Chapter 9

Forty minutes later Peter woke as the carriage slowed. He looked out the curtains to verify that they had reached the busy junction where the lesser-traveled Hale Pass Road met Metal Highway. Taylor had also noticed and looked curious. Peter explained that their destination still lay six miles to the west, along the Hale Pass Road. He offered to order the carriage stopped if Taylor needed another break.

She considered for a moment but then shook her head after seeing that the three inns surrounding the junction were packed with mine wagons and other traffic and decided that she could hold out. Although it was early enough that the caravanners would not have been too deep into their cups or too rowdy, they still might have made a nuisance of themselves around her, especially with her being still somewhat submissive from the plant’s effects.

“Do you wish to stop at the junction, Lord Bent?” Torl called down from above.

“No, proceed to Stoney Brook please.”

The carriage negotiated the turn and left the chaos of the three inns behind. They made better time heading west on the lesser traveled road to the pass. This late in the day, they met only one lumbering wagon, as anyone crossing the pass would have already completed their trek after setting out early in the morning. A few minutes later, Peter noticed that Taylor was squirming again.

“Are you regretting not stopping back at the junction?” he asked.

“No, I can hold it. It’s...” she paused.

“It’s what?” he prompted.

“It’s just that I’m so damn horny!” She replied. “I don’t remember ever feeling it this bad before.”

“It is likely lingering effects of the death plant,” He reminded her. “Stand up. I should examine you anyway to see how you are handling the carriage ride.”

She hesitated only a moment before allowing him to help her up from her seat. As she stood, Peter pulled up the hem of Taylor’s heavy winter dress, noting that the girl had not put back on her underwear after their previous rest stop. As she stood slightly bent over facing him and bracing herself due to the rocking carriage, Peter ran his hand up her inner thigh until he reached her quim.

“You are wet, aren’t you, my dear?”

“Yes,” she replied, huskily. “I can’t remember ever being this excited.”

Peter turned her so she was facing sideways to him. “Let’s get the exam over with and I will see if I can help.”

He then wet his fingers in her copious fluids and inserted two fingers inside her dripping orifice. The downward pressure of the melon-sized seed allowed him easy access to Taylor’s cervix.

“You are dilated about four centimeters, but that’s the same as you were just after seeding,” He reported.

“Is that okay?” The panting girl managed to ask.

“Yes. The plant filled your womb with its sap and that is plugging the opening, working to ensure that you don’t become infected from the dilated cervix.”

He probed around a bit more. “I think the seed is still positioned correctly. Everything looks good and you should be able to continue bearing the seed until we meet the buyer in a few days, depending on how the crossing goes tomorrow.”

Peter extracted his fingers and helped her turn further, “Come. Turn around and sit in my lap.”

Again, Taylor did as he instructed without hesitation.

“Lean back and put your legs on the opposite armrests,” he instructed next.

The excited woman did so and placed her head beside Peter’s. He held her dress in place with one arm cradling her below her swollen abdomen. With his right, he began caressing Taylor’s opening and clitoral area. It only took moments for her to tense up from an impending orgasm. Peter kept up his steady stimulation as the woman began bucking on top of him.

He slowed his motions as she caught her breath.

“Thank you, Lord Bent!” Taylor gasped.

Instead of replying, Peter began stimulating her again. This time he rubbed two separated fingers up along each side of the woman’s sensitive bud, and occasionally dipping into her dripping cunt on the downward strokes. After another minute, the girl began to squirm as her excitement rose a second time. Peter then curled his middle two fingers and began finger-fucking the woman, all while keeping his palm pressing heavily into her clit.

“Oh! My Lord!” she gasped out. “I ... don’t know if I can hold it. I will probably spray!”

Peter suddenly recalled that he had a woman with an extremely compressed bladder sitting in his lap. He paused his motions long enough to retrieve the lap blanket from the opposite seat and spread it over Taylor’s lap, carefully tucking it between their legs. After protecting the far seat and himself as much as possible, Peter resumed his previous ministrations.

