3 comments/ 14463 views/ 3 favorites Dans le Tonnelle de Mebh By: hotti Author's note: This is a big departure from what I've written previously. I'll give you fair caution however, this is a longish story with many words. I have taken quite a few liberties with Celtic mythology, and also with geography, fashions, and timelines. Oh, I was also 'creative' with architecture and speech too! Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Mile failte, and sláinte! This is an original work of fiction. All rights reserved. * Prologue: The girl stared at her love, hurt to her very soul at his seeming indifference to her plea. She didn't understand how he could be so heartless, how she could love such a one so desperately. She took a deep shuddering breath, and tried once again. "Please, milord. I will do aught that you desire. I will be a good wife to you." The boy's eyes barely flicked a glance her way. Sounding incredibly bored, he said, "Now why would I marry you? I am betrothed to a pretty young twelve year old from an old and noble house; even if I weren't, I still wouldn't wed you. Why should I? You weren't anything special, if you must know. If I married every wench I tumbled, I'd either be hanged or henpecked, and 'struth, I'd prefer the hemp noose." As far as he was concerned, she was just a piece of fluff that he'd been tupping for a couple of months now, and she'd gotten too clingy for him lately. With supreme disinterest, he walked away, leaving her devastated. She knew then that he wouldn't ever want her, and she realized that she couldn't live without him. But as she watched him joke with his younger brother, a kernel of rage grew in her heart, consuming her. That night, the boy dined with his family and retired alone to his room. He'd just set his cup of ale on the mantle of the fireplace when he realized that he wasn't alone, and he knew it was the girl by her scent. He wasn't in the mood for company, especially hers. He turned, preparing to tell her to leave, but was forestalled when he saw her. She stood in the window embrasure, looking lovelier than he'd ever seen her. There was an odd _expression on her visage – he thought it was a mixture of sadness and rage; he also saw the strange markings on her brow and cheeks, her arms and breasts. He knew then what she was about. He took a step forward with his hand raised to grab her, but she stopped him. In a strong yet aching voice, she said, "I was a maid, in love with a man who cared naught for my very existence. I gave him my love, my body and my honour, and he whistled it down the wind. So to him I leave a curse, sealed with my own sacrifice. For his indifference and cruelty he shall, when the moon waxes fullest, be as the cold blackened creature of stone that he's shown me he is. He shall not age, but lose everyone he loves to it. He shall not lose his physical beauty, but his other self shall show every mark and scar and shall resemble his true self!" She raised her hands above her head and cried to the gods, "I curse this man, Niall of Wolverton, to the end of time! May he never die or love, nor shall he ever forget me!" With that, she flung herself back, and as he rushed forward, he saw that she smiled ferally all the way to the end of her plunge. He stared at her broken form, and felt tears tracking down his cheeks. Later, he carefully gathered her lifeless body and rode into the woods to a pretty glen where they'd met several times. There, he slowly buried her, and sat in the gathering darkness beside the stone cairn he'd made over the grave. He was remorseful, now when it was too late for her. He knew he still wouldn't have married her, but he could have treated her more gently, acted more honourably. He was ashamed of himself, and felt he deserved her derision. As he sat there, he noticed a gathering light, sparkling through the trees. He looked for the source, but saw only a woman of surpassing fairness. Then he saw that she was dressed in very fine raiment, in royal colours in fact. He stood and gave obeisance, then waited for her to speak. "Niall is your name." Her voice was crystalline and sweet. He felt as if he could sip her words straight from her mouth, and never want for sustenance again. He nodded in response to her statement. "I am sorry, young mortal. I cannot break this curse placed upon you."He was stunned. "You mean it's real?" "Yes," she murmured. "A curse sealed with a sacrifice is strong. While I cannot break it, I can place a codicil to it." "Why would you do this, lady? I did as she said, was cruel and thoughtless and now she's dead." The lady smiled. "Would you marry her? No. You can only go forward from here. I will do this for you, because while you were thoughtless, you were not cruel, not in your heart. There was no harm meant, though you were harsh with your words. For that you deserve punishment, but not as she has done." He bowed his head. "Please, lady. What would you have me do?" She glided closer to him, and he smelled apples and honey wine. "You shall indeed suffer the punishment during each moon cycle. However, you shall have your freedom when comes a maid who spends her pure blood on your other form – of her own will, while thinking of you. You will know she is the one if she chooses to do this. The curse will be broken and you will wed her." He didn't understand why she would do this for him, but felt it would be rude to ask for her reasons. He was just overcome with gratitude. "How can I thank you?" he asked. "You must make a sacrifice, yourself." Her smile gentled his sudden fear. "Do not worry, I shan't ask for blood sacrifices. I ask for two things from you, Niall. The first is that on Samhain, at the gloaming of the day, set out some lovely apples, and a tankard of mead. I hunger for them every day." In a rush of relief, he laughed and cried, "Of course! I promise to do so, but it seems so little!" "The second thing, Niall," she murmured, "Is that you must name your daughter for me." Uncertainly, he inquired, "And my daughter shall indeed bear the name of my saviour. I pledge this willingly." She smiled, and nodded. Then, as she turned and started to drift into the sparkling light, Niall reached out urgently. "Wait, lady. Please. I must know your name in order to fulfill my pledge!" "I am Maeve." He heard her voice, soft