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From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
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ReSent-Subject: {ASSM}{CURMUDGEON FEST} "The Viscount Visits" {Uther} (Mf
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Subject: {ASSM} {CURMUDGEON FEST} "The Viscount Visits" {Uther} (Mf hist 1st) [1/1] <*>
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Date: Wed, 27 Oct 2004 00:10:04 -0400
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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:
https://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.


                       #  #  #  #  #  #  #

                       The Viscount Visits
                         Uther Pendragon
                        anon584c@nyx.net


Abigail saw the nobles rarely and at a distance.  But she, like 
all the folk of the village of Montant, heard rumors and gossip.  
While Sir Robert had still been alive, Sir Karl had been reputed 
a merry young man.  He had become castellan while mourning his 
brother, and you could expect no merriment at such a time.  After 
his wedding, though, his countenance was said to be as merry as 
ever.  His father, Viscount Denis, on the other hand, was reputed 
to be an old curmudgeon.  

She had seen Sir Robert and Sir Karl, of course, riding by.  
Castle Clavius was within sight of the cottage in which she 
lived.  She had been too young, however, to attend the gathering 
in the castle's middle bailey the last time that Viscount Denis 
had visited.  

Village connections to the viscount who was their overlord were 
indirect.  Village men did service in Castle Clavius and drove 
animals or rode carts there to supply the food needs.  Some 
castle folk visited the village regularly; some visited Castle 
Dan; a few did both.  One of the connections was the reve.  Her 
family saw even more of him than most villagers, since it had 
more members than her father's land -- even though it was a whole 
manse -- could support.  Besides a mere toddler, she had three 
brothers.  Those were all old enough for farm work.  Adam, 
George, and Nathan served the lord's land more often for a 
neighbor's duty than for their father's.  Then, too, there were 
other tasks for hired labor.  And the Reeve was involved in all 
of them which involved the lord's land.

Advent was a season of fasting, but it was not one of their 
seasons of want.  It was a soon enough after the harvest and 
there were still many turnips drying overhead.  The reeve pointed 
this out to her father when he visited a little before Christmas.  
"Children are a blessing, and the number you have surviving is a 
blessing indeed.  But four sons will not divide this land.  And 
thou needest dowries as well."

"Dost thou think I have not considered this?" asked her father.  
"The Good Lord has provided the blessings of children; He must 
provide the means of supporting them."

"The Good Lord may have provided those who can provide the means 
of providing dowries.  Would you children find somewhere else to 
warm yourselves?"  So she and her brothers and sisters left the 
cottage, even Henrik.  Naomi stayed with her mother, but she had 
learned no words as yet.

When she returned, she found that she would be going to the 
castle as serving maid.  It was not all that far away, but her 
mother had been crying.

She did not set out at once, though.  It was Saturday, more than 
a week later, when she bundled up her few goods and walked with 
them to the castle.  Adam walked along with her.  They passed the 
first gatehouse unquestioned, but they were stopped at another 
gatehouse which was flush with the wall and faced the road which 
ran through the castle.  "She was told to come here," Adam said.  
"She is going to be a maidservant."

"Nothing was said to me," the guard answered.  "Wait here."  Then 
he shouted, "Sir Stephen to the mid-bailey gate if he pleases."  
The shout was repeated and repeated farther away.  

When the small door finally opened, a knight was facing them.  He 
raised his eyebrows.  Adam sketched a bow while she curtsied.  
"Abigail, my lord.  I was told to come here."

"Of course.  Comest in.  And this is?"

"Adam, my lord.  I am her brother."

"Well, I thank thee for delivering her.  Thou mayest go in 
peace."  The seneschal walked with her across the courtyard, 
across another bridge and through another gatehouse, although 
this gate was wide open.  It would have allowed several mounted 
knights passage abreast.  He stopped at the gatehouse to 
introduce her to the guard.  "Abigail," he said, "she shall clean 
the castellan's chamber."

"Yes, my lord."

