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From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
Reply-To: anon584c@nyx.net
Subject: {ASSM} {Mardi Gras} "A Time to Gather Stones Together 02" {Uther} (Mf 1st hist) [2/2]
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Date: Tue, 24 Feb 2004 06:10:04 -0500
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IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to 
read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do 
something else.

This material is Copyright, 2004, Uther Pendragon.  All rights 
reserved.  I specifically grant the right for all reproduction 
necessary for normal Usenet propagation.  I specifically grant 
the right of downloading and keeping ONE electronic copy for your 
personal reading so long as this notice is included.  Reposting 
requires previous permission.

Most of my other stories can be found at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as 
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination 
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly 
coincidental.

                #    #   #   #    #   #   #    #

                A Time to gather Stones Together
                       by Uther Pendragon
                        anon584c@nyx.net

Chapter 2


Deborah woke to a pounding somewhere.  There was a shifting in 
the bed and then she heard two voices.  "Thy door was bolted, 
Father."

"And so it was," said Father David.  "Well, I am awake now.  And 
I thank thee."

She got up and donned her clothes before Father David had climbed 
the stairs.  "Art thou leaving now?" he asked.  "It is a while yet 
before Mass."

"I think I should, Father."

"'David,' here.  'Father' down in the chapel.  Wilt thou return 
tonight?"

"Yes, David."

There were no secrets in Castle Clavius.  The three girls who 
shared her bed in the weaving room had no questions about where 
she had been.  At breakfast, all the weavers expected her to take 
the third seat on their bench, below only Susanna and Maria.  
This brought a sergeant whom she had barely seen before as her 
eating companion.  Heinrich was his name, like her baby 
brother's.

She worked industriously all day.  Again, Maria kept them at work 
until the second seating at supper.  After supper, she entered 
the door to the chaplain's chamber and climbed the stairs.  
Father David had left the door to his chamber open.  When she 
made a sound, he turned around.  "Deborah," he said, "thou art 
welcome."  He closed the door after her.  "Thou mayest use that 
peg," he said, pointing to a peg set between two stones a little 
above her eye level.  He proceeded to remove his clothes.  She 
removed her own and hung them on the indicated peg.  Father David 
picked up the linen and held it out to her.  She could see a few 
brown spots on it.  "I thank thee," he said.  "Didst thou have 
any more pain today, or any more bleeding?"

"No, David.  I did not."

"That is very good news."  He gestured towrds the bed and she got 
into it.  If he had not touched her while she was standing, he 
showed no such restraint after he had joined her in bed.  He 
kissed her, her mouth, over her face, her mouth again, and then 
her breasts.  He covered her and himself with the blanket.  Then 
he kissed her mouth again while stroking her.  She had not seen 
the vial nor felt any oil on his fingers when he touched her 
breasts and belly; but when his fingers passed between her lower 
lips, she felt a slickness in the rubbing.  This rubbing was very 
thorough, and he sucked her nipples again before climbing between 
her legs.  

When his hands went to each side of her, another part of him was 
still parting her lower lips.  This time, when he moved slowly 
within her, there was no pain at all.  His motions were gentler 
and slower this time, and they went on for a longer time.  She 
felt something -- pleasure, not pain.  Then he thrust hard into 
her and stiffened above her.  When he moved out of her and off 
her there was another drip from her lowest region.  He held her 
as he went to sleep.  The warmth was welcome in the nighttime 
coolness.

The next night, he kissed her when they were in bed.  He then 
turned on his side facing her and held her with one arm.  Only 
when his breathing evened in sleep did she realize that this was 
going to be their only contact that night.

The next night, though, Father David was as passionate as ever.  
Again, there was no pain.  Even aside from the importance that 
this important man found in her, there was some pleasure.  