as a breeze whispering through the leaves. Shocked, he looked back at the cairn, "What have you gotten me into?" he asked the spirit dwelling there. Many years later... Rowan Stewart was definitely going to hell. That was the common belief among the honourable folk who dwelt in the tiny village of Strombaugh, in the northern-most province of the country. For what other conclusion could they draw, when the lady in question did everything to support it? She disobeyed her father, was irreverent, and danced in the moonlight. It wasn't a sin to state the sorry fact of her ultimate destination aloud, either, for everyone shared the same belief, from her benighted sire to the lowest villein and cowherd. All, of course, but for Rowan herself. Aye, and they also knew the devil would have his own - it was merely a matter of time, for wasn't Rowan marked by auld Scratch himself - her very beauty proclaimed it so. Rowan knew of this attitude, but thought it ignorant. So she didn't conform to society's norms, did that make her evil? She thought not. She wanted so much from life, and felt so hemmed in. Where the people of Strombaugh were content to plod through each day with heads bowed day after day, year after year, until they died, Rowan wanted to dance, and run, and even fly. No one understood her, and Rowan was very lonely. She was a healthy, remarkably beautiful girl who would have been married for many years already if not for fate - happy fate, as she thought it. She'd been betrothed to a man of stature when she was eleven, but he'd taken an arrow in his throat, and died. Now, ten years later, she remained unwed, through no small amount of effort. Today, she was to meet another suitor. Her father was in a temper, swearing that if his wayward daughter did aught to drive this one away, he'd lock her in a tower and throw away the key. "Where is this tower, Maude?" she asked her body servant. "I know of only the one tower here, and it contains his solar. Mayhap it would be worth chasing this man away just to live there!" Rowan laughed gaily. Her laughter covered her nervousness, however. The suitor, she'd heard, was none other than Niall of Wolverton. This man was a fierce warrior, a strong leader. What kind of man he was, she didn't know, but there were tales of him – dark and dangerous. She was afraid that her luck was running out though, and quickly. Maude shook her head, saying now, "Ach, beauty, you have to wed. Why do you make so much mischief, cause your da so much grief? This man'll no' be so easily fobbed off. Yer da's increased your dowry, you ken?" Rowan nodded, almost resigned to her fate. Struth, there wasn't much she could do if her father was determined to finally see her wedded. The time would come when she would have to give in gracefully. After all, she did want children. She would see about this Niall, see if he was even marginally acceptable to her. Under Maude's gentle bullying, Rowan was dressed in a handsome gown of midnight blue velvet, with silver threads embroidered at neckline and along the sleeves, over an underdress of silver satin. A lovely silver girdle swung low over her hips, from which the chatelaine hung. The honour of carrying the chatelaine had been given to her two years before, at her mother's death. Maude brushed her long black hair until it crackled, then slipped a silver circlet over her brow. She took a deep breath, pulled her shoulders back and said a quick pater noster, then walked on trembling legs to the hall. On her way, she tried to recall everything she'd ever heard of Niall of Wolverton. Nothing she could recall was reassuring. Everyone knew he was ruthless in battle; a strong leader. There'd been something about a lover dying, a curse, and periodic mysterious absences. Other than that, she couldn't think of anything at the moment. Her step faltered at the sight of him. He sat in the place of honour at the lord's table, there yet somehow apart from everyone else. He was an intimidating sight, though she was too far away to see details. He wore brown leather armour covered with a dull greyish-green cloak. He was broad across his chest, and sat head and shoulders above those around him. Rowan suddenly realized that he was studying her as intently as she was he. Bumping her chin up a notch, she approached the table. "Ah, Rowan," her father said. "Finally, you are here." Geoffrey Stewart was a bluff, loud man. He'd once been a loving husband, and although he'd never really been interested in his only child, it was only since his wife's passing that he'd become bitter and demanding. He then turned to his guest and said, "My lord, if I may present my daughter, the Lady Rowan." She sank into a graceful curtsey as he stood to bow. Their eyes met, and everything within her went still. Niall wasn't a handsome man; his face was too perfect for that; God's honest truth, the man looked like an archangel! He had fine dark hair and eyes the same green as the sage leaves growing in her garden. His brow was broad, his nose perfectly aquiline. His lips were sensual, and she could find no evidence of lines or scars of any kind. 'Including laugh lines', she thought dolefully. The shocking moment of intimacy passed, leaving her slightly shaken; bemused. To cover the awkwardness, she took her place at table, and tried to keep her eyes demurely lowered, for once. Her father was speaking, but for the life of her, she didn't know what he was saying. She thought he was either praising her or cursing her. She could feel the weight of Niall's stare. Niall could hardly countenance the girl's loveliness. Her inky black curls cascaded over her shoulders to her hips, held in place by a circlet. Her face was heart shaped, with wide unusual whiskey-coloured eyes that sloped up at the corners, and surrounded by astonishingly thick lashes. Her nose was elegant but slightly retroussé. Her mouth was what held him in awe, though. 