In the inner courtyard, he pointed out the great hall and the 
keep.  The last was entered only by an outside wooden stairway.  
"And this is the residence," he said.  "Some will call it the old 
great hall, and so it is.  My lord's chamber is up this 
stairway."  When he got to the landing, he knocked at an open 
door.  "Abigail, my lady."

Lady Elizabeth was quite pregnant.  She had heard all about that, 
of course.  "Helga," she said, "introducest her around and 
showest her what to do."

Helga was a woman who looked almost as old as Abigail's 
grandmother.  She introduced the other maids.  One of them,  
Tamar, was carrying a small baby.  "The viscount is coming to 
visit," explained Helga.  "This chamber is for the use of the 
lord of the castle, or -- occasionally -- a guesting superior.  
Viscount Denis really holds this castle.  Sir Karl is his 
father's castellan.  So the viscount will sleep here, and we are 
making another chamber ready for Sir Karl and my lady.  Viscount 
Denis will not arrive until Monday, but there is much to do."  As 
one unused to the order of lady's clothes, Abigail's task was 
simply to carry armloads of them upstairs from one chamber to the 
other.  The upper chamber was not much larger than her family's 
cottage, making it about half the size of the lord's chamber.

The second seating at dinner was a welcome respite from all those 
stairs.  Advent fast or no, the meal was richer than Abigail's 
family had on many feast days.  The plentiful food included salt 
fish.  When they had moved all the clothes Lady Elizabeth didn't 
need, they started on Sir Karl's clothing.  The squires handled 
the armor, but Abigail carried armfuls of linen clothing 
upstairs.  Perhaps it was the heavy dinner; perhaps it was all 
the turning involved in climbing the stairs.  For whatever 
reason, Abigail's head was spinning when she reached the new 
room.  Roger, the younger of Sir Karl's squires, told her to hold 
the clothes until he had put them away.

"I could set them down on the bed my lord."

"And so thou couldst.  But I bade thee hold them.  And I am 
nobody's lord."

When he had folded the last shirt, he asked, "Hast thou fully 
recovered thy breath?"

"Yes, my....  Yes, Roger."

"Then goest down.  If Helga gives you another load, stoppest on 
the way."

"I slowed down on the last journey."

"Slowing down gives little ease on stairs.  If Helga asks why you 
took so long, tellest her that Roger delayed thy return."  But 
Helga asked nothing.

They had fish for supper as well, and a traveling troubadour sang 
for them afterwards.   The benches being occupied by her seniors, 
Abigail sat on the floor.  She was stiff when she arose and 
limped up the stairs to the chamber.  She had no duties there.  
There were more than enough maids to help Lady Elizabeth off with 
her clothes and hang them away.  Sir Karl was served by his two 
squires.  Then Abigail had a share of a straw-filled pallet on 
the floor.  

Sir Karl had a voice that carried.  This was probably useful when 
he commanded on the battlefield, but Abigail could hear the 
endearments he addressed to his wife in their bed.  Their 
movements, however, made no sound.  After a quite audible gasp, 
Sir Karl's comments became softer.  Soon they ceased and Abigail 
drifted to sleep.  She noted that the nobility talk even during 
sex, although Lady Elizabeth's responses had been too low for 
Abigail to hear the words.  Her parents kept absolute verbal 
silence, although their motions on a straw-stuffed mattress made 
more sound.

Mass that morning was longer than she was used to.  Perhaps 
because it was Sunday, perhaps a castle custom.  It was possible 
that it merely seemed longer because her legs still felt 
uncomfortable.  Breakfast was bread and wine, instead of the 
porridge and beer to which she was accustomed.

After breakfast, most of the great hall was given over to the 
chaplain and a group of boys.  Apparently, the boys -- mere 
children of servitors, from their clothes -- were learning their 
letters.  The inner bailey being smitten by a cold and nasty 
wind, all the maids Abigail had met gathered again in the 
chamber.  Sir Karl and Lady Elizabeth were elsewhere.  They had 
not stored away the pallets, and they lay on them again.  Tamar 
allowed Abigail to hold her baby, Michael.  They passed the time 
until dinner with singing.  Abigail's family did no work on 
farmland or garden on Sunday, but she was used to using the 
distaff on Sunday.  None of that seemed to be done in the castle.  

