Archive-name: on_french_soil1-3

From: fesseln1@aol.com (FESSELN1)

Subject: REPOST:On French Soil pt 1(Mf, B/D, Viol, NC, Hist)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

By T.S.Fesseln

Disclaimer: This is a work of amatory fantasy. Any resemblence to people living or dead is purely coincidental. Many historical liberties have been taken in this work and apologies to those who notice them. If you are under the age of 18, please stop here. If you are a bit squimish about rape and graphic depictions of violence and sex, please stop here. The author takes no responibility for those who wish to reenact anything written below.

Permission is granted for private use. The author wishes any agencies that wish to publish this work, to please contact me at FESSELN1.aol.com. Any comments are gladly accepted and encouraged.

Chapter One:Into The Breach

The siege-fires burnished a halo in the night sky over Harfleur, silhouetting the broken city walls and the dead and dying men upon them. Within those walls, the sounds of battle still echoed through the streets as Englishmen ranged through the cobbled streets looking for the loot that would fill their pockets about that which the young King Henry promised.
Sir Edward de Valence lifted his visor as he rode through the narrow streets littered with the bodies of the dead and dying, careful to make sure that the injured of the enemy would not fight again. The ranks had broken and the raping of the port of Harfleur had begun in ernest. He had even dismissed his own men so that they could loot their share. He had another mission in mind.
The House of D'Astier was where he had remembered it on the street of wine merchants. Phillip D'Astier was a name that many a merchant of the grape envied and hated. His methods were mercenary and cruel and his silver graced many an officials' hand. His cogs doubled as privateers. His gold could buy death.
And it had.
Edward's young son, Bruce, had perished in France while there on business. Edward's gold bought him the information he needed to know: Phillip D'Astier may not have held the dagger, but he had paid for it.
And now he would pay for it again.
The door to the two-story dwelling was broken in. As Edward dismounted, he could hear the cries of rage and agony within. He gathered his battleaxe and stepped through the darkened doorway.
Inside the small corridor, he found two of D'Astiers' hired men lying dead in dark pools of blood. The face of one had been crushed and from the ruins of his face, protruding teeth gave Edward an unsavory grin. The other lay entwined in his own glistening bowels. The small corridor had open doors to either side, one had a bright light that spilled out of it and lit the men's remains.
Edward quickly glanced in there, seeing the ruins of a kitchen. The other doorway opened to the main hall with it's dying embers on the hearth and upset furniture. Another two bodies lay sprawled over the wreckage, none which Edward recognized.
The cries of anquish could be heard coming from the solar. Readying his axe, Edward rushed toward it across the great hall to the narrow doorway from which he heard the clatter.
Entering the room, Edward could see the flames starting to engulf the far side of the room and silhouetted against the inferno a three men and a woman. All three had stripped the young maiden and and tied her spread to a rough table. By the gargoyle grins and laughs of these rough men of England, they had had their pleasure and now left the girl to be consumed by the hungery fingers of flame that were quickly spreading over tapestries and beams.
These men did not know what fortune laid tied before them.
Nor did they know that fortune would turn upon them.
The first man, still trying to tie one of his leggings, glanced up to see his life vanish in a single blink. Edward's blade swung upwards, catching underneath the roughs' chin and in a wide arc, shaving most of the man's face, his scream gurggling though his blood. The second, frozen with inaction as his mind still tried to puzzle what was happening, could only let out a strangled cry of horror as Edward's axe buried itself into the man's soft belly. The force of the blow sent the wretch teetering nearly in half into the growing flames.
The third man had his fellows to thank for the few moments it took to arm himself. He was a nasty fellow with bulbous nose and teeth like broken, puss-colored stumps. Crouched and armed with a well-worn sword, his eyes had a madman's yellow gleam.
"She's 'ur's if'n you want," he spat, smiling, "I's done 'er."
Edward remained silent and stepped toward the soldier, axe glinting red in the growing firelight.
The rough giggled a bit, and tried to step away from the metal-clad nightmare that had interuppted his fun. If he could win, he could still relish the screams and sizzling skin of the girl as his precious flames licked at her sex. That was all he really wanted.
A beam snapped under the caress of the flame, sending a firefly shower of embers over the two. The rough shrieked as the sparks landed in his hair seconds before the edge of Edward's axe. The blade cleft the rough's skull with a wet crack and stuck there. The haft of the axe had split with Edward's effort.
The fire had spread in moment to engulf two walls of the small room. Hot plaster chunks rained down. The comedy of Dante could compare well but Edward did not seem to notice, his mind locked onto the maiden tied to the table before him.
Her nude figure was like molten bronze in the firelight. Her eyes wide and dark, her cloth-gagged lips as rose petals, her neck slight and graceful. The soft curves of her full breasts seemed to plead for his touch. Her belly was as smooth and as flat as a stream-polished stone and her quim was cloaked with a wonderful dark-furred patch. Her legs were long and lithe and his desire for the daughter of D'Astier flared as she still tried to struggle in her tethers and scream into her gag.
