Qmoq
10-09-2006, 06:47 AM
The Baron and the Shepherdess – Part I
by The Qmoq (c) 2006, dedicated to maddie
In the happy years before the plague came, there lived a Baron in the North of England, a credit to his family and a man respected across the county. He was a fair man in most every sense, loved by the people, admired by the gentry, and his firm jaw line and dark, devilish eyes made him the fancy of most young ladies who had the pleasure of knowing him. Many long days would be spent taking his fair share of fruit from the orchard, and maidens both fair and buxom were willingly led to his castle. Fate intervened with this happy lifestyle, when he found himself promised to a rather loathsome aged crone to solidify a treaty with a warring country. Weighing up his happiness against the war that would claim countless lives, he saw that he had no choice. Like many a gentleman in his situation, he chose to fully enjoy his final days of bachelorhood, and the numbers of those led willingly to his chambers increased.
There was one who was not willingly led, and this irked the Baron, for she was the fairest and most buxom of all. Jaina was her name, a shepherdess already tragically promised to another man. Each day she would tend to her sheep in the shadow of the castle, the pasture being greenest under the high shelter from the early October frost. The Baron would hear the plaintive bleating, and rush away from the tempestuous lady he happened to be reclining with that day, just to see the object of his affection. There he would see the flaxen hair cascading to her shoulders, the small mouth with the pronounced red lips, the frosted-pink cheeks, and he would smile. His eyes would then be drawn to her gentle frame, admiring the effortless grace as she twisted to see where each and every sheep was positioned, feeling a stirring in his loins as her smock stretched to hug her womanly curves. He would call to her from the window, with words of love and promises of riches beyond her wildest dreams, if she would only come to his chamber.
On the day this tale begins, Jaina was particularly defiant. She tossed her hair impishly, flashing her sapphire-blue eyes at him. "Sire, I dare not come to your chamber for fear of what awaits me there, surely you understand?” she asked. “If you could make an honest woman out of me, I wouldst willingly perform any service you require. And I mean anything. Alas, I am pledged to another and not even y-you could use y-your charm on me. I obey thee, sire, indeed I admit that I love thee from afar, but I cannot let you take my honour, for that is my greatest asset of all. Except for my sheep, that is."
Such words spun the Baron into a rage of jealousy. He dismissed the satisfied occupant of his bed, snapping at her to send in his most skilled magician. With the aid of this magician, an angelic lady known only as the Curious One, he would gain his beloved Jaina.
"Sire," she whispered conspiratorially after he informed her of his intentions, "there are no potions or spells known to me that will kindle any passion within the breast of the shepherdess. However," she paused, hesitant to continue, "there is a concoction from the west, which would take a week to prepare, but once drunk, prevents any maiden from attaining the pleasure that is her greatest, no matter how much she is pleasured, no matter how strongly and forcefully she is fulfilled, no matter how much sensual lapping of the clitoris takes place."
"The what?" asked the Baron. "Cli-tor-is?"
"Typical," sighed the magician, and she took a piece of parchment to help explain the new term. Although this did not contain any sorcery, the wenches who next visited the Baron in the following days thought it Curious One's finest achievement of all, as he practiced his new-found skills upon them that brought them to heaven and back. As each woman returned from her state of bliss, the Baron would ask how they would feel if they were unable to attain such pleasure. Each indicated that it would be a torment most foul, and that they would give anything, promise anything, just to be granted the release.
The Baron scratched his chin at these comments, and within a day of these comments, the young magician informed him that the potion was ready. She gave word of instruction: “Sire,” she smiled, “the potion is powerful, but it requires reinforcement to work fully. You must repeatedly tell her not to fully complete her self-indulgence, or I fear the potion would be worthless.”
The Baron, an intelligent man, bared his teeth as he took the glass bottle from Curious One, asking if she would prepare enough potions to last a month. The magician, for she was a woman who was fully aware of the purpose her skills were being used, dropped her eyes to the floor, before agreeing to his request.
He sent for the shepherdess that day. After her sheep were safely in her pen, she was escorted by his most trusted lady servant, a black-haired young woman called Mina DeVere. Whilst changing into her cleanest plain-white smock, Jaina was hesitant: she agreed to see the Baron after Mina assured her that the Baron had made a solemn oath not to take her honour. Mina, an enigmatically pretty girl, even offered to show Jaina proof of her own honour, to quench Jaina’s fears. Jaina assured Mina that such a demonstration was not required, and allowed herself to be taken to the castle.