'Twas a completely sinful mouth - a carnal temptation. He suddenly understood why some cultures made their women cover their faces. Niall had come here expecting to wed, but with very little hope for a happy union. He was a warrior. What care he for love? And yet, he held a small kernel of hope deep within him that Lady Rowan was The One. Her father was speaking, but having already missed most of what he'd said, Niall ignored the man altogether. He'd heard some stories about this lady, about how she was clever enough to avoid marriage time and again. He idly wondered what she'd planned for him. He'd also heard, from her own people, that she was the devil's own. He disregarded that immediately; there was no one closer to hell than he was, himself. Just then, she stole a glance at him, and again he felt the pull of sexual attraction between them. He saw her eyes widen, her pulse flutter in her throat, and he knew then that she felt it too. As his shaft lengthened and thickened in his braes, he knew he'd have her - whatever that meant to his own misfortune. After a meal which neither Niall nor Rowan could recall, the priest was summoned and the betrothal contract signed in her father's solar. Rowan felt herself spinning out of control, and in fact she was actually dizzy and lethargic. She knew what was happening, knew she should do something to stop her father. She noticed, in a fuzzy sort of way, that he kept glancing at her, and there was a smugness about him that set off a faint alarm in her. Niall kept his arm around Rowan's waist. He felt her heat, her breast brushing his arm as she swayed like a drunkard; he knew she'd only consumed half a cup of mead at table, so she either imbibed above stairs, or couldn't handle spirits. It wasn't until it was too late that he realized she'd been drugged. Having heard of her penchant for pranks against her erstwhile suitors, Niall merely shrugged. 'Twas done, at any rate, and she was now his. Rowan listened sleepily as her father and the man he'd just given her to decide that there wouldn't be a long engagement. Her father argued for the marriage to take place immediately, but she noticed an odd look on Niall's matchless visage as he shook his head. "Nay. A sennight hence is soon enough." he said firmly. Then her father insisted upon what he called a viewing, and had Rowan's body servant fetched. "I'll not have either of you avoid this match later, then, by repudiating based on physical imperfection." As distasteful as Niall found it, he complied, with the warning to Geoffrey to never doubt Niall's honour again. He quickly disrobed, then watched as the older woman removed Rowan's garments. She stood before him in her glory, still befuddled with whatever drug she'd been fed. He tried not to, but he reacted physically to her beauty, his shaft growing to half-mast. She watched it happen, the vixen, but as far as he could tell, she had no such reaction to him; he assured the leering priest that he accepted her, and then dressed. He accepted a cup of ale while Rowan was redressed, like a doll. Geoffrey Stewart watched, near to despair, as the fierce knight gently led the troublesome wench away. He'd thought that he'd finally get a good night sleep, but he'd been wrong. How was he going to keep Rowan from doing something rash once she came out of the drugging effect of her own valerian leaves? He fretted as he strode to his solar. There, the toothsome and talented Bettina awaited him, naked and in heat. She tensed when she saw him, knowing something was amiss. "What is it, lover?" she purred, hiding her worry. She'd waited far too long for that bitch, Rowan to be married off so that the field was clear for herself. She would be mistress, she vowed, one way or another. Geoffrey sighed, and said heavily, "The marriage will take place a sennight hence." She gasped, and then sputtered. "But, my lord, what if she balks, again? What will you do? Lord Niall will not tolerate misbehaviour - he will retaliate against you if she does aught!" He shook his head. "I know, my dear, but what other choice have I? He set the date and wouldn't budge. How are we going to get her to cooperate?" She slyly smiled, telling him that she had an idea, but that it was shocking for a father to hear. "I don't care what I have to do, the girl must be married, and the betrothal contract has tied my hands. Whatever it takes is what I'll do. God's ballocks, she's a thorn festering in my big toe!" "Then let me take care of everything, my lord." Bettina cooed. "All will be well, I promise." "Ah, Bettina my fine girl, I knew I could count on you. Now, let's see what I can do to thank you." He stripped off his clothing, eager for her talented body. His penis was already rising to half-staff, and as she fondled him, he just got harder. They kissed, tongues mating, hands rubbing against breasts and balls. When he felt ready to explode, he roughly shoved her onto her back and thrust inside her womanly sheath. As he drove into her hot greedy body, he leaned down and bit her nipple, pushing her over the edge of orgasm. As she screamed his name, he felt the seed burst out of his cock and bury itself into her womb. She stroked him to sleep, praying the smithy's apprentice, Philip, was still awake. She'd need his massive cock pounding her still hungry pussy later, for this lord rarely gave her pleasure - she barely felt his puny rod as he grunted and groaned over her. Perverted she might be, but not a fool. She knew she needed to make him feel like a great lover in order to keep him snared in her web. So she did, and he was. While she lay there, she pondered how best to keep Rowan docile until the wedding. She would need to keep dosing her with the valerian she'd used at the betrothal meal, she decided. It just wasn't enough, though, to satisfy Bettina's desire to inflict humiliation on the girl. She thought of what Rowan would dislike most, and she concluded it was being married. She slipped from the room the moment she could, leaving Geoffrey snoring alone; she made her way to Rowan's stillroom, and pilfered more valerian. On impulse, she also grabbed a small quantity of damiana and skullcap. Laughing, she knew this would do the trick, but only if she used a big enough dose to create the desired effect, yet one small enough that it wouldn't give the game away. "Oh, Rowan, you are in for it now!" she laughed again, and made her way to the village smithy, where she'd finally get swived by a real cock. Niall left the manor when twilight was descending, knowing he didn't have much time. He'd had a difficult time leaving her, he realized. He couldn't help but hope she was the one who would break his curse. Damn, he didn't have time