Enlisted Ch. 01

Note: I guess this is a bit long, and not a -whole- lot of sex in it, but, there's some! Hopefully more in the next bit. Not sure when that'll be.

***

"I guess it's just... Man, fuck, I don't know. Something about this place. Ever since the Duke took power, it's just like... I don't really know if this place is gonna be a home for much longer, y'know? I don't wanna wake up one day and have some soldier outside telling me I have to join up, for the good of the... Fucking, hills or whatever."

Richard scratched the back of his head, staring off at the hills he'd just mentioned to his good friend Damon, both sitting outside the village, drinking together as the evening wore on.

Damon stretched his arms. "It's pretty bad. I don't know that I like the guy, I mean hell, you're probably right, new Duke and all... Coming in like he did, probably wants to prove himself. Get some blood under his... Name, I guess. But I mean, where are you gonna go? Thrickendale? Probably just as likely to end up enlisted, to defend against us lot. At least we've got a fighting chance. Thrickendale's got no soldiers any more."

"What, and we have? Old Margaret doesn't count, she can hardly lift a spoon of soup to her lips now, let alone a sword to..." Richard paused, and Damon smiled.

"Heh, she's not that old, eh."

Old Margaret had fought for the village about twenty years ago, when Richard was very young. He still had memories of being in awe of her in shining armour, muscles rippling as she went off to battle. And later, her stories would fill the tavern as she held court, though she was quick to move away from some topics, and towards another drink, as the toasts to fallen comrades went on. Eventually, the stories stopped, although Margaret would still be known and well-regarded in the village for some time, chopping firewood. But that had slowed down lately, too.

"I said she's not that old, eh?" Damon repeated, smirking and digging Richard in the ribs. "I know I still would."

"Let's talk about something else," Richard said, rubbing at his side. "I hear there's a caravan on the way. Actors."

"Ah, yes, the acting," Damon replied, puffing himself up and imitating what one might suppose must be an actor. "Maybe I might ask to enlist after all, see if I can get any of them before they run away."

"Ha, I forgot about the last group. I'm sure these ones are much nicer."

"The last ones were plenty nice enough, as I remember, it was their husbands that were the problem."

Richard laughed. Damon had an abundance of youthful beauty and a stark deficiency in morality. Or subtlety, at any rate, which would have allowed him to get by a lot easier. But he was a good friend. He'd always buy you dinner if you were hungry, it would just probably turn out to not have been with his own money. The result of which had made him quite good in a fight, too.

The night wore on, and talk continued in the vein of reminiscing about women. Richard was certainly no stranger to them, or to men, either, but had been in something of a malaise of late, wondering what the future might hold.

It was as the two friends returned to the tavern to drop off their glasses for the last time at the bar that Richard's eyes fell upon the backside of a stranger, new in town. Flexing in a pair of tight black trousers, the buttocks seemed to belong to a man with shaggy black hair and a moustache, returning two small glasses to a table for himself and a woman. He smiled in greeting her, with a warmth that suggested great familiarity between the two, and a long kiss that would seem to confirm it. He had the frame of a musician or dancer, and Richard wondered if he was part of the acting troupe, though the strangers seemed to be travelling alone, and with bundles of strangely packed objects.

The woman, he observed, also had black hair, and a similarly radiant smile with a hint of mischief. He felt Damon pat him on the shoulder and laugh, wishing Richard luck for the night. He half-turned and mumbled a goodbye, which was met with further laughter, before making his way to the table where the pair sat.

"New in town, eh? What brings you to Mearhaven? I'm Richard, by the way." Richard sat down, beaming broadly, putting both arms on the table. The realisation that he'd had too much to drink was one that he would reflect upon the next morning.

"Mearhaven?" the woman replied, turning to the gentleman. She wore a dark green robe, with the hood down so her curled black hair was visible. "My dear, it seems we are closer than we thought..."

"Closer to what? Sorry, listening in." Richard nodded for the pair to continue.

The gentleman turned to answer Richard. "Closer to the new Duke. We are here to show our respect, and offer gifts. But my wife and I are arriving ahead of schedule. My name is Alexander, by the way." The man named Alexander offered his hand to Richard.

"Richard," returned Richard, shaking Alexander's hand solemnly. "And are you going to visit the Duke too?" He turned his questioning to the woman.

"Yes," she smiled. "We're travelling together. I'm Athena."

"Very pleased to meet you, Athena. You and your husband. Very pleased."