Sometime in the night, thunder woke her.   It took her a moment 
to realise where she hwas.  A moment later, there was a lightning 
flash, which lit up the room.  Could it have struck the chapel?  
How was the light inside the room when the rain was not?  But no 
rain disturbed her, not even wind.  After a third lightning 
strike lit up the room, she realised that there was glass in the 
window of the room -- clear glass from the brightness of the 
light.  After all, this was the chapel building.  She had seen 
glass in the chapel.  In high summer, the sun was high enough at 
the end of services to shine in the window; and a beautiful sight 
it was.

Glass in the window, letting in more light -- and less wind -- 
than the scraped hide she was used to.  A feather bed to sleep 
on.  She was living the life of luxury.  The luxury continued 
that morning.  "I shall lend thee a cloak," Father David said.  
"Bring it back tomorrow night."

Tomorrow?  Oh, of course, this was Friday.  A good Christian man, 
let alone a priest, did not indulge in sex on Fridays or Sundays.

When supper let out that night, though, she regreted the walk 
back to the weavers' place.  It was raining hard, and she was 
wearing the cloak she had brought with her from home.  Not only 
was it thin and worn, it was much shorter than the one she had 
received on the Christmas of her middle year weaving.  It was 
well above her knees now, while the cloak Father David had lent 
her reached her ankles.  That cloak, and the one she had 
received, were both sopping wet.  The weavers' building had a 
fireplace, but only the great hall had a fire this early in the 
year.  Well, this was Friday, the day of the Savior's suffering.  
It was appropriate to suffer on that day. 

And, appropriately, she slept on a straw mattress that night with 
two girls on her left and one on her right.  In the morning, 
which was blessedly clear, she was going from chapel to 
brreakfast when her mind cleared.  She had not the slightest 
suffering.  The girls she worked with slept on straw every night 
-- four in a bed, most of them.  What if the third cloak she wore 
through the rain had been scant; which of the other girls had a 
third cloak?  The younger ones had only one, and those were often 
shorter than would match their present height.  Although none of 
the young girls were quite so badly fitted as Deborah was with 
her seven-year-old cloak, they wore them both short and wet.  She 
was not gentry to expect luxury.

That night, when she went in, Father David had a candle lit and 
was standing at a high table.  He was looking at one sheet of 
parchment and writing on another.  "I am sorry, Deborah," he 
said, "but Sir Karl desires several copies of this."

"I have no objection," she said.  Indeed, what she felt was awe.  
She was not superstitious; she knew that this was not magic.  
Still, it *looked* somewhat magical.  That was speech, she knew, 
words put down on leather.  Another priest, who had not heard the 
words, could recite them from just looking at the leather.  The 
candle was impressive enough; when most people needed light after 
dark, they used rushlights or simply took their work close to the 
fire. 

Father David capped the inkpot, scattered a bowl of sand over the 
parchment, and turned to her.  "I thank thee for thy patience."

"Really, F..., Really David, it was no feat of patience.  I was 
impressed by the writing."

"It is nothing.  Just copying one sheet over to another."  He 
came over to her and lifted her chin to give her a kiss.  His 
tongue explored her mouth while his hands explored her body.  

When he moved back, it was to remove his clothes.  She removed 
her own and hung them on the peg he had showed her the second 
night.  When they were in bed together and covered, he resumed 
the kiss.  Even when he stopped kissing her, his hand kept 
roving.  When it went between her legs, she spread them; she knew 
this was the prelude to his climbing between them.  This night, 
however, he did not.

As he continued to stroke her intimately, she became more and 
more excited.  His hand was gentle, well-oiled, and never still.  
When he leaned over to suck on her nipple while still stroking 
her, her excitement peaked.  Something burned within her.  "Oh," 
she said.

"That is fine," Father David said.  "That is what you are 
expected to feel."  That was good to hear, but she could pay 
little attention to his voice, just then.  Even when he did climb 
between her legs, she had not enough strength to arrange her body 
to support him.  He arranged it for her, lifting each knee before 
positioning himself at her center.  His entry was slow and 
gentle.  "So warm," Father David said when he was all the way 
into her, "so smooth.  Deborah, thou art a delight."