Drawing a dagger, Edward slit the cords binding her ankles to each of the tables' legs, then pinning them together, cinched them tight. At the head on the table, he did the same to her wrists, twisting them until they were pinned behind the maid's back. Even as helpless as she was, the bitch-child of D'Astier continued to struggle and fight as if she wanted to perish in the fire.
It took no little effort to heft the slight girl over his shoulder and carry her through what had become a pyre. What strained Edward was her squirming and kicking. It took both his arms to force her out the of the doors. Soon, he was outside beside his horse, the night air feeling like ice on his heat drenched body.
His prize was still struggling, but her efforts were growing weaker as the strength drained away from her body. Her screams had become faint mewls of anguish and fatigue. With no little effort, he draped her over the pommel of his saddle. He stroked her lovely, rounded arse; her quim peeking out below like a plum ripe for plucking. But not, here, Edward thought as he cloaked her with a looted tapestry.
He climbed wearily into the saddle and settled back into it's cantel. He could still see his struggling bait in the outlines of the tapestry, but if anyone should glance his way, her form would be hidden from sight.
The ride through the streets of Harfleur was marked only by the amblings of drunking Englishmen and the cries of the dispossed French. The siege had left both hungry and desparate and now only the victors could make what little merriment they could. Weeks of being camped in bogs thick with flies and summer stink had taken their toll. The King had ordered out the camp followers and the wine the men drank had been fetid. It was no wonder that their victory had become an orgy after the rich had been ransomed.
Outside the walls the night air did not seem as thick as Edward urged his mount through the wooden pallisades built for the seige. The dark skeletons of trebuchets looked like empty gallows and the smell of fired gunpowder still cloaked the air. The cannons were silent this St. Maurice's Eve, the port had surrendered to King Harry.
There were few men in the old campsite, most of the men had moved their belongings into the town and into what was now their homes. Edward would soon follow but only after he made sure his captive was secure.
The baggage wagon that Edward had called home had become mired in the soft ground until Edward knew it was not going to move. It's blues and whites and gold had become stained and faded and the dray horses slaugthered to fill the bellies of his charges. The was an untended fire dying and the little else as Edward dismounted and tethered his horse. King Harry would see to it that Edward got his share of the ransom for the king was indebted to his household more than a few coin. There was no need for him to loot. One of the few things he wanted was wriggling underneath the tapestry.
Edward pulled the covering off, brushed back the maiden's long dark tresses and looked again into the face of his prize, Catherine D'Astier. Her ebony eyes were wide and doe-like in their fear and her muffled pleas from behind her gag did nothing but arouse Edward more.
He brushed her cheek, smiled, then went around to the other side to lift her off the saddle. As he grabbed both legs, he could smell her perfume, as heady and wanton as a mare in season. Her maidenhead had already been sundered so his taking her would not now damage her value to him. Besides, Edward thought to himself, it would bring him vengence to swyve the daughter of the man that killed his son.
He carted her over his shoulder and brought her in to lay her amongst his baggage. Grabbing her ankles, he bent them to meet her wrists and knotted them there in a hogtie. He then rolled her over onto her back so he could drink in her body again.
She squirmed and struggled, her breasts jiggling with the effort. Her nipples were stiff and erect and her knees opened almost to invite him. Between her legs and below her dark, thick nest, the slit of her quim showed, swollen like ripe fruit. Her mewls behind her gag sounded like pleas and her eyes showed both want and fear.
Normally, his squire would help him out of his armor, but he was no where to be seen. Edward labored to rid himself of his armor but soon he was undressed and kneeling over the helpless Catherine.
Edward's rough hands forced apart the knees of the girl before him, pinning them back and exposing her sex. Her perfume was strong and he could see she was already moist. She struggled at the sight of his cock, trying to squirm away, but Edward's firm grip pinned her. He eased down upon her and felt her warm, silken muscles engulf him.
Slowly at first, then with more violence, Edward thrust into her again and again. The sweet friction stoking Edward's passion and anger as did the girl's moans. At first they were moans of anguish but as Edward thrust, they became more amatory. Her knees embraced him and helped him with the rhythm. Her hips came up to meet his.
Again and again, thrusting and stoking his fire until he felt the spent boiling up his shaft and shooting into Catherine, causing her to shiver and squirm without control. Her moans were of pleasure and when Edward tried to slip out, she held onto him with her silken muscles and her thighs.
But Edward pulled himself from her and stared into Catherine's eyes until she curled herself up into a ball. It was not long before she fell asleep.
Edward wondered. . .

