Chapter 5: Of The Heat Of The Ginger

The mist outside the window turned slowly into a hard rain, then sleet, pelting against the panes like a drum calling troops to battle. Outside the confines of the canopied bed she was bound to, Catherine listened to the muffled laughs and harsh words of the Edward's men just on the other side of the shut curtains and locked door. There in the dark, her arms and legs spread wide apart and bound to each post, Catherine D' Astier imagined being used by each of the English swaggers beyond the door. She could almost feel the rough hands and lips upon her breasts and their engorged prickers battering through her swollen gates again and again until she could feel no more.

But nothing happened.

Soon the noises of the men faded away and all Catherine could hear beyond her curtained bed was the constant pelting of sleet against the panes of glass.

The warmth of the English's seed was still within her and the prickling heat of her passions still left Catherine wanting more despite that she was little more than a slave to the will of this Edward de Valence. There was something dwelling deep within the dark corners of her soul that made her delight in her rape...

Catherine tried to shake that thought from her head as soon as it emerged.

Once more Catherine tried pulling at her bindings and she still found them as effective as before. It was more than just a ransom, she thought to herself, that this English knight was keeping her here. And it was more than just merely pleasuring himself with her wares. There was a demonic passion within this man that let itself out briefly when he coupled with her, which, she ashamedly thought to herself, was not all that horrible. Catherine wondered what demons were prodding her captor.

As Catherine lay there, her emotions and thoughts wrestling in a whirlwind's flurry, she did not hear the lock being turned. Only when the hinges squeaked closed she realized she was not alone. Catherine tried in vain to make herself known to the unknown intruder, but her gag muffled her well.

Catherine then heard the door bolt being driven home.

The footsteps coming around her bed were not the heavy footsteps she remembered Edward having, rather they were light, a strangers...

The drapes around the bed were suddenly thrown open and Catherine was blinded momentarily by the brightness outside; her eyes having accustomed themselves to the dark womb the drapes had created. Catherine shut her eyes against the pale light and turned her head away.

"You are indeed a prize, m' dear," Margaret said in her melodious Irish voice, "No wonder m' Edward keeps you locked away like th' royal jewels."

Catherine squinted to try and see the woman standing over her. She was a short woman, Catherine could tell, with long, reddish tresses and a graceful, smiling face partially hidden beneath her shawl. Her green eyes seemed to study Catherine with the jealous, disapproving look of a wife just meeting her husband's lover. Catherine struggled again anew as she tried to turn away from this woman's preying looks.

"A picture of m'Lady de Valence, I should say," Margaret said as she sat down on the bed next to the struggling Catherine, "Mind you, I never met her, God rest 'er soul, but m' Edward told me a great deal about 'er."

Margaret reach down and patted Catherine's hip, "No use 'n strugglin', m' dear. I am sure m'Lord de Valence has made sure you cannot escape."

The woman bound on the bed did indeed look like what Edward had described his Lady Eleanor de Valence to look, Margaret thought to herself. Catherine's skin was as white as cream and she was as slight as a yearling. Her hair was a dark, tangled halo around her slim face and it matched her ebony eyes as she continued her futile struggles on the bed.

Margaret smiled a bit watching the young woman struggle, remembering that once in awhile, Edward had bound her like this, hands tied apart above her head and her legs tied wide open. Edward had been gentle with her like that, but rough at the same time, like a harnessed wolfhound during a hunt. In fact, as Margaret's relationship grew with Edward, so did his need to bind her in their swyving. It was not unpleasant, giving herself like that, in fact quite the opposite. It let her just enjoy. As Margaret watched Catherine continue to fight her bonds, she imagined what Edward would do to this helpless waif beside her.

"There now, m'Edward wouldn't want you to hurt such a costly prize as yourself," Margaret said as her hands gently started to caress Catherine.

The feel of Margaret's hands on Catherine was smooth and cool, not the heated hands of a man. The washerwoman's touch glided over Catherine's hips and belly and over the swell of her breasts, her nipples stiffening with the pleasure of the other's touch. Catherine soon found herself accepting and wanting the other woman's fingers to caress her more intimately; to work their magic upon her as she could not upon herself. It was not the first time Catherine enjoyed another woman's company. When Catherine had begun to blossom, she had asked an older friend of hers, Carola, what it was like to be with a man and her friend first told Catherine, then showed her. It was Catherine's first taste of the pleasures her body had to offer to herself.

The redheaded woman continued to talk to Catherine, but she could make little out of the woman's rough but musical language. But the woman's hands never stopped gliding over her.

Margaret grinned as she saw what effects her hands were having on the poor, bound child beside her.

"Let me get these wet things off, m'dear child, or I will catch a death indeed."

Catherine watched as Margaret began to unlace her plain-looking skirts and peel them down her slim legs. She carefully placed them beside the bed to dry, then began to untie her bodice.

Feeling Catherine's eyes upon her, Margaret unlaced her bodice slowly, as she had done to many a man. Slowly, the leather bodice opened and Margaret set it aside also. Catherine could see Margaret's generous breasts jiggling beneath her chemise as she turned her back to the bound girl and lifted the chemise off.

The roughness of the washerwoman's clothes belied her treasures beneath. Margaret's legs were slim and sturdy and tapered up nicely to her thick nest of reddish brown curls. Her hips flared wide but her waist was much more narrow than Catherine would have thought. Margaret's breasts were large and heavy, with nipples that turned upward and out slightly and were the color of pale pink rose buds about to blossom. After shedding her clothes, Margaret settled again on the bed beside Catherine.

Margaret's hands began anew, caressing and stroking Catherine's warm skin, exploring the gentle curves and soft, moistened nest without delving any deeper. Catherine yielded to her feelings, letting the physical sensations overpower any mental reservations she may have had. There was nought she could do anyhow, Catherine thought to herself, knowing her bindings were indeed unforgiving in their embrace on her.