Countess and Highwayman

The third story written to please my incomparable Phoenix. Inspired by our own play, and drawn principally from her own wicked imagination.

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She rides alone, fast, heedlessly, in her tight, fitted green brocade hunting costume, red hair flying. She has abandoned the hunt.... the barbaric ritual disgusts her, all the resources of her husbands' vast estate bent on capturing and killing one helpless animal. The hounds, the blooding, the pompous spectacle... for the sake of appearances, she must play the part of the good, supportive wife, but she hates it, all of it. And at these times, him.

He is a tremendous shot with a bow and arrow, a fabled marksman. But the so-called sport of hunting seems to embody every bit of his callousness and insensitivity, the way he speaks to her, like chattel, and never seems to hear her... His inbreds' sense of entitlement. No one has ever denied him anything, he doesn't know what it is like to be without comfort, to be property, as she was.

The thought of it sets her eyes ablaze, blue fire.... Had not her own family fallen to straitened circumstance, she would never have countenanced his courtship. And frankly, he is incompetent in bed.

Still, the arrangement has its privileges... She is an avid, accomplished horsewoman, and has been granted a stable of magnificent steeds. It comes with a stable boy, handsome indeed, but far beneath her station, who regards her with barely suppressed desire. Although this is a nuisance, it is also entertaining, for the pleasure she derives from ordering him about. Although she has escaped the lower classes, there is no hope of such a respite for him.

She rides at will through the great estate at every opportunity, hard and fast.... as if to obliterate the feeling of her husbands' clumsy hands on her body. Today she rides her favorite, a handsome, black Arabian stallion, the one she trained personally. They have grown close, and he responds instinctively to her every desire.

Now leaping over a stone fence, now over a hedge, the sudden weightlessness as they take to the air, then the shock of hard leather against her crotch, almost knocking the breath out of her. Then thwack! and haaa! as she brings the riding crop sharply down on his hindquarters, spurring him into a swift gallop through an open field, her rapid breathing becoming synchronized with the galloping of the horse, bouncing her rhythmically in the saddle, her lean legs grasping the flanks of the heaving beast, athwart the smooth arch of the pommel, rubbing her, pressing, pleasingly, fully against her, up and down, fast, hard, against her pubis... and now, warmth, spreading in waves through her long, taut, aristocratic, slender body...

The pleasure builds and suddenly crests, leaving her dizzy and seeing stars. She leans back in the saddle, stretching, twisting, grasping the pommel and thrusting all her weight against it.... eyes closed, face turned up to the sky, she lets out a long, drawn out, shuddering cry - oh - oh -oh -oh-ah-ah-ah-ah-AH-AH-AH-AH-A-HA-HA-A-A-A-HAAAHHHHH! as her orgasm bursts through her.... then overcome, falls forward in the saddle, gradually slowing the beast to a halt.

After an eternity, her breath slows and she comes back to herself....

Sitting up, dazed, a hand to her face, she begins to recover, and as she does, feels an urge. She dismounts, tying the horse to a tree. Squatting, she pulls up her skirts and pushes her undergarments aside, then sprays the ground beneath her with hot piss, feeling a primal relief. She reaches down to wipe with a kerchief. It comes away red...

A muttered curse, then a small smile of satisfaction.... Her husband will be hot now, flushed from the kill. And he'll know what it's like, tonight, to be denied at least one thing: his marital privilege.

She lingers there, longer than is strictly necessary, caressing, feeling the warm glow of of her orgasm promising to build to another. She lies back against a tree.... and knees up, lanky legs splayed out in a quite unladylike fashion, begins to explore herself in earnest....

The horse whinnies. Is that the sound of a footfall? She leaps to her feet. As she looks around, she realizes that she is deep in the woods - unfamiliar surroundings. In her abandon, she has left the bounds of the estate far behind her. She is lost. Panic starts to rise in her as the implications set in. Nightfall is approaching, and the countryside is said to crawl with bandits, highwaymen that scruple at nothing: rape, robbery, murder.

Can someone be watching? What have they seen? She whirls, too late, as a gloved hand clamps over her mouth from behind, a strong arm around her slender waist, pulling her into him, a mans' body, masterly - hard, tall, leather-clad and unforgiving.

"Softly, milady, softly.... don't cry out. No - that would be a mistake." The voice, smooth, knowing, cultured. Not at all what one would expect. But she is seized with terror just the same, scalp prickling, gasping as a blade touches her throat, and a sash is thrown over her eyes and knotted behind her head. Another one binds her hands behind her back.

"And, now.... as you were. Down." She is baffled, momentarily. but then realizes. He has seen. Everything. A flush of hot shame - or is it arousal? - flushes her face as she complies. She is squatting again. This time with a stranger in front of her. He gently hooks a boot behind one leg, then the other, bringing her to her knees. The blade a constant, gentle pressure against her long, elegant throat.