If you would like to see this story continue, especially any Lady Catherine's out there, please contact me at FESSELN1.aol.com. I will try to post more when time becomes available.

Path: news.demon.co.uk!dispatch.news.demon.net!demon!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news-peer.gsl.net!news.gsl.net!portc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: fesseln1@aol.com (FESSELN1) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: REPOST: On French Soil pt 2 (M/f, B/D, NC, Hist) Date: 12 Sep 1996 23:39:05 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 210 Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com Message-ID: <51al0p$7hq@newsbf02.news.aol.com> Reply-To: fesseln1@aol.com (FESSELN1) NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com

by T.S. Fesseln

Disclaimer: This is a work of amatory fantasy. Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental. May historical liberties have been taken in this work and apologies to those who notice them. If you are under the age of 18, please stop here. If you are a bit squeamish about rape and graphic depictions of violence and sex, please stop here. The author takes no responsibility for those who wish to reenact anything written below.

Permission is granted for private use. The author wishes any agencies that wish to publish this work to please contact me at FESSELN1.aol.com. Any comments are gladly accepted and encouraged.

Chapter Two:With hard-favor'd rage

With the grey of early morning, Sir Edward de Valence awoke, his muscles as stiff as bark. In the half-shadow of the baggagewagon, he could make out the pale shape of his captive, still sleeping curled up in the bindings he had put her in last evening. Her long, black hair obscured her delicate face and gagged mouth. Her breasts were the size of ripe apples, her nipples as dark as dates, her slight waist long, as well as her bound legs. Hidden was her dark nest of curls and quim from which Edward had raped his pleasure.
Now, in the half-light of the morning, he had regrets at that moment's pleasure. When Edward raped Catherine, he had done so out of an uncontrolled rage against her father and the death of Edward's son. His rage was spent inside Catherine and now there was room for feelings that might change his destiny.
Edward eased over to her sleeping form and brushed her hair away from her face, causing her to stir. With eyes wide, at first she seemed unsure about her surroundings. Then remembering the nightmare of last evening, Catherine struggled violently against her bonds. Edward let her until she began to cry into her sopping gag and her struggles became retches of sorrow.
"I do not wish harm to you . . .," Edward told her in her native French.
Catherine took no solace in his words. In fact, they were upon deaf ears. The horrors of the night were a blur and now it seemed they came back to all too real life. God was punishing her now for her wantoness. This English devyl was to be her tormentor . . .
". . .Catherine. . ."
Hearing her name has like a slap to her face, waking her up to what this English spoke.
". . .promise not to cause a stir, I will unbind you and find you some decent clothes. Do you understand?"
Catherine nodded her head, not understanding all that the English had said, but knowing that the evil bindings would be taken off and she could try to cover what this foul man had already ravaged from her.
Edward reached over and undid the knots to the soaked gag. He unwound the cloth from around her head until the last she spat out of her mouth. Her jaws ached and her tongue seemed numb. As she wiggled a bit to allow this English to unbind her, she found her hands and wrists were also numb.
However, instead of unbinding her, de Valence moved back and began to search through a chest.
"I thought, M'lord was going to release me!" Catherine wormed around, still trying to undo her hogtie.
Edward brought a bottle out of the chest and sat down across from his dark-haired ransom, "And I will, as soon as I can trust you enough to leave you without harness."
"I am NOT your ride, m'lord, and when my father finds out what acts you have done to me. . ."
"He will come and pierce my back with steel," Edward interrupted, "or some such a thing."
"He will tear off those jewels of yours, m'lord, and feed them to sows! Unbind me now!"
Edward took a long draw from his bottle. The warmth of the mead soothed his throat and tongue. After a long swallow, he set the bottle down before Catherine. Her eyes never left it.
She squirmed a bit more, her movements and grunts of frustration warming the fires in Edward's loins.
"Dog! Loose me!" she spat, almost exhausted from her efforts.
Her words only fuelled Edward's growing excitement. He found it curious that he would want to tame this shrew of a girl. A coney and a wolf, but the coney would fall prey.
"Do you want this again?" Edward asked as he held up the dank rag that had gagged her all night.
"You would not dare." Catherine said levelly.
Edward moved toward her, holding the gag before him. This caused her to wriggle back, her dark eyes like a doe about to be felled.
"No, m'lord, no!" she pleaded with the dark Edward.
"Then you will blunt your sharp tongue?"
She just looked at him as if he were made of maggot-ridden dung.
He began to move.
"Yes, m'lord!" she spit.
"Yes, m'lord . . .?" Edward prodded.
Catherine looked at him blankly.
"Pray, continue Catherine. Tell me what you will not do."
Catherine held her tongue from saying something that would endanger her plight even more, "I will not, m'lord, call you those things that the devyl knows are true of you."