He held his chest a little above hers, pressing down only where 
they were joined at their middles.  His motions inside her began 
slowly but soon speeded up.  Then he grunted and stiffened above 
her.  He lay on her for a moment aferwards, then moved off and 
held her as he went to sleep.  It was easy to join him.  

As that morning was Sunday, mass was longer.  Most of the weavers 
returned to their building after breakfast.  They were free from 
work, but the inner courtyard was not attractive in the cooler 
weather.  Instead, they stood around inside their building to 
gossip and sing.  With the looms still outside, they had no 
seats.  After the first seating for dinner they went to bathe in 
the old great hall in the keep.  There was a huge tub there, 
filled.  There was also a fire roaring in the fireplace with many 
cauldrons of water heating over it.  

Deborah found that the women deferred to her; she was among the 
first women in the bath, and she soaked in luxury.  Nobody chided 
her for the delay, either.  With men and gentewomen all 
elsewhere, the priest's concubine was one of the highest ranking 
people present.  Some dry towels were still available when she 
got out, too.  She carefully wiped herself off with one and hung 
it hear the fire where it would warm and dry for the next user.  
She was already dressed when the second seating from dinner came 
up the outside stairs to open the door and let the chill autumn 
breeze in.

The next morning, a wool weaver finished her bolt.  "Spin," Maria 
told her, "until the looms can be moved into the building."  The 
summer was over, the summer of weaving under nothing but thatch.  
They would be working inside now, working by the flickering light 
of the fire and a few rushlights.  Deborah was happy that she was 
experienced enough to not need her eyes on the weaving.  Still, 
she had begun her bolt last.  She had to work determinedly if she 
were not to delay the move or, worse, have her loom moved with 
cloth in it.

She had to remind herself of that.  It was too easy to daydream 
of Father David's chamber with tight stone walls and glass in the 
window and a candle for light.  And Father David, no David, 
himself.  With the excitement he brought her with his hands and 
his mouth.  When she thought of those matters, her shuttle moved 
slowly;  but, when she concentrated on her work, the time moved 
slowly.

The day passed, however.  And, after supper, she returned to 
David's chamber.  It was warm!  He fire was crackling in the 
fireplace -- branches, not logs, but substantial branches.  
"Deborah," he said.  "It is pleasant to see you."

He held her face in his hands as he kissed her.  His hands traced 
over her body during the kiss.  It wasn't only the fire which was 
making her warm.  Finally, he let her go.  She removed her 
clothes as he removed his.  In the bed, he kissed her again.  His 
hands were everywhere on her, soon moving betwen her legs.  His 
mouth was on her breasts more thna it was on her mouth.  The 
excitement that she had felt Saturday rose again.

At that point, David seemed to retreat.  His mouth returned to 
hers; his hand left her center to stroke the insides of her 
thighs.  She wanted the more intimate caresses, wanted them 
enough that she was tempted to ask for them.  That was 
unthinkable, of course.  This was *Father David*, and she could 
only confess lust to him under the seal of the confessional.  
Still, when he began to stroke between her lower lips again, she 
allowed herself a sigh of satisfaction.  She knew that the 
burning that she had felt once before was near.  It was coming, 
and David had said it was what she was expected to feel.

When it had almost arrived, however, David stopped stroking her 
again.  She writhed silently in frutration.  But, instead of 
stroking her some more or kissing her somewhere else, he climbed 
between her legs.  After a brief adjustment by his hands, the 
only thing touching her center was his cock.  Its entrance was 
slow and smooth.  The stretching was minor, and it soothed her 
excitememt for one moment.  

Soon, though, her excitement grew in time with his slow motions 
within her.  She even found herself pushing up in the bed as 
David pushed down. 

The excitement grew greater and greater.  Suddenly, it peaked.  
Lightning flashed again, but it was within her.  "Oh!" she said.