for this pathetic conjecture. He wanted to hurry, but knew he had to look nonchalant or he'd arouse unwanted curiosity. He saddled Zephyr, his mare, and rode away from the manor. Once he was far enough down the road, he cut into the dark woods and cautiously increased his pace. He searched, increasingly frantic, for a suitable location in which to spend the night. Finally, when time had almost run out, he found what he was looking for. There was a small clearing beyond a very dense brush hedge, which looked like it had been untouched since the Roman occupation. Dans le Tonnelle de Mebh Sighing, he dismounted and made Zephyr comfortable for the night, ground tying her and knowing she'd be there in the morning. Then he removed his own clothing, folding them neatly, and waited for the dawn. Rowan awoke with a headache, and a fuzzy mouth. She realized it was late because her room had already been tidied, her tea was cooling, and the sun was midway up the sky. She rose, slightly unsteady, and used the chamber pot. Then she washed with the now-tepid water and poured tea the same temperature. She needed to get rid of the bitter taste in her mouth, but the tea seemed bitter too. She put it down to weak tea not being able to overpower the awful lingering taste on her tongue, and poured a second cup. She started to dress, but felt her energy wane. Listlessly, she sat in her window seat, eating oatmeal laced with honey. Soon, she began to get restless. Walking around helped a little, but the room became unbearably hot, so she called for a bath. Once the servants had delivered and filled the linen-lined tub and left, Rowan disrobed. She shivered when the air caressed her skin, and moving toward the tub, she caught her reflection in the mirror. She paused, for the first time looking at her own body as something more than just her body. She saw a woman's body, with slender waist, lush hips, full breasts topped with delectably ruched pink nipples. Her legs were shapely, and her woman's mound was plump and covered by soft hair. Turning, she viewed a straight back leading to the two fleshy globes of her buttocks. Walking closer to the mirror, she cupped her right breast, her thumb lightly caressing her nipple, and watched in fascination when the nipple tightened even further, into a stiff point. She marveled over the sensation that streaked from there straight to her mound. She repeated the move with her other breast, enjoying that same electrical pulse at her core. She reveled in the dual sensations of her hand on her breast, and her breast in her hand. Her eyes drifted down to her femininity, and she wondered what sensations it would evoke to stroke her hand there. Suddenly realizing her train of thought, she quickly turned from the mirror and entered the tub, slightly shamed. She'd never before had thoughts like those before, and couldn't imagine why she would, now. She remembered her first sight of a man's naked body, just last eve. Niall was a beautiful man, with an impressive cock, but he'd left her merely curious, and somewhat cold. That her own body should be more evocative to her than her future husbands' seemed an ill portent to her. There seemed to be hope, yet, however. At the thought of the column of flesh between Niall's legs, she squirmed in the tub. Her bottom rubbed against the wet linen, and gooseflesh rose across her arms at the thought of rubbing against him, naked. Rowan squirmed some more, delighting in her thoughts and the sensation of the water swirling over her skin. She lathered her hands with the soft rose-scented soap from a pot next to the tub. She groaned at the pleasure her hands caused as they slicked over her wet skin; she started at her throat and slipped them down over her breasts. She felt those globes tighten and swell as her fingers molded them, gently at first, then increasing in pressure until she looked down and saw that her fingertips were sunk into the flesh up to the first knuckle. It felt wonderful. Rowan kneaded her breasts, lifting them high, pushing them together, all the while pinching and rolling her peaked nipples. She'd never felt such wicked pleasure; never really paid much attention to her body other than seeing to its functions and cleanliness. She muzzily pondered why she was feeling this way, and came to the absent conclusion that it was seeing her first penis, watching it grow and harden. That had been singularly thrilling. Standing unnoticed at the door, Bettina watched the girl work her incredible tits, feeling satisfied that her herbs were working. She also felt herself growing wet, and her mouth watered at the thought of clamping around Rowan's tender virgin nipples. Bettina quietly backed away from the room, knowing she'd have to be patient. Soon, she promised herself. She couldn't resist one last peek, though, and she watched in growing excitement as Rowan abandoned her breasts to explore the soft pillow of her belly, and finally, agonizingly slowly, over her cleft. 'What I wouldn't give to lap that fresh cream from her bowl!' Bettina sighed wistfully. She kept the image of the girl's fingers dipping into that luscious sweetmeat in her mind's eye as she made her way to the smithy. There, she inflamed her lover to such a high degree that she got a deliciously rough fuck, and even appreciated the resulting discomfort later that night, sitting at table. Four nights later, Rowan couldn't stand her room any longer. She hadn't been allowed to go anywhere, and hadn't really felt up to it, at any rate. She'd been feeling so tired and definitely out of sorts - she felt as if she had a fever, and wanted to crawl out of her skin. Or have someone crawl into it. Either way, she knew she'd go mad if she couldn't get out of her room. She opened the secret cubby in her armoire, where she hid her more dangerous herbs. She took a pinch of valerian, a pinch of mallow, and a bit of chamomile, and added it to a cup of mead warming by the fire. Then she called for Maude and complained of boredom, begging prettily for company and conversation. Maude, no stranger to Rowan's innocent pranks, cagily locked the door after entering. She couldn't deny her mistress some harmless conversation, but she wouldn't help her escape a marriage that would be good for her. They settled near the fire, Rowan handing the doctored mead to her body servant, and taking a second untouched cup for herself. "So," she said breezily, not wanting to arouse the older woman's suspicion. "Tell me, Maude, of the news. What has been happening? Is my betrothed back yet?" She watched as Maude enjoyed the quality spirits, talking of what had been happening, the preparations under way, and other uninteresting topics. "Yer betrothed is not returned, milady. But don't be disheartened, he is a fine man, honourable and true. He shall be back." Her words, Rowan noticed, had started to slur. 