Edward smiled and sat back again, nabbing the bottle of mead and drinking another long swallow. Catherine licked her sore lips but was determined not to ask for even a drop. To keep her mind from torturing itself, she mentally assessed her captor.
The English was taller than most, with wide shoulders and a rippled stomach that bore a large scar across it in testament to the man's station. His face was square with dark hair cut like the king he followed here to France. His eyes were a dark hazel and his mustache and beard were trimmed close and neatly. His hands were large and as rough as bark from scars. His shanks were long and burled with muscle and his cock was as big as Catherine had ever seen, nested now in his dark fur that seemed to cover his chest and loin thickly.
His cock was also rampant.
Catherine was not an innocent, far from it. It was a cousin that taught her to enjoy the delights of her body early. Since that early age, Catherine enjoyed the many lovers that were wooed by her coy looks and father's fortunes. It was those fortunes that allowed Catherine to indulge in her games of the heart she enjoyed so much.
This was another game, she thought. All men want few things. She had one of those things and she was not afraid to use it to her advantage.
Catherine squirmed around again until she was almost sitting. She eased open her thighs a bit to let Edward view her quim and watched his eyes as they travelled to between her legs.
"What will m'lord do with me?" she asked.
"Hold you for ransom."
"My father will pay you well, m'lord."
Edward smiled, "I know he will."
"Am I to be kept as this?"
"It pleases me."
"It does not please me. . ." Catherine said, closing her thighs so her sex could not be seen by her captor.
"I think it does, Catherine," Edward crawled over to her and knelt before her.
He looked directly into those doe-dark eyes.
He then parted her legs, though Catherine struggled to keep them shut.
Edward held them open and gazed at Catherine's sex openly. Catherine still struggled to shield it from his view, bound as she was, she could not hope to do so against a man as strong as this English.
Edward then looked into those dark eyes of hers.
"Is m'lord pleased with the view?" Cathrine asked with tone dripping venom.
"Very much, m'lady D'Astier," the English knight replied as he held her legs open for a moment or two before easing back again, releasing his grip on her.
Catherine started to close her thighs to his view but Edward sat back up and pried them apart again. This happened two or three more times, without a word spoken between the two, until Catherine left her thighs open for Edwards eyes.
"It is as pretty a sight, m'lady, as all your father's wooded lands."
Catherine did not say a word, but bowed her head. Her tears began to trickle down her cheek and onto her chest. Though Edward hated to admit it, the sight this pitiful, bound creature made his loins hot and his thirst great.
He took another draw from the bottle of mead.
"Would you like some mead, m'lady Catherine?" Edward asked.
She nodded her head, not looking up. Her eyes were red with the sorrow of her plight, partially an act and partially not. A woman's tears, her cousin once said, were deadlier than any dagger, stabbing at a man's heart cleanly and on target every time.
Edward took the bottle to her and lifted it to her lips. She gulped down the sweet wine eagerly, having had no food nor drink for nearly a day. With every swallow, she could feel her strength being renewed as if it were a magik potion or elixir. She drank nearly half the bottle before Edward took it from her lips.
An awkward moment passed between the two before Catherine broke the silence.
"Gramercy, m'lord."
Edward knelt between Catherine's open legs, his rampant cock pointing at her face as a sword would. His intent was plain. He meant to take pleasure from her lips.
"M'lord wants me to drink from another bottle?" She asked, knowing the answer before she even asked the question.
Edward nodded his head slowly.
"T'will be hard, m'lord English, bound the way I am."
Edward smiled and moved to Cathrine's side, lifting her until she was kneeling, still hogtied. Her hands were red from the tightness of her bonds, but her ankles and feet looked well. Edward grabbed another length of thong and tied her wrist a bit more loosely before cutting the other wrist bonds off, allowing the blood to flow to her fingers again. The slim young woman was still bound, but her plight was less uncomfortable.
The English stepped around to Cathrine's front, his cock pointed at her lips. She leaned forward a bit, and kissed Edward's swollen tip, running her tongue over it and around it as her cousin taught her. The man tasted slightly sweet, perhaps because of the mead she had had earlier.
The woman's tongue was warm and deft and made Edward groan a bit in pleasure. His fingers combed through her long, dark tresses and helped with Catherine's rhythm. Her lips swallowed his shaft and with them, she began to suckle his pricker to pleasure.
Her rhythm was deliberately slow, even with the knight's large hands grasping her head. Her tongue was not still nor her lips. She would often suck all the way off his purplish head, lick around it as if a boiled sweet apple before taking in his shaft again. From his groans and urgings, she knew he was about to spend.
Edward could feel his seed boiling up his shaft in bliss. He held it as long as possible, revelling in each second before filling Catherine's mouth with his white cum. It's saltiness she swallowed as she licked clean Edward's cock.
Edward knew then that Catherine would be his servant lover, to do with as he pleased. . .

