Chapter 11: The First Estate

We lucked out. By morning the steam columns had dissipated from the riverbanks and a brisk wind whisked off at least some of the surface moisture. My awakening was soft and gentle ... and warm and yielding and smelling of soap and femininity and obscuring my vision as it molded itself around my face. It came in the malleable form of Berna’s hooters.

“Good morning” she cooed, feeling warm breath quickening and lips pecking at random patches of wobbling breast. “May we offer you service one last time before you take to the road?”

“Why yes” I momentarily spat out her thick, juicy nipple “you may.”

No sooner had I accepted that I felt the blanket being torn away and a pair of hands stroking my morning wood, followed by a tentatively probing tongue. Berna clarified:

“By ‘we’ I meant to say Tora and me.”

I signified my resignation to my fate by burying my face in her cleavage. The probing tongue was joined by bobbing lips advancing down my shaft. After she’d satisfied herself as to the object’s hardness and slickness, Tora’s mouth pulled off and her diffident voice queried:

“May I climb on top, Master Adam?”

“Hyeffs!” I slurred around Berna’s left nipple. I’d intended to take one more shot at Tora’s uterus before leaving anyway. I vaguely registered her weight shifting then switched boobs while enjoying her labia’s downward journey. When she’d slithered down to rest her pelvis on mine and started rocking back and forth I lay my head back down and patted Berna’s butt. The bed creaked beneath our combined weight as she planted her knees around my head. I set to work on her furry, fragrant slit but lost myself in the sensations of the mother-daughter cunt duo bucking atop me. Eagerly working herself to orgasm, slapping her hips up and down ever faster on my shaft, Tora brought me off before I could finish Berna. Only after grunting my way through spraying the younger woman’s pussy down with a hefty coating of semen did I notice Berna had simply taken matters in her own hands, frigging her clit while watching me inseminate her offspring.

Having started the morning off right with a mother-daughter three-way, we disentangled. At the stream, the magisterium’s lightning rod had reverted to normal, heating the water by the wading pools to tepid comfort instead of boiling it off. The dogs whined and circled our rushed breakfast, somehow catching the excitement of an impending trip. As soon as we could stuff two hefty jars of jam and some odds and ends into Pira’s large canvas rucksack, we were ready to make the most of our good weather. I favored Berna and Tora each with a sloppy goodbye kiss and a stiff goodbye spank and we set off, dogs hopping around us, with Pira rolling her eyes dramatically at her mother’s shouted last bits of advice.

“-and don’t let that sour old crone just trade you the sugar unless it’s at cost!”

“Iii wooonnn’t!” the teen whined back over her shoulder as we dropped below the ridge past the bathing spot, rearranging her heavy pack every few steps down the narrow, rocky footpath. I offered to carry it for her twice before realizing it was a point of pride to do it herself, then let the matter drop. Despite some huffing and puffing she navigated the treacherous wet riverside scree in obvious high spirits, straight-backed, grinning broadly, chattering away about nothing in particular to me, the dogs or herself. Though her mother and sister had eventually convinced her to dress practically (tough leather boots and a plain, trim linen tunic) she’d compensated by tying her crinkly hair back with a bright red ribbon fluttering triumphantly in the breeze. She was an adolescent out on her own account, freshly bereft of her virginity, playing tour guide to a very important male person and entrusted with a minor business transaction. She masterfully commanded the dogs to and fro, pointed out every loose rock for my benefit and positively bounced with every step. If she’d puffed herself up any more she could’ve floated down the hill.

Nevertheless, we were both glad when the path diverged from the stream and the slope grew gentler. The change from hard rocks to soft grass was easier on our feet, as long as we avoided the slushier bits, though for some reason it increased the dogs’ nervousness.

“Licky girl, what’s gotten into you? Kissy, here!” Pira clapped her hands at the dogs running back and forth, noses to the ground, whining and growling while throwing glances at the thicker forested area uphill. They calmed down a bit, though their hackles kept rising as we walked along the tree line.

“Maybe a badger. If it were a fox they’d want to chase it. Weasels, I couldn’t even stop ‘em. They hate weasels.”

“Do you get many?”

“Weasels? Hordes of the damned things!” She huffed, possibly exaggerating just a tad. “Though we don’t keep many birds or rabbits, so we’re not plagued with them as bad as folk are down in the valley. They even started going after the henhouses at estates these past few years!”

