant brotherhood of boasting chide that men employ when discussing women in their own male company William sensed guilty compromise. The distant altar of his love for Cecelia was becoming a difficult thing to worship. The warmth of companionship he had lacked for months had been kindled with this one eye-opening moment leaving William of Edenbridge both heartsick and enthralled . Yet through it all he determined the occasion of this midnight meeting whatever it entailed, would carry the possibility of release from bondage, the proposition for release, a petition initialized or a message forwarded to his own English court. These would necessitate the willing cooperation of those he was soon to meet. So he sat in the darkness of his cell listening to the restless sleeping of his comrades waiting and plotting the path to his freedom.

At an appointed hour a jailer summoned him in the pitch of night where, filthy and unkempt, he was taken under guard of arms through the unfamiliar maze of stone and mortar that made up the French palace. Through small hallways and steps meant for servants he was turned over to houseguards and escorted above to the entrance of a chamber. The French soldiers knocked and turned away as to not look within. That same door was opened by a handmaiden he'd seen earlier. William entered. The door was closed and locked behind him.

William had been once familiar with the machinations of a Lady's bedchamber. His own true love's was expansive, elaborate and for all the effrontery and dignity of the court William had found Cecelia's invitations, frequent and sensual within her bedchamber, to be irresistible having spent many nights in her arms until the birds of the morning chased him away. In comparison to his 'soldiers' quarters, for he had lived a Spartan existence free from accoutrements, a Ladys bedchamber was elaborate, inclusive, filled with the whims and fancy of its owner, splendidly crowned in luxury. But true to the French, this Lady's was an opulent candle lit paradise of femininity.

An iron wrought tub it deep basin standing on carpet filled to its brim with steaming water, beside a table with sponges, soaps and colored bottles waited before him. He was led to it where the Lady who had confronted him in the cellars below sat in a lounge garbed in Chinese silken robes; her red hair undone and spilling across white shoulders. He understood no French.

" nettoyez cet Anglais, Marie.." she instructed her girl. He was to be cleaned. The handmaiden undid the buttons of his filthy tunic. There were no words for him to say. These were women. He was powerless. Standing in the first warm water he'd felt since summer in England, he submitted to the girls sponging until every last blot of war was wiped away, almost dizzy from her gentle patient touch. Toweled from head to toe, he stood as the girl held it before him, the strawberry haired Royal appraising him from her seat nearby. She stood and came to him.

The Lady's hands were soon tracing his bruises and the marks of battle that creased his shoulder, his muscled chest, the hard line of his chin and his scarred face. It melted him. The days, weeks, months of hardship taken away by this creature in mere moments by her touch controlled William and soon her eyes on his brought every attention to the feminine beauty of these two women. It was becoming clear this handmaiden was no servant but a willing participant and partner.

"Je m'appelle Yvette, Anglais" the Lady whispered. This he understood,"'Williame,"she repeated his name.

"Je dois le faire stimuler, Marie..." and the girl's hands were on him in a way that was familiar and repeated. The care in the touch and arrangement of handfuls of hair presented over her shoulders the maidens press, the barely audible whispering left William helpless.

"....enlevez mon chemisier , fille..I think this...he should see for himself" and the maid's fingers were to her mistresses silken blouse taking each button in turn, then slipping it from Yvette's shoulders lovingly. The maids eyes adoring, caring, her touch tender and knowing on her Lady's flesh. Yvette's breasts were spare, small, lovely things. Nipples were pink and standing erect. As if having been deprived hands returned and those nipples became buds pressed and twisted gently in Marie's fingertips while her Lady's eyes never left Williams own.

" Marie......Je dois le faire...stimuler...." Yvette's handmaiden shyly and slowly slipped to her knees docile and obedient. William felt her small hand slide against his belly, the other take his hardness, directing it to her lips and the softness of her face.

"Est elle bonne pour vous? " The Lady Yvette questioned him. The faintest of smiles held Maries lips.

It was at this moment a flood, like a stiffened candle tensioning a hovered bowl of warm beeswax spilled in a lurching from his cock. Having been without , its throbbing erection released a load pent up from months of isolation from womanhood. Nothing more could be done nor did William care. Seminal release had come without pleasure.

There was a drawing away and laughter. Marie stood staring with disappointment.

"Does not a beggar stuff the crust he's been handed into a hungry mouth?" William said disgustedly, "Am I some player noted for a speech for which he has never prepared? What manner of house is this that plays at sex as if a trifle for naught but humours?"

Both women giggled. "garçon juste que vous avez un amant est un mystère" Ignoring his words Yvette blurted out her mockery,"(She has this boy as a lover?)" 

"Release me," William started uncaring, "If you understand my tongue at all," he paused. Something Yvette had said,"......She?? Who is it of which you speak?"

"Respect is not in your suit? I have no need for English. But if it serves my purpose then I am schooled certainly. You, lowly Knight, are the subject of petition. Upon my life I know not why for there is one in your land of Norman's who cries for you daily. Why only God knows for your clearest response to womanhood," Yvette pointed to his manhood, " is the hurried inexperience of youth! "

"What petition? Of whom do you speak, tell me!""

"It is unnecessary we discuss these matters, for I do large favors to this poor petitioner by turning you over to our jailers and being done with you!" Yvette was arrogantly posturing but her handmaiden's careful eye hadn't left the subject of her stimulation and made verbal note of it.

"Yvette, ma Dame, il reste debout. " her handmaiden whispered excitedly. William's size had not diminished despite its release and like a lustfully experienced maiden denied, who's interests are rekindled, and without being told to do so, Marie reached for the sticky coat of his reddened cock slippery in its entirety and seized its hardness as if it should somehow escape attentions she had long considered for days. She rearranged herself on her knees, moved open mannish thighs and soothed tightened legs relax, pulled back hair with one hand and felt her lips quiver with anticipation. William became speechless.

Yvette had fallen silent to observation. Her handmaiden bent to her duties pressing lips to the unaltered cockhead; plumlike in size fronting a shaft of demanding dimensions. She kissed, licked and sucked its bulb drawing what was left of semen from its stem. Just as they'd planned and plotted Marie honored her Lady's wishes and put her passions to the sweet labor of manipulation demanded by her special desires.

For Marie, her Lady's enabler, all in life that meant anything was here at her disposal. She lusted. She knelt to her duties with relish for all her hopes were pinned to the scant hours of satiation she prayed lay in store. Yvette quietly watched, admired, compelled, prepared to instruct from above but Marie needed no tutoring. She had served as Yvette's vessel and voracious tormentor of whatever male and whatever bed she to which she was commanded. Her Lady Yvette would have no man. Her heart was hardened against them. For this Marie would be willing joyful servant to both man and woman. Her charged feminine soul, the workings of which were one in tens ofmillions, lusted in the needed of it. William collapsed to the chair behind.