If you would like to see this storyline continued, please E-mail Fesseln@aol.com . I will try to add to it as time permits.

Path: news.demon.co.uk!dispatch.news.demon.net!demon!usenet2.news.uk.psi.net!uknet!usenet1.news.uk.psi.net!uknet!psinntp!psinntp!howland.erols.net!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news-peer.gsl.net!news.gsl.net!portc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: fesseln1@aol.com (FESSELN1) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: REPOST: On French Soil pt 3 (Mf, B/D, NC, Hist) Date: 12 Sep 1996 23:39:07 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 291 Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com Message-ID: <51al0r$7hr@newsbf02.news.aol.com> Reply-To: fesseln1@aol.com (FESSELN1) NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com

By T.S. Fesseln

Disclaimer: This is a work of amatory fantasy. Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental. Many historical liberties have been taken in this work and apologies to those who notice them. If you are under the age of 18, please stop reading here. If you are a bit squeamish about rape and graphic depictions of violence and sex, please stop reading here. The author takes no responsibility for those who wish to reenact anything written below.

Permission is granted for private use. The author wishes any agencies that wish to publish this work, to please contact him at FESSELN1@aol.com . Any comments are gladly accepted and encouraged.

Chapter III - "Of Hot And Forcing Violation"

"M'lord de Valence!"
Catherine had barely licked the last of Edward de Valence's seed from her lips when she heard someone yell outside Edward's baggage wagon. Sir Edward de Valence, her captor, heard it too and with wolf-like speed, he grabbed a piece of cloth and forced it between Catherine's lips, gagging her.