'Twas only a matter of minutes then, until she could be free. "I am only worried that he does return, Maude. I do not want this marriage." "But you signed the contract, milady. 'Tis done, right and tight. Don't do anything stupid, girl." Maude looked distantly shocked at having said that to her lady, before slumping to the side in a dead sleep. "Don't worry, Maude, I know I can do nothing this time. I just want one more bit of freedom, but I promise to be back before you waken." With that said, she covered the servant with a light blanket, snagged the keys to her prison, and fled the manor. She realized, after about an hour in the woods, that her thinking had been skewed as well. She'd gotten away from the manor, but she'd forgotten to dress. She was only wearing her thin chemise, and had lost a slipper in her haste. She discarded her other slipper, shrugging. 'Twas a beautiful night and she was free to do as she pleased! She followed her favourite paths through the trees, heading for a little pool of water she'd found when she was a child. She gathered night blooms along the way, dancing and humming and enjoying her freedom. She felt more energized than she had in days, though she was aware of that buzzing heat in her veins. Ever since that wicked bath she'd enjoyed, her skin had felt too tight, her nipples were constantly poking out of her breasts, and her woman's cleft was slick with heat and wetness, aching and empty. Virgin she may be, but living on what was essentially a farm, a girl's innocence only lasted until mating season. She'd seen the horses being bred, and the dogs and cats mating and such, so she knew that the empty feeling inside her meant her body wanted a penis forging its way between her thighs. And her damnable brain kept picturing Niall's formidable length, playing over and over the way he'd hardened in front of her. Seeing the familiar signs that her pool was near, she quickened her step, her loose hair swaying to her hips. When she reached the little clearing, however, she wasn't sure what to think. While this place had always been special - and therefore beautiful - to her, tonight it seemed magical. The pool glistened with extra clarity, the scent of the water perfuming the air with sweetness. The grass was especially soft and cool under her tender feet, and the flowers looked bigger and lusher than ever before. There was a sparkle to the very air tonight, as if thousands of crystalline faeries danced through an enchanted arbour, paying homage to a sensual and demanding goddess. She slowly walked toward the pool, mesmerized by the lights she would swear played there. With the moon as bright as it was, and the water's clarity, she could see not only her reflection - which seemed different, somehow - but she thought there were... things, in there too. Beautiful things, enchanting things, swimming together in the water, their perfect naked bodies writhing against each other. Rowan blinked once, and again. She knew now that there was madness in her, because everyone knew sirens did not inhabit wooded pools. She bent closer to take a look, and as she watched these creatures in their orgiastic revel, she became aware of her own excitement. Her breath was shallow and fast, and her blood was high. She wanted to fall into the water and cavort with these decadent slips of flesh, to feel their hands and mouths slide over her skin. She wanted to have them suckle at her nipples, and to learn how it felt to suckle in return. One of the siren-like creatures noticed Rowena hovering over the water, and swam closer, seducing her with eyes like liquid silk. Rowena slipped her chemise over her head, standing naked in the moonlight. She sat at the edge of the pool and dangled her legs in the cool water. She was going to go in, but the siren swam up to her feet, touching her with cool sensuality. With a mysterious smile, she stroked Rowan's feet, her calves, and the hollow behind her knee. Rowan watched in heated amazement as the siren licked along her instep, nibbling on her toes, biting her Achilles tendon. Goosebumps rose on her arms as the siren rose partly out of the water to stroke her breasts and nuzzle her belly. Another siren swam up, and in a lyrical voice, forbade Rowena to kiss any one of them. "We can show you pleasure beyond your ken, child, but you must not kiss us. You are bound for another, but will be lost to us if you do not heed my warning." Rowena thought she would do anything at this point, to feel the promised pleasure, so she agreed. "I am Aine, child, and this," she motioned to the siren still nuzzling Rowena's belly, "This is Saone. Come into the water, and we will play." Rowena didn't need to be asked twice, so accepting aid from Saone, she slid into the pool, where the water seemed to warm and thicken around her. Then she felt other sirens swim closer, then closer still, all around her. She found herself in the middle of a fleshy swarm, all soft breasts and questing fingers and curious tongues. Silky hair flicked against her body; she felt her breasts cupped, her right nipple was rolled between someone's fingers, and her left was sucked into a hot mouth. Fingers played with her womanhood, sifting through the downy hair, spearing into the cleft and pulling at a nubbin of achingly sensitive flesh there. More fingers were pulling the globes of her buttocks apart, pulling her labia apart, and spreading her legs wide. She felt other mouths sucking on the skin of her shoulder, her nape, the underside of her breast. At the nip of her waist, the dip of her knee, into the ticklish recess of her navel she felt the thrust of tongues. Then she felt the suction of mouths between her legs, the probe of tongues into her body. She was faint with the superlative pleasure