"She is nymphomane, Williame," Yvette standing, " I am sure you understand that."

"What kind of people are you?" Marie's arm had come over his leg hand finding the small of his back. She had worked herself between his opened legs and risen on her knees. Below her head falling then rising gave view to breasts squeezed between his thighs. Her other hand worked the length of his cock following lips as they withdrew then opened again to take its thickness and length deep inside her mouth. The handmaiden was single purposed hearing no voice unless it be that of her Lady urging Marie to greater efforts. Marie responded to the smallest encouragement with obedience born of a desire impossible for other women to fathom. Her small mouth opened wide for cock, sweet warm throbbing pulsing spear of cock, grasped held and building in its response to her caress causing wave upon wave of pleasure to build inside her realized only by its taking. Expectant and insatiable, her very soul yearned for more. 



Lady Cecelia Ch. 03 Pt. 01



Each day Cecelia's determined purpose was securing her love's release from the hands of the French and for this she waited on court until Henry deemed give her audience. That day finally came as she was announced in the presence of the Archbishop and Duchess of Canterbury.

"Gracious Sovereign, your highness, " Lady Cecelia stated, "I owe my life and my services to this Imperial throne. I appeal therefore, on behalf of my Lord Sir William of Edenbridge who has served his King with honour in France on the field at Agincourt and his held captive there: to ask my liege for your Knight's ransom and his release."

The Duchess raised her hand for silence.

"I would say upon normal circumstance that this is most unusual! These are matters handled through ambassadors and should not concern a Lady of the Court : certainly not on of your standing Cecelia."

Her heart sank. For many months she had petitioned for an audience. She had steeled herself in anticipation each day, mulling over her words well-practiced in the appeal she would make yet standing now in silence with her tongue stilled and herself humbled by Royalty, Cecelia was unable to stop the tears which had begun to run down her cheeks.

"You weep before this assemblage dear Lady, " the Duchess said softly, "Why?"

"Lord Edenbridge is my life and my love." She stammered barely able to speak the words, " I would gladly go to the ends of the earth to be at his side. I hold his letters. His appeals to which your noble counselors gave all assurances would be honored. Yet day by day my ears have become deaf to these assurances and I long for Sir William to return to these temporal halls to be not only by my side: but to your service, your Highness. This is why I have come in my person to humbly mitigate on his behalf."

The Duchess interrupted smiling, "Still your tears, Lady Cecelia, you have a patron in France! It is in the person of one Lady Yvette, daughter to the Dauphin himself, who has noted your personal appeals. She has sent courier here with letters in hand requesting your presence.

"Lady Cecelia, I too have been moved by your words and through your patron in France we have provided that an issuance be taken from the coffers. That stake gained: you, Lady Cecelia, together with the counselors' letter of guarantee, a court guard, ladies in waiting as you so choose, provisions and ship of sail has been secured. You are to leave on the most convenient tide. There you will petition the court of the Dauphin through Lady Yvette who will personally secure the return of William of Edenbridge." 

A low table the length of ten feet sat centered in Yvette's chambers. Its polished surface was cleared and laid out with pad and linen long before William arrived. Yvette had pulled her robe closed. Condescension dripped from her words.

"You have a woman, do you not. " Yvette stood over him haughtily unimpressed. Her handmaiden hadn't released the oral grasp of his manhood. Regardless the question caused William's head to lift at the inquiry; a sudden fire in his soul.

"Cecelia!" He blurted out, " may her name never be upon lips such as yours!"

"You are impudent and rude, barbarian! Agincourt has been tormented as would a battlement under siege by this Lady Cecelia who claims to be your own! I have assumed, for the sake of the Court and God in Heaven knows only why, the many appeals of this persistent Lady of Lindisfarne. She pleads in far too many petitions for your release Sir Edenbridge."

"Release me then! And be done with it!" his demand weakened by the handmaiden ministrations. Yvette spoke on without acknowledging his compromised position.

"I have my own reasons in patronizing this arrogant Englishwoman. She has been relentless. What manner of the male species holds possession of a woman's soul such as you have over the Royal blood of Lindisfarne? Love is fickle and fault-laden; a mere reflection of dreams. Yours cannot be love complete! She professes, to the ends of the earth, that this is so. Yet it becomes my pleasure to be intrigued. She pleads for his release, yet this man of hers, this William of Edenbridge who then is HE to hold such sway over the life of a woman of Royalty? 

"So then witness my insatiable handmaiden's talent ." she gestured to the girl on her knees, "For this, as much as her sweet companionship makes Marie dear to me. For all compromises, treaties and bargains in my realm can be judged in their truest nature by exposure to her specific desires. Whether they be sealed or broken they stand on my judgments that uninhibited truth will only be discovered when compromised by the flesh. I therefore shall witness for myself if it is a sorcerer's hold you have on Lady of Lindisfarne's heart and I do it only because this Cecelia interests and amuses me with her appeals. My pet shall find pleasure here regardless, but you? Get you to this table then, serve my wishes and your Lady's love fire shall be proven or discounted. On that and my private council of her: all decisions concerning your release shall be decided."

Marie ceased, stood in response and William reluctantly did as he was told to lie prone on his back before these French women as Marie let loose her clothing and moved to mount the stake of his manhood; its stiffness unabated by threat or insult.

Yvette's handmaiden was a sprite of a girl. Light hazel eyes, freckles, an upturned nose augmented by light ash hair braided down her back and a firm lithe body would have been the envy of any Lady of any court on the continent. But she was Yvette's own plaything and true to the demands of her mistress, Marie was soon straddling Williams' prone frame and reaching between and below to manipulate his cock into the recesses of her prolific and dripping cunt.

Suddenly Marie talked and she spoke as if possessed! The girl knew not one word of English. Instead her full verbal attentions, always directed towards Yvette, consisted of nothing William cared to understand. In a flurry of French, she spoke answers to all of Yvette's appeals. William might have admired the frequency and generousness of Maries smile under other circumstances, for it was unique. It lit her face like soft firelight; its excited beauty expressly for Yvette's eyes alone. The Dauphin's daughter was curious and questioning. Marie chattered Francaise in words that could have been the Devil's own for all William knew. Yet Marie spoke idly with her protector as one would discuss weather not the revelation of feminine discovery!

He was being used. For that, he felt no passion except what animal stimulation asked of vagina on cock. No excitement or arousal beyond the hump of Maries hips against his own. The chamber in which this tryst progressed was richly appointed all of it lit by candlelight placed in excess to illuminate what would be. William stared at the ceiling as the two women cooed and nuzzled. Female lips on female lips worked no magic in his imagination. The feminine hand caressing the fairest of breast failed to demand attention. The whispered sensitivities shared between soft voices inches from his own ears did nothing to thrill him. Nor were they intended to do so. Their shared richness was meant for one to the other.