She feels a warmth in the air in front of her... whatever it is seems to be radiating an animal heat.... then something big and smooth brushes the sweep of her high, elegant cheekbones, round forehead, her long, haughty, patrician, upturned nose, pointed chin, small, delicate ears. The long, straight red hair falling around it, framing it.... The touch of someone who knows her face, really knows it.... and admires her, loves her, has studied every contour of its heart-shaped perfection.

Then finally, her mouth. Delicately exploring, barely touching, tracing the outlines of the beautiful bow of her lips, seemingly carved from pale coral. The portal of supreme happiness and despair, that can grant a lifetime's fulfillment with a whispered "yes", or damn to a lifetime's privation with a simple "no".

What is it that is touching her, so intimately, almost sentiently? It feels dry and hot, but then, suddenly, it is slick. She recognizes the taste, and realizes with a shock that it is his sex, and that he is already fully aroused and lubricating. She turns away with a cry of disgust, but the gloved hand seizes her chin and turns her back to face him.

She smiles as if in acquiescence, opens her mouth... then as the warmth of his rigid cock approaches again, she lunges, teeth bared, biting. And misses. A smack! as he slaps her, not hard enough to harm her, but hard enough to bring burning blood to her cheek... the knife returning, pressing harder, and the voice, lower.

Angry now. "I'll have your throat for that".

And he grabs the back of her head, and enters her, not just playing this time, but with a will, and she opens, she can't help it, penetrating, the head driving past her lips, opening her, stifling her cry of rage, filling her mouth, oh God it is so big, coming to rest at the back, pushing against the opening of her throat. Stretching it.

She gags as he pushes his way past her resistance, opening her, down her throat, filling it. A shock as it finally stops, seemingly at her sternum, his pubis fully against her face, farther than any man has been before, god knows, not her husband, he doesn't have this, not anything like this, so long, thick, smooth, pulsing, and from the feel of it inside her, perfectly formed.

Keeping it there, for ten long heartbeats, as she fights her gag reflex and breathes hard, rapidly, desperately through her nose, the only sound the sound of her breathing... "hnnnnn/hnnnnnn/hnnnnnn". And finally, his low, drawn out groan as he slowly withdraws.

Then back in, filling her, not pausing at the back as before, but straight in, and slowly, steadily, working himself in and out of her, one hand holding the blade to her throat, the other at the back of her head. For what seems an eternity. Tears, forced from her eyes involuntarily, soaking into the blindfold.

Then suddenly, he withdraws and hot jets splash across her face, spilling into her mouth as she gasps in shock at the obscenity of it, and his cock returns, ejaculating directly down her throat, into her belly, and she feels every drop as he expires within her, wringing the last bit of pleasure out of her unwilling mouth.

Adding to the injury of her husbands' carelessness, a final insult, confirming her feeling - the one she's been fighting for years - with crushing finality. That all men are swine. The injustice of it - that she, a magical, powerful, sexual being like no other, should be beholden to their whims - sinking into her core.

His free hand, caressing her face. Lovingly, admiringly. Gloves off, now. It withdraws briefly and returns with a kerchief, gently wiping her face. As a mother would a baby. "My god, you are a magnificent woman. I cannot bring myself to kill you. But you must not run, or I will be forced to. And you must not see my face. Understood?"

She hears her own voice, like someone else's.... Regal, cold, low, rigid, controlled, but quaking with rage and barely suppressed tears. "I am missing. They will come for me, and capture you. You will be flogged, and killed, and I will watch. With pleasure."

"Yes. But be that as it may, milady, I will fuck you. I am not done by a long shot. And before I do, the woods will ring with your cries of happiness... to your shame and dismay, to know that a lowly highwayman has done this." Calmly, quietly, matter-of-fact, without a trace of ego.

He unties the sash binding her hands behind her, and the one covering her eyes, once again admonishing her not to look at him, and steers her with both hands backwards into a tree, where she is bound again, both hands behind the smooth trunk.

She feels his hands, up under her dress, caressing the length of her smooth, lean, impossibly long legs, parting the skirt, removing her undergarments, her boots. Feels the cool of the crisp spring air. Hears a cry of unabashed longing and admiration escaping his lips, as he regards the incomparable beauty of her form....

The taut, flat belly and lyre-like hips. The little muff standing out starkly against perfect, smooth, lily white skin, pale to the point of translucency... The delicate pink sex beneath it, almost innocent in its perfection, like a a small masterpiece of the confectioner's art that can somehow delight in its own devouring. She hears a thud as he falls to his knees. And in spite of herself, she smiles.... her power is intact, these three inches rule the world, after all, and she may yet win through this.

Somehow.

Warm breath, blowing across her skin. Here, there. A marvelous contrast to the astringent air.... she can't help but relax, a tiny fraction. Then suddenly, small bites. Her hips, thighs. Then kisses.

