Message-ID: <46857asstr$1077621004@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <200402230932.i1N9WlkF001273@nyx10.nyx.net> From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon) Reply-To: anon584c@nyx.net X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 23 Feb 2004 02:32:47 -0700 Subject: {ASSM} {Mardi Gras} "A Time to Gather Stones Together 02" {Uther} (Mf 1st hist) [2/2] Lines: 573 x-asstr-message-id-hack: 46857 Date: Tue, 24 Feb 2004 06:10:04 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: newsman, dennyw IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else. This material is Copyright, 2004, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right for all reproduction necessary for normal Usenet propagation. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission. Most of my other stories can be found at: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. # # # # # # # # A Time to gather Stones Together by Uther Pendragon anon584c@nyx.net Chapter 2 Deborah woke to a pounding somewhere. There was a shifting in the bed and then she heard two voices. "Thy door was bolted, Father." "And so it was," said Father David. "Well, I am awake now. And I thank thee." She got up and donned her clothes before Father David had climbed the stairs. "Art thou leaving now?" he asked. "It is a while yet before Mass." "I think I should, Father." "'David,' here. 'Father' down in the chapel. Wilt thou return tonight?" "Yes, David." There were no secrets in Castle Clavius. The three girls who shared her bed in the weaving room had no questions about where she had been. At breakfast, all the weavers expected her to take the third seat on their bench, below only Susanna and Maria. This brought a sergeant whom she had barely seen before as her eating companion. Heinrich was his name, like her baby brother's. She worked industriously all day. Again, Maria kept them at work until the second seating at supper. After supper, she entered the door to the chaplain's chamber and climbed the stairs. Father David had left the door to his chamber open. When she made a sound, he turned around. "Deborah," he said, "thou art welcome." He closed the door after her. "Thou mayest use that peg," he said, pointing to a peg set between two stones a little above her eye level. He proceeded to remove his clothes. She removed her own and hung them on the indicated peg. Father David picked up the linen and held it out to her. She could see a few brown spots on it. "I thank thee," he said. "Didst thou have any more pain today, or any more bleeding?" "No, David. I did not." "That is very good news." He gestured towrds the bed and she got into it. If he had not touched her while she was standing, he showed no such restraint after he had joined her in bed. He kissed her, her mouth, over her face, her mouth again, and then her breasts. He covered her and himself with the blanket. Then he kissed her mouth again while stroking her. She had not seen the vial nor felt any oil on his fingers when he touched her breasts and belly; but when his fingers passed between her lower lips, she felt a slickness in the rubbing. This rubbing was very thorough, and he sucked her nipples again before climbing between her legs. When his hands went to each side of her, another part of him was still parting her lower lips. This time, when he moved slowly within her, there was no pain at all. His motions were gentler and slower this time, and they went on for a longer time. She felt something -- pleasure, not pain. Then he thrust hard into her and stiffened above her. When he moved out of her and off her there was another drip from her lowest region. He held her as he went to sleep. The warmth was welcome in the nighttime coolness. The next night, he kissed her when they were in bed. He then turned on his side facing her and held her with one arm. Only when his breathing evened in sleep did she realize that this was going to be their only contact that night. The next night, though, Father David was as passionate as ever. Again, there was no pain. Even aside from the importance that this important man found in her, there was some pleasure. Sometime in the night, thunder woke her. It took her a moment to realise where she hwas. A moment later, there was a lightning flash, which lit up the room. Could it have struck the chapel? How was the light inside the room when the rain was not? But no rain disturbed her, not even wind. After a third lightning strike lit up the room, she realised that there was glass in the window of the room -- clear glass from the brightness of the light. After all, this was the chapel building. She had seen glass in the chapel. In high summer, the sun was high enough at the end of services to shine in the window; and a beautiful sight it was. Glass in the window, letting in more light -- and less wind -- than the scraped hide she was used to. A feather bed to sleep on. She was living the life of luxury. The luxury continued that morning. "I shall lend thee a cloak," Father David said. "Bring it back tomorrow night." Tomorrow? Oh, of course, this was Friday. A good Christian man, let alone a priest, did not indulge in sex on Fridays or Sundays. When supper let out that