Marie spoke her French with kisses. A suggestion was made. In concert with Yvette's wishes she leaned over Williams chest with her own, putting elbows to the table aside and rotated her hips onto his manhood.

In Marie's experience the uncontrolled excitement of all men would soon cause them to flail then loosen their thrusting misguided causing a misconception in which Marie would be forced to correct with a pause for reinsertion. This male had none of that. The repetitive lowering of her opened womanhood on his thickened cock proceeded without interruption. Its constancy built a pattern that Marie found to be a pleasant respite. Even the most vigorous rotations of her hips in rapid succession were met with a strength and firmness that allowed her to exercise the full length of fuck stroke from an almost-appearing cockhead to base of the long shaft she rode to the plate of musculature which consistently bumped her clitoris. This Marie did longer than necessary becoming more aware of the girth and length of Williams manhood.

He was not coming.

"Maîtresse, qu'il me prendre comme la bête?" To Yvette, Marie had requested something different. This suggestion by her handmaiden was considered for a moment then agreed to.

"Oui, nous allons le voir." She answered and instructed him to come down from the table. There he was to find Marie leaning over its edge. He was to enter her from behind. William assumed then this had been the handmaiden's thought put forward and agreed to.

"Let us see what kind of barbarian you truly are." Yvette mocked.

Marie positioned herself on the tables edge elbows on the spread and offered the buttocks of her posterior to him positioning her legs to expose the wet mound that just had used him from above. She looked upwards to Yvette standing opposite her and the male poised to enter. Marie appealed for approval and found despise of the man poised behind in Yvette's eyes. Yet she was told that it suited. 

Without reservation or dignity William took hold of the handmaiden's hips and positioned them working the head of his cock to press open the legs before him. There was no end to Marie's capacity for wetness. Manhood splayed the lips of her pussy opening her warm hole and slipped easily within the cocoon of her vagina. The rhythm and pace of his strokes were no different than what Marie had given him from above. 

She expected something different. Perhaps a furious thrusting and rapid orgasm of a man unused to a woman's subjugation in this manner in seizing her reins in a bid to expend himself finishes to quickly for the unsatisfied mount he rides. Instead Marie discovered the engorged hardness of him was even more pronounced filling her repetitively with hot thick pulsing cock. It drove her into the tables' edge. Because of it Marie's raised ass cheeks absorbed the repetitive press of his torso and spread her sopping exposed vagina for complete entry at each forceful thrust.

As before; the women spoke. Yvette faced her from the table's other side. But Maries answers became more hesitant. The words had become quick responses. Yvette witnessed that with her handmaiden's high ass prominent, Marie had begun turning her head to witness with her own eyes the cause of her sensations. She became restless in her positions. At times she dropped to her chest on the covers. Her head rested there looking rearward. Then it turned to the opposite side again to look back. The hands had come away to become fists filled with bedsheet.

Yvette witnessed her handmaiden struggle to momentary rises on elbows. But these were brief noted by an unseeing stare quickly collapsing to the cushion's support again. The man was taking her handmaiden unexpectedly. Marie was moving in a way that showed a certain deliberate joining less controlled yet more readily accepted. There came a time when there came no response to Yvette's words but gasps. This continued longer than Lady Yvette planned to allow.

"La prendre et terminer cette!" Yvette finally said in frustration, "Marie se remettre sur la table et le finir!"

With great difficulty Marie was able to separate herself from William unwilling to do so until the man holding her initiated it. Without speaking she clambered quickly onto the bed made of a table and lay on her back watching him. Without pause William followed and mounted her. Maries legs went wide open for him. Pinned beneath and fully engaged by his cock, those same legs had raised and locked around his waist. Her arms went around his shoulders. There, eyes closed, she endured a long series of entry and withdrawal that left her gasping for air. Uncontrollably she was meeting each of his thrusts with her own. Pleasure began to seep slowly through her being.

Edenbridge went to his toes. He straight-armed the table, poised the platform of his body on a plane above her shoving his hips into the handmaiden's own. With each of these new feelings Marie held new parts of him: his sides, his arms, pressed to his chest holding his neck. She began to twist beneath him as the table to which she was pinned shook. He was driving the nine inch spear of his cock fully into the splayed opening of her torso, pulling its length fully to cockhead before sawing his manhood into her again. The pace of repetition never slowed, yet never increased. Instead it continued with unremitting animal fury as he plowed the gash of her sopping cunt with singular intensity.

Somehow she had gotten her legs raised enough that William in two quick moves captured them above his muscular arms. There on her back, legs spread wide, her knees at the sides of her naked breasts and feet above her head caused her spine to curl towards the fucking. Her ass from torso to buttocks to thighs flattened formed to the pounding and rebounded as he withdrew. The tan sunburst of her asshole puckered then sagged with each shove as muscles met, held and released with every coupling. His fucking this way caused her legs to lock onto the anchor of his arms using them to tighten the musculature of her cunt around his shaft making it grasp as it withdrew and open as he entered her in a mirror image of her mouth upon his cock earlier. Pinned like this her whole body was able to clench it within her before giving it up.

Maries elfin face was transfixed with furrowed brows. Jaws tightened then opened wide to gasp. Her head began to rock back and forth. Utterances began making sounds from her breathing in small French cries of passion. She had never felt anything like this. Each entry possessed her in building increments. It seemed endless. She could barely stand its intensity. Doubled up on herself legs from toe to hip stretched wide and high to gulp at cock deep inside her. He fucked her in a way that splayed them wide, took her to her very depths, tested her cervix and deserted the clenching walls of her vagina too quickly only to repeat itself on her again. 

The table shuddered. Marie's insides were an earthquake of pre orgasm. The Englishman was relentless within her. Deep inside and ominous her belly felt the seeping onset of it. The walls of her vagina began to clutch and spasm. Feeling, sweet beautiful luxurious pleasure began sweeping through her torso and up her spine.

William of Edenbridge entered then held his cock deep within her. It stayed there. He remained motionless.

"hnn....hnn....no.." she pleaded as her head went side to side. Marie's husky voice had become incomprehensible in any language. She grasped his arms, she held his sides. With each sound came a breath and with each breath came a cry. Her head went back and forth. She dug her fingers in his rock solid arms. Her voice pitch rose.

"....oh...mon ....dieu..." there came one then another breathless gasps followed by a series of high pitched cries.

William, prone and elevated above her poised as a statue, his shaft deep inside the handmaiden, his hips crushed to Marie's squirming torso and he held deep while she came on his cock. 

Legs locked behind his arms; her thighs shinnied, shimmied and squeezed inwards with each gulp of her pussy spasms causing Marie to cry out as one would having lost their very soul in an earthquake of orgasm and sobbing as if her dearest possession had been lost, stolen and taken.

"Marie..." Yvette was stunned. She had been powerless to stop the seduction of her handmaiden. In an interview she arranged herself. She softly whispered again the name its owner could not hear. "Oh, Marie." She whispered sadly.

