The following is loosely based on actual history c. 1358 and intended solely for
Adult Consumption in area where extreme sexual themes do not offend and are
allowed. Please do not read further if you are a) not of legal age; b) local
community standards do not permit deviancy; and c) behavior involving such
actions as torture, rape, lactation, and crucifixion, however fictious as
related in the following account, personally offend.
Use of the following without the writer's express permission is denied.
Thank you.
Faibhar
Jaquery
Weathered pewter sky glowed upon the fated pair. The knight and his fair maiden
strolled across one of the 14th century manor's four lands, the one known as the
waste land, which really wasn't given its abundance of vegetation and small
animals. Shrubs and grounds of the waste land yielded a bountiful full harvest
of nuts and other edibles collected by peasants during the summer months.
Occasionally the handsome couple would brush bouquets of flowers and herbs under
their nostrils, it being the belief of many that such action would ward against
air that stunk like milk gone sour because of the dreadful plague.
"It pleases that you have lost your birth weight..."
Her husband's compliment made Christine blush into her bouquet. She did look
almost as the day she married, she immodestly had to admit. Except, that is, for
those immense boobs. She was quite proud - not in a vain sense - but proud of
all that she had become, and it pleased her that her husband's ardor remained a
challenge for her own. The baby twin girls were adorable. Ample time remained to
produce a male heir - Francois showed no displeasure since learning of their
sex, haiving sired daughters rather than sons, loving his new daughters almost
as much as she. Christine happily embraced her husband almost as happy as when
she nursed both babies, for differing reasons, of course.
Besides, the wet nurse had become yet one more victim of what was called The
Black Death. Merely the thought of the disease and all of the unhappiness it
wrought was enough to make her cringe. Its influence was so cruel and pervasive.
Even the sky above proved no escape from its wrath.
On the brighter side, her husband Sir Francois du Salmon was not only the knight
of the realm, but very handsome and quite the lover. His complimentary words to
her, quietly spoken even though the food gathers had finished for the day and
returned with their bountiful yield to the castle leaving them alone, caused her
to secretly tingle with pleasure. "I am glad that Sir is pleased."
"...Christine, you promised to address your husband by his given name."
"Sorry...Francois."
"I see that the laborers have all departed," he said as he scanned the gentle
roll of the hills, now bereft of any humans. The knight held his lady's hand and
guided the both of them under the waning shade of this section of the manor's
lone oak. "This is our moment. Let us make love."
"Here Sir? I...mean Francois. Out in the open? !" She stuttered with fright. The
hand holding his dropped and immediately clutched at her bosom.
"Yes, dearest Christine. Back at the castle, there are too many prying eyes. Out
here there is only God's and He does not care. Just look at what He has done
with what has killed so many."
"Oh Francois, that is so sacrilegious!"
But inwardly she did want him and hardly protested as she was laid near the
tree's trunk. Protestations died as her slender fingers tore at his vest. Her
thighs opened to allow her husband better access. The beating of her heart only
increased its speeding tempo. With greater abandon she launched into their
lovemaking frenzy. Other matters quickly distanced into haze of lust.
From nearby Beauvosin the unruly pillaged, murdering gentlemen and their
families within their rebellious path, burning and looting the homes and castles
along the way. Serfs fought the upper classes. Frustrations further stoked
flames set afire by The Black Death and a general lack of knowledge sprung from
the oppressed. It would not be long before the poorly disciplined horde attacked
the knight, his family and property as they had already done to others.
"It seems as though the class struggle rabble rousers have finally appointed
what passes as a leader: One Jacques Goodman, Francois said, languidly stroking
Christine's right breast as the two lay spent beneath the tree. He wasn't sure,
nor cared, if the sweetly wet nipple beneath his palm hardened beneath his palm
because of sexual excitement or the chilling air. All that he knew was that he
dearly loved his fair wife. "He's the worst of the lot. Good-man, get it?"
Christine stirred and murmured, though her wet eyes remained ecstatically
closed. "So, instead of calling themselves GoodPeople, some brute thought of the
name "Jaquery".
His spitting of the name caused Christina to open her eyes in alarm. Resting on
her elbows she looked up to her husband, the handsome knight. The color of the
blond ringlets of hair raining down from his forehead matched her own, in color
if not length. But his fiery eyes burned a darker blaze than the hazel pupils
she had known as hers since a mere child. "Already they have pillaged homes and
castles around Lannois and Soissons." She closed her bodice to shield her
exposed breasts as much from the waning light as her husband's frightening tone.
Now he spoke much lower and softer. "With most of our people dead or gravely
ill, there is no way we can defend against such behavior..."
In a scared voice she asked, "Then whatever shall we do?"
"I fear that we are left with no choice. We must leave the manor immediately for
Paris. There we should find a measure of safety."
Smoky columns smudged the neighboring slate sky just over the sloping hills
behind the reclining pair. Unbeknownst to them, most of what remained of their
household lay slaughtered amid the ruins of what was their castle. The hoped for
margin of safety between them and the marauding jaquery had all but vanished.
To Be Continued...