night, though, she regreted the walk back to the weavers' place. It was raining hard, and she was wearing the cloak she had brought with her from home. Not only was it thin and worn, it was much shorter than the one she had received on the Christmas of her middle year weaving. It was well above her knees now, while the cloak Father David had lent her reached her ankles. That cloak, and the one she had received, were both sopping wet. The weavers' building had a fireplace, but only the great hall had a fire this early in the year. Well, this was Friday, the day of the Savior's suffering. It was appropriate to suffer on that day. And, appropriately, she slept on a straw mattress that night with two girls on her left and one on her right. In the morning, which was blessedly clear, she was going from chapel to brreakfast when her mind cleared. She had not the slightest suffering. The girls she worked with slept on straw every night -- four in a bed, most of them. What if the third cloak she wore through the rain had been scant; which of the other girls had a third cloak? The younger ones had only one, and those were often shorter than would match their present height. Although none of the young girls were quite so badly fitted as Deborah was with her seven-year-old cloak, they wore them both short and wet. She was not gentry to expect luxury. That night, when she went in, Father David had a candle lit and was standing at a high table. He was looking at one sheet of parchment and writing on another. "I am sorry, Deborah," he said, "but Sir Karl desires several copies of this." "I have no objection," she said. Indeed, what she felt was awe. She was not superstitious; she knew that this was not magic. Still, it *looked* somewhat magical. That was speech, she knew, words put down on leather. Another priest, who had not heard the words, could recite them from just looking at the leather. The candle was impressive enough; when most people needed light after dark, they used rushlights or simply took their work close to the fire. Father David capped the inkpot, scattered a bowl of sand over the parchment, and turned to her. "I thank thee for thy patience." "Really, F..., Really David, it was no feat of patience. I was impressed by the writing." "It is nothing. Just copying one sheet over to another." He came over to her and lifted her chin to give her a kiss. His tongue explored her mouth while his hands explored her body. When he moved back, it was to remove his clothes. She removed her own and hung them on the peg he had showed her the second night. When they were in bed together and covered, he resumed the kiss. Even when he stopped kissing her, his hand kept roving. When it went between her legs, she spread them; she knew this was the prelude to his climbing between them. This night, however, he did not. As he continued to stroke her intimately, she became more and more excited. His hand was gentle, well-oiled, and never still. When he leaned over to suck on her nipple while still stroking her, her excitement peaked. Something burned within her. "Oh," she said. "That is fine," Father David said. "That is what you are expected to feel." That was good to hear, but she could pay little attention to his voice, just then. Even when he did climb between her legs, she had not enough strength to arrange her body to support him. He arranged it for her, lifting each knee before positioning himself at her center. His entry was slow and gentle. "So warm," Father David said when he was all the way into her, "so smooth. Deborah, thou art a delight." He held his chest a little above hers, pressing down only where they were joined at their middles. His motions inside her began slowly but soon speeded up. Then he grunted and stiffened above her. He lay on her for a moment aferwards, then moved off and held her as he went to sleep. It was easy to join him. As that morning was Sunday, mass was longer. Most of the weavers returned to their building after breakfast. They were free from work, but the inner courtyard was not attractive in the cooler weather. Instead, they stood around inside their building to gossip and sing. With the looms still outside, they had no seats. After the first seating for dinner they went to bathe in the old great hall in the keep. There was a huge tub there, filled. There was also a fire roaring in the fireplace with many cauldrons of water heating over it. Deborah found that the women deferred to her; she was among the first women in the bath, and she soaked in luxury. Nobody chided her for the delay, either. With men and gentewomen all elsewhere, the priest's concubine was one of the highest ranking people present. Some dry towels were still available when she got out, too. She carefully wiped herself off with one and hung it hear the fire where it would warm and dry for the next user. She was already dressed when the second seating from dinner came up the outside stairs to open the door and let the chill autumn breeze in. The next morning, a wool weaver finished her bolt. "Spin," Maria told her, "until the looms can be moved into the building." The summer was over, the summer of weaving under nothing but thatch. They would be working inside now, working