At that very moment, In the channel between England and France, the seas were almost calm. Lights from the French coast were distant on the horizon. Unable to sleep, Cecelia came on deck, made her way to the prow and watched the universe and all its stars bright in the blackness. The sails barely filled with breeze and shifted in frustrating luft. There she stood and prayed for a wind that would hurry her to the Port of Calias. Nothing would keep her from returning with him...... Nothing. 



Lady Cecelia Ch. 03 Pt. 02



For two days she had prepared the cases wardrobe and accoutrements for Lydia's journey to Agincourt which allowed her Lady to be at Cecelia's side in support of Cecelia's's bid to secure William of Edenbridge's release from the hands of the French. Each waking moment, had found Annalette laboring with new instructions from Lydia so that by the appointed hour for departure Annalette found respite from her Lady's constant demands as she left in the rescue vessel departing the shores of Lindisfarne.

That same evening in Lydia's room, Annalette closed the door behind her and went to the devotional of which small case remained untaken. Of this Lydia's handmaiden knew yet said nothing of reminder to include it in Lydia's hasty preparations. 

There the case sat forgotten waiting for Annalette's first ever inspection of their contents. Opened it revealed the vials, horned talisman, book and packets Lydia used when her devotions reached the culmination of necessity. These Annalette began to handle as if discovering someone else's secreted treasure. She pried the cork from an opened vial, took the silver thimble and sipped the barest amount of its sweet liquid for herself.

On board the ship carrying Cecelia and her entourage Lydia would fret over its loss to her, furious that her handmaiden Annalette had said nothing of reminder.

The Count of Corofin; County Clare Ireland's appointment through alliances with the Tudors had placed Lydia's family in the Court of Lindisfarne Castle and with it had come Lydia's service to Lady Cecelia on Holy Island on the east coast of England. 

In Lydia's homeland on the cliffs of Moher on Galway Bay lived a barren maid: part of her family and Lydia's mother's distant Aunt. The old woman was Druid; Celtic Druid and a 'Cailleach draiodir mna', a witch and conjurer. Upon hearing of their departure for Lindisfarne, this strange Aunt had searched out Lydia's family, separated Lydia from the rest of them for the brief amount of time it took to press to Lydia's hands a small case containing that which this "aunt" thought the youngest Corofin maiden would need while living among the royals of a Noble Court. 

Within this case were talismans fetishes lace and potions: potions she claimed (amid stern confidences and warnings) would melt the heart of the most stubborn man. Young Lydia was to save them for the blossom of her maidenhood and use the potion at an opportune moment.

Assured the vials packed safely in a cushioned felts would advance Lydia's purpose when she had come of age and at the time she so chose, she was told to administer a thimble-full to the goblet of an unsuspecting Noble and thereby change him into a heartsick and willing suitor.

There would come a day, she was told, when time would portend nothing else would serve her purpose but this elixir. This advice and gift she presented to the unsuspecting girl under vow of secrecy leaving Lydia with a small wooden case which aroused no suspicions. This case Lydia brought to England and there in her chambers it rested untouched for two years.

One day, urged by her own curiosity, she tasted it herself. When the fever of its effects broke hours later; Lydia swore to never share even one sweet drop of this elixir with any other but her own tongue.

On that special dark night when her nurturing of Cecelia involved breast play at its most intense, Lydia had dismissed her Handmaiden, bolted the door and surveyed the bedchamber. The hearth with its new wood illuminated its lower ceilings, vaulted curtained windows between tapestries. 

That night Lydia had cast her eyes on the single most luxurious necessity in her wardrobe: a high bed covered by a large canopy containing its own curtains for warmth and privacy. The elaborate pergola was supported by four heavily hewn posters of oak. Each polished pillar soared upwards from a carved lion's paw encompassing a turned ball on ball shape sweeping tapered above to its top post carved flame finial.

Lydia's bed commanded the room. She would be intimately involved with its structure soon. Unbeknownst to her that involvement would be performed under the unrelenting eyes of her handmaiden.

Annalette had been performing the errands of wood and water that evening. Lydia, on her knees at her devotional, reached as she had so many times before to the small wooden case on the floor beside, opened the lid and removed a vial and silver thimble.

Removing its cork she carefully poured its liquid to full, replaced the vial in its box and brought the liquid to her lips tasting its sweetness again. Swallowing quickly she gazed at the triptych's images opened before her. Her eyes fed on these images of angels beautifully rendered in azure skies. As had become her habit, she studied these erotic renderings as the effects of druid elixir seeped slowly into her being. 

Aloft on high hovering on beating wings transfixed with spiritual ecstasy their loveliness was a stunning vision captured by an Italian artist whose meticulous detail transformed the sterile renderings of the church to something vibrantly preserved in classic nakedness. This was the subject matter of her triptych. The angels, many more than necessary, were sensual women done in loving detail. Like sweet Sirens the angelic females of her triptych glorified none but themselves. 

The artist had excited her with this tri-fold mural. As she had at each of her "devotionals" Lydia feasted her envious eyes on their detached beauty. They floated in a blue firmament. For Lydia her small open triptych was a window into a different heaven. Glorifying open arms revealing a thinly veiled eroticism the countenances were brimming with sensuality. She sensed no difference between her own souls building rapture and these angels exposing their beauty on high. It was only a picture; but and incredibly sensual one. They beckoned her to a much different body of worship. A feminine entreaty to self-pleasure.

Her worship had lifted Lydia from her knees and took her to the looking glass she kept covered with a shroud. This drape Lydia removed revealing to her own self the full length of her body head to toe. 

"Sin of self-love possesses all mine eye and all my soul and all my every part. And for this sin there is no remedy. It is so grounded inward in my heart. I know no face so gracious as mine. No shape so true, no truth of such account. And for myself my own worth is defined. For my beauty in all other worth's surmounted. The glass shows me myself indeed; gloriously fair surpassing all known or seen. My own self-loving is an iniquity. It is thee, I that I praise. Painting my desire with the beauty of my days"

Lydia directed every attention, every thought and every word of the sonnet she knew by rote. 

As she had so many times before Lydia stared intently as she lowered her cape to expose the thin sendel beneath. The exquisite fine silk clung to her body highlighting all that glowed beneath its shimmer. The cloak dropped to her hips. It hung against her buttocks before sliding to the floor her treasure and the pleasure of her own body unveiled.

In the sheerest drape of sarcent she stood absorbed by her own image warming at the very sight of herself. In her narcissist heart she knew no woman alive possessed her attributes. 

The druid elixir began to thrill her very being. No one was as fair as she! Her features possessed a face exquisite, her eyes deep hazel like no others, cheekbones high and flushed and the perfect line of her nose as the rosebuds of her lips shimmering in the firelight. Look at my hair, my throat, the way it sweeps to collarbones and how perfectly it sweeps from my milky skin!