"Deborah," David said.  He continued to stroke within her as she 
relaxed.  As if it were from afar, she felt his cock pulse deep 
within her.  Then he was lying on her and gasping as rarpidly as 
she was.

"Sweet girl," he said minutes later.  He kissed her gently before 
getting off.  Then he gathered her in his arms before they both 
fell asleep.

She was woke to see a servant kneeling at the fireplace.  She 
covered her face with the blanket before he rose.  "I thank 
thee," David said to him. 

"It has caught now, Father," the man answered.  "It will be a 
while, though, before it warms the room."

After the servant had gone out, David got up to use the slop 
bucket and to dress.  Still modest, she dressed before visiting a 
latrine in the wall instead of using the slop bucket in front of 
David. 

The week went by as she became accustomed to her new status.  
She experienced the lighning again on Wednesday, and she slept in 
warmth every night.

Saturday morning, Susanna -- one of the girls who slept in her 
bed -- had her period.  This warned Deborah, and she carried a 
scrap of cloth with her to David's chamber.  All the weavers and 
spinners had almost the same periods; all the girls in her bed 
had them within a day of one another.  But she felt no twinges.  
Indeed, she felt the lightning again when David was in her.

Sunday night, the other three girls in her bed all slept with 
cloths tied between their legs to catch the blood.  By Monday 
morning, she was convinced she was going to have a baby.  She 
told David of her conviction that night.

"I can do nothing for thee, myself," he answered.  "I will speak 
with My Lord Karl about thee."  In bed, he spent some time 
stroking her abdomen while kissing her face.  When his caresses 
became more intimate, her excitement rose.  It soared even higher 
when he entered her.  It had not peaked, however, when he 
stiffened aboe her and thrust into her.  She relaxed slowly while 
held in his arms.

That night he said, "I spoke to Sir Karl regarding thee.  If thou 
wouldst prefer to return to the mountain, he will see that a half 
manse of new land is thy dowry.  It will be a held in free 
tenure, not slave tenure.  I understand that this is unusual for 
that part of his domains.  He suggested that this is too early to 
make arrangements; but, when thy pregnancy begins to show, he 
will contact the bailiffs of villages close to yours.  They will 
know what men are looking for wives, and which of them would be 
pleased with that dowry.  He is a very generous overlord."

"He is," she responded.  Such a dowry would persuade many a man 
to accept a new wife with a full belly.  The younger son of a 
poor holder would jump at that chance.  So would the heir of a 
half manse whose father looked like he would live for years yet.  
He would farm half a manse immediately, with the possibility of a 
full manse in his future.  "And thou art very generous, as well."

"I am merely the messenger of another's generosity," he said 
before kissing her.  But he had approached the castelan in a way 
she could not.  She responded to the kiss and to her feeling.  
Once in bed, his kisses continued.  She found her response to be 
one of increased fervor.  Again, he caressed her until she was at 
a fever heat.  That heat abated only slightly in the pause for 
his entrance.  Then it rose while he stroked slowly within her.  
She gasped when it peaked.

He barely paused, but continued his motions.  Through her 
lassitude, he felt him stretch rigid above her and pulse within 
her.  Then he fell to her side and lay with an arm across her.

The next night, he kissed her on her forehead instad of on the 
lips.  He went no further, but slept with his hand on her belly.  
That morning, she felt that her period had started.  She was 
shame-faced when she confessed to him that his plea to the 
castelan had been in vain.

"Do not fret thyself.  I shall tell him that there is no need as 
yet.  After all, it is likely that there will be need sometime.  
And he has said that the offer will be available when thou 
needest it.

"Shall I return here tonight?"

"If thou wilt."

And she did.  David held her as she slept in the warm, soft, bed.

Following her new pattern, she slept in the weavers' building 
only Friday and Sunday.  As the week progressed, she became more 
and more conscious of his cock pressed against her as he slept.  
On Monday, her flow had essentially stopped.  That night, David 
kissed her deeply and caressed her until she was eager for his 
penetration.  That penetration, however, was quite brief.  On his 
third stroke he stiffened above her and pulsed within her.

