Chapter 10

Later, much later, I think, I found her by the pool, deep in thought and looking at the water. It seeps from the rocks and trickles across the limestone. It oozes from the walls and drips from the roof. From where it's come and to where it's going I have little idea, but it's everywhere. Many years ago, as a young man, I diverted its flow and created a body of water about ten feet across and nine inches deep.

I told Christine to bathe in it, suggesting that a bath would help her to feel better. However, the water was icy and her skin was quickly covered in goose bumps. She stayed in the water just long enough to get wet and then she jumped out, reaching for her clothes. But I stayed her hand.

I handed her my jacket. It was dirty and threadbare and running with maggots and she was clean and the icy water was dripping from her skin. She glanced at the jacket in disgust but since she was too cold to argue, she wrapped herself in it, and I liked that. It covered her female essentials and yet the moment she moved, there were glimpses of nakedness so that she was giving me a show.

After she'd bathed, I took her back to the cave that I call the Closet and I selected a stalagmite and I taught her how to hang her clothes on it, the underthings first, and then the petticoats and the dress. She kept glancing round at me, and it was with a concerned, confused expression. Even so, she kept going. She fastened the bodice, then the two rows of red cloth buttons, and then finally she placed the shoes at the base.

She straightened the garments as a maid might do, and then she folded her arms and turned to me fearfully. "What does this mean, monsieur?"

She was waiting, expectantly willing me to speak, but my cock was hard and I was having fun making her wait. Eventually, I answered however. "It means that from now on you wear my jacket and only my jacket," I said, checking how she'd arranged her clothes on the stalagmite, puffing out the skirts of the dress and straightening the sleeves. "You'll never wear these clothes again. If you want to be my wife, then your pussy and tits must be available for me to admire. They should never be covered and I'll use them whenever I choose. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She did, but the jacket didn't offer much warmth. She was cold. That night, I awoke to find her next to me, snuggling closer and closer, rubbing her body against mine, trying to stay warm. She was asleep and the actions were unconscious, but I liked them nevertheless. Soon, her tits were mashed against my chest and her legs were wrapped over mine.

Her breathing was heavy.

It didn't take much of this contact to give me a hard-on, an erection that I was forced to cure in the most natural way. I popped it in her pussy and let it ride there until we'd both become warm and sticky and contented, and then we slept.

Or rather we didn't. We tossed and turned, and the fidgeting made me horny again so that when it became morning and she awoke, I stood her in the middle of the cave and examined her again.

I made her stand with her hands high above her head while I examined her body, and why not? There was little else for me to do that morning and isn't it natural for a man to want to meditate on the natural female form?

So I studied her. She was wearing my jacket, but even so, I could see her pussy peeking out at the bottom and the inner faces of her breasts at the front for the jacket didn't close where it ought. I made her turn so that I could admire her ass, and then I asked her to turn again so that I could look at her pussy.

Soon, her arms and shoulders began to ache, and quickly they got worse until the ache became a sharp searing pain.

"How much longer?" she begged, fighting her wavering, fluttering arms.

"Until I say you can stop," I retorted, stepping forward to caress her front, my fingers tracing along her ribs. "You promised to be obedient. Remember? You're my wife. You must learn to trust me."

"I do trust you, monsieur. I have faith in you despite us having no priest or ring or ceremony, and despite father ridiculing your marriage to Isabelle. He said that it was counterfeit and a deception of the Devil and that in the eyes of God you were living in sin. But if you tell me that we're married and that I must stand here while you look at me, then I believe and trust you absolutely."

I sighed. "Don't compare me to your father. He knows nothing."

"Of course not, monsieur."

"I mean it. Did Adam have a priest or a ring or a ceremony? Did Abraham or Isaac or Jacob? What your father teaches is not God's law but man's law because the scripture says that Isaac 'took' Rebecca and she became his wife. He took her to his tent. He lay down with her. He fucked her, and as a result they became husband and wife. I took Isabelle and fucked her and made her my wife and now I have taken you. I fucked you. You're my wife."

"Yes, monsieur. And I must trust and obey you."

I lifted her to the pond and lowered her into it. Then, I washed her, concentrating on her breasts and her ass, cleaning away my dried cum and tickling her clit and generally having a good time.

We played and cuddled and giggled for some considerable time, rolling around and splashing and frolicking like children in the water. When we'd finished there was a nervous bloom to Christine's face, something different and new that I'd not seen before. She pushed me onto my back and climbed onto my cock, sliding it into her pussy.

"Since you are now my husband I must tell you a secret, monsieur," she whispered, planting her lips all over my face and kissing it all over. "It's because I trust you and because I submit to your will, I want you to know how deceptive a woman can be. My mother once told me that control is an illusion, and when I asked her what she meant, she smiled mischievously and described the events of that day when she was brought to your cottage by the soldiers. She described how she was stripped naked and raped and tied to the table and beaten, but then she demanded that I think harder and deeper and not to take things at their face value. 'Who did I think was in command of the soldiers?' she inquired. 'Who paid their wages? Who instructed them to bring her to my cottage, bound and yet still wearing expensive jewelry and fine clothes?'

"She grinned at me and answered her own question. She had. She had contrived the whole of it with the soldiers.

"I was confused and I asked her what she meant. Was she saying that she'd conspired to torture herself, because that seemed ridiculous? Or was she saying that the soldiers had mutinied?