The married pair smiled, and exchanged glances.

"Tell me, Richard," Alexander leaned back in his chair. "What do you do in the village?"

Richard looked thoughtful. "Well, I do a bit of everything, I suppose. A bit of this and that. I fixed fences for Susanne's husband last week. Sometimes I'll go off and help with the hunting. Fishing. I help out with the digging, y'know and picking the vegetables, stuff like that, but I haven't got a head for that farming stuff. Keeping track of it all."

"You'd rather just go with things in the moment, Richard?" Alexander smiled, and Athena laughed into her hand, chiding him slightly with the other.

"Alex, he's drunk." she said softly, laughing.

"I know, I'm just having fun." he replied.

"I can hear you, you know," said Richard. "And I am pretty drunk."

There was an expectant pause, as the table waited for a "but" or something similar. None was forthcoming.

Athena chuckled again.

"What are in those boxes?" Richard stared at the bundles the couple had brought in to the tavern.

"Ah, that will be our surprise to the Duke, though perhaps you may yet learn of their secrets," Alex smiled in a fixed manner, spreading out his arms as Athena faded into thought, though still smiling.

"We shall be staying in the village for a few days, perhaps in that time you may know of them," the gentleman concluded.

"That would be nice," smiled Richard.

Athena and her husband started to stand up from the table. "Darling, we should retire to bed. It is getting late."

"You are right, Athena. Richard! It was an honour meeting you. We should love to see you again, perhaps you can tell my wife and I how you fixed in those posts. Goodnight!"

Richard waved dreamily at the gorgeous couple, before slumping off home to sleep.

In dreams, he wandered through a thickening mist, lost and alone. His red hair and thick beard dulled to a brownish-grey, arms growing weary as clumps of armour fastened to him and a sword rose to his hand. In the world ahead, shifting in the fog, wore on a battle between an unknown number. Mocking laughter echoed and vibrated in the air, causing him to turn to his left. There, the couple, Alex and Athena, lay making love, beckoning him towards them. But with every step closer, they simply laughed at his approach.

He awoke the next morning, groggy and pained. He felt back into his mind, grasping for bits and pieces of the previous night. The little he could hang on to long enough to examine made him regretful at first, for having made a fool of himself... Then, a dim light of curiosity returned. Very dim, of course, it would take the length of breakfast and washing before it started to creak into fully conscious thought, but Richard still couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to the packages than simple gifts.

The couple were obviously visiting from some great distance... The Duke himself was from Somewhere Else, as all Dukes were. It wasn't really the sort of thing you thought about, with Dukes. Just a different name to grumble about over taxes or labour or... Well, most things. But where they came from didn't really matter too much. Maybe someone in the village would know.

As Richard walked out over the field into Old Margaret's house, he heard a soft, steady repetitive slapping noise, just under the birdsong. The noise got louder as he approached, and he stopped, smiling mischievously, his cock twitching under his belted trousers. Running his hands through his hair and over his beard, he took a seat on the chair outside, slowly shifting himself around, then slightly gripping his erection through the trousers as he imagined what must be going on inside.

Inside, Margaret lowered herself back onto the cock of the figure below her, having just dismounted their face. She held them back and pinned them to the chair in which they sat, pushing into their chest with her fingers before lifting her hand to spread the juices of her cunt across the chin and cheek of the one she was fucking.

She kissed them deeply as she took their member firmly into herself. "Fuck," moaned the stranger. "You're fucking good, you know?"

"Mm, yes, I know." Margaret flexed her muscles, squatting down and taking the stranger's cock deeper into her, bucking her hips to keep fucking. "You should try my arse some time. Then you wouldn't have to keep wasting your come on my tits."

The figure looked down in awe at Margaret's scarred, muscled body, watching their cock be devoured by cunt, before sucking on her tits, still slightly tasting of come from earlier, hands moving from her arse to her waist and up to hold her breast. "Doesn't seem like a waste to me, Margaret."

"Ha. Yeah, I suppose not as long as you keep licking it off afterwards. Fuck, yeah hold me like that." The figure held Margaret at the waist, hands pushing down on to her arse, unable to resist fucking up into her, cock soaking in wet cunt as her buttocks slapped against their inner thighs.

"You could lick it out of my arse too, you know?" She continued, sinking into lustful reverie. "Pushing your come up into my just-fucked arse, spit in there, rub my clit, push your fingers up my arse... Keep me as your little fuck toy, use me 'til you get hard again and fuck your cock back into me..."