There were several pieces of pork in the stew she ate at dinner.  
"Meat," said Jesse, her dinner companion.  "I was getting a 
little tired of fish."  She marveled.  Jesse was a groom.  (The 
work in the stables, like the work in the kitchens, continued 
even on Sunday.)  She could not imagine a commoner like herself 
getting tired of fish.  For that matter, she had gone hungry 
often enough to even relish turnips.

After dinner, Helga led her to the keep.  A huge tub filled half 
the main hall of the keep.  Male servitors had filled it with hot 
water.  More water was in cauldrons over the fire in the huge 
fireplace.  The common women waited while the men left the keep.  
After they had barred the door, Helga urged her to strip and get 
in the tub with hera and a few others.  The reason for Helga's 
going first was obvious; she was one of the senior women there.  
It would have been more fitting for Abigail to have held back, 
but Helga insisted.  And none of the other women seemed to 
object.  The hot water eased the soreness in her legs.

After she and Helga had scrubbed each other dried each other off, 
Helga gave her a new dress to wear.  "A new dress is the usual 
Christmas present from the castellan.  He thought it would be 
more appropriate to give it to you early."  It was a fine dress, 
although -- being linen -- it was a little inappropriate for this 
season.  Still, she had spent almost no time outside since coming 
to the castle.  Then, too, they seemed to keep any number of 
fires burning continually.

When Sir Karl returned to his chamber after supper, she curtsied 
and thanked him for the dress.  She was getting better at this 
curtsying business.

"Thou art quite welcome," Sir Karl said.

"Wearest that dress tomorrow," Lady Elizabeth said. 

Tomorrow?  Now that she had two dresses that fit, she wanted to 
save this one for best.  "Yes my lady."

After breakfast the next day, they finished moving all the last 
materials to the new chamber.  She gathered her things when the 
possessions of the nobles were in place.  She now had a second 
dress as well as a second set of underpants and a cloak.  "Where 
should I put these?" she asked Helga.

"Leavest them here," she answered.  "Thou wilt sleep here."

She helped Helga make the bed anew. 

Dinner was overdue when a trumpet blast from the top of the keep 
drew everyone's attention.  The guard up there lowered Sir Karl's 
standard.  Everyone watched until a new standard was raised.  
Viscount Denis had entered Castle Clavius.  "Prepare the baths," 
Lady Elizabeth said as she and the other nobles walked towards 
the middle bailey.

There already were two baths in the chamber, and cauldrons 
boiling on the fire.  They filled the baths.  When the nobles 
entered the chamber, it was easy to see which one was Viscount 
Denis.  Not only was he more richly dressed than his companions, 
he was a generation older.  Lady Esther, Sir Stephen's wife, 
helped Lady Elizabeth bathe the viscount.  He kept insisting that 
Lady Elizabeth scrub his neck more thoroughly while Lady Esther 
took care of the rest of his body.  "I can bend, my lord," Lady 
Elizabeth finally said.

"Bearest me a grandson," the viscount replied, "and I shall count 
thee as having rendered perfect service."

The four knights who had accompanied him had only their feet and 
legs bathed.  Young Sarah was the only noble who served them.  
Most of the actual work in that tub was done by the maids, 
including Abigail.

When the viscount and his knights were bathed and dressed in 
guest robes, they went to dinner.  By the time that the second 
seating was called, Abigail felt hungry indeed.  She had been in 
the castle but two days, but she had already become used to 
regular meals.  When she finally had dinner, though, it was worth 
the wait.  Still Advent, still meatless, the dishes were tastier 
than she'd ever eaten in her life.  She drank hot mulled wine 
that warmed her belly.