I smirked a bit at the notion of weasels overstepping the norms of social propriety but saw a good segue to inquiring about estates. So far I had no idea how they fit into local economy. For the most part, whatever magical near-extinction event had hit this dimension had left the basic businesses of agriculture, crafts and trading intact. Though communities of women would support men for free, they still traded amongst each other using a mundane currency apart from the special name-coin each woman had made for herself as a symbol of submitting herself for breeding. On the other hand (as I understood them from explanations during my couple weeks’ worth of instruction in the de facto world capital of Espera) estates were outright breeding compounds led by a single man and as many of his servants as he could muster. Espera’s own towering Palace of the Magisterium was a special case, the world’s largest “estate” jointly held by the Sires Magister, a city within a city much like the Vatican within Rome or the Forbidden City within Beijing. Its female servants were chosen partly for their literacy, and traded various services like book-keeping, education and skilled labor in return for the Magisterium’s material needs. But the palace grounds also produced considerable quantities of vegetables and other goods aimed at self-sustenance, so its varying degrees of inter-dependence had given me a headache ... even before the actual political aspects came into play.

“Do they keep much livestock at the estates here?” I hoped I’d sound like an expert querying local customs rather than a complete ignoramus. Luckily, my young charge innocently took the bait.

“Do you mean, as unlike grain or gardens or other goods in trade?” She mulled it over for a bit. “They say sire Meryn’s new place will have so many women that he’ll petition the Magisterium for enough land for grain fields. Now that he’s started proving it anyway. Sire Stephan’s women know a lot of weaving, dying and other crafts, like in the old days. And...” Here her gaze was distracted again by the dogs snarling at the tree line. I noticed she angled our steps automatically away from whatever it was, but kept talking.

“I have to send these dogs back soon ... And yes, I was saying, sire Mateo’s estate is known for its pretty gardens and orchard. They grow flowers too, big pretty bright ones like in the city!” Her eyes shone. “But they all keep a few animals. No use tossing out slop or weeds when you can get some pigs or goats to feed them to.” She once again surveyed the tree line and called the growling dogs back. “Why do you ask? How did the estates grow in the place where you were last? Did they –”

She stopped dead in her tracks and caught her breath. The dogs let loose a flurry of baying and snarling, dashing madly halfway to the woods. I followed my more alert companions’ pointed stares in time to see a large gray shape slink off into the shadows.

“Wolf!” She hissed, then yelled at the dogs, clapping her hands and hurrying downhill at a trot. “Kissy! Licky! Here, here, here! Come on!”

We speed-walked back to the rockier side of the hillside with its sparser vegetation, silently until she finally stopped to catch our breath. She dropped her pack and called the dogs. I glanced back.

“That was a wolf? You’re sure?”

“I didn’t think of it until I saw it. They never come this far down in summer. Mother says they eat deer up in the mountains while the grass grows up there.”

“They? Like a whole pack?”

“Probably just one or two. It’s summer. If it’s just one the girls can kill it like they did last winter. But I don’t wish them hurt.” She parted Kissy’s fur while massaging the two to quiet their whining, to show me an ugly, mottled bite scar. My eyes widened. Hadn’t realized how lucky I’d been to stay on these two’s good side. Clucking and whistling rapidly to keep their attention Pira started pointing uphill the way we came.

“Home! Licky-girl, Kissy-girl, go home! Home to mama Berna. Go home to mama Berna, girls! Home!”

The pair twirled comically in place a few times, gave her hands a last lick and dashed up the hill like it was nothing. Pira watched them anxiously until they crested the nearest rise then we set off ourselves. Where the path left the now wolf-infested forest we rejoined it and gradually calmed down as time passed without any sign of the beast.

“Hope they make it back safe. Mother will need them with the other animals if there’s a wolf about.”

The path grew to a trail and then joined a road proper. We slowed our pace, detoured occasionally to pick berries and made a game of guessing how soon the sun would peek from the clouds. Pira was leading 4-1 by the time we stopped to rest. We passed a few women on the road and a couple of bovine-powered open wagons, unfortunately going in the other direction. My companion’s bearing had changed somewhat since morning, fidgeting and fussing with her ribbon and tunic, turning her whole torso whenever she addressed me, sidling up to me occasionally, still straight-backed and proudly jutting her ripe little titties against her garment’s fabric. This being her last day with me for a while, I suspected her intent to get another “lesson” or two in. Oh, well. The things we do for the sake of manly duty. I assented when Pira motioned with her head and a cutely nervous bite of her lip to the next copse off the road:

“Umm, this may be a good spot for us to rest... ?”

Forcing our way through the underbrush, I waited while she gingerly slid her heavy pack to the ground, imagining how adorable the teen would look with a bulging belly and her little titties swollen with milk. I took a seat on a mossy log and patted the spot next to me. She sat with her hands folded chastely in her lap, looking around at nothing in particular, her slightly dark complexion visibly darkening further. Amused, I let her stew in her own overactive hormones for a bit to gather her courage. Eventually she took a deep breath and asked:

“May I ... offer you service? Master?”