rocketing through her, held up only by those same hands and mouths, by the sinuous hair and slick bodies. She screamed her release into the night when she felt teeth bite down on her clitoris, slamming her headlong into her first orgasm. Then, soothing touches, slowing her descent back to herself. Her legs, labia and buttocks were still spread wide, and the sirens slowly swam through her legs, trailing their hair, faces and bodies against her most sensitive parts. She felt herself becoming even more aroused than before her climax, and desperately needed to have her body penetrated over and over. Her fingers trailed along the flesh of these sublime creatures, feeling a light oily slick on their skin. She touched her tongue to a passing limb, tasting sweet honey-like nectar. "Please," she whispered. Saone seemed to know what she was asking; she came higher up out of the water, and pressed Rowena's mouth to her breast. Rowena nuzzled the plump flesh, spreading the sweet oil over her face, and then she tentatively touched her tongue to the full underslope before taking the plunge and engulfing Saone's nipple with her mouth. The slightly rubbery peak of flesh felt wonderful, as she sucked it, and bit it, and flattened it between her tongue and palate. Rowena couldn't get enough of it. She brought her hands up; with one hand she cupped her own breast, and with the other, Saone's. Then she watched in fascination as she pressed both nipples together, rubbing them around each other, before she leaned down and licked the point at which they met. Before she had her fill of that, Saone smiled and swam back down into the water, lazily pressing her entire body against the vee of Rowena's legs. Rowena was shaking with unfulfilled lust, to the point where she felt acute pain in her womb, and the points of her nipples. Aine came to the surface, and smiled. "Child, you are ready." With that, all the sirens swam deeper into the pool, until they were out of sight. Except for the way her body felt, she thought she could have imagined it all. The water was no longer warm and thick, caressing her flesh. Instead, it was cooling, and Rowena quickly exited the pool. The night air was still beautiful, however, so she didn't dress. She used her chemise to soak up most of the water from her hair, but let her body dry in the light breeze. Naked and still desperately in heat, Rowena wandered the arbour, seeing it as never before. She couldn't stop stroking her breasts, swiveling her hips as she walked for the delicious friction the motion caused. Then, just through two young trees, she spotted something she would have never expected. She knew then that there was an enchantment on this place, because what she saw was a life-sized sculpture in black satiny marble. Of a man. A naked man. "Oh! A naked, aroused man!" Rowena bit her lip, slightly shocked at the moaned petition that fell from her mouth. She crept closer, and stared in awe at the sight before her. A man of marble lay before her on a small altar-like slab of stone. Only there was a velvet mantle underneath him. 'Twas passing strange to her, but then other details speared through her brain, calling all of her attention. He was in a supine position, but raised up on his elbows; his knees were slightly bent too, and he seemed to be looking right at her, standing there between his feet. He had heavy muscles and broad shoulders, and there was an astounding amount of detail to this statue. She knew she should wonder about such things as how it'd gotten here, who'd done it, why it was here of all places; she didn't though. All she saw was the enormous shaft standing proudly between his legs. It was easily as thick as her wrist; it reminded her of the large candles gracing the altar in the chapel. It was huge! She was startled when she felt her mouth water, and her vulva weep tears of gratitude to whichever deity set him here. There was something, though, that bothered her. She dragged her eyes from the pillar of temptation, and found herself looking at the statue's face. It was distracting, the perspective she had; standing as she was, the altar was hip-height, his eyes were at the same level as hers, but at mouth level was his delicious cock. When she stared at its crown, it looked as though he could stick out his tongue and lick his own shaft, but when she stared at his eyes, she'd swear she could do the same. Every time she glanced at his face, she felt a niggle of familiarity, as if she should know him. Then it came to her. He looked like he could be Niall's ugly twin. Though 'ugly' mayn't be the correct word. The face was craggy, with scars bisecting several portions of it. His eyes seemed as if they had the cares of the world in them, which was remarkable since he was made from cold stone. Again her eyes fell to his manhood. It was just waiting, she knew, to be useful. She had the wicked thought that she could certainly put it to use. Staring at the marvelously shaped marble phallus is what prompted recognition. She'd seen this penis, only the owner had a different face. She recalled little of the viewing forced on Niall and herself, but she did clearly remember his swollen manhood, and this was it. She knew it. Rowena looked at the stationary figure, noting details. It seemed to have scars everywhere, but the shape was the same as Niall's body. And the face, while marred and rougher, was vaguely his also. It was as if this statue was Niall's mirror image, only instead of reflecting him in his perfect beauty, it showed his imperfections and defects. The eyes supported this theory; whereas Niall's were as cold and still as an undisturbed moat, the statue's eyes reflected torment and passion and rage. And there was something else there too, very deep and not-quite faint. Hope. It burned in those depths, and touched something inside her. It broke her heart to look into those eyes. Yet as wrenching as his expression was, she found she was still focused on that manroot; her entire being tingled and throbbed with a desperate need. She slowly walked from his feet to his middle, trailing fingers over the surprisingly warm marble. She inhaled in surprise; the stone leg smelled like her favourite food, sun-warmed strawberries. She realized all of a sudden, that her mouth was watering, her flesh still tingled