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 fictional as
related in the following account, personally offend.
Use of the following without the writer's express permission is denied.
Thank you.
Faibhar
Jaquery II
The shouts came from the ridge behind. "There they are!" Against the slate sky
backdrop a silhouette appeared soon joined by more flapping shapes until the
knight and his lady stood surrounded by a small army of dark woolen and
leather-clad peasants. The knight swung only his fists and feet against the
crude weapons wielded by the horde, his normal armor and weapons not present.
Lady Christine scratched and screamed alongside. The fighting stopped with most
of her fine gown in shreds, Francois fallen on all fours, bleeding from injuries
sustained in the onslaught.
Typical of the uprising class, this group of jaquery had no official leader but
one did step into the center of serfs, a middle-aged man by the name of Herve.
Apparently their leader, the balding serf stood full of self importance and
proclaimed to those gathered, "Let these two see just how they like the tables
turning. They shall become our slaves...!"
A raucous cheer greeted Herve's words. Some from the shabby huddle produced hemp
knotted into rope. The knight was hoisted back to his feet. He and the lady's
wrists were tied behind their backs an to then be prodded back toward the crest
of the hill, above which soared charcoal plumes from the burning remains of the
castle. Walking for the two proved difficult, and many times each stumbled or
fell as the party made their way further from the manor land's great tree and
closer to the inevitable.
Bits and pieces of the family crest that once adorned the main merlon, or front
to the castle with its parapet and embrasures, now lay strewn upon the hard
earth. What remained of their loyal servants and staff were scattered about the
castle now crumbled in smoking ruins. But Christine was interested only in her
babies' cries. Her long golden hair swung with her restrained body as she
frantically twisted to see them. Here eyes flashed - at last, there they were. A
strangled cry arose from her bared throat. Tears flowed. Her milk-laden breasts
expressed nourishment for the wailing two.
One of the fellow marauders handed the infants to Herve. "These are precious to
you, eh?" Christine tearfully nodded. The brute held both of her babies with
rough leather gloves. They cried because of the commotion, each were hungry, or
for whatever reason, but just seeing them made Christine's knees weaken. She
desperately wanted to protectively hold the baby girls to her. Frustratingly,
she was held back from doing so and despite all efforts could not. All she could
do was to tearfully nod. Herve relished the power literally within his grasp and
sadistically grinned, ignoring the pleas. Nodding to those holding her husband,
he spoke again to the mother and said, "Then show us, SLAVE," he said
accentuating the lady's new title and more peasants joined in the mirth at one
so lovely and upper class. "Show us how much you truly care for your
infants...Strip!"
Francois fought anew. Livid, he would not allow his wife to be seen naked,
especially not by these unwashed masses. Those holding him used the staves and
rakes they had been brandishing. Once more he was pummeled to the ground.
"Then I shall help. After all," Herve said with another leer, "is it not my
station in life to be of service?" He shifted the babies to one enormous hand
and with the freed one reached out and tore at the fine bodice. The lady
screamed again, but too late to shield her leaking and now exposed breasts.
Sobbing, Christine desperately wanted to save her children. If it took exposing
herself to satisfy the mob and thereby rescue the girls, then she gladly would.
Her wrists were untied and Christine slipped off remains of the emerald cloth,
baring her shoulders. Shakily, her fingers slipped to her waist. Ignoring the
catcalls of those leering at her oversized breasts, she undid the waistband and
let the rest of her garment fall, also stripping off her undergarments.
Hearty catcalls cheered the sight of the nude in their midst. Since their
capture under the tree, many of the men and women traded lascivious urges with
their class struggle. Seeing the upper class and so attractive now unclothed
further inflamed base passions. Her shapely legs were long, weighty breasts with
their large aureolae swung from side to side, loosened blond hair cascaded over
shoulders, the taught tummy was concave and there was that intriguing nest of
golden curls forming a small triangle just below her lower stomach flesh.