by the flickering light of the fire and a few rushlights. Deborah was happy that she was experienced enough to not need her eyes on the weaving. Still, she had begun her bolt last. She had to work determinedly if she were not to delay the move or, worse, have her loom moved with cloth in it. She had to remind herself of that. It was too easy to daydream of Father David's chamber with tight stone walls and glass in the window and a candle for light. And Father David, no David, himself. With the excitement he brought her with his hands and his mouth. When she thought of those matters, her shuttle moved slowly; but, when she concentrated on her work, the time moved slowly. The day passed, however. And, after supper, she returned to David's chamber. It was warm! He fire was crackling in the fireplace -- branches, not logs, but substantial branches. "Deborah," he said. "It is pleasant to see you." He held her face in his hands as he kissed her. His hands traced over her body during the kiss. It wasn't only the fire which was making her warm. Finally, he let her go. She removed her clothes as he removed his. In the bed, he kissed her again. His hands were everywhere on her, soon moving betwen her legs. His mouth was on her breasts more thna it was on her mouth. The excitement that she had felt Saturday rose again. At that point, David seemed to retreat. His mouth returned to hers; his hand left her center to stroke the insides of her thighs. She wanted the more intimate caresses, wanted them enough that she was tempted to ask for them. That was unthinkable, of course. This was *Father David*, and she could only confess lust to him under the seal of the confessional. Still, when he began to stroke between her lower lips again, she allowed herself a sigh of satisfaction. She knew that the burning that she had felt once before was near. It was coming, and David had said it was what she was expected to feel. When it had almost arrived, however, David stopped stroking her again. She writhed silently in frutration. But, instead of stroking her some more or kissing her somewhere else, he climbed between her legs. After a brief adjustment by his hands, the only thing touching her center was his cock. Its entrance was slow and smooth. The stretching was minor, and it soothed her excitememt for one moment. Soon, though, her excitement grew in time with his slow motions within her. She even found herself pushing up in the bed as David pushed down. The excitement grew greater and greater. Suddenly, it peaked. Lightning flashed again, but it was within her. "Oh!" she said. "Deborah," David said. He continued to stroke within her as she relaxed. As if it were from afar, she felt his cock pulse deep within her. Then he was lying on her and gasping as rarpidly as she was. "Sweet girl," he said minutes later. He kissed her gently before getting off. Then he gathered her in his arms before they both fell asleep. She was woke to see a servant kneeling at the fireplace. She covered her face with the blanket before he rose. "I thank thee," David said to him. "It has caught now, Father," the man answered. "It will be a while, though, before it warms the room." After the servant had gone out, David got up to use the slop bucket and to dress. Still modest, she dressed before visiting a latrine in the wall instead of using the slop bucket in front of David. The week went by as she became accustomed to her new status. She experienced the lighning again on Wednesday, and she slept in warmth every night. Saturday morning, Susanna -- one of the girls who slept in her bed -- had her period. This warned Deborah, and she carried a scrap of cloth with her to David's chamber. All the weavers and spinners had almost the same periods; all the girls in her bed had them within a day of one another. But she felt no twinges. Indeed, she felt the lightning again when David was in her. Sunday night, the other three girls in her bed all slept with cloths tied between their legs to catch the blood. By Monday morning, she was convinced she was going to have a baby. She told David of her conviction that night. "I can do nothing for thee, myself," he answered. "I will speak with My Lord Karl about thee." In bed, he spent some time stroking her abdomen while kissing her face. When his caresses became more intimate, her excitement rose. It soared even higher when he entered her. It had not peaked, however, when he stiffened aboe her and thrust into her. She relaxed slowly while held in his arms. That night he said, "I spoke to Sir Karl regarding thee. If thou wouldst prefer to return to the mountain, he will see that a half manse of new land is thy dowry. It will be a held in free tenure, not slave tenure. I understand that this is unusual for that part of his domains. He suggested that this is too early to make arrangements; but, when thy pregnancy begins to show, he will contact the bailiffs of villages close to yours. They will know what men are looking for wives, and which of them would be pleased with that dowry. He is a very generous overlord." "He is," she responded. Such a dowry would persuade many a man to accept a new wife with a full belly. The younger son of a poor holder would jump at