Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Romantic, Reluctant, Gay, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Historical, Humiliation, Interracial, Black Male, White Female, Oral Sex, Exhibitionism, .
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Day 1 - By order of His Lordship, Helena must "serve" the Roman Moor. Is this a fate worse than death or her most secret dream come true?
The Keep was in chaos with servants running hither and yon to prepare for His Lordship's guests. Earlier that morning a rider had arrived, his horse sweaty from a hard run. A Roman General, the rumors said, passing this part of the country, given leave by the King's own hand. He and his army should arrive by dinner. The kitchens were in a state of near-panic preparations for a last-minute feast. The stables and Keep were no less so preparing to house the General and his officers. Helena ran from the storerooms to the guest rooms more times than she cared to remember carrying fresh linens, pots, and other goods for the guests.
It was on one of those journeys that Lansing, His Lordship's steward, stopped her. "Helena" she could still hear his formal tones in her memory, "His Lordship wishes you to attend personally to any of the General's needs." He paused and stared at her, "You understand His Lordship's request?"
She did; officially, she would be the General's chambermaid but additionally, she was to provide her body for the General's pleasure. It was an honor, really. His Lordship would not have chosen an ugly woman or an ill breed one. It certainly could have been worse - she could have to serve His Lordship himself. At three and twenty and widowed, she was young enough to still please a man's eye and old enough not to be too foolish her circumstances. She was not a virgin, so she did not fear the act and as she was raised with the old ways, she did not fear this christen God that took so much pleasure away from life and seemed to give very little back. Earth and sun provide in this life, if there was another life to come, Helena would contend with it then. She finished stocking the guest rooms and went to the Great Hall to help with the preparations there.
It was all for naught. When the gates opened, only one man rode through them. He was large and powerful and dark in the torchlight of the courtyard. Sir Moreland, the Stable Master himself took the General's horse. Helena was running pitchers of wine to the Great Hall when she saw him arrive. She and Adele stopped and watched as His Lordship introduced his Warlord and the Watch Commanders.
Adele frowned, a bit jealous at Helena's task for the next few days, "We best had put these in. You'll be wanted in the main hall tonight I'm sure."
Helena nodded and moved slowly still trying to get a good look at the man whom she was to serve. As soon as she could, she returned to her own room and took off the rough cloth frock she wore for doing chores. She had one fine dress of soft wool dyed dark blue. The bolt of fabric had been a gift from Adele's brother when he had gone with the armies north. The dress was a little tight now and needed to be let out soon but it would serve its purpose for the next few nights. She went to the Great Hall to see the 'Great Man'. There was a murmur in the Hall unlike the usual noise that a guest set off; in the bright lamplight of the Hall, she saw why. The Great Roman General, Bogud of Mauretania was a moor.
If his like was common for a moor, Helena understood why they were much feared by others in the world: Sir Bogud was as large as a bear. At more than a head taller that His Lordship, he towered above everyone in the room save Sir Gant but he was not thin and reedy like most tall men. He was not fat either and yet he was at least as wide as her arm was long. And dark. Like ale or polished wood, a deep brown color shone from his skin wherever it peeked under his armor. He was not hairy; she thanked whatever gods there be for that. Even his head she saw, when he finally removed that roman helm, was shaved, smooth and deep ale brown. His face was lined but whether from age or care she could not say. The first time he spoke, she was too far away to hear the words only the timber of his deep voice vibrating through her spine.
An insistent poking in her shoulder drew her attention away from the moor; she turned and was handed a tray of meats to set on His Lordship's table. She took them, eager and fearful to take a closer look at him. Deliberately, she approached them in a way that she must ask him to step aside; a harmless intrusion and one His Lordship often used to his own advantage.
Tonight was no exception. "Ah, Helena." His Lordship placed a hand on her shoulder, "Is all in readiness for our guest, Sir Bogud?"
She bowed, "Yes, My Lord. The room has been prepared to receive him."
"And you? Are you" he chuckled lecherously, "prepared to receive him?"
