Chapter 3: Of Hot and Forcing Violation

"M'lord de Valence!"

Catherine had barely licked the last of Edward de Valence's seed from her lips when she heard someone yell outside Edward's baggage wagon. Sir Edward de Valence, her captor, heard it too and with wolf-like speed, he grabbed a piece of cloth and forced it between Catherine's lips, gagging her.

For Edward, there was no time to waste upon making Catherine D'Astier comfortable. If anyone knew he took a prisoner to ransom without the King's permission, his very life may be forfeit. He shoved his prisoner down and quickly pulled a wool blanket and tapestry down over her. The bulk of the tapestry seemed to cover her little struggles and he could barely hear her screams through the gag.

"Sir Edward de Valence!" the man called again.

Edward pulled on his hose quickly before stepping out in the gray stained morning. A fine, misting rain greeted him coldly as he stood in the doorway. At the edge of his camp, Richard Corfe, Edward's best man-at-arms and sergeant, walked his horse through the mud escorting another man, the King's Herald. Richard still had the grime of battleground into his skin and his armor was well worn while the herald, mounted on a light gray horse, looked as clean as any bishop.

"M'lord de Valence?" the herald asked, a grim look about him.

"Yes."

"His Majesty, King Henry the V, wishes your council immediately. You may find him in St. Martin's church."

Barely had the words left the herald's lips than the man wheeled his horse around and started back toward Harfleur. The two men were silent until the misting rain swallowed the herald.

"How now, Richard? Why such a grim face?" Edward asked.

"I could not pry any words out of that man, m'lord. His bearing is not good and I fear what news you may hear," Richard replied, his clear blue eyes now red with burden of war.

Edward nodded, "The men taken care of?"

"As well as can be, m'lord. We have a roof over our head and a bit of wine we found, but they are as starved as we are."

Edward again nodded, "Water the wine down with this rain water. I fear that the devyl may have pissed in the river. See what you can fill our bellies with so long as it hasn't crawled from the sea. Take a few of our archers afield and see what fowl you can put on the spit."

"M'lord."

"And see to it this wagon is dragged to a suitable site within the walls. I will not have some errant French lick-pizzle steal what little comforts I have. Guard it well and let no one inside save me."

Richard nodded, wiping his soggy, blonde hair out of his eyes.

"Now I will see what the King has to say."

Catherine struggled once again at her bonds and once again was frustrated by their effectiveness. She was on her back once more and the rough wool against her skin felt like thousands of fleas crawling over her breasts, belly and legs. The cold wood she lay upon was rough and chaffing and with her wrists bound as they were behind her back, made her even more uncomfortable.

But even more than that, Catherine felt an itch between her legs that she could not sate. It troubled her in many ways; chief amongst them was the idea that she was wanting of Edward's manhood despite his ill treatment of her. He had not respected her station. In fact, quite the opposite, as if she were a common slattern. However, no matter how she was treated by the English and how detestable it was, there was no turning away from the fact that her quim was wanting his touch.

The wool was rough against her nipples as she squirmed. Each movement, a little blissful agony sparked within her womb and heated the embers there.

Catherine strained her hands down and her legs apart, knocking about the empty bottle of wine Edward and her had shared, but her fingers could not solace the need rising in her. Her position and bindings worked against her.

Then Catherine heard something and froze.

Even beneath the blanket and tapestry, Catherine could hear the muffled voices of men outside and their thumps against the wagon. The thought of them finding her both horrified and thrilled her and sent her passions rushing through her like a wild fire. Struggling, Catherine tried to assuage her need with the heel of her foot but found that it would not but brush her swollen lips, teasing herself.

Catherine rocked her shoulders so that her nipples would enjoy the friction against the wool. Total rapture was so close yet still unreachable, like a delicious quince hanging just at the fingertips' touch. The smell of her own natural perfume hung in the cloistered air beneath the blanket like an exotic incense, exciting her more. She rocked her hips and tried to rub her thighs together, but to no end.

Then Catherine felt the wagon jolt. Her own mewls of need had drowned out the sounds outside and left her isolated. The wagon was now moving and she was now very aware she was not alone.

The rocking and jolting of the wagon across the muddy ground cause the bottle to roll beneath Catherine's splayed legs. She felt it's slender neck against her thigh like the prick of an ardent lover. Before the bottle could roll away, Catherine trapped its base between her feet, aiming its slender neck at her moistened quim.

The baggage wagon jolted again. The bottle slipped from her grasp.

A moan of despair erupted from Catherine's lips as she sought to entrap the bottle again. She felt it's cool, smooth surface upon her thigh and began to squirm around, hoping to roll it back to her grasping feet. Undulating and writhing, she felt the bottle roll toward her tied ankles. With grunting effort, she trapped the bottle again and tried to slowly point its neck towards her quiff, holding the bottle firm over the larger bumps.

The effort took great concentration but Catherine now had the lip of the bottle against her own moistened lips, a prize so tempting she could not refuse it's blissful invasion. With one quick push, she rammed the bottle's neck inside herself.