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...
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...
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