Helena looked as His Lordship in shock, "My Lord!" She glanced at the moor and saw a dark scowl cross his face. She bowed and hurried away. His Lordship's laughter followed nearly to the kitchen. She steeled herself knowing that she was expected to serve His Lordship's table personally and such comments would dog her all evening. She filled a pitcher of wine and headed reluctantly back to the Great Hall. As the evening passed though, it was easy to ignore His Lordship's crude comments because she was catching snatches of the moor's conversation: his exploits in battle, the glories of Rome, his four wives and harem, his army camped below the ridge, beyond view of the Keep's walls but not of its watchtowers. He had come to gather support for Anthony in what would surely soon be a civil war in Rome. Helena knew little of such things but His Lordship and Sir Gant seemed greatly troubled. By the time she and the other staff cleared the plates and remains of the meal, Helena's heart was fluttering. She had felt a shiver each time she passed him; the one time their eyes meet, her heart stopped and when he accidentally touched her hand, flames had coursed up her arm. As soon as she could, she fled to her small room partly to bathe and change clothes but more to hide in hopes that someone else would "service" the moor.
There was a tap at her chamber door. She paused, gathering her reserve. A voice called her name softly. It was Colin, one of the stable lads and a lifelong friend. She flung the door open and threw her arms around him, "Oh, Colin. I fear him!"
He held her tight and for a moment, she felt safe. Still, in her heart she knew, that only His Lordship could spare her this and no hope lay there.
She released her grip on the boy but he held her hands fast. "When you are with him Helena, think of his saddle."
She looked at him with confusion. She knew very little about saddles and had not seen the Moor's when he arrived.
Colin grinned and nodded vigorously, "Yes, yes! You've seen them? All polished leather. Smooth to the touch but hard to sit upon?"
She nodded, still unsure of his meaning.
"The Moor's saddle is covered with silken pillows."
"What does his saddle... ?"
Colin cut her off, "Rare a man rides on pillows, rarer still a general. He's just a man, Helena. For all his size and demon appearance, he's just a man."
She tried to brighten; Colin was a good soul and a good judge of men. The Moor could not be so bad if Colin sued for him. "I'll try. Just a man." She picked up her cap and fit her hair under it. In a few minutes, his pleasure would be over and she could return to the comfort of her room - small though it be. She squeezed Colin's hand and kissed his cheek, "My thanks."
At the door before the Moor's chamber, she nearly lost her nerve. She rapt softly in hopes that he would not hear. She was grieved when a loud firm voice answered. She entered and shut the door behind her.
"How may I serve thee?" She stared at the patterns in the stonework floor, not willing to see the dark face before her.
"Here, girl." It was a command; his voice rumbled low and deep like distant thunder. She shivered and stepped forward. He sighed, "Child, I don't eat little girls and I am very tired. Come here and undo these laces."
Helena looked up then and saw him - not on the bed as she feared but standing by the window. She curtsied out of habit then proceeded to open the buckles and lacings of his breastplate. The musky scent of him struck her as she set the armor down. So familiar yet so different. He took off the cotton shirt he wore beneath - red in color and stained with sweat. She watched him as he washed his face and neck.
"Here." He handed her the washrag, "My back." His skin was smooth and soft, unblemished by bruise or scar. She found herself pleased to wash the day's sweat and grime away and moved without asking to his chest. A light dusting of curly black hairs covered the center of his chest. She gently washed until his upper body smelled of soap and something manly. Suddenly aware of the intimacy, she laid the cloth on the washstand and awkwardly stepped back.
When she looked up at him, he seemed bemused, "I have more to wash. Will you help with all?"
She blushed; she begun to realize that her earlier fear was of herself not the man before her. She looked away, curtsying again to cover her shortness of breath and flushed face. With a pounding heart and trembling fingers, she touched his belt.
He laughed softly, "Perhaps my shoes first?"
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. He sat on the edge of the bed and she knelt before him to remove his shin guards and the long lacings that held the thin leather soles in place. His feet were enormous, the foundation suited to a man of giant size. She retrieved the washrag and the basin. His heels were calloused and rough, his toes had corns. She caressed them softly as she washed thinking it no wonder that soldiers were so hardhearted if these sore feet followed them all day. She unbuckled the armor protecting his thighs and washed his well-formed legs. She could lose herself in the simple task of cleaning him so long as she did not look up and see under his short armored skirt or smell his manliness so close and so enticing.
Helena had only one lover in her short life, an excellent young man she had wed and who was killed a year later in the harshness of a soldiers' life. She had said yes to him because he was a fine man and respected and one must wed someone but passion had never stirred in her - although she had heard other girls speak of it often enough. She had done her best to be what he had wanted and hoped he would one day provide the same lustful joy to her. 'One day' never came. She grieved him but knew life moved on; even old maids sometimes find love late in life and here in the Keep, there would always be a home for her.