that chance. So would the heir of a half manse whose father looked like he would live for years yet. He would farm half a manse immediately, with the possibility of a full manse in his future. "And thou art very generous, as well." "I am merely the messenger of another's generosity," he said before kissing her. But he had approached the castelan in a way she could not. She responded to the kiss and to her feeling. Once in bed, his kisses continued. She found her response to be one of increased fervor. Again, he caressed her until she was at a fever heat. That heat abated only slightly in the pause for his entrance. Then it rose while he stroked slowly within her. She gasped when it peaked. He barely paused, but continued his motions. Through her lassitude, he felt him stretch rigid above her and pulse within her. Then he fell to her side and lay with an arm across her. The next night, he kissed her on her forehead instad of on the lips. He went no further, but slept with his hand on her belly. That morning, she felt that her period had started. She was shame-faced when she confessed to him that his plea to the castelan had been in vain. "Do not fret thyself. I shall tell him that there is no need as yet. After all, it is likely that there will be need sometime. And he has said that the offer will be available when thou needest it. "Shall I return here tonight?" "If thou wilt." And she did. David held her as she slept in the warm, soft, bed. Following her new pattern, she slept in the weavers' building only Friday and Sunday. As the week progressed, she became more and more conscious of his cock pressed against her as he slept. On Monday, her flow had essentially stopped. That night, David kissed her deeply and caressed her until she was eager for his penetration. That penetration, however, was quite brief. On his third stroke he stiffened above her and pulsed within her. On Tuesday, she wished that he would give her less attention, but -- of course -- it wasn't her place to ask him to come in her. She felt as if she were burning up when he finally did. His strokes within her were soothing, then they were exciting. Then the fire burned within her again. David stopped while she thrashed underneath him. Then, when she relaxed abruptly, he resumed his strokes. She felt him pulse within her. Lying in his arms later, she felt his gift to her leak out. Maria had half the looms moved into the building while the other half, including Deborah's, still had cloth on them. But the day finally came when Deborah removed a finished bolt of cloth from her loom. She took up a distaff and spun flax into warp yarn without being told. When her loom was in the building, though, Maria asked her to weave wool. It looked like a cold winter was coming, and everybody was producing thick, heavy, cloth. Her periods came even later, but she didn't bother David with the news. They came. So did the lightning strikes within her. She stopped being shocked by them, and started looking forward to them. As far as she could tell, the intensity increased. They were one of the advantages of her position, along with sleeping in a warm bed in a warm chamber five nights out of seven. Even the shortness of the walks after supper and before Mass were a pleasantness in the worst of the winter. Christmas brought a feast for dinner. Even at supper the servers brought as much meat as one could want. Knowing that she would spend that night with David, she stopped eating before all that meat could possibly make her sick. That night, David kissed her shoulders, arms and torso as well as her face and breasts. "Truly a feast," he said. When he had caressed her to the height of her excitement, he went back to the kisses. She had to bite her lips to keep from asking him to come in her. Then, having caressed her to the point of desperation once more, he finally did. He slid in more slickly than ever before. "Truly a feast," he repeated. "Thou art truly a feast to all my senses." He stroked smoothly within her as her excitement rose. "Deborah!" he said as it peaked. Then he drove quickly in and out of her until he froze above her and pulsed within her. "Deborah," he said once more. As the winter dragged on, her nights with David warmed her spirit as much as they warmed her body. She found herself thinking of him even at her loom. She would press the right pedal, hand the shuttle from her right hand to her left, release the right pedal as she depressed the left one, hand the shuttle from her left hand to her right. Somehow, in the midst of that repetitive task which she had performed for years, heat spread though her body which only David had generated previously. She remembered the previous nights in his arms and blushed. Then spring came. The grass hadn't come up yet, but the weather abated. When Deborah finished the bolt of wool she was working on, she went back to weaving linen. There was still a fire in the fireplace of the weaving building. They needed it during the night, but some took to weaving with their cloaks off. Deborah compromised by wearing the short, now quite threadbare, cloak she'd brought with her seven and a half years before. On the last Monday in Epiphany, David seemed particularly