For Edward, there was no time to waste upon making Catherine D'Astier comfortable. If anyone knew he took a prisoner to ransom without the King's permission, his very life may be forfeit. He shoved his prisoner down and quickly pulled a wool blanket and tapestry down over her. The bulk of the tapestry seemed to cover her little struggles and he could barely hear her screams through the gag.
"Sir Edward de Valence!" the man called again.
Edward pulled on his hose quickly before stepping out in the grey morning. A fine, misting rain greeted him coldly as he stood in the doorway. At the edge of his camp, Richard Corfe, Edward's best man-at-arms and sergeant, walked his horse through the mud escorting another man, the King's Herald. Richard still had the grime of battle ground into his skin and his armor was well-worn while the herald, mounted on a light grey horse, looked as clean as any bishop.
"M'lord de Valence?" the herald asked, a grim look about him.
"Yes."
"His Majesty, King Henry the V, wishes your council immediately. You may find him in St. Martin's church."
Barely had the words left the herald's lips than the man wheeled his horse around and started back toward Harfleur. The two men were silent until the herald was swallowed by the misting rain.
"How now, Richard? Why such a grim face?" Edward asked.
"I could not pry any words out of that man, m'lord. His bearing is not good and I fear what news you may hear," Richard replied, his clear blue eyes now red with burden of war.
Edward nodded, "The men taken care of?"
"As well as can be, m'lord. We have a roof over our head and a bit of wine we found, but they were as starved as we are."
Edward again nodded, "Water the wine down with this rain water. I fear that the devil may have pissed in the river. See what I can fill our bellies with so long as it hasn't crawled from the sea. Take a few of our archers afield and see what fowl you can put on the spit."
"M'lord."
"And see to it this wagon is dragged to the a suitable site within the walls. I will not have some errant French lick-pizzle steal what little comforts I have. Guard it well and let no one inside save me."
Richard nodded, wiping his soggy, blonde hair out of his eyes.
"Now I will see what the King has to say."

Catherine struggled once again at her bonds and once again was frustrated by their effectiveness. She was on her back once more and the rough wool against her skin felt like thousands of fleas crawling over her breasts, belly and legs. The cold wood she lay upon was rough and chaffing and with her wrists bound as they were behind her back, made her even more uncomfortable.
But even more than that, Catherine felt an itch between her legs that she could not sate. It troubled her in many ways, chief amongst them was the idea she was wanting of Edward's manhood despite his ill-treatment of her. He had not respected her station. In fact, quite the opposite, as if she were a common slattern. However, no matter how she was treated by the English and how detestable it was, there was no turning away from the fact that her quim was wanting his touch.
The wool was rough against her nipples as she squirmed. Each movement, a little blissful agony sparked within her womb and heated the embers there.
Catherine strained her hands down and her legs apart, knocking about the empty bottle of wine Edward and her had shared, but her fingers could not solace the need rising in her. Her position and bindings worked against her.
Then Catherine heard something and froze.
Even beneath the blanket and tapestry, Catherine could hear the muffled voices of men outside and their thumps against the wagon. The thought of them finding her both horrified and thrilled and sent her passions rushing through her like a wild fire. Struggling, Catherine tried to assuage her need with the heel of her foot but found that it would not but brush her swollen lips, teasing herself.
Catherine rocked her shoulders so that her nipples would enjoy the friction against the wool. Total rapture was so close yet still unreachable, like a delicious quince hanging just at the fingertips' touch. The smell of her own natural perfume hung in the cloistered air beneath the blanket like an exotic incense, exciting her more. She rocked her hips and tried to rub her thighs together, but to no end.
Then Catherine felt the wagon jolt. Her own mewls of need had drowned out the sounds outside and left her isolated. The wagon was now moving and she was now very aware she was not alone.
The rocking and jolting of the wagon across the muddy ground cause the bottle to roll beneath Catherine's splayed legs. She felt it's slender neck against thigh like the prick of an ardent lover. Before the bottle could roll away, Catherine trapped it's base between her feet, aiming it's slender neck at her moistened quim.
The baggage cart jolted again. The bottle slipped from her grasp.
A moan of despair erupted from Catherine's lips as she sought to entrap the bottle again. She felt it's cool, smooth surface upon her thigh and began to squirm around, hoping to roll it back to her grasping feet. Undulating and writhing, she feel the bottle roll toward her tied ankles. With grunting effort, she trapped the bottle again and tried to slowly point it's neck towards her quiff, holding the bottle firm over the larger bumps.
The effort took great concentration but Catherine now had the lip of the bottle against her own moistened lips, a prize so tempting she could not refuse it's blissful invasion. With one quick push, she rammed the bottle neck inside herself.
The bottle filled Catherine, her slick muscles bearing down upon the glass phallus as if she were possessed by a daemon. Using her heels, she pumped the bottle in and out of herself, fanning the fires within her, building her pyre of ecstasy until it consumed her in rapture. . .