After dinner, the nobles returned to the high table to pass 
judgment.  The watches were kept, and some others left for 
necessary work; but most of the castle folk crowded in.  There 
were many peasants there as well.  She saw the reve and others 
whom she recognized from her village of Montant.  From the cases 
being heard, some folk came from St. Anne's and others from even 
farther away.  Sir Stephen presented most of the cases, and then 
each side would argue their position.  The first few cases were 
crimes.  The viscount ordered two men hanged, and several others 
beaten.  

Sometimes, confusingly, there would be more than two sides.  On 
some cases, knights would take positions; sometimes, Viscount 
Denis would consult sotto-voce with Sir Karl.  

Then Sir Karl left his seat behind the high table and stood in 
the center facing the Viscount.  "Tamar," he called.  Tamar came 
forward carrying Michael.  "My lord," he said in a carrying 
voice, "I present Tamar, whom I accepted for you as part of the 
relief when Sir Paul succeeded his father, Sir Hugh in holding 
Manoir de la Rive." 

"You did well," said the viscount.

"Tamar is holding her baby, Michael by name.  Is it your will to 
free him?  He is, after all, the son of Baron Hugh."

"That is not well thought," said the Viscount.  "My cow, my 
calf."

Tamar, looking dejected, returned to the side.  Sir Karl walked 
behind the high table while Sir Stephen presented the next case.  
Abigail saw several of her fellow servants hug Tamar to comfort 
her.  Viscount Denis was within his rights, but he was a colder 
man than his son.  Abigail thought again of how he had given her 
the second dress early.  

Many peasants left after their cases were heard, and Tamar left 
as soon as her tears were dried.  But Abigail, having nothing to 
do, remained in the great hall through many more cases.  She 
returned to the upper chamber where everyone was making a fuss 
over Tamar and Michael.  The second seating at supper was again a 
feast of tastes.  Afterwards, there were more jongleurs and 
dancers including a woman who walked, indeed danced, on her 
hands.

Helga escorted her to the chamber where Viscount Denis was being 
undressed by his squires.  The viscount gestured her to the back 
of the room.  When his squires left, he barred the door before 
going to bed.  She did no know what to do; there seemed to be no 
pallet to lie on.  And her legs, marvelously relaxed by the hot 
bath the day before, were now almost as sore as they had been.  
She crept over to a bench and sat quietly.

"Comest here, girl," the viscount said.  His voice sounded angry.  
"Thy name?" when she was standing beside the bed.

"Abigail, my lord."

"Removest thy clothing, Abigail."  She blushed as she did so, but 
beubg seeb naked was much less fearsome than provoking the 
viscount's wrath.  He drew back the sheet and blanket when she 
was bare.  "Climbest in."  It was a climb, too.  The bed was much 
higher than her parents' let alone the pallet she shared with 
other maids.  It was soft, too.  She felt herself sinking into 
all the feathers.  The viscount was lying to her left.

"Art thou fearful?" he asked.  "Dost not be."  The viscount had 
sentenced men to hang, although she feared that she must miss 
that entertainment while employed in the castle.  He had spoken 
of friendly Tamar as a cow and little, cuddly, Michael as a calf.  
He was alone with her in a locked room, alone in a bed with her.  
And she should not be fearful?

"No, my lord."

"That is good."  He kissed her on the forehead.  He moved his 
hand down her torso to her legs.  "Spreadest thy legs."  When she 
did so, he fingered her briefly in the most private spot between 
her legs.  Whatever he had said, she tensed at that.  Soon, 
though, his hand swept upward to her breast.  "I shall proceed 
slowly."  

She had spoken to him twice, she was alone in the room with him 
with the door locked; they were naked in bed together; his hand 
had gone where no other person's had gone and was now resting on 
her breast.  This was proceeding slowly?  "Please procedest 
slowly, my lord."

"Pain delayed is pain none the less.  The question is whether you 
get pleasure."

The question was less her pleasure than her survival.  But 
struggling against her overlord would be treason, which would 
mean condemnation to death if she lived long enough to stand 
trial.  And living that long if she were to resist was unlikely; 
a swordsman, although old, he was more than a match for her 
physically.  So she lay back and let him have his way.