"Oh, fuck," the figure responded, before seeming to realise something, and moving a hand down to rub at Margaret's clit while she fucked them. "Fuck, I'm gonna come soon if you keep talking like that."

"Don't you fucking dare," she reprimanded them. "Just a fucking - fuck," she moaned, squeezing down her cunt around the cock inside of her as she came.

"Aw, fuck!" the stranger desperately started tapping at Margaret's back, trying to lift her up and off of them. She quickly did so, her cunt still convulsing with orgasm, trying to grip at a cock that was no longer inside her as she moved a hand down to finger herself, using the other to better position her face and tits to be come upon.

A little while later, Richard smiled and waved at Damon from his position on the chair outside, watching as he left the house. Damon finished straightening his belt, and smiled in return. "Maybe the army's not so bad, Richard, if it can make a woman like that!" Damon laughed. Richard replied, "It's those good looks and charm that make a woman like that, Damon. I'll see you at the village later." The man walked off. He was a good looking guy, you'd have to give him that, but he was one hell of an idiot, thought Richard, knocking on the door.

Old Margaret answered a short while later, her brown hair knotted and wearing sweat and a grey gown. A few drying splatters of come were still visible around her collarbone. Richard scratched the back of his head, not knowing which seat to take as Margaret returned with water.

"So, what brings you to my home?" She sat down, relaxed, and took a sip of water. Richard had been offered none.

"Well..." Richard began, and then stopped, leaning forward questioningly. "Damon? Really?"

Margaret laughed. "I don't expect he'll be around for long. People do tend to lose interest these days, I hear there's so much to be done in the village." The tone was harsh, and Richard felt ashamed. It had been years... He had considered the matter dealt with.

"Besides, Damon tells me that you have found a new object of your undying devotion? Two objects, in fact." She said, staring Richard down.

"It was objects that I wanted to talk to you about, actually... Well, along the way of them..." Richard was glad for the opportunity to try and change the subject.

"Richard, anything of yours has been long disposed of, and you're more than welcome to whatever wank-rag you've made of anything I left with you." Margaret took another drink of water, and slumped back further into her chair.

"No, it's not that... Look, do you know anything of the Duke? Where he comes from?" Richard clasped his hands together, nervously playing with his thumbs.

"The Duke?" Sighed Margaret. "No, Richard, I don't exactly get invited to many official events these days. I do hear he's from that city to the north, though. Across the hills. Breke-something. Proper bastards, there. They had land, you see. Everyone wanted it, so they just fought harder for it. Had to. Hired people from all over. And then once you're done paying someone to defend a village, what's paying them to burn down another? Got to protect what you've got. So that'll be him there now, making plans to protect what he's got. There'll be another war, soon, right enough."

"Did you fight? For this, Breke place?" Richard asked, glad to be on better ground.

"Not personally, but I fought alongside those that did. Fought them a few times. Once, I was camped out with this woman. Had her head between my legs, beautiful face she had. Not a soldier's face, not like me. Fantastic tongue, too. Found her out in the woods, said she was on the run from this Breke-whatever, said I'd protect her. I suppose I killed the ones that killed her. For whatever that's worth." Margaret looked down, sighing. Despite her strength, the weariness showed in her face.

"Margaret, I'm..." Richard was already out of his seat, and halfway to comforting her, when he stopped, and sighed as well. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you."

"Well, I'm feeling tired and depressed after having been fucked, it's always nice for you to visit Richard." She got up, and took a step towards him. He laughed.

"Thank you, for..." He had been staring into her eyes, and only just noticed that she was sliding the bottom of her gown up over her left leg. He paused. "I... I should..." He turned towards the door, and then back to Margaret.

"You should." She said, a sincere look in her face, while the parting in her gown slid higher up, to her thigh. "Or you could help me reminisce about old times..."

She had the strong, sinewed thighs of a lion. Her arms pulsed with a raging thickness. She could lick your throat and push her fingers so far up your arse you'd come on the spot. Then she'd step on you and make you lick it up. She was a goddess, and Richard would hear her call and come to pray at her feet, her calves, her thighs, her cunt. He'd have his hair grabbed and face pushed up against a wall, his cock sucked or fucked or rubbed between her arse cheeks. He'd bend her over and fuck out the years of pain and torture they'd gone through, and he'd fill her up with come until none of what happened would matter. And he could see in her eyes, she knew the same thing.

She dropped her gown, slowly, and Richard left.