On Tuesday, she wished that he would give her less attention, but 
-- of course -- it wasn't her place to ask him to come in her.  
She felt as if she were burning up when he finally did.  His 
strokes within her were soothing, then they were exciting.  Then 
the fire burned within her again.  David stopped while she 
thrashed underneath him.  Then, when she relaxed abruptly, he 
resumed his strokes.  

She felt him pulse within her.  Lying in his arms later, she felt 
his gift to her leak out.  

Maria had half the looms moved into the building while the other 
half, including Deborah's, still had cloth on them.  But the day 
finally came when Deborah removed a finished bolt of cloth from 
her loom.  She took up a distaff and spun flax into warp yarn 
without being told.  When her loom was in the building, though, 
Maria asked her to weave wool.  It looked like a cold winter 
was coming, and everybody was producing thick, heavy, cloth. 

Her periods came even later, but she didn't bother David with the 
news.  They came.  So did the lightning strikes within her.  She 
stopped being shocked by them, and started looking forward to 
them.  As far as she could tell, the intensity increased. They 
were one of the advantages of her position, along with sleeping 
in a warm bed in a warm chamber five nights out of seven.  Even 
the shortness of the walks after supper and before Mass were a 
pleasantness in the worst of the winter.

Christmas brought a feast for dinner.  Even at supper the servers 
brought as much meat as one could want.  Knowing that she would 
spend that night with David, she stopped eating before all that 
meat could possibly make her sick.  

That night, David kissed her shoulders, arms and torso as well as 
her face and breasts.  "Truly a feast," he said.  When he had 
caressed her to the height of her excitement, he went back to the 
kisses.  She had to bite her lips to keep from asking him to come 
in her.  Then, having caressed her to the point of desperation 
once more, he finally did.

He slid in more slickly than ever before.  "Truly a feast," he 
repeated.  "Thou art truly a feast to all my senses."  He stroked 
smoothly within her as her excitement rose.  "Deborah!" he said 
as it peaked.  Then he drove quickly in and out of her until he 
froze above her and pulsed within her.  "Deborah," he said once 
more.

As the winter dragged on, her nights with David warmed her spirit 
as much as they warmed her body.  She found herself thinking of 
him even at her loom.  She would press the right pedal, hand the 
shuttle from her right hand to her left, release the right pedal 
as she depressed the left one, hand the shuttle from her left 
hand to her right.  Somehow, in the midst of that repetitive task 
which she had performed for years, heat spread though her body 
which only David had generated previously.  She remembered the 
previous nights in his arms and blushed.

Then spring came.  The grass hadn't come up yet, but the weather 
abated.  When Deborah finished the bolt of wool she was working 
on, she went back to weaving linen.  

There was still a fire in the fireplace of the weaving building.  
They needed it during the night, but some took to weaving with 
their cloaks off.  Deborah compromised by wearing the short, now 
quite threadbare, cloak she'd brought with her seven and a half 
years before.

On the last Monday in Epiphany, David seemed particularly 
attentive.  Again, he kissed her neck, shoulders and arms as well 
as her lips and breasts.  Again, he caressed her beyond the time 
when she desired his entrance.  That entrance was smooth and 
slow, but soon he sped his strokes.

She responded to that speeding with thrusts of her own.  When the fire 
burned through her, David stiffened above her and groaned.  
Moments after she relaxed, he moved off her and to her side.

She was nearly asleep by the time his breathing had eased.  His 
words startled her; almost never did he speak after they were 
finished.  "Lent begins soon."

His voice seemed to expect a response, if his words did not.  "Yes."

"We cannot be together during Lent, nor -- of course -- on 
Sundays.  Omnia tempus habent et suis spatiis transeunt universa 
sub caelo.  Tempus spargendi lapides et tempus colligendi tempus 
amplexandi et tempus longe fieri a conplexibus."