Truth to tell, his way seemed not unpleasant.  He patted and 
rubbed her breast until there was a tingling sensation there.  
Then he sucked on the nipple.  By the time he moved his mouth to 
the other nipple, she was feeling quite excited.  His hand rubbed 
slowly down her belly to her mound.  This time it was welcome 
rather than intrusive.  When his hand ventured between her legs 
again, he did not need to tell her to part them.  The strokes on 
the inside of her left thigh were exciting, even pleasant.

When his finger returned to her most private regions, it was 
stroking her softly rather than poking.  "Oh," she said, 
surprised for all that.  He changed breasts once again, and all 
the sensations excited her strangely.  His touches had warmed her 
belly more than the mulled wine had.  She clasped her legs around 
his hand and froze.  What would he do to her for that resistance.  
But, when he made not the slightest comment, she relaxed.  The 
relaxation allowed his hand easier access, and he stroked her 
more slowly.  The warmth in her belly was turning into fire.  

"Oh," she said as the fire seared her.  Her hips, without the 
slightest will on her part, pressed upward.  Her heels and 
shoulders felt as if they alone were touching the bed.  Then the 
fire flared within her, flared again and again.

When she again knew where she was, the viscount was no longer 
touching her with either mouth or hand.  Her legs ached 
abominably.  She was gasping as though she had run a race, but -- 
from the joyous feeling in her heart -- she must have won.  

"Art thou recovered?" the viscount asked after some time.

"My lord."

"Here."  He took her hand and placed it around his cock.  It felt 
much firmer than it had looked in his bath.  Within her hand, it 
grew firmer still.  "Spread thy legs further."  He moved over her 
until he was kneeling between her legs.  He spread her nether 
lips and lodged his cock between them.  She knew what intrusion 
was coming next and braced for it.  But he moved his cock up and 
down between her lips.  Then he changed his position so that he 
was lying over her with his weight on his elbows and his hands on 
her ears.  He played with her earlobes for a moment, finally 
holding each lobe bent double between his fingers.  He bent 
forward to kiss her mouth.  This brought his cock even further 
between her lips, but the pressure wasn't painful.

He moved his head back.  "Lookest in my eyes," he said.

"My lord."  That was quite unlike how a modest peasant girl 
should look at her liege lord, but disobeying would be worse.  
The candle outside the bed curtains gave very little light, but 
it was enough to see his face.

Staring straight into her eyes, he pinched both earlobes.  "Ow," 
she cried, surprised.  When she could think of anything else, 
there was another pain between her legs, and his cock was half 
way into her. 

"Thou art no longer a maiden," he said.  Then he moved into her 
more fully.  He shifted his position so that one hand covered her 
right breast.  The other took her left hand and placed it over 
his rump.  "Puttest thy other hand similarly," he said.  He moved 
his other hand to her left breast.  She tentatively placed her 
right hand on the cheek of his rump.  "Grippest me there," he 
said as he began moving.

The motion evoked several twinges down where he was moving.  But 
it still was not so sore as her ears.  The muscles flexing in her 
hands drew her attention and she gripped them more tightly.  The 
viscount moved more rapidly above her and deeper within her.  
Suddenly, he thrust against her more firmly still.  The muscles 
under her hands were hard as rock, and he raised his upper body 
away from hers.  "Unh," he groaned.

Then he dropped on top of her.  He lay there limp and gasping,  
He came out of her down below.  She felt something dripping down 
her rump.  If that were her blood, the wound was worse than it 
felt.  But, since it was not pulsing out, it would soon clot; 
unless God sent infection, it would not be fatal.  Moving the 
viscount from where he seemed to have fallen asleep lying on her 
was quite likely to be fatal.  She lay there. 

Some time afterwards, he moved off.  She fell asleep with one of 
his arms about her.

The End
The Viscount Visits
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2004/10/27


                              - = - 

There seems to be astep missing here; could sombody fill in the blank?
"Support our troops
      ...
Send them abroad to be maimed and killed."

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