Mina left her charge at the base of a set of stairs, quietly leaving her with directions to the Baron’s intimate chambers. Jaina was again nervous, an intriguing thought coming to the forefront of her mind: if the Baron was not going to take her honour, why had he invited her to his bedchambers?
“Jaina,” said the Baron with a smile, rising to his feet as she appeared at the doorway. She peered at him nervously, already breathing deeply. She suspected that he was a good man, a man who would not take from her that which she would not offer to him, but there was a little doubt in her mind. Even so, when he said in a velvet voice, “Come in, please,” there was no part of her that would refuse him. She considered her honour as her most valuable asset, but aside from that, she adored this man. If only he would make an honest woman of her!
“I would like you to please me,” he said, pouring her a drink from the bottle that Curious One had prepared.
Although she believed Mina, she had to confirm her position. “Sire, I love thee, and I will please thee, but my honour is -“
He cut her off, assuring her that he would not lay a finger on her. Coquettishly, she replied that it was not his finger that she was worried about, and politely drained the glass.
“What are you smiling about, sire?”
“My dear Jaina, I shall not steal your honour, but I have stolen a part of your womanhood. I have deprived you of your finest pleasure. It is my wish that you do not achieve a climax, and it is my desire to see the frustration as you get within a hair’s breadth of that exquisite moment. That potion will prevent such a moment.”
Jaina lowered her eyes to the floor. The Baron had never lied to her, so she knew that both elements were true - he would not take her by force, nor would he even use potions to acquire her. However, there was a fear at the effect the potion may have on her. She trembled as he stood a foot from her, and she could feel him looking down upon her.
“Remove your clothes, and relax upon the bed.”
Jaina took a deep breath and chose to obey. She was not ashamed of her body, and he had vowed not to touch her. There was no fear, as she raised her smock over her head, and carefully folded it to delay the moment.
He told her to sit at the head of the bed, with her slender legs spread and slightly bent. The muscles in her thighs twitched, betraying her emotion. She realised what he was about to have her do.
“Pleasure yourself.”
“Sire, but-“
“Jaina, I order you to pleasure yourself in the way that every woman knows, informed as you are that you may not achieve a release.”
“Y-yes sire.”
Looking down at her most sensitive area, she flushed as she felt his eyes taking in each inch of her beauty. She felt as though she would die with shame. She wanted to know where he was looking, but did not want to look up and spot the glint in his black eyes, for she knew that would double her humiliation.
Jaina ran her fingernail in a circle around her pearl, her discomfort growing quickly as she obeyed his instructions for her other hand, telling her to squeeze her breast, brush fingertips against her bare neck, and caress the soft skin on the inside of her thigh. She knew that he would not touch her, but to hear his deep voice command her to perform such acts on herself was just as invasive and obscene. Yet, he had not broken his oath, so nor could she cease her obedience.
Every so often, he would stop his talking, just so he could hear the heaving and panting of her breath, along with the quiet squishing sounds as her pink crease betrayed her wishes and became more and more damp.
“S-sire, this is a torment beyond words.”
“That is correct, young shepherdess. You have my magician to thank for this, but do not blame her. It is my wish that you do not climax, not hers. Keep polishing your tender sweetness, my dear. It pleases me to see you like this.”
“Y-yes, sire,” she sighed, and the first tear escaped from the corner of one of her blue eyes.
The Baron watched on impassively. He had the vulgar thought that watching Jaina in such distress was more satisfying than the pleasurable coupling he had enjoyed with so many other young women. He did not voice this thought, for he did not want Jaina to compare herself to other women: even in such a situation where she had his full concentration, a woman could quickly become jealous, and the emotion of the moment would be lost.
He managed to control his own tumescence by concentrated breathing of his own, which only seemed to add to the passion in his voice, affecting the unfortunate Jaina all the more. Her whimper became a sob, which soon became a scream. Her words remained polite, respecting his title, which made the jolting spasms in her body seem all the more obscene. She begged him for release, pleading for the antidote. Each request was met with a three-word response.
“No. Continue, Jaina.”
Each response was met with a deep growl of self-pity and a cry. Her sodden, shaking fingers drifted back to her sensitive regions, between her legs, on her chest, her rump. Even the backs of her legs, ankles, insteps, elbows and wrists were teased with feather light touches. When her face was red with crying, and she was on the verge of fainting, he told her to stop.