"I don't know Latin, Father."  Somehow, responding to that last 
comment with a statement to 'David' was inappropriate. 

"There is a time for everything; a time to cast away stones and a 
time to gather stones together.  Lent is our time to gather 
stones together, our time to refrain from embracing."

"Do you wish me to stay away tomorrow night?"  After all, he 
almost never took the comforts she offered on Tuesdays, and the 
morning would be Ash Wednesday.

"Ah, but tomorrow is a feast, the fast begins after that.  One 
thing I would wish...."

"Yes?"  She couldn't tell whether this was a time to call him 
'Father' or a time to call him 'David.'

"When you go to confession in preparation for the Easter Mass, 
don't come to me.  Go to Father Henri at Saint Anne's.  Father 
Cassian at the church in Montant would also do."  

"I will confess to Father Henri."

"Thou art such an agreeable girl."  And, with that, David curled 
up against her and went to sleep.  

The next day was a feast; only the cooks (and, of course, the 
sentries) did work.  Replete from supper, Deborah climbed the 
stairs to David's chamber. 

"So, Deborah," he greeted her, "didst thou enjoy the feast?" 

"That I did, David."

"Well, the feast is not over."  It was not?  She was certain 
that he could get more from the kitchens, but she doubted that 
she could hold much more.  

Instead of bringing out some delicacies, however, he began 
kissing her.  His hands caressed her body through the dress as 
his tongue explored her mouth.  She was eager for their pleasures 
when he stepped back and began to remove his robe.  She removed 
her own few pieces of clothing and was in the bed before he was. 

When he joined her, he resumed the kisses and caresses.  He 
kissed her face, her neck, even her ears, while he was caressing 
her breasts and thighs.  When his hand rubbed her center, his 
mouth dealt with her left breast.  "A feast day," he broke the 
kiss to say, "and thou art a feast indeed."  Then he sucked on 
that nipple and stroked within her lower lips. 

Her excitement soared.  She expected him to climb between her 
legs to enter her at any moment, but he did not.  Then, with only 
his mouth and fingers arousing her, the lightning struck.  "Oh!" 
she said.

"Good," he said.  "Thou art a delightful girl, a lovely woman."  
Seeming to know that his fingers were now as unwelcome as they 
had been welcome before, he withdrew them.  But they did not go 
far.  His whole hand rested on her mound and between her legs.

While they lay like that and her breathing slowed, though, she 
became more and more conscious of that hand.  When David turned 
to her again and began kissing her right breast, his hand 
caressed her once again.  The touch was delicate, almost 
hesitant, but her feelings were especially sensitive.  Slowly, 
her excitement rose again.  

This time she couldn't control herself.  She grasped his wrist 
to pull his hand against her more firmly.  She was embarrassed, 
but David said "Delightful woman."  He did rub her firmly and 
suck her nipple quite hard. 

Then, however, he climbed between her legs once again.  "Oh, 
Deborah," he said as he slid inside her.  Then his strokes took 
up a firm rhythm and maintained it.  Her excitement built.  When 
it peaked, the lightning struck again and again.  He stroked 
within her while she writhed on the bed underneath him.  Then he 
said "Deborah!" once more and stiffened above her.

After he had fallen beside her, one more lightning stroke wracked 
her.  Then she lay there as though dead.  Breathing took all the 
strength she had left; more strength than she had, indeed, but 
she could not get enough air.  As that need was slowly satisfied, 
David put one arm over her.  "A feast indeed" were his last words 
for the night.

That morning he said nothing while they were in his chambers, 
either.  His only words to her, the last words for seven long 
weeks, were "Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return."


The end
A Time to Gather Stones Together
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2004/02/26

Thanks to Neneh for editing this.

Other stories set in the same time and place:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/med/rampant.htm "Rampant"
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/med/apprenti.htm "The Apprentice"


All my stories currently accessible:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/index.htm

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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