The destruction wrought on Harfleur by the English engines and cannon was even more apparent in daylight. This was the first time Edward had been within the town walls since the night of Catherine's capture. His charge was the guarding of the siege artillery and as the town surrendered, Edward had to maintain his vigil until all the canon were safe behind the city walls.
The smell of smoke still clung to the air, even in the misting rain. Charred timbers of homes and stores poked up through the rubble like ribs of a burnt carcass. But most of town was spared ruin.
St. Martin's bell tower stood like a lone sentinel over the town. The roof over the chancel had collapsed but the tower stood firm. It was here that King Henry had walked barefoot to give thanks for his victory and it was here that he made plans for the future of his France.
The men-at-arms bowed slightly to Edward as he mounted the steps to go into the church, their faces grim. He remembered the look on the faces of the men-at-arms in England when he escorted Sir Thomas Grey to his audience with the King. The guards seemed to know what was to happen to the traitor Grey. They had the same look as the guards he just passed.
John Duke of Bedford greeted Edward with a slight smile.
"He awaits you in the tower," Bedford said in barely a whisper.
The stairs were steep and each step made Edward's knees ache. The cold, misty rain seemed to bring out a man's infirmities, Edward thought to himself. He wondered if these thoughts crossed the minds of men walking up to the gallows.
The door to the tower was unattended and with a hesitant hand, Edward turned the latch to open it.
"Come, gentle Edward de Valence, and stand with ourselves and advise," King Henry spoke as he stood before the open arches and peered out over Harfleur cloaked in the mist.
"My King," Edward bowed and moved beside him.
For a moment, neither spoke but looked out at the rain and the rooftops and the men below. The King had a great cloak about him as he stared. This man was a soldier first and King second. The heated lust for battle still glowed in the man's eyes.
"'Tis a cold and piercing mist, Edward, as cold as a blade. Winter is to come soon, I fear, and We must show France how to kneel."
"Yes, my Lord."
"To do this, France must take Us to her bosom like a mother. France must both love Us and fear Our resolve. France must abide by God's and Our will. How shall we do this, Edward?"
"Our swords must have lead points but sharp edges, my King."
"Mercy will be our sword, Edward, but not without profit first. France is coffer enough for all, Edward."
"Indeed."
"Our debt to you, Edward de Valence, is great. Or so my exchequer tells. Your service to Ourselves and England is great."
"Thank you, My King."
"So We will forgive any looting that you may have done despite Our commands. But you will remain here to watch over Our new prize until next spring when We shall begin anew. Ourselves will march to Calais and then to England."
"Thank you, My King."
"There is still much to do, Edward. The towers on the sea have not bowed to Us and England. You must remedy this. You are well versed in the art of siege, I am told and from what I have seen. My brother Bedford will detail Our plans for Harfluer. You may go."
Edward bowed again and started to leave.
"Edward?"
"Yes, my King."
"As a man, was she worth the price?"
Edward paused.
"There is no price on vengeance that is not high."

The house was near the town square and overlooked the Leure as it wound it's way through the port. Edward's baggage cart was in front as was two of his men-at-arms. Their faces were set against the cold of the drizzle.
"As soon as I survey the quarters, we'll get this baggage in and gather around a fire," Edward said, patting one of his men on the shoulder.
The first floor was set slightly into the ground and the large doors in front belayed the buildings purpose. As Edward stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the damp darkness, he saw that any stores this place had were gone and only the lingering smells of tanned leather and suet remained. The store window was barred and there was but a broken stool and some scraps of leather left. Even the fireplace was dead.
"First thing, Talbot, is to get a fire started in this place! I am sure there is enough wood in those wrecked buildings to build a decent one. The cart will go over there and our stores of powder and shot will fill this up well."
"Yes, m'lord," the man at arms answered tiredly.
They made their way toward the back and up the narrow stairs to the second floor. Already his men had started dropping their personal gear and picking their spots to lay. The windows let in the cold, grey light and there was a small, sputtering fire in the chimney. Two of his wounded men lay on the floor near it, huddled in there cloaks and sleeping their pain away.
The second story rooms themselves were well maintained and whitewashed. There were two benches and a table as well as an oil lamp. Through the windows overlooking the grey-brown Leure. Edward could see his challenge towering over the bay, curls of smoke and mist enwrapping it like a vampirish wraith.
However, Edwards thoughts were upon the girl still bound in his baggage wagon.

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