Francois manfully cursed, but every time he attempted to rise from all fours,
cudgels beat him down until he lacked the strength to rise again. From his view,
all he could see were his wife's naked feet and ankles. The coarse noises of the
pack infuriated. He could only imagine what they were saying about the rest of
her nakedness.
Herve used his other hand to again hold the other crying tot. From the corner of
an eye he saw the fallen knight of this manor. "Strip him as well. Rope our
"lord" to a low cross." His attention turned back to the sobbing female as
others went to find two timbers to form a crucifix. While a small party looked
for suitable timber from the smoking ruins others mockingly donned the bits and
pieces of fancy apparel stripped from the pair. Herve delighted in the struggles
as the naked knight was tied to the erected cross. Speaking once more to the
lady attempting to shield herself from prying eyes with hands partially covering
certain parts of her body, he said, "Now show us simpletons just how an
upper-class wife services her upper-class husband...", and gestured to the low
cross with its angry and naked victim.
Christine gasped at Herve's words, and dug her fingers into her skin. Only when
the brute drew out a knife and placed its blade across her babies' throats did
she turn to see her husband. Francois now hung, his cock made obscene. Her hands
dropped. She turned and dropped to her knees at the base of the crude gibbet.
With shaky fingers, she reached up and held her husband. Parting her lips, she
let the cock slip inside. Sobbing, she closed her eyes and slowly began to
rhythmically bob her head, pumping upon the soft shaft inside her mouth. In
better times its taste and texture were much coveted, but now it seemed foreign.
Still, her babies' were in jeopardy. She sucked faster and harder. The shaft
responded despite the circumstances.
"Take these Joahan," Herve said as he handed the crying infants to the younger
man next to him. His eyes on the nude's backside, he had other ideas. "Open
slave bitch, or Johan will slice those precious baby necks you so wish to
save..."
Christine sobbed without stopping her sucking even as she felt the peasant enter
her from behind. Her fingers held her husband's stiff cock, but she could not
help removing it from her mouth and bellowing in an anguished scream as the man
forced himself into her. Her head yanked backward as her hair was pulled. Her
wet eyes opened to see the one called Joahan standing above and holding her
twins. He looked every bit as menacing as the other.
"You know what to do Joahan," grunted Herve as he thrust deeper into the lady's
tight arse, " if this slave bitch rebels." With a climaxing thrust he came and
withdrew, and as a final gesture slapped the quivering buttocks as he stood.
Herve motioned to the next peasant to have his turn and buttoned up his
breeches. Impatiently waving at an older woman, "Get a bucket and place it under
those tits of hers. I smell a fermier here" he said, referring to the making of
small quantities of fine cheese.
Two of them milked her as she sucked. Gnarled hands rough from labor squeezed
and pulled. Lady Christine did not stop her sucking or sobbing. Numerous rapes
widened her yet pain continued to seethe. The one called Herve's boots appeared
alongside. Her head with the cock still inside her mouth jerked up. His foul
breath shouted down, "Harder! Make your husband cum into the bucket!" She
tearfully eased her mouth from the hardened shaft and pointed it downward as her
head was released. Running her tongue along its length and kissing each ball
made the hot penis throb even more. Lady Christine knew that time had almost
come. Wrapping fingers around Francois's cock, her hands slid along its
pulsating velvety wet skin. She licked under his balls more, and felt them
further tighten. "Double creamy cheese we shall make thanks to these two fine
slaves," Herve said with another leer, "and with just a bit of salty taste, too.
Something like, how do they say...a Rocamdour? Anyway, I expect a very rich
product." With his words the crucified cried out. Looking down at the member
stroked by the kneeling lady sperm shot from the tip. Syrupy white plopped into
the wood bucket used for many purposes but on this day already partially awash
with mother's milk destined to soon produce a cheese for the jaquery.
Herve, it seemed, was to have more than just one wish fulfilled...