Damn she was cute. My answer consisted of batting her dangling ribbon off her shoulder and cupping her chin to draw her in for a kiss. One kiss turned into twenty. Her trepidation disappeared with her tongue invading my own mouth. At one point she pushed her chest into my palms and moaned continually at me massaging her globes. Instead of letting the overheated youngster try to slip her tunic off, I took her hand and moved her to the fall tree trunk’s thickest part.

“Bend over it.”

She hiked the garment’s hem just over her taut little butt and draped herself over the mossy bark. After a moment’s admiration of her downy, dripping, defenseless nethers, I unlaced and dropped my own pants. Pira whined a bit at the erection teasing her slit and huffed in relief when the crown finally passed her already parted labia. Despite her helpless position doubled over the trunk she managed to convey her eagerness with every wiggle and rock of her hips. A few deep thrusts was all it took to bury myself in her slick depths. I had wanted to give her a few moments for her insides to rearrange, but a whimper negated any concerns.

“Please... ?”

It barely took a minute’s worth of thrusting for the young cunt to announce its orgasm with a gush and a squeeze. I gripped her hips and pinned her down. Once she’d recovered, the pounding began in earnest. Between the creaking of the old wood and her occasional grunts and moans, we were probably audible from the road. But then, there was nothing out of sorts. No-one would even have bothered to disturb our semi-private joining. If anyone asked, I could produce the small silver coin from my leather pouch with Pira’s name on one side and her mother’s on the other, proof that I wasn’t just any sire humping a fifteen-going-on-sixteen girl bent over a log in the bushes by the side of a thoroughfare. I was the rightful master of her tender young charms, freely gifting my grateful servant with a reaming and a load of semen in accordance with every law of the land.

Soon enough, her cunt almost forced me out with the strength of its second orgasm. Mercilessly, I simply hunched over her back, lodging myself to the hilt inside her. As soon as she settled down I lay into her at breakneck speed. She gasped out a third orgasm, almost an aftershock of the previous, just as I let loose the past few hours’ worth of seminal fluid at the gates of her fertile young womb. I licked and nibbled her sweaty neck a bit before literally getting off her back. With subdued giggles, she dusted the moss and loose bark off her front and got some bread, cheese and berries out for both of us. We rested and enjoyed a post-insemination snack and chat. After a catnap, we were ready to set off again. But first...

“Hold it.” I commanded. “On your knees.”

Pira quickly dropped into a kneeling pose on the damp mix of grass and leaf litter among the tree. Finding a re-hardened prick shoved up against her face she delicately hefted its weight, considered her angle of attack and began rinsing her own dried juices off it with her tongue, bottom to top and back again looking up at me for approval. I patted her head and let her continue at her own pace, though I had to squat slightly to accommodate her short stature, exploring every curve and testing the depth of her own newfound ability until she gagged a bit. Once she settled into a comfortable bobbing motion I buried my fingers in her hair as encouragement.

“That’s it, keep going like that. A little faster. Deeper if you can ... squeeze harder with your hand ... grab my sack with your other hand like your mother taught you ... thaaat’s it ... that’s- ungh ... yeah!”

A small load blasted the back of her throat. She didn’t gag this time, just gulped it down in a slight panic. Once I was done I let the softening member slurp back out through her lips, released her head and pulled her up for a kiss.

“Did I do it better now?”

“Of course you did dear. You were wonderful.”

Beaming at the compliment she gathered up her pack, re-tied her ribbon to catch all the loose hairs I’d manhandled out from under it, gathered her pack and we set off again. Before long we passed a small wagon filled with fresh grass and some unidentifiable ballots, pulled by a couple of cows, turning our way from a side-path. Its driver pushed up a straw hat and greeted us.

“Good day, Sire! And you, by my eyes, you’re little Pira, aren’t you? Old Berna’s youngest? Are you two headed East?”

“I am. Only as far as sire Mateo’s estate.” Pira answered for me.

“My, you’ve grown. Well, I’m headed past there myself on my way to the river fork. There some room in the back if you want to rest your legs. Won’t be any bother.”

We gladly accepted and I let the two catch up on news both old and new, relaxing on the fragrant soft hay and watching the cloud cover drift past, letting my thoughts drift along with it. After another couple of hours my woolgathering was interrupted by the wagon’s halt. I followed Pira’s example and hopped off, waving goodbye to our benefactor.

“Don’t let her dry out now, Sire!” The woman laughed as she goaded the cows on her way.

Pira giggled and led me off on a side-road. The area was not quite a village. Homesteads scattered through the wavy terrain and here and there decrepit rotted half-collapsed walls testified to a denser population sometime in the distant past. Apparently, though, the smattering of little houses did warrant their own church, gleaming white in the distance with its cross-topped bell tower. Only after Pira had led me halfway to it did I realize I hadn’t yet encountered any organized religion in this new world, much less anything as familiar as a village chapel. All the more confusing as it was only the centerpiece of a fenced-in area encompassing many smaller dwellings built wall to wall like monastic cells. Orderly rows of fruit trees waved in the wind far behind the enclosure. Smoke, farm fowl quacking and cawing and some chatter behind the church indicated quite a bit of activity, though entirely of the secular sort. Apparently innocent of any incongruities, Pira led me through the front gate and closed it behind us. Neat beds of narcissus, pansies and other flowers flanked us to the massive wooden double doors serving as the church’s entrance. Pira folded her hands in front of her.

