An Unfortunate Event At Deddington Manor
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Ma/Ma, NonConsensual, Mind Control, Magic, Fiction, Incest, Mother, Sister, Father, Daughter, Oral Sex, Masturbation,
Desc: Fantasy Sex Story: Prologue - After the strain of recent cases Holmes and Hove are relieved to receive an invitation to the 'coming out' of Lady Jane Grey. It will be the event of the season and a welcome chance to recharge their depleted spirits. What could be more pleasant?
The west wind played lightly across the summer grasses of the moor; all was peaceful and quiet. So quiet that Jack almost slumbered, his broad back resting on a convenient outcrop of rock. Apparently the man was asleep, but not so, no good shepherd sleeps while his flock is unpenned, and Jack was an excellent shepherd.
His weary but dutiful eyes scanned continually from the distant mount famine across the extent of dark peak to his tree speckled land. Nothing was missed, not the soaring kite, nor the slow passage of the hay cart below him. Jack saw all, and knew all, this had been his only home for some 50 summers past, it was truly his realm.
He loved the freedom his life gave him, a freedom only hill-folk could understand. Oh, the pleasures of a soft mid-summers day like today were obvious to all, but even more, Jack loved the moor in its wildness. Come autumn when the mists swirled from the cooling breeze, or even winter when the numbing bite of cold reminded him he was alive; a part of nature. No, here was Jack's home, his life, his church, and no man could challenge him for it.
His heartfelt reflection ended as quickly as it had begun, for the sheep had stopped grazing. Heads up, the flock gazed around the landscape. Something had them spooked, a fox most likely he thought. Most of the lambs were now old enough to survive an attack in the short term, but the feral beasts were still a threat.
Things started to move at speed, Shep sprang up from the grass, his hackles raised, his nose down to the ground. Urgently the dog raced towards the rock and Jack. The shepherd frowned and let out a disciplining whistle, "G'wan lad, see to sheep, not I." To his amazement his normally reliable dog ignored both the whistle and the command.
Enraged, Jack moved away from the shadow of the rock, only to be engulfed in the pitch darkness of another malformed shadow. Jack turned and stood mouth agape, as the shape pounced. Shep whimpered at the sounds of his master's agonised cries, but without fear he tore on; duty placed high above safety.
The west wind played lightly across the summer grasses of the moor; all was peaceful and quiet. Jack Clipper was gone, and
Shep's blood seeped liberally from his motionless, shaggy coat.
Slowly it meandered and finally soaked into the darkening earth of Deddington Moor. Paradise.