The Moor, however, was nothing like the boy she had known. Gooseflesh covered her skin each time she caught his scent. The thought of touching him made her heart race, a tingling sensation coursing through her blood. It made her anxious and yet she persisted in touching him, inviting the feelings. She was breathless with the thought of him and knew not why. She realized with a start that her nipples were taut and longing for the feel of his fingers, his lips. She swallowed hard and tried to master her breathing. She closed her eyes; the scent of him was so strong -- a musk that drew her in and made her mouth water. If this was passion, it was like too-strong ale and she was drunk with it.
Thunder rolled and she sighed. Then it came again, louder. A hand touched her shoulder and she froze. Her fingers were held fast, unseen, between his immense thighs, the washrag dropped, forgotten.
She blushed scarlet and the Moor laughed again. He parted his thighs so that she could remove her hand. "Tell me," he said, "are you as chaise as your Lord says?"
Helena's cheeks burned even redder, "I know not what he has said, Sire."
"That your maidenhead should be a gift to Rome."
"Then, Sire, I fear I shall disappoint you."
"Hardly" he scoffed.
"I am a widow not a maiden." She added just to be sure he took her meaning.
"Neither Rome nor I have much use for virgins of late. Your Lord has..." he looked troubled and shook his head. He looked her in the eyes and Helena found she was unable to look away. "Women of passion suit my needs. Are you a woman of passion?"
"I wouldn't know, Sire," she whispered, suddenly trembling but unsure of why.
"Would you like to be?"
Her heart stopped; her mind replayed the question as someone else answered with her voice, "Yes."
Sir Bogud stood up and without warning removed the last of his armor and then the soft cotton britches beneath. He stood before her naked and beautiful and massive. His prick was like the rest of him - thick and wide and almost as long as her hand. She stared at it in shock. It was darker than the rest of his skin, as if always in the shadow of the bushy curls at its base. It was rather odd - the only place on him that was hairy, a secret hidden and known only to his lovers.
"It is large, yes?" his voice seemed to come from far away and she could only nod mutely. "It will bring you joy, if you desire it. Touch it."
Hesitantly Helena placed her fingers on it. It was warm and fleshy, the skin soft and wrinkled. He instructed her on how to hold and stroke it and it began to lengthen, thicken and harden. Soon it looked like the sausages the cook made in the fall - as thick as her wrist and almost twice as long as her hand. Beneath it, his two balls hung like eggs in the nest. She caressed them and was delighted to see his cock buck in response. She leaned in close and inhaled the fragrance of his sex. So close that her lips brushed it. She pulled away and apologized - although she had a strong desire to taste him that she could not explain.
He stroked her cheek, "Do not be sorry. Do you want to kiss it?"
She thought she was beyond blushing but looked away regardless when she nodded.
"Then do so. Start here," He touched a spot beneath his sack, "and work your way to here." He indicated just below the head of it.
She did as he bade, finding the feel and taste of him arousing unimagined senses in herself. She heard Sir Bogud moan and stopped her explorations, "Does this pain you, Sire?"
"No, no child." He removed her cap and ran his fingers through her hair, "Tis pleasure you bring." Helena's body felt taut; his finger sent unexpected rivers of excitement through her.
"Your lips bring me great pleasure," he whispered, "but your tongue brings more. If you would swallow my manhood, you could delight me to no end."
Helena hesitated a moment and wondered if she could succeed such a feat; she knew she would try. She ran her tongue along a vein she found running the length of him. At the very head of his prick, a small drop of creamy liquid waited and, curious, Helena tasted it. It was mildly salty and wholly unlike any other brew Helena knew. She wanted more and set about teasing it from him with her lips, tongue and fingers. He moaned again and a wave of warmth rippled though her. Helena's excitement grew and she moaned - surprisingly - in reply.
Abruptly, he groaned, "Wrap your lips around the head."
She did so but it was a stretch. He was so thick that she had trouble keeping her teeth from scratching him. She found, though, that her tongue could more easily taste the cream that dripped from him. She sucked then hopping to pull more cream from him like honey from the comb.
He growled and grabbed her head, "Sweet Child! Slowly! Do not take so much at one time."