and her feminine muscles were clenching spasmodically. Rowan impulsively leaned forward and licked that marvelous cock of marble. Her eyes closed and she gave a moan of pleasure at the naughty images in her mind. She licked at the crown again, savouring the smooth, rigid sweetness. Throwing all inhibitions aside, she climbed up on the altar and rubbed her sensitive skin against the statue, all the while devouring the black column of stone with her mouth. Rowan felt wild and wicked, but she didn't want to stop. In fact, she wanted more. She wanted her body filled with this cock, so following some primal mating instinct, she slung one leg over the supine body. She leaned forward once she was mounted, rubbing her stiff nipples against the scarred chest, and then - while looking at those emotional eyes - she whispered to him. "I wish you were the mane I am to marry. I could love you." With that, she centered her sheath over the tip of his cock, and pressed herself onto it. She felt the incredible friction against her nether lips, the pressure of this enormous marble penis forging into her virgin body. She also felt a burning sensation, and a great fullness. The one was urging her to stop, but the latter forced her onward and downward. Dans le Tonnelle de Mebh She looked to where she joined with the statue, and saw that she only had the crown inside her. She felt stretched beyond repair, but still had what seemed miles to go. The sight of the smooth black cock impaling her soft pink body drove her lust even higher, and her sheath became even wetter, causing her to sink further onto the shaft. this caused a greater pressure still, one even sharper than before. Rowan realized that she'd have to take the plunge and force the marble into her womb. Just then, a warm breeze stirred against her flesh, caressing ultra-sensitive nipples; it caused her hair to brush her buttocks, creating exquisite pleasure to shudder through her. All sound had bled from the wood earlier with the light of the dying day; now, she could hear the subtle lap of water in the pool, the soughing of that playful breeze through the leaves. The pleasure she was feeling seduced her into forgetting the discomfort, and so she relaxed as much as she could and then rammed her weeping womanhood down, to the base of the pillar of rock below her. The shocking pain as the marble tore through her hymen caused Rowan to arch her back and scream to the sky. As her shock wore away, she became aware of soothing whispers and soft touches against her back, shoulders, legs and buttocks. She looked down, into eyes and a face that were no longer imperfect but warm marble, nor cold but perfect flesh, but some pleasing combination of both. Niall, her betrothed, was hugging her, tears in his eyes. Incredulity replaced some of the pleasure and most of the pain. She could feel his penis, still hard, but not rigid any longer. It was warmer, too, and it twitched inside her! She gradually became aware of his whispered words. "Thank you, Rowan. I knew you were the one to free me! Thank you, my love, for you courage and generosity. I love you." Niall couldn't believe he was free of the curse at last. He looked in wonder at the girl impaled on his rod, and knew he'd do anything for her, cherish her until the world ended. He was utterly enchanted. He began to move inside her, thrusting his hips and reveling in the sensations. Her passage was incredibly tight, and hot cream lubricated his cock making it easier to forge his way into her womb. Rowan's eyes widened as she felt Niall begin to move inside her. The joy in his face infected her as well; she threw her head back, and rocked her hips against his pelvis. He grasped her hips with strong fingers, timing his plunges so that her clitoris hit his pubic bone with each collision of their bodies. He loved the noises she was making: the little moans, hitching breaths, and once a small scream, were arousing him as much as the friction on his sex. Rowan felt the pressure building deep in her womb, but wasn't sure what it meant. She thrilled at the knowledge that her body was being ravished – and that she was enjoying it! Her sense of urgency suddenly increased. There was a fire burning brightly deep between her legs, and in her heart. Niall's face took on the slightly cruel look of a male reaching for his own completion. She felt his cock get impossibly harder, and just as she felt as if she was breaking into bright shards and flying toward the sun, Niall's climax came over him; she felt the hot spurts of seed shooting into her womb. Her scream of satisfaction was still echoing in the air when he pulled her down to rest on his shoulder. Their breath mingled with several languorous kisses, whispered praise and thanks, and soft laughter. After a short time, she felt Niall slip into a light sleep, his muscles completely slack, and his familiar, yet somehow different, face peaceful. The longer Niall slept, though, the more time Rowan had to think, and her thoughts just kept whirling in a confused jumble. 'What must he think of me when he wakes?' she thought. 'I'm a wanton! He'll repudiate me, now. As well he should..." She began to dread the reckoning she knew she must face, not knowing how to explain her actions. Her stomach churned, and she realized she might lose him; she felt tears fill her eyes. 'Which is ridiculous,' she mused. 