Fall From Grace Ch. 2
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Dawn rose over the convent and Catherine was late to rise but this morning, no one took notice. There was much to do, work to be done. Catherine slipped on her plain cotton shift and tied an apron around her chest and waist. She swept back her long silky locks of hair into a quick bun and gathered up her chore basket. Tuesdays were always the same at the convent, as were Wednsdays and Thursdays and every other day. Today she would go to the market at Ambra and buy what spices and items the convent needed that it did not grow in the convent’s garden. There would be salt to buy, and rosemary, parsely and knitting yarn made by a craftswoman in the village. Today, she looked over the list of items to buy and it was far more extensive than the usual weekly fare. Surely this was due to Father Hellarti’s presence at the convent.
The sisters would make the best meals for the table while he was here, and surely they would want to send him with gifts for the Bishop whom he was close to. Catherine bit her lip and counted out the money she had been left to buy the items with. Ten francs. It was a good sum, and more than she was used to spending at the market. She placed the money in the pocket fold of her skirt and started down the path toward the stables where she would take Belle, the horse she often used to go to the village. Walking along the path, she thought of Belle, such a pretty horse, and she wondered if some day she could perhaps make enough money to buy Belle, so she could take her riding more often.
It wasn’t likely, since Catherine rarely made any money at all. There were plenty of times though that on her market trips to the village, the bustling merchants, strolling men of the plaza and sometimes the wives, would place coins in her hand and tell her she was pretty. Coins to buy candy and ribbons with. Once an elderly man had placed a franc in her hand and said he would let her keep it if he could seeup her dress. Catherine couldn’t imagine why the old man would be so fascinated with what was up her dress and thought it couldn’t do harm, so she had lifted her skirts and let the old man have a look. He seemed satisfied and rubbed the front of his pants. She wondered if he had to pee. She asked the old man if he was well, and did he need to relieve himself? He seemed shaky and his hands withered and spotted. She felt sorry for him. Looking at the front of his pants she saw the laces of his breeches and she guessed the problem. The old man probably could not even open his own trousers to relieve himself, his hands were so bent. She offered to help him, and the old man looked surprised and said he would like help indeed.
Catherine had taken the old man behind the blacksmith’s shop and had helped him to loosen the fastening of his breeches. The old white haired man looked at her and she knew he must be terribly embarrassed that he needed help with such a simple task, but she understood. Many of the elderly sisters at the convent had rickety hands and had given up knitting and sewing because they could not use their hands anymore. There was no shame in it, just a product of age. Catherine was determined to help the old man. She reached into his breeches and took out his limp and withered bingöl escort penis, long and thin with age. She aimed it to the grass and felt the man relieve himself and then groan a sigh of relief. She put the old man’s penis away and saw him smile at her. She had been glad to perform charity and had felt better about herself that day.
Now, as she walked down the path, she wondered how much she could save if she never spent any of the money she was given in the village. Enough to buy Belle? Perhaps, but it would take a while. Sheapproached the stable and saw a beautiful white horse being scrubbed down by the new stable boy undoubtedly. The former stable boy had been replaced just days ago by a new one. She wondered who he was and if perhaps she could make a friend. She started to move closer through the trees when she got a clear view of the new stable boy. Only he was not a boy at all. This man stood very tall and was powerfully muscled, with a broad chest and thick arms and thighs. She moved to the side of a thick tree trunk and watched the man work in secret for a long moment. He was unusually handsome, with golden blond hair and chiseled features. He was perhaps thirty years old. Catherine continued to watch him scrub the horse and his movements fascinated her. He moved the brush roughly over the horse’s hide and poured streams of soapy water from a bucket. He was graceful in his movements, powerful and almost- majestic. He did not look like a stable man, but more like a Celtic warrior. As she watched him, she felt a strange longing stirring in the pit of her belly. Catherine imagined what it might be like to be that horse. To be scrubbed so roughly by strong capable hands, perhaps to be stripped naked and soaking wet, then scrubbed down and mounted roughly. She wondered in this daydream, what the stable man’s penis looked like. She could see his tight fitted breeches and the generous bulge in the loin of them. She wondered what it would be like to feel that penis inside of her instead of Father Hellarti’s penis…
She was snapped out of her reverie by a man’s voice,
“Aye lass- ye lost?”
The stable man spoke to her and to her absolute horror, she realized that in her fantasies she had actually moved her hand up her skirt and was rubbing her fingers over that pleasure nub between her thighs! Her face flushed hot and red. She felt the heat of it in her neck and breast. Nervously, she thought of what to do.
I shall simply pretend it was not happening, that I was fumbling with my skirt hem- perhaps a bramble bush thorn was attached to it-
Catherine started toward the man and began to realize what a giant he was. It intimidated her, but excited her as well. She did her best to smile and be polite,
“No, I am from the convent. I am here to borrow a horse. I always ride Belle. The Abbess sends me to market this day.”
“Ye was fumblin’ wit’ yourself, I saw it, I did.” He said flatly, but not without a hint of interest in his eyes.
“Oh no, there was a thorn in my skirt, I had to remove it. I got my skirt caught on a plant of some kind…”
The giant of a man smiled down at her and nodded,
“Aye ye did, lass. Then we be well met. Me name’s bitlis escort Arnef. And you be?”