“Thank you, Jaina. I enjoyed our evening. I shall invite you back tomorrow,” said the Baron calmly, getting to his feet, the smile returning to his face. Jaina turned her head to the pillow, and sobbed into it, unable to speak. He gave her time to compose and clothe herself. As she reached the doorway, he asked her one short question. “When you return tomorrow, will you give me that which I desire?”
Jaina’s mouth felt dry when she thought of a response. “Sire, I cannot.”
“Very well then,” he sniffed. “I shall see you on the morrow.”
Each day, she was brought to his bedroom, and ordered to drink the potion whose design would bar her from orgasm. Each day, the position was different. On Tuesday, she sat on a chair, with her legs splayed over the arms. On Wednesday, she was bent double over the back of the same chair. On Thursday, she was told to crawl like a sheep, bleating whilst rubbing herself. Each time, she was so close to the release that her eyes scrunched shut and her chest heaved and the secretions poured from her virgin cleft, but she was not able to release. The Baron had taken this from her, and she knew that she had no choice.
Yet she still loved him. For the rest of each day, she would count the ways that she adored the Baron, primarily for respecting her honour. She always felt safe when she was with him, despite the agony she suffered as a result of his wishes. She picked up many a dandelion and blew, smiling to herself as she recited, "he loves me, he loves me not" in her deep, sultry voice. She strode the fields, letting the breeze refresh her, telling the sheep how much she loved him, how she wanted to be his and his alone, and cursed the erratic choices of fortune that made her a shepherdess and him a Baron.
Fortune was playing a devious game with Jaina. She was a woman, and hence more susceptible to letting emotions get the better of her, and so it was that on the Friday evening, she gave into her passion. For this bout of self-denial, he had her slip between the sheets of his bed, her modesty covered for once. He stated plainly that she was swathed so that, in his words, “I can examine the glint of fragile arousal in your eyes, whilst not being distracted by the beauty of your naked body.” She melted at this thought, and tucked her hand between her legs, following his instructions carefully. This was the worst torment of all, for she could have held back and not been as sensual with herself as he had instructed, but she had to obey, and she suspected that he knew he had this control over her.
At the point where her legs were shaking and her breath was short, and when the perspiration dripped down the soft white skin between her breasts, she pleaded with him to stop forcing her to continue. He replied that she should rub softer, and that he wanted her to make sure that the hood over her pearl was fully uncovered. At these words, she whimpered and shivered like an unsheltered lamb in the cold pasture. When he repeated the statement that he loved to see her in such distress at his whim, she swore at him. "Oh dash it all, sire!" She clamped one hand over her mouth as the words came out, the other hand's fingers stroking herself as ordered. Salty tears of shame dripped down her cheeks, their descent zig-zagged due to the violent twitches of her body.
"You insulted me, m'lady," he said in a severe voice. "I have flogged men for less."
"Oh sire, mercy, I beg you!" Jaina cried. She continued to tease and tickle herself, for he had not ordered her to cease.
"My dear Jaina, I think you need a reminder of how to conduct your speech in my presence. Stop touching yourself. Get dressed. Follow me."
Jaina scrambled quickly from the bed, stumbling through fear and arousal, and slipped her smock over her shoulders as she came into line alongside the Baron. He strode confidently forwards, looking at Jaina a few times to ensure that she was at his side, safe and not too afraid. When she cast her eyes to the floor for the third consecutive time to avoid his gaze, he stopped in the middle of a long corridor.
"Jaina, look at me," he said. She looked up, eyes filled with tears of shame. His voice was so tender, yet there was a hint of disappointment in his tone. "I won't hurt you. I won't allow anyone to hurt you. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, sire," she gulped, and forced a brave smile.
"Good girl," he said, his voice returning to normal with its bold, commanding timbre. "Come now. We're nearly there. Just a quick trip down to the dungeon."
by The Qmoq (c) 2006, dedicated to maddie
In the happy years before the plague came, there lived a Baron in the North of England, a credit to his family and a man respected across the county. He was a fair man in most every sense, loved by the people, admired by the gentry, and his firm jaw line and dark, devilish eyes made him the fancy of most young ladies who had the pleasure of knowing him. Many long days would be spent taking his fair share of fruit from the orchard, and maidens both fair and buxom were willingly led to his castle. Fate intervened with this happy lifestyle, when he found himself promised to a rather loathsome aged crone to solidify a treaty with a warring country. Weighing up his happiness against the war that would claim countless lives, he saw that he had no choice. Like many a gentleman in his situation, he chose to fully enjoy his final days of bachelorhood, and the numbers of those led willingly to his chambers increased.