Her shoulders were smoothly holding up the lustrous satiny translucence. She verily glowed beneath its drape watching how it sloped out to breasts its weightless silk hanging from the tips of magnificent nipples.

Lydia reached up her sides and gathered the gown at her breast line to see and feel its sheerness clinging to her magnificent bosom.

In self-appraisal she reached for them, fondling their slope, their sides, letting her open palms tease hardened nipples feeling the effects of silk between hands and breasts.

How she adored them reveling in their feeling and response to her own touch; they were hers rich luxurious and warm. Re-harnessed in the gathered soft cinch of silk against those breasts Lydia turned slowly side to side before the mirror and watched as they moved across her vision adoring the manner in which stiffened silk-brushed nipples had hardened beneath its cling. They stood perfectly, privately before her own gluttonous eyes. She released the gown to reach for her own thick head of hair above.

No woman possessed any like hers. Great full thick chestnut hued locks of it went into her fingers luxuriously. Lydia lifted it to the top of her head allowing it to spill in increments back to her shoulders. She gathered it behind and turned to admire her long smooth neck. It had the poise and attributes sought after by the finest painters to be rendered in oils for eternity. 

She tilted her chin in the fullness of wanton pride. She was surrounded daily by tedious plainness! Lydia gloried that true beauty was hers alone and so reached down her sides sliding hands across hips and waist: so exceedingly fertile. She turned slowly again. Her derriere, her alluring buttocks, that wonderful ass she possessed stood high proudly highlighted by firelight and she allowed her hands the pleasure of caress.

'It' was waiting for her as it always had. Lydia displayed every intention of resistance entertaining thoughts of 'just this' and then to sleep and dream.

Yet unrepentantly her smooth hands used long fingers to loosen each ribbon that held her nightgown closed. Once one had been pulled every tie came loose. The miniscule weight of iridescent sarcent opened in increments.

In a thrill of anticipation Lydia drew the gown behind observing her pointing toes, her delicate ankles, long languishing legs and thighs in form and beauty, hidden from view by the demands of civility, here exposed in all their beauty. How they would slave for her soon!

The heart of all that commanded her impatient desire revealed itself to adoring eyes. Lydia tilted her hips towards her image in the glass. The mound of her womanhood, swelling with a richness of proffered curls was visible soft and fine with hair the color of her locks. 

The fairest lips of labia separated in perfect symmetry. It glistened with dampness. Lydia slipped one hand over her ribcage, her belly and against the tightened musculature above then ran her fingers through those delicate curls. A fairest bud of clitoris stood waiting for fingers. She raised her eyes from these intentions to watch the wantonness in the mirror. Inevitability had begun gnawing at her insides. A flight among her angels waited in patient silence. Unalloyed Lydia would soon be a lover to herself in a way no one could possibly fathom. 

This sensual self-litany was witnessed to completion from Annalette's view from outside Lydia's chamber door. The stirring sight of it had caused her to take herself obliviously there and then in the hallway.

The experience beyond that door Annalette would have for herself in a perfect imitation of Lydia's witchcraft she had witnessed so often before.

Forgotten was her Lady lying in a sea cabin bed fretting over the abandonment of the case she needed so desperately.



Lady Cecelia Ch. 03 Pt. 03



a continuation of this tale

The scene:

At dawn Lady Cecelia and her entourage have been led to the palace of Agincourt accompanied by counselors for Lady Cecelia, a counselor for William of Edenbridge to enable a parlay with King Phillip's apanage and regency of the estate, some knights and servants to the Court. Among them was a Lord of the house surrounded by wards and vassals of the house of Dauphin.

In attendance to this audience were Ladies of the Court among them Lady Yvette, niece to the Dauphin and with her a silent handmaiden.

There in an anteroom Lady Cecelia and her protectorate were confronted by Yvette, her counselor and handmaiden aside from the formal negotiations. Formal greetings were exchanged and Cecelia thanks her benefactor for her interest in Sir William's ransom until Yvette makes clear in terms unmistakable that William has committed a love's betrayal in her own presence of which she begins to detail until Cecelia in realization of these revelations meaning to her love, flashes with anger and furiously condemns her.

"Daughter of Satan! You have bewitched him! " Cecelia has her arm held by a compatriot. 

Undeterred by the outburst which she ignores wryly this Lady of French court comments upon Cecelia's garments.

"Is this the dress of English royalty which claims such sophistication?" bemused, Yvette continued "This is an effrontery to the Court: this a peasant's attire indeed! How unfortunate it is draped upon so lovely a rose."

"Bastard Kings of France to have spawned such a devil in the adulteress who stands before me!" Cecelia's face, flushed with anger, held the blush of youthful beauty's eyes piercingly dark. Yvette, with confidence in which power reigns, turns to her handmaiden and whispers something in her own language to which Cecelia responds immediately

"I understand your language as I do my own, Lady, think not privacy from my ears."

"I see no use for English, "with a wry smile Yvette demurs, "But Lady of England, exceptions are made here. And that no misinterpretation can confuse my meaning: I will speak your tongue as it pleases you which is more than I deemed necessary in the company of your lowly Knight."

"In his company?!" Cecelia blurted barely able to control herself Cecelia drew upon her mission for strength, "I come here with ransom for Sir William of Edenbridge and in the presence of your Dauphin I will demand his release as is in accordance with treaty and be well-done with this land and with you."

Yvette, ignoring Cecelia's frustration, begins appraising the Englishwoman in a manner which draws silence from Cecelia and leaves her strangely exposed. An unwelcome gaze sought to possess her femininity in an unsettling unholy manner. At the same time two counselors spoke in words unheard: Cecelia's ears deafened by distraction.

"I believe...." Yvette interrupted as her eyes never left Cecelia, "you Counselors will find the Dauphin accommodating and useful. He above all is gracious and just, far more than an English invader who seeks to usurp our lands in the name of his God, However, I will entreat the Dauphin to honor your ransom which will unlock this Knight's safe passage from this kingdom and yours Lady Ceceli : once you honor my simple request."

"What request is that, my Lady." the counselor for Edenbridge asked.

"My desire will be revealed in due course. "

The eyes of French femininity were upon Cecelia as the fire of an oven seeks to bake that within whether it be fruit , bread or sweet sugary cake.

For the first time since coming to France Cecelia felt apprehension. Her strength of will had carried her across the sea and marched her to the seat of French power armed with righteous purpose. William of Edenbridge would be released but now she was dangerously at odds with what she had supposed her rights entailed. 

She had agreed to satisfy a personal oddity of which there was no precedence! Should her submission carry no honor? What reason did the Dauphin have to release any of them aside from Lady Yvettes' word that Cecelia had honored her pledge? From this unusual position of weakness, Cecelia spent the evening distraught. 

Just the smallest word from her love would have transformed her into a 

tower of strength. With nothing save isolation and fear to keep her company Cecelia sat pensive unable to be comforted even by her handmaiden in this affair: her closest confidant Lady Lydia. 