“Catherine.” she replied with a gulp. The man bent in an uncharacteristic and unexpected gesture and took her hand. he placed it against his lips as a courtly gentleman would do and said,
“Well met, Catherine.” His lips lingered on her hand and Catherine felt she would die of shame as the man obviously had smelled the scent of Catherine’s vagina on her fingers. He had caught her. “Come inside an’ get yer horse then.”
Catherine followed him as he led the white mare into the stable barn.
“She is beautiful.” Catherine mentioned.
“That she is, an’ she be my own. Best thing I got.”
The man planted the horse in place again and continued brushing her down. The actions made Catherine tingle again with the memory of her fantasy.
“You wan’ you should brush her?” Arnef offered Catherine the horse brush. Catherine brushed the horse in long strokes and prayed the man had not known she had been thinking of him doing this very thing to her. After a moment of brushing the horse, she heard his voice very close to her ear,
“Ye was fumblin’ wit yourself, wasn’ ya? An’ ye’s thinkin’ o’ me when ya did it too.”
Shamed, Catherine nodded and felt a tear slide hot and burning down her cheek. She could lie no more. It was pointless. Arnef grinned and placed his huge hand over her rump,
“Aye, donna be ashamed, lass. All ye need is a right good one, eh.”
Catherine felt as if a demon had posessed her. She was not herself. With a boldness she did not know she had, she took Arnef’s meaty hand in hers and placed the brush there, heavy wooden thing. She guided his hand to stroke her with the wet, soapy brush and she heard him chuckle.
“I know what ye want, girl.”
Arnef untied Catherine’s apron and lifted the shift off her arms, then pushed her to the floor on her hands and knees, naked as a newborn. The girl had a fine body, ripe with curves and nubile. Arnef had a particular liking for round rumped lasses and Catherine was certainly one of them. He felt his cock harden with the sight of it. The lass’s quim was visable between the low folds of her ass and was wet and glistening. She was ripe indeed.
He took the bucket of soap water and poured it over the girl’s back, then started scrubbing her down with the brush, and then with a wet cloth. She writhed and bucked her hips, and Arnef chuckled at how hot the little tart was. He dropped the brush and moved his hands over her rump, her thighs and her back. Her nipples were hard little things and her tits swayed when he smacked her rump. He repeated the action and watched her tits jiggle, pinching the nipples and even slapping them to see her tits swing from side to side. Catherine was gritting her teeth together, then opening her pink mouth to touch her tongue to her top lip. Arnef had just about had enough, and he moved a hand down to his aching erection, pulling down his breeches to let the stiff cock bounce out as he positioned himself behind her. As he prepared to stick his cock inside the girl’s quim, he had what he thought was a brilliant idea.
Catherine shivered bolu escort all over, feeling her skin come alive. She saw Arnef move to her side and take something from the wall of the stable barn. She knew it was a bit of leather strap, a long one. The strap came down over her eyes and then between her teeth to form a bit. Arnef used the ends of the strap like horse reins, and he positioned himself to mount her from behind. Catherine spread her legs open to welcome him, and felt a surge of fear, pleasure, pain and intensity when she felt the head of his penis push into her vagina. It was thick and long, and as he pushed slowly into her, it filled her to the brim. Arnef pulled on the reins, moving her head back and she followed suit, bucking her hips and moving back and forth on the piston of his cock. The pleasure and pain of it was shockingly intense and she felt him take the reins i n one hand and with the other he took up the soapy cloth and scrubbed her back again, just like a horse.
“Atta girl, good lil’ philly…a bit faster, g’on now, girl…” he said, thrusting into her. When her movements were not fast enough for his taste, he smacked her rump and rode her faster, then mercilessly until he felt her quim spasm around his cock and heard her moan into the leather bit. He laughed and smacked her rump one more time before he let himself release into her, filling her up with a load of hot cream. The lass seemed satisfied, and Arnef certainly felt top of the world, but he could not understand why the lass suddenly looked like a rock hit her. he face went pale and she glanced around her as if she had been caught at murder.
“I can’t believe what I have done…I can’t believe…” she stuttered.
Arnef paid little mind to it and washed off his cock in some clean water. he found a clean cloth and tossed it to her to clean up with, and she began doing so at once.
“If ye need be gettin’ ta market, I’ll take ye on Luna here, she be faster’n that one ye use. Ye can get back b’fore dark an’ not have them nuns screamin’ at ye.”
Stunned at the impropriety and wickedness of her own behavior, Catherine solemnly put her shift and apron on and let Arnef push her up onto the saddle of a pretty brown mara named Luna. He mounted the saddle behind her and they rode into the village of Ambra, she silent, and he wisteling a tune.
Catherine felt sure that she would end up in a firey pit of Hell, consort to the devil himself for the way she had behaved. She had been a willing whore, giving herself to this stranger in lust and a torrent of wickedness, and she had felt pleasure from it, pleasure to the core of her very being.
You are a wicked girl, Catherine. A wicked, wicked girl. She silently scolded herself, and then saw the steeple of the Chapel of Augestine rising up before her. They were entering the village. Catherine clenched her fists and tried with all her might to muster a bit of dignity and look as if she had not just been ravished by barbarians, but the fact was, people were staring at her, riding on the horse with this strapping man, her hair damp and unbound, her shift damp and her face flushed pink. Catherine did not say a word when Arnef dismounted and helped her down,
“You go do yer market run. Donna be too long now, go.”
Catherine went, shame stinking her face, and pleasure burning.
(In next week’s installment, Catherine makes a bargain with a band of gypsies.
Stay tuned. 🙂
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