Taylor quickly began to pant as his more-aggressive actions caused her to begin building to a much stronger orgasm. Peter was impressed that instead of trying to hold him back, the woman wantonly spread her legs further apart. She then reached down to press his working hand harder against her mound.

“Oh! Oh! Oh ... here it comes ... OHHHH!” Taylor reared back and pushed, going rigid as her orgasm arrived.

Peter felt his hand being flooded as Taylor squirted through her orgasm. Taylor was also pushing against the opposite armrests with her feet and he had to hold his breath under her weight and muscle pressure. Hopefully, the carriage seats would not be damaged. The wet flow ceased and after a dozen seconds, the pressure eased off. Taylor collapsed limply against him, fully relaxed her legs while pulling his soaked hand away from her crotch.

“Enough! My lord, enough ... please.”

Peter acquiesced and let Taylor come down in peace. As she did so, he used the blanket to wipe up the mess as much as possible before dropping it to the floor. He’d have to remember to tell Torl to clean up the carriage and have Henri, the innkeeper launder the blanket when they arrived. Maybe he could borrow one for crossing the cold pass tomorrow and then pick up his on the return trip. He would also have to remember to keep towels in his carriage in the future.

Peter suddenly smiled as he realized that the ongoing discussion between Stren and Torl just above their heads had ceased. Surely, they would have heard Taylor’s cries of passion or noticed the jostling of the lightly sprung carriage. Peter smirked as he thought of Stren’s reaction. At least Torl had heard similar noises from the carriage on previous trips and would not be surprised. He imagined that the older man would be teasing the younger relentlessly.

With Taylor now mostly satiated and recovered, he helped her back to her seat opposite him. She had a contented smile on her face and looked as if she wanted to take a nap. He imagined that she probably would need to go to the toilet again soon.

“It’s only a half hour or so until we arrive, my dear,” He whispered. “Can you make it?”

“I think so,” she replied languidly. “I’d much rather wait for a real toilet, or even an outhouse, instead of straddling a cold trench again.”

The late-afternoon sun had just dipped below the southern Devil’s Tooth when Stren carefully steered the carriage off the Hale Pass Road and onto the narrow lane leading to their destination for the night. The curving quarter-mile-long private lane they were now following crossed a small waterway, which was the namesake for Stoney Brook Inn. Peter smiled as Taylor leaned around him to take in the picturesque slate-roofed stone and timber building as it came into view.

“We are staying there?” she asked excitedly. “It’s practically out of a storybook!”

Peter just nodded. He had to admit that the setting was breathtaking. The inn was nestled into the backside of a hollow formed by a bend in the brook. The pine-covered foothills of the Sunset Mountains formed a framing backdrop with the taller peaks further beyond. They were also high enough that the view over the lowlands back to the east extended all the way to Mirror Lake on the horizon.

The yellow glow of fae-lights streaming out of the wide leaded windows fronting the drive, and the twin vertical columns of white smoke rising in the cold still air from the inn’s two stone chimneys, portended the inviting warmth inside. There was still an hour before evening suppertime and Peter’s stomach was already grumbling.

The carriage slowed at the narrow stone bridge which crossed the brook. Peter pointed out the heavy chain gate that would be closed before full darkness. This extra security from the main road meant that it was unlikely that his carriage would go missing during the night. He also noted the steaming water flowing down the brook which was the primary reason for the inn’s existence. It was fed by a nearby hot spring which kept the brook ice-free until it merged with a larger creek a mile further east. The year-round wetness formed a natural moat which added to the inn’s security.

Almost a decade ago, Peter had assisted the inn’s owner in channeling hot mineral water from the spring to a new bathhouse behind the inn. He also became a partial owner of the inn as it had been his funds that permitted other needed improvements and repairs. Regardless of his stake in the venture, the inn’s charm and seclusion would have ensured that he stayed here whenever he traveled through the area.