Fretting her course of action and fearing its consequences went for naught for a knock came to her door a precisely at nine. In this atmosphere Cecelia was called to appear in the chambers of the Dauphin's niece: the Lady Yvette.

As has been said before: the house of the Dauphin of Agincourt was rife with corruption and debauchery. Never in French history was one more decadent than this.

There came for Lady Cecelia and Lady Lydia long candlelit walk. An escort consisting of guard and a watchman walked them through winding upper floors of Agincourt castle to private quarters high above the moat and castle grounds. 

This evening journey was the requirement exacted from Cecelia at her audience with the Dauphin counselor and was the requested wish of his worldly niece: Lady Yvette. Here in the darkness, silence was broken only by footsteps on stone and the flicking of mounted hall torches they passed. 

Cecelia's thoughts were filled with trepidation. In her hands a carved box containing the sovereigns for her love's release, in her handmaiden for this effort Lydia's hands were the flowers Cecelia brought as a gift, and her preparation for the offer to kiss this Lady's ring as her final humility before Yvette's seat of power.

"Does this Lady believe she represents the Papal crown!? " had come Cecelia's earlier incredulous response to her counselor's settlement. It was both an odd and disturbing request that lacked any sensibility. She would perform this duty if it meant their final escape from France.

They paused at the large oaken door closed to the chambers of Lady Yvette before Cecelia turned, looking square in Lydia's eyes to issue the instruction "Dear Lydia. Not a word of this is ever to be spoken." 

Faced with her Lady's stern expression Lydia trembled with apprehension while swearing her lips would be forever sealed. An iron knocker a door opened inward for their entrance to Lady Yvette's white-walled high beamed bedchamber where Yvette and her handmaiden waited. A flickering glow from the hearth and candles lit the room.

Cecelia turned to Yvettes preparations for them as Lydia shrank away as one who hides from discovery. A corner of the bedchamber would eventually find her ; fearfully clenching hands to her lips ignored hopefully until ushered away with her Lady long minutes in the future.

"First, this..... " Yvette greeted her with two crystal glasses poured with green liquid. An arrow spoon rested atop on which was seated a cube of sugar. The water Marie poured transformed the contents a milky lime. Lady Cecelia was beckoned drink.

"You would poison me? " Cecelia was incredulous.

"La fee verte" Yvette answered smiling, " It is nothing but a green fairy. "

"I will not drink with you." She swore

"Oh but you will if you want your ransom served!" Lady Yvette swore confidently, "You shall soon see no harm shall come from this innocent drink. It holds a pleasure amid its liquid you will discover allows my requests of you tonight to be met with a more willing...shall we say..... obedience. As proof, I will sip the same, but you shall not deny me. Lady Cecelia, since our first correspondences I have found your nature stimulating. You are an unassailable character that incites me. Though I care not a whit for him your sacrifice for this knight amuses me. 

What then is the distance your humility shall travel? That is my wonder and interest: your ability to humble yourself before me. You have been summoned to pay homage to me for the release of your man. My pleasure will be found discovering the failings of your honor and self-will before my own. "

"I am here to pay his ransom and kneel to your power, m'lady. Nothing more." Cecelia stated her only intent.

"Your lord sits imprisoned and shamed, Lady Cecelia. Any protestations serve only to extend his suffering. Or, perhaps that is your intent? " Yvette wondered.

Cecelia paused. There was nothing she would not do. William must be back in her arms and soon. " I shall drink with you then if it means his sooner release." 

"Sip these drinks with me and thy knight shall be yours anon." Both held a glass. An effort by Lady Yvette to touch their crystal rims was repulsed.

"Know I condemn you as a she-devil and if what you say of my William: an adulteress as well" Lady Cecelia's eyes burned to pierce her antagonist's with hatred. 

Yvette bristled with imperiousness. In an impatient and authoritative voice she expressed no sympathy.

"English Firebrand! This ring of which I speak will be the genuflection of your English lips to my demands! They will not be spitefully given I can assure you! To my ends there will come your self-witness to the lion's roar you flourish and the feline purr it shall become. You shall be tamed as surely as Venus rules the sex of your heart! So drink you this with me and end these useless protestations you put forward with nothing save impudence to back them"

That the issue might pass quickly Cecelia drank. As each sip slipped across her tongue and down her throat shefelt the liquid seep through her being and with it; her compulsions slipped slowly away just as the sunset fades to night. 

Her stars, planets and swirling universe became Yvette's. Cecelia would clutch to them as a primitive would on the edge of civilization awed and overwhelmed.

From her corner of anonymity, Lydia watched the strength of her Lady's pride slip away. Within its surrender came, ever closer, the power of the Frenchwoman over her object of affection, for indeed Cecelia's seduction was one which the pure and innocent Lydia had never before been privy, and yet it unfolded before her eyes unabated with her Lady's helpless approval. There came words misunderstood between the two then a moment of laughter. Then came actions in movements that left no doubt to a compliance that both shocked, shamed yet thrilled her with new astonishment. Cecelia in her state needed knowing.

"Why do you exact my humiliation, Lady." came Cecelia's query. The blue eyes staring into hers never blinked.

"Your beauty: which did capture my eyes in Agincourt has captured my sleep as well. My desire became the extension of your Knight's solitude, I shall live these hours in your sweet bosom."

"Those should be the sentiments of a man!" Cecelia tried with all her might to resist, but for her sake, she was unable to conjure reason, excuse nor denial. Her thoughts swirled in expectation, "For both this drink and your words, my curiosity has been captured, something within me swells as a stream before the flood. Yours is devilish persuasion: whether it be what courses through my veins or some restless dream my modesty cannot hide. Yet I should hate you for this misdeed."

"Stand before me." Lady Yvette demanded and took the hand before her to lift her up before her, "Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made for kissing, my beauty, not for such contempt." 

Button by button, cinch by strap Lady Cecelia's waistcoat, claret bodice and cotton chemise opened to both women's deftly moving hands. Marie was more than a willing hand servant in this.

"Should thy revengeful heart not forgive, Lo, I will lend thee silken bonds of my word as delicate as your sensibilities enforce and lead you to my bed there to bind you fast."

"You have forced upon my lips a potion that has robbed my will and yet you would place me upon some rack to torture some unknown confession from me when my will to withhold has been stolen? What would you have me say Lady that I cannot do other than offer freely?" Cecelia asked.

"Your assumed resistance has been my overflowing cup since your arrogance became my first note. You will find, dear Cecelia, a touch among us three that will turn you captive to honeyed suggestion. My torture will prove sweet, your confession shall be offered freely. The subject of my own soul's desire as I have enjoy'd the sin of many a woman's poor heart, Even as thy breast encompasseth your own for it is soon to be mine."