attentive. Again, he kissed her neck, shoulders and arms as well as her lips and breasts. Again, he caressed her beyond the time when she desired his entrance. That entrance was smooth and slow, but soon he sped his strokes. She responded to that speeding with thrusts of her own. When the fire burned through her, David stiffened above her and groaned. Moments after she relaxed, he moved off her and to her side. She was nearly asleep by the time his breathing had eased. His words startled her; almost never did he speak after they were finished. "Lent begins soon." His voice seemed to expect a response, if his words did not. "Yes." "We cannot be together during Lent, nor -- of course -- on Sundays. Omnia tempus habent et suis spatiis transeunt universa sub caelo. Tempus spargendi lapides et tempus colligendi tempus amplexandi et tempus longe fieri a conplexibus." "I don't know Latin, Father." Somehow, responding to that last comment with a statement to 'David' was inappropriate. "There is a time for everything; a time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones together. Lent is our time to gather stones together, our time to refrain from embracing." "Do you wish me to stay away tomorrow night?" After all, he almost never took the comforts she offered on Tuesdays, and the morning would be Ash Wednesday. "Ah, but tomorrow is a feast, the fast begins after that. One thing I would wish...." "Yes?" She couldn't tell whether this was a time to call him 'Father' or a time to call him 'David.' "When you go to confession in preparation for the Easter Mass, don't come to me. Go to Father Henri at Saint Anne's. Father Cassian at the church in Montant would also do." "I will confess to Father Henri." "Thou art such an agreeable girl." And, with that, David curled up against her and went to sleep. The next day was a feast; only the cooks (and, of course, the sentries) did work. Replete from supper, Deborah climbed the stairs to David's chamber. "So, Deborah," he greeted her, "didst thou enjoy the feast?" "That I did, David." "Well, the feast is not over." It was not? She was certain that he could get more from the kitchens, but she doubted that she could hold much more. Instead of bringing out some delicacies, however, he began kissing her. His hands caressed her body through the dress as his tongue explored her mouth. She was eager for their pleasures when he stepped back and began to remove his robe. She removed her own few pieces of clothing and was in the bed before he was. When he joined her, he resumed the kisses and caresses. He kissed her face, her neck, even her ears, while he was caressing her breasts and thighs. When his hand rubbed her center, his mouth dealt with her left breast. "A feast day," he broke the kiss to say, "and thou art a feast indeed." Then he sucked on that nipple and stroked within her lower lips. Her excitement soared. She expected him to climb between her legs to enter her at any moment, but he did not. Then, with only his mouth and fingers arousing her, the lightning struck. "Oh!" she said. "Good," he said. "Thou art a delightful girl, a lovely woman." Seeming to know that his fingers were now as unwelcome as they had been welcome before, he withdrew them. But they did not go far. His whole hand rested on her mound and between her legs. While they lay like that and her breathing slowed, though, she became more and more conscious of that hand. When David turned to her again and began kissing her right breast, his hand caressed her once again. The touch was delicate, almost hesitant, but her feelings were especially sensitive. Slowly, her excitement rose again. This time she couldn't control herself. She grasped his wrist to pull his hand against her more firmly. She was embarrassed, but David said "Delightful woman." He did rub her firmly and suck her nipple quite hard. Then, however, he climbed between her legs once again. "Oh, Deborah," he said as he slid inside her. Then his strokes took up a firm rhythm and maintained it. Her excitement built. When it peaked, the lightning struck again and again. He stroked within her while she writhed on the bed underneath him. Then he said "Deborah!" once more and stiffened above her. After he had fallen beside her, one more lightning stroke wracked her. Then she lay there as though dead. Breathing took all the strength she had left; more strength than she had, indeed, but she could not get enough air. As that need was slowly satisfied, David put one arm over her. "A feast indeed" were his last words for the night. That morning he said nothing while they were in his chambers, either. His only words to her, the last words for seven long weeks, were "Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return." The end A Time to Gather Stones Together Uther Pendragon anon584c@nyx.net 2004/02/26 Thanks to Neneh for editing this. Other stories set in the same time and place: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/med/rampant.htm "Rampant" http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/med/apprenti.htm "The Apprentice" All my stories currently accessible: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/index.htm -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+