The carriage pulled to a stop in the circle in front of the inn. Peter noted another carriage and a tarped heavy wagon already parked in the drive and wondered if all the for-rent rooms were already taken. He knew that Henri kept a spare room in her private quarters but he hated to intrude on her personal space with such a large entourage as he had with him tonight.

Stren helped Peter and Taylor step down from the carriage while Torl busied himself with the horses.

“Torl, please see to the inside of the carriage and take my travel blanket to the inn’s laundry.”

“Yes, milord,” the coachman said simply.

“Milord,” Stren asked before they began walking up the footpath. “Is this the inn where Lady Hag lives?”

“Lady Hag?” Taylor asked curiously.

“She introduced herself to me that way,” Stren replied.

“Yes, this is her inn, Stren,” Peter responded, amused at hearing Henri’s old nickname. “So, you remember when ‘Lady Hag’ stayed with me on the island?”

He was surprised as it had been seven years since her last visit there. Stren had been just a boy back then but he had also been old enough to have chores that kept him in the barn or around the Hamm cottage during the day.

“Yes, milord,” Stren replied with more courage. “I was milking Ole Tress in the barn when Lady Hag came down to visit her pony. She was ... well, she was kind to me, sir.”

“I was not aware that you had met her,” Peter replied. “What did the two of you talk about?”

“She was excited about her little girl arriving soon,” Stren explained. “She told me that I was about the same age as her daughter.”

Peter recalled more details of Henri’s visit to the island. It had occurred a few years after he had used the woman as a seed bearer. It had been after he’d gotten her established here at the inn as she’d burned her past on Earth and needed to remain on Kreven. As he had expected, once she had moved in, Henri had quickly won over the widower innkeeper, Old Thom. While they had never married, she had been Thom’s mistress and had given him a half dozen years of unexpected late-life happiness until he caught the flux and died. Henri had run the inn on her own since. Well, to be honest, there had been many ‘boyfriends’ helping, about one a year.

Her visit seven years ago had been because she felt that she had recovered enough to again attempt to raise her daughter who she had abandoned a year before Peter had brought her here. She wanted Peter to go to Earth and retrieve the then-eight-year-old girl. Stren and Henri’s meeting had probably happened sometime during the two-day period when Peter had been on Earth looking for the girl.

“Yes, her daughter, Bemi,” Peter replied. “She is about your age ... maybe a year older. We will probably meet Bemi along with her mother shortly.”

With the sun having set behind the Sunsets, and with the higher altitude, it was getting cold fast. Peter noticed Taylor shivering so he directed Stren to get their gear and assisted Taylor to the inn’s entry. As they approached, they heard music and laughter coming from inside. There was a lively bunch staying here tonight.

Inside was just as inviting as they’d hoped and the smell of cooking supper assailed their senses. As Peter had feared, the main room of the inn was crowded with at least a dozen guests. A few turned to see who had entered while the rest ignored them, instead focusing their attention on the inn’s entertainer. Near the fireplace, a beautiful young woman sat on a stool playing a fiddle. One tapping foot playing a small peddle drum.

The girl saw them and beamed, bringing the song to a crashing stop. This got the crowd’s attention.

“Lord Pete!” the girl exclaimed, setting her fiddle down and hopping off her stool to rush over and give him a hug.

“Momma Hag said you were due to arrive soon!”

Peter lifted the short-but-curvaceous blond girl off her feet and spun her around. “You look even more beautiful than the last time I was here, Bemi.”

He set her back down and held her at arm’s length as if studying her. “And your music sounds even more amazing than the last time I passed through! It’s like you have been performing for all your life.”

Bemi received his compliments with a grin and Peter saw a blush extend from her cheeks down to her cleavage exposed in the loosely-laced bodice of her tight dress. Henri’s daughter had definitely grown up and was now all woman.

He introduced her to Taylor who smiled politely and nodded. He then tried to introduce her to Stren but the lad would not look up from the floor. Bemi smiled a knowing look at Peter. She was old enough to understand instant infatuation from boys and men alike and growing up in an inn had often exposed her to that and much worse.