Cecelia felt a building sensual glow seeping into her being. She tried an explanation, "Tis more than you deserve, yet even now you teach my thoughts to flatter you."

"To take you in your heart's extremest hate," Lady Yvette came closer taunting Cecelia's will, "with curses in your mouth, tears in your eyes, with witness of god, your conscience, and..." she indicated the hands of them both upon her, " these gentle binds and I nothing to back my suit at all, but the plain devil and royal demeanor.....And yet to win you this way! This then is my victory and my sweet condition." 

Yvette's lips were inches from her own. Cecelia felt as if to swoon.

From behind, the handmaidens touch had not left her. Warm and causing her to tingle, yearning when it left and thrill at its return again. The moment of resistance had passed without her knowing. 

"Enlevez mon chemisier , fille? "....and Marie came behind Yvette to gently lift the blouse from her shoulders. Girl eyes were on her amused hands stroking her Lady's arms as she watched the reaction. 

Cecelia found her gaze enveloping Yvette's lithe tall paleness having never been confronted with beauty so porcelain or a head of hair so straight, fine and vibrantly red. Taller than she, blue eyes encompassed her own. Cecelia stood still erect.and immovable had she even cared a fraction's hesitation. There was none. In her nakedness waiting for lips she knew would touch her own powerless to resist or justify her will's collapse. A slip of the finest sendel slid across the French woman's hips and fell to the floor. Flaming fine hair that barely hid the fairest of French womanhood: its exquisite femininity seized her eyesight. The inches between them seemed charged as would magnets of attracting fields.

"Then, I confess, before high heaven and in this privacy," Cecelia's voice was barely a whisper as she spoke, "That I shall love your desire for me."

"Je souhaite essayer votre baiser, Cecelia .." Yvette whispered demanding her mouth. Trembling, Cecelia felt the power of Yvettes' pink nipples sliding across her own breasts. She sensed her own nipples peak softly. Gently she felt another woman's lips press to hers. Her breath caught as the careful softness and a flood of sensuality unexpected and impossible to comprehend. Naked warm hips met her own: exceptionally soft. Cecelia's mouth opened unable to resist a tongue she let slide carefully against hers knowing there would be nothing she would not do.

All that Yvette had promised her and demanded of her was coming to pass. More than her simple patronage this was a seduction so foreign and unimaginable in its entirety yet every aspect shocking her with consuming sensuality.

Holding herself ready for touch of hands on the most private parts of her body Cecelia felt Marie smoothing then squeezing her buttocks from behind fondling then sliding an elegant hand between her parted legs to sense the willingness in the dew of her arousal.

She found herself staggering while led by the girl to the padded silken covers laid out for her unmistakable bed. Reclined quickly with a desire she'd never thought possible Cecelia opened her legs to Yvette's French handmaiden. Between them Marie found a position to attain all that she exposed. There came, beyond kisses which greedily tasted the insides of her knees, her thighs, the valley that nestled its curl-covered mound, every last bit of her sense had flown in expectation to the syrupy erotic press of lips to the sanctuary of her womanhood.

The girl had her in preparation drenched with her own wetness. Yvette stood aside and above Cecelia, stroking her face, smoothing her hair, tender against her cheeks and whispered unspeakable French eroticism in explanation of what would be in store.

"This talent of Marie's , it pleases you.... does it not? " came the melodic sound of her captor's voice whispering into her ear. Cecelia had dispensed of any thoughts but these. Her hips began a movement to the handmaidens tongue. Her clitoris bathed with ministrations that caused its swelling bud to search closely hungrily for an exceptional woman's swirling tongue. Marie's lips had pursed. A kiss supplanted sucked and surrounded in stimulation exquisite consuming her with sexual hunger.

In the ebb and flow of each sweet assault, Cecelia felt closely attentive beside her, Yvette's hands on her breasts grasping , plying them in a massage ending always with a squeeze and pull of her nipples. They stood towards the rafters. She arched towards them for more. Yvette's lips were on hers again, longer and more familiar in a sweet addition to what was happening to her. They were tender and softly demanding response and claiming it given. 

Marie covered what lay between opened thighs each kiss delightfully wanton. Cecelia felt the flowing caress of hands soft about her legs moving to capture her hips guiding her thighs to the cradle of the handmaiden's shoulders. Arms pressed along her sides until warm fingertips moved across her torso in their deliberate walk towards her breasts.

Heart pounding Cecelia felt her nipples explode with desire for their touch. Her labia had fallen open to an encompassing mouth. In desperation she raised her head to witness her own taking and witnessed Marie's eyes meet her own knowing her hunger. The tongue was a mad thing about the length and breadth of her stiffened clitoris. 

Cecelia gasped. She was going to come, oh so quickly!."oh, please!" she cried out loud.

Realizing her efforts were close to providing Cecelia's release, Marie's fingertips finally tested each nipple the barest touch of them causing those hips to leap in uncontrolled eruption against her mouth. Possessing the swale of her, the touch which tortured the orgasm from her, those lips knew just when to surround her clitoris and crush open mouthed against to tongue-dance across the swell of it. 

So soon!...oh, god...so soon!.....Helplessly, Cecelia could do no more than reach towards her sweet tormentor filling her hands with the girl's hair crying out in a voice unrecognizable even to herself in deep guttural groans.

Cecelia came in great clutching orgasms against the girl's face.

There was no detecting Yvettes climbing beside her nor realizing her nakedness moving above or one knee then the other placing itself on both sides of her tilted head until the seeping pulsing rush of pleasure began to fade.

Cecelia's eyes opened confused by deep undeniable pleasure. Lady Yvette had placed herself above her head straddling her face. Cecelia's dreamy vision filled quickly with the opened cleft with Yvette positioned above looking down at the face of her sweet prisoner. The scent of her glistening in the fairest of peach and pink amid the faintest of fine strawberry curls with bud of the Frenchwoman's clitoris appearing clearly revealed for her sight alone.

There captured and pierced through Yvette's delicate labia was, silver and sparkling in candlelight, the ring she realized was meant for her homage.

Lydia stood in the shadows.

Had she been considered or her comfort been arranged for; the poor girl 

would have found the wall which now pressed against her back regardless. Had Lady Cecelia's handmaiden been able to run, she would have certainly deserted her caretaker to flee the room, the castle, and the disturbing images which unfolded before her eyes for Lydia's will came only at the behest of her benefactor.




Lady Cecelia Ch. 03 Pt. 03



Lacking any of her own; Lydia's courage lay in the protectorate of her Lady Cecelia's strength. There Lydia stood and trembled unable to raise plea or protest. Lydia's first fears of realization witnessing her Lady coerced, compromised and seduced had compromised Lydia's inexperienced feminine sensibilities. 

She could not hide from the baseness of it and witnessed wide-eyed forbidden illicit lust. Amid tears of confusion the stark images before her were threatening, wronging her stare as if somehow she herself could be seized and dragged into an ungodly lesbian fire that was unfolding on Cecelia's slab of torture: Lady Yvette's table.