“Here we are, Master.”

I glanced from her to the doors, understood I was to take the lead, and knocked. Nothing happened. I knocked louder. After another few seconds it was opened ... by a nun. My jaw dropped. I wondered for a moment if Pira had made some horrible mistake, or if I’d slipped once again back between the worlds as surreptitiously as I’d arrived. The apparition paired her palms in front of her as if in prayer and bowed.

“Good day, Sire... ?”

“Adam” I replied, nonplussed. She turned and groused in Pira’s direction.

“And don’t think I don’t remember you, you shifty little thing. Weren’t you told to stay away from here?” Unfazed, the girl stuck up her nose and declared quite indignantly:

“I am accompanying my new Master” emphasizing the last word as though she’d just bought herself a Rolls Royce.

“Hm.” The middle-aged woman wrinkled her nose then shrugged. “Alright then. Please, Sire, come through. I apologize I did not answer faster. We are busy getting the fallen fruit into vats between these rains.”

Inside the building looked much less like a church, having had its sides subdivided into smaller chambers. In the back, a common room had been decorated with a two-meter-tall plain lacquered crucifix and a low, wide altar facing a few kneelers. Benches and tables lined the walls; some looked like dinner tables, others like work tables still with sewing or embroidery projects on them. She waved us over to a bench.

“I’ll fetch the master. We plan to dine at dusk. Are you very hungry?”

“We can wait.”

During our couple minutes’ wait several women wandered through the common room, all in monastic attire. It was no abbreviated parody costume either but a full-length long-sleeved shapeless habit complete with wimple. Before I could puzzle this all out the greeter returned leading a swarthy, moustached man still wiping his hands with a rag.

“Master, this is Sire Adam.”

“Welcome!” He grinned and shook my hand. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. Are you new to the area?”

“Err, yes, I just moved up a few weeks ago. From Espera.” I fixed his gaze as I said it, hoping he’d catch the hint of my inexperience. He nodded in understanding, glancing sideways at Pira.

“And have you claimed any women into your service?”

“Yes. Stinneh and Mara’s home just uphill from here, and Mezina and Melia in Torochoza. Also, the homestead of Berna and her daughters Tora and Pira here.”

“Ah, yes.” He winked in Pira’s direction. She tried to hide a smile and averted her gaze. After sizing me up for a moment he nodded approval. “Let me finish up closing those barrels and we’ll have a chat before dinner. For now, welcome. The subjects of this land are my own, and I offer you their use freely.”

“Oh, ummm...” I stammered, suddenly struggling to remember the appropriate response Magister Classus had taught me for one man being welcomed to another’s turf. “As I ... offer those who follow me?”

He responded with a fraternal clap on the shoulder then ducked back into the halls. Belatedly, I realized I’d just offered him access to Pira’s succulent flesh. But ... if she nursed any resentment at being pimped out to the master of the house, her shit-eating grin did a great job of covering it. A couple of the “nuns” whisked her off to wash up for dinner just as Mateo returned and ushered me into a back room. It was relatively small, eerily quiet, with a writing desk positioned under its single large window and a crystal ball shoved carelessly onto one corner of a corner table. A large but not oversized bed signaled this was probably his private bedroom. He shut the door and flipped both chairs facing each other.

“Alright! Before I forget, it’s ‘who accompany me’ not ‘follow me’ – they don’t usually get huffy about minor changes like that, but some of the older gals can be a little pedantic about proper manners. The door’s soundproof, by the way. Those glorified conjurers boys back in the big city demand one room magicked for privacy in every estate.” He hooked a finger at the crystal ball. “For sensitive conversations. And believe you me, brother, as sweet as these women are they can be nosy and conniving as anyone when they put their minds to it.”

Remembering how I’d been set up to claim Berna’s household back in the village, I could easily see them listening at keyholes so I didn’t argue the point. As he spoke, Mateo casually slipped off his work shirt and pants, revealing a trim but not overly athletic body, then fished something voluminous and burgundy out of a nearby armoire and slipped it back over his nudity. When he drew a large sash around his waist I burst out laughing. It was a cassock. Whether appropriate for a priest, bishop or whatever I couldn’t tell and from what I later learned of his jocular nature I doubt he could either.

“What? What?” He smiled in mock-consternation at my amusement and twirled around proudly. “Do you recognize it? Did they have these in your world?” With a dramatic flourish, he completed the ensemble by a small red skullcap.