On French Soil

by T.S. Fesseln

Copyright© 2000 by T.S. Fesseln

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Rape, Heterosexual, Historical, BDSM, MaleDom, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Violent,

Sex Story: A Historical tale of rape and bondage taking place in 15th Century France during the Hundred Years War.

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 Any comments are gladly accepted and encouraged.

Prologue: 'Famine, sword and fire crouch for employment'

Edward de Valence stood upon the deck of The Black Swan and watched as her captain barked out orders. Never had Edward seen such a mighty fleet assembled as on this bright August day. A myriad of colored pennants whipped and snapped in the warm sea air and the decks of the ships sparkled with their armor clad passengers. Edward could barely make out the masts of La Trinite Royale, Henry the V's flagship.

The hounds of war were now being unleashed towards France.

"The game is afoot, dear Richard," Edward said, smiling, "Our fortunes lie in Frances' sweet bosom."

"Indeed, my Lord. And we happy few are here to see the majesty of King Harry's fleet. What a glorious sight," Richard replied, his usually stern, blue eyes smiling, "When France sees that King Harry's claim is just, and sees the vast power arrayed against her, justice will be our sword."

"Battle is never easy, dear Richard, and though we serve our right King Harry, we have our own battles to fight. Phillip D'Astier still draws breath and builds his house in France and it is he that will feel my revenge in the bite of my steel. I swear upon the bloody wounds of Christ that this arrogant man shall pay."

Richard nodded silently.

"Yes, indeed, dear Richard," Edward grinned a reaper's grin, "The game is afoot."

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