Weak as poor Lydia was and left to divisive fears that same simplicity of character transformed those images even as she shrank from the seduction before her eyes. Royalty had been her master since birth. None but the pageantry and beauty of court had been her experience. She served constantly in the presence of beauty where all was staged ceremoniously carefully with pomp and orchestration. Women of the court had forever been her guide and sustenance: her very reason for serving as she did. Royal Ladies of the court upheld a beauty to be admired created through handmaiden's assistances resulting in glorious adoration among all who laid eyes upon them. 

Yet accompanying Cecelia to this chamber to be entrusted with its innermost intrigues, her Lady had solidified a new bond. Witness to submission, Lydia became parcel to its accomplishment. Her Lady had discovered contentment in her special predicament. So then by her ties to Cecelia; did she. Within Lydia's heart came the soaring realization that because of her silence she had been enabler and confidant in this tryst. 

Everything before her eyes served to heighten and direct her heart towards sensuality. As a dawn would break upon an ocean, among those shadows of flickering candle and firelight, a thrill began to seep through Lydia she would not escape. She as handmaiden to one of the most beautiful Ladies of the English Court gazed at the erotic banquet before her. To but cross both arms and hold herself sent feelings through her. To put her hands to her own flushed cheeks was proof enough. To feel her quickening pulse and sense her own breath shallow in undeniable gulps riveted Lydia to occupation of voyeur.

She had watched as Cecelia put the crystal of green liquid to her lips, sure the elixir was French poison evil-prepared, yet saw Lady Yvette drink that same potion! Lydia had watched a certain 'sense' come over them both and witnessed the flurry 

of attention brought to them at the hands of a worldly handmaiden...this Marie, this sinful and arrogant Marie who took the clothes from her Lady's back lifting her most private of undergarments greedily from pale shoulders shamelessly.

Lady Yvette eyes surveying Lady Cecelia as would the leopard on the lamb and directing her girl to strip away all decency of dress herself with no shame or care whatsoever! Then advancing her nakedness godless pale phantom that she was and surrounding her Lady in a moment when sure her Cecelia would strike a blow across the Frenchwoman's face: there came a kiss! A mouth borne kiss never witnessed ever in her life this certain way between women given and accepted by, dear god, her willful Lady never!

Hence forward Lydia's emotions swam like a kettle of leaves in the maelstrom, settling never and blown to confusion confounded by one vision after another at the tableau before her. 

Lydia watched this maid, Marie, take hands between her lady's forced open legs and witnessed her fondle, caress then press them within and her lady move to this maid as if on a bower swing, to have her whitest fairest bosom clutched in feminine French hands plied as would bovine to yield the fruits of Cecelia's pleasure.

Lydia, despairing yet astounded by her patron Lady's offering of nipples pointing to those French lips willingly! Each revelation caused Lydia loss of sensibility and filled her thoughts fresh with what was once sin no more: thriving in her blossoming senses.

How quickly her Lady had rushed to the table prepared for her! How this once adversarial wench of a girl became Cecelia's cradle of tenderness! Such it was that Marie had fallen upon her Lady's parted legs while on her knees as if it were worship to be performed!

Legs which lifted in slow kicks to the heavens in pointing toes as to make the angelic girl's face find its home between them quickly. Indeed Lydia knew wetness abounded for Cecelia's shimmered in the candlelight; an unmistakable flows seeping with shameful anticipation. She watched dumbfounded the manner in which Marie became part of her supporting armfuls of legs and the hands searching in blindness for the endowment of Cecelia's chest. Lydia knew in her most secret of experiences those breasts were easily the envy of both Frenchwomen for none was as fair as her Lady.

Yvette had spoken.

"My rights over you are seigniorial ...." she proudly spoke her demand, "more complete than those of your arrogant knight who supposedly rules your heart. He will one day serve witness to what will be: your woman's heart yearning and your admissive words desiring subjugation at my hand."

As a sapling would, Yvette's lithe form swayed carefully above Cecelia's face. An up- tilted chin reached to satisfy the requirements of homage the Frenchwoman had demanded. Never suspecting what that demand required of her earlier, Cecelia threw herself into its intricacies by performing, as Yvette's slowly twisting body revealed, the Frenchwoman's every passionate expectation. 

Below; Marie's lips never left the womanhood from which she'd wrung its first orgasm that caused Cecelia to be a much more willing student. A tongue laid across that which had so recently shuddered to surprising orgasm expertly drew itself up and down the length of her opening leaving Cecelia with no other desire than to mimic its stroke on the pinkness pressed to her own face. She found the ring of which Yvette had spoken with her tongue. Cecelia made it bounce as it danced with every flick swirling its wet silvery band against the bloom of Yvette's clitoris. Cecelia tongued deliberately.

Lydia, petrified in erotic confusion, witnessed Cecelia embraced by both women wrap her arms to this newest torment in a sweet embrace meant to lock the Frenchwoman to her. Cecelia moved her hips to the building return of Maries attentions below.

Lydia's eyes saw Yvette's careless confidence tremble and like said sapling, this Lady of the French Court began to collapse forward on straightened arms barely holding herself from falling to Cecelia's torso. A new expression crossed her beautifully foreign features: a transfixion of pleasure. 

Cecelia's tongue stroked and danced unabated driven on by her own arousal. Yvette's hips swept forward and gently back rhythmically. The ring disappeared chin buried in the hue of fire strawberry curls only to reappear revealing the shimmering band piercing a fattened clitoris teased to its fullest blossom and disappear as Yvette undulated her womanhood onto Cecelia's mouth.

Yvette's words came urgently demanding Marie move. She didn't. 

For Marie; she had the Englishwoman where she wanted her again mounting a bridge she'd created so diligently, so patiently that Marie would easily wring from her a second glorious orgasm if only there could be a few moments more. Enticed by the prospect, Marie ignored her Lady's demand and continued a tongue-stroke onto the top, underside, right and left of Cecelia's straining clitoris devoting herself to her work unabated. 

Yvette fairly screamed her handmaiden move immediately. The words had their effect and Marie fell back as if struck. Never had Marie seen her protector more maddened with lust for as soon as she came away Yvette's mouth fell to the raven haired beauty's proffered womanhood as if possessed. Heads disappeared, arms grappled with the other's legs. A twin litany of groans that needed no language to understand were muffled voices amid the liquid slippery sounds created only at lusts banquet and these filled the candlelit air of the room. 

At this moment Cecelia's trusted Lady Lydia found the eyes of Yvette's handmaiden turn to find her standing frozen against tapestried wall as a tiger's would on its hunted. Ignoring the blind passion of the two women behind Marie stood and come towards her.

"Aimez-vous ce que vous voyez, ma fille?" The girl was on her immediately.

"Oh dear God, no!." came Lydia's desperate whisper.