Surprisingly gentle, on her inner thighs, her lower belly, the hollows of her hip-bones. And meanwhile: warm, dry hands, everywhere.

Circling her thighs, calves. Caressing her feet. No-one has ever touched her with such delicate, loving skill. Little sounds escape her... involuntarily... "oh. oh. oooohhhh." Then, breath, again, stirring the small stiff brush above her sex.

The feeling builds within her, and she realizes that she is wet. Smooth lips touch her nether ones, delicately, a feather, almost nothing at all. Stroking. Then, placed carefully over her sex, perfectly parallel, they open, pulling her own lips apart, and there:

the first touch of his tongue. Up, caressing her small, sweet clitoris, then down, moistening the slit. Down again, parting her further, seeking the wetness within.

She wonders if the blood will stop him, how he'll react. Will it turn him off? What then? Death?

A muffled grunt of surprise, and... lust? Yes. She knows men well enough to sense it intuitively. "This is a fine day indeed, when I can drink at leisure of noble blood! Think not that this will deter me in the slightest, milady, I plan to be quite drunk of it!"

He plunges his tongue directly into her pussy, covering as much of the mound as possible with his mouth, taking her in, sucking, licking, an all out assault. then up to the clitoris, focusing on it with a fervor of almost religious intensity, her pleasure the sole object of his very being.

She feels the sensation building, with her face turned upward and eyes shut against the burning light of the setting sun dappled by trees, the pleasure becoming a kaleidoscopic stained-glass window in her mind, a mandala, pulsing, revolving.... she begins cooing rhythmically, like a dove, and somewhere in the forest a bird warbles tremulously in answer.

She is dimly aware that he is hard again, and that his rigid cock is gliding between her calves, her legs still clamped tightly together... she relaxes suddenly, knees sagging, with a great exhalation of the breath she didn't even know she was holding - 'Huuuhhhhhnn" - and is tickled by his brief bark of triumphant laughter.

He quickly presses the advantage, pushing further between her legs, positioning himself so he can throw his head back, and explores her deeply, licking, sucking, drinking the juices now mingling with her blood, a muffled moan of pleasure bursting from him as the blood trickles down his throat, smears his face... until she is crying out with joy, yes, grateful joy, over and over, her cries echoing off the hard bark of the great trees surrounding them until all the wide world around them is a cathedral of ecstasy.

He rises, and taking her head in both her hands kisses her passionately, and to her surprise, she returns it, avidly, tasting her own blood. Beyond caring now, before she knows it, she has opened her eyes and looks directly into his. Silence falls between them. It is the stable boy, of course. He has long since grown into a man, and he is beautiful, how could she not have realized it before? The moment stretches on, unbearable tension... Neither of them know what the other will do. (Will she scream? Will he kill me?)

She realizes that this is the moment he's been waiting for all along. She smiles, and kisses him back. He returns it, surprised, grateful - this is what he has ever hoped for, his wildest fantasy is realized, she is his. He unties the sash binding her arms behind her back, she rips her bodice open, exposing her breast to the cool air... as her buries his face in her bosom, she leaps upon him, locking her legs behind his back and impaling herself upon him in one smooth movement with a great cry.

Grasping her firm, shapely bottom with both hands, he drives himself into her, kissing her eyes, throat, everywhere, thrusting himself to the limit, feeling her open fully, more than she has ever given any man, head back, eyes closed, crying out as he rams her, over and over, the bark of the tree scraping her as he drives himself into her,over and over and she comes, again, this time from the back of beyond, with her whole body, deeply, completely. The fantastic sight/sound/feeling of her joy ignites him, and he comes....

A)

Just as: Whannggg! the sound of the great, long arrow in flight, and almost simultaneously the thud! of it's impact.... through both of their chests and into the tree, pinning their hearts together, the feathered end of the shaft bobbing slightly as their conjoined, ebbing heartbeats come into unison... Their eyes meet a final time, as their souls take flight, mingling, rising together, and the forest, the world itself drops away below and spreads out below them. Then they are birds, chasing each other through the air, free from class, history, marriage, convention, work, all of it: the human world and its drudgery fading like a distant dream. Free.

Or alternatively:

B)

Panting, hearts pounding, slowly subsiding, silence, stillness. Their hands on each others' shoulders, lost in each others' eyes. Equals.

Then, a thought... curving up the corners of her mouth in a wicked smile. "You have been... most impertinent. You will not be killed, as you have proven yourself to be a man of valour, and your skills are, well, very useful. But you will be punished. I am afraid I shall have to administer your flogging... myself".

Or:

C)

A shriek of laughter as he gathers her up, smiling, over his shoulder... placing her on the horse, and mounting it behind her, and spurring it, they ride away. Where? Who knows?