'After all, I'm merely the wanton whore who spent her virgin's blood fornicating with a marble statue in the woods. He is that marble statue!' At that thought, she figured that explanations were due from both sides. Her thoughts quieted as she felt him stir. Niall opened his eyes slowly, fearing that the past hour had been a dream, that he was still locked in his own eternal hell. He felt Rowan breath deeply beside him, felt her soft breast and still turgid nipple brush his side; he was overjoyed. Then she sat up and drew on her shift, and Niall regretfully watched her gorgeous flesh being covered, knowing they'd never converse if she stayed naked, and knowing that converse they must. For the first time he worried about her reaction. He'd just found her, and he was determined not to lose her – she was his salvation. Rowan pushed her hair behind her shoulders and sighed. "Who goes first?" she asked. He smiled at her, and she marveled over the difference between the cold man she'd first met and this man, her lover. "You don't have to explain anything, my heart," he said. "But you must have questions." She shrugged, and somewhat sheepishly replied that she was, indeed, curious. So he began the long tale, sparing himself nothing in the retelling. "But you never asked her to marry you?" she asked when he was done, her mind reeling with the incredible story. "No. I was already betrothed. I wasn't free to ask, and anyway, I wasn't interested in marrying her." He grimaced at this point, and continued slowly. "To my shame, I treated her cruelly, and she took her own life. With her last breath, she cursed me. I have lived a long time, but until you, I could not achieve atonement." Rowan blushed, and whispered through her shame. "I understand that there couldn't be many maidens who would wantonly fornicate with a statue in the woods." Niall sucked in a breath, amazed that she was feeling diminished while he was so overwhelmed with gratitude and love for her. "Rowan, my love," he said as he knelt in front of her. "Don't you understand? If not for you, I'd still be locked in eternal damnation. I waited innumerable lifetimes for you: only you. The curse would not have been broken if I could not love you back, don't you see?" Then he chuckled ruefully. "Besides, statue-fornicating ladies are not as thin on the ground as one might suppose!" Rowan was put to the blush as he recalled three separate occasions when his marble self was used most vigorously. By the end of the telling, she was laughing along with him, more secure with herself and this new love. Then, still kneeling in front of her, and reassured by her sparkling eyes, Niall asked a most important question, holding his breath while she answered. "Rowan, knowing my story, my past, will you still make me the happiest of men?" She reached out, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and cradled his head against her breast. "I would be honoured, my lord," she whispered. As his arms snaked around her hips to draw her closer, he felt a change in the air. They both froze in that position as the wind brought a tinkling laughter playing through the sighing leaves. The sound was otherworldly, hauntingly innocent and sensual at the same time. A light, faint and sparkling, shone between the trees by the pool. From this light strolled a slender blonde-haired woman, frighteningly beautiful. "Congratulations, my mortal friend," she said. "You have, at long last, broken your curse!" She looked at Rowan with a wicked twinkle in her eyes. "And you, child. What think you of my ladies, in yonder pond? Delicious, aren't they?" Without waiting for an answer from the blushing girl, she turned to Niall again. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You were not cruel to that maid; you were merely thoughtless, as a lad is wont to be. You have a second chance with this sweet morsel, and I have faith in you. I predict a long, pleasurable life together for you both." She turned and walked gracefully back into the woods, taking the sparkling light with her, leaving the two mortals to greet the dawn together. At the very last moment, the wind seemed to sigh an order: "Do not forget your promise, my mortal son." And so they did. They were blessed with three beautiful and healthy children; Hendry and Geoffrey were precocious, but fiercely protective of their younger sister, Maeve, who was dutifully and joyously named for a certain naughty Lady. There was much happiness in Niall and Rowans' life, but also a little sorrow – enough to make the joy sweeter. One such sorrow was the loss of Rowan's father not even a sennight after her wedding. Sir Geoffrey caught Bettina plotting against his daughter, describing in some detail the sexual humiliations she would suffer at Bettina's hands. Of course, almost as grievous, she was plotting this as the smithy's apprentice was heaving his heavy cock into Bettina's ass, pulling her hair for leverage. She saw Geoffrey just as she climaxed; even though she knew this could only end badly for her, his voyeurism added a little fillip to her pleasure. He stepped forward and plunged his sword through Connor's chest, no emotion on his face. Connor died with his intense orgasm still befuddling his brain. Bettina screamed, fearful now. She tried to use her wiles, but they had no effect – nor tears, nor pleadings for mercy. Geoffrey, his heart breaking, picked Bettina up and shoved her into the smithy's fire. He watched her burn in silence, her screams terrible enough. The smell of burning flesh made him vomit, and as he leaned over, Bettina reached out – her dying action - and placed her hand almost lovingly on Geoffrey's head: a hellish benediction. His hair burst into flame, but instead of trying to snuff it, Geoffrey let it burn. His daughter was wed, his lover was dead; he died, not quite at peace, but satisfied nonetheless. Rowan mourned the loss of her father, and chose only to recall the good memories of him. Bettina she didn't mourn at all. Once each year, she and Niall would travel to a certain clearing in a certain wood, and there they would celebrate their union by making love in the sparkling air. And it was there, many happy years later, that they lay for the last time, together in the night. A glowing figure drifted toward them, beckoning. Rowan looked at Niall with deep love, and with great empathy, granted him leave to follow the Lady at long last. "We will not be apart for long, my love," she said. "But you are weary, and have earned this long-awaited rest." Niall smiled at her, his eyes memorizing her beloved features. She carried her cares on her face now, but was still beautiful as ever to him. "I am weary," he whispered, his voice cracking, "but I don't wish to part from you. You are my soul." Rowan had not wanted to weep in front of him, on this their last anniversary, but her eyes filled anyway. "I don't want to part, either, my love." A third voice chimed in, remembered with both love and trepidation. "You shall neither part from the other. I am come for you both." Rowan and Niall saw Mebh, as young and beautiful as she'd been those many years before. Overjoyed that they would never be apart, they clasped each other close on the stone alter, as close in death as in life.