His throbbing prick felt wonderful in her mouth, even as far stretched as it was. Instead of releasing him, she moved forward and felt the tip of him strike the back of her throat. She choked then and had to pull him out to cough. He stroked her cheek, "Careful. How do you feel?"
"'Tis nothing, Sire, I am well." She caressed the wet cock and rubbed it against her lips, "Am I pleasing you, Sire?"
"You could hardly please me more." She wrapped her lips against him again and more slowly tried to relax her throat and was somewhat successful, though not for long. With his fingers tangled in her hair and guiding her head, she began stroking the length of him with her mouth. He whispered advice and encouragements. His cock fairly vibrated as she licked a sucked every inch of it. She felt her own body responding to his pleasure and moaned again.
He gasped, "Child, I must stop you." He pushed her lips gently from his prick and pulled her up to sit beside him. "I would not wish to spill my seed so soon. Let me see you. Undress."
Helena stood, longing for the taste of him but eager to do more. She removed the linen shift she wore; under it, she was bare. He gazed at her; taking in her large but firm breasts, soft belly and the dark hair that covered her sex. With both hands, he caressed and squeezed her breasts; the nipples, already swollen, seemed to pulse at the touch. She felt a pooling of wetness at her slit and shivered with anticipation. He pulled her closer and took each nipple in turn between his lips, biting them gently. She groaned and shuttered. A surge of pleasure washed through her and the juices of her sex crept down her thighs. He continued to suck her nipples while one hand slid over her soft belly and into the hair above her sex. She gasped a he toyed with it, systematically working his fingers down to the folds of her slit. With one finger, he stroked her sex; teasing her clit, gathering slick honey from inside her and spreading it over the folds. Helena could only moan and tremble as bliss coursed through her veins.
"You have never known this kind of pleasure before, have you girl?" She could not answer; she was helpless with the sensation. "What of this?"
He slid his finger into her slit like a prick and rubbed the inner wall behind her clit. Helena's breath caught in her throat. A tingling began in her sex and grew to envelope her every nerve. She felt the pressure building within her - as if she soon would fill with this tingling and eventually burst. She moved her hips not sure if she wanted his finger removed or deeper inside her but the feelings simply grew in intensity. She was terrified and ecstatic at once. She had felt this way once before - as a child she had fallen from a ledge near the battlements. Sir Edwin had been near and caught her, but for a moment, she was falling with only the wind and this - this fire that consumed her nerves and made her heart race. Sir Bogud's thumb touched her clit while his finger probed inside her and it was too much to bear. The pressure filled her beyond all measure and she cried out in an effort to release it. She seemed to burst over and over, feeling her body melt like snow in early spring. She fell onto Sir Bogud and he held her firmly. Then, slowly, her heartbeat became more normal and warmth she had never known lingered everywhere the tingling had been. She sighed deeply.
Sir Bogud's voice was rich when at last he spoke, "Did that please you girl?"
"Oh Sire," she felt a bit dazed, "Yes, Sire."
"Good," he sounded pleased as well, "when you have rested, we will continue."
She looked at his face then. It was wider and somehow flatter that those familiar to her. It was very strong. Impulsively, she kissed him, pushing her lips against his and felt first his surprise then his lips parting and his tongue probing her mouth as deeply as had his prick.
Breathlessly, she asked him, "Have I please you, Sire?"
"So far." He chuckled.
"Then I shall continue now, Sire."
She broke off the kiss and leaned down to his cock again. It was glossy with seed; she had an urge to lick it clean and so she did. She heard him inhale sharply and she wrapped both her lips and her hands around his prick. He took hold of her shoulders and pushed gently but she sucked his cock as strongly as she could. She nearly choked again, when his hips bucked against her mouth. He panted frantically and his whole body went stiff. She was unprepared when his seed burst forth like cannon fire. It filled her mouth and when Sir Bogud urgently hissed for her to swallow it, she did. It was mild and pleasant, but heightened as it was by her own arousal, it was blissful. He reached for her and gently pulled her beside himself as he lay back on the bed.
"I had not intended that." He panted as if exerted, "We shall do more in the morning. Sleep now."
With his heavy arms holding her, Helena could do not but lay with this Moorish General, Sir Bogud, and wonder at her own body. This was the passion that her husband failed to bring and she fell asleep being glad she had known this feeling at least once in her life.