There was one who was not willingly led, and this irked the Baron, for she was the fairest and most buxom of all. Jaina was her name, a shepherdess already tragically promised to another man. Each day she would tend to her sheep in the shadow of the castle, the pasture being greenest under the high shelter from the early October frost. The Baron would hear the plaintive bleating, and rush away from the tempestuous lady he happened to be reclining with that day, just to see the object of his affection. There he would see the flaxen hair cascading to her shoulders, the small mouth with the pronounced red lips, the frosted-pink cheeks, and he would smile. His eyes would then be drawn to her gentle frame, admiring the effortless grace as she twisted to see where each and every sheep was positioned, feeling a stirring in his loins as her smock stretched to hug her womanly curves. He would call to her from the window, with words of love and promises of riches beyond her wildest dreams, if she would only come to his chamber.
On the day this tale begins, Jaina was particularly defiant. She tossed her hair impishly, flashing her sapphire-blue eyes at him. "Sire, I dare not come to your chamber for fear of what awaits me there, surely you understand?” she asked. “If you could make an honest woman out of me, I wouldst willingly perform any service you require. And I mean anything. Alas, I am pledged to another and not even y-you could use y-your charm on me. I obey thee, sire, indeed I admit that I love thee from afar, but I cannot let you take my honour, for that is my greatest asset of all. Except for my sheep, that is."
Such words spun the Baron into a rage of jealousy. He dismissed the satisfied occupant of his bed, snapping at her to send in his most skilled magician. With the aid of this magician, an angelic lady known only as the Curious One, he would gain his beloved Jaina.
"Sire," she whispered conspiratorially after he informed her of his intentions, "there are no potions or spells known to me that will kindle any passion within the breast of the shepherdess. However," she paused, hesitant to continue, "there is a concoction from the west, which would take a week to prepare, but once drunk, prevents any maiden from attaining the pleasure that is her greatest, no matter how much she is pleasured, no matter how strongly and forcefully she is fulfilled, no matter how much sensual lapping of the clitoris takes place."
"The what?" asked the Baron. "Cli-tor-is?"
"Typical," sighed the magician, and she took a piece of parchment to help explain the new term. Although this did not contain any sorcery, the wenches who next visited the Baron in the following days thought it Curious One's finest achievement of all, as he practiced his new-found skills upon them that brought them to heaven and back. As each woman returned from her state of bliss, the Baron would ask how they would feel if they were unable to attain such pleasure. Each indicated that it would be a torment most foul, and that they would give anything, promise anything, just to be granted the release.
The Baron scratched his chin at these comments, and within a day of these comments, the young magician informed him that the potion was ready. She gave word of instruction: “Sire,” she smiled, “the potion is powerful, but it requires reinforcement to work fully. You must repeatedly tell her not to fully complete her self-indulgence, or I fear the potion would be worthless.”
The Baron, an intelligent man, bared his teeth as he took the glass bottle from Curious One, asking if she would prepare enough potions to last a month. The magician, for she was a woman who was fully aware of the purpose her skills were being used, dropped her eyes to the floor, before agreeing to his request.
He sent for the shepherdess that day. After her sheep were safely in her pen, she was escorted by his most trusted lady servant, a black-haired young woman called Mina DeVere. Whilst changing into her cleanest plain-white smock, Jaina was hesitant: she agreed to see the Baron after Mina assured her that the Baron had made a solemn oath not to take her honour. Mina, an enigmatically pretty girl, even offered to show Jaina proof of her own honour, to quench Jaina’s fears. Jaina assured Mina that such a demonstration was not required, and allowed herself to be taken to the castle.
Mina left her charge at the base of a set of stairs, quietly leaving her with directions to the Baron’s intimate chambers. Jaina was again nervous, an intriguing thought coming to the forefront of her mind: if the Baron was not going to take her honour, why had he invited her to his bedchambers?
“Jaina,” said the Baron with a smile, rising to his feet as she appeared at the doorway. She peered at him nervously, already breathing deeply. She suspected that he was a good man, a man who would not take from her that which she would not offer to him, but there was a little doubt in her mind. Even so, when he said in a velvet voice, “Come in, please,” there was no part of her that would refuse him. She considered her honour as her most valuable asset, but aside from that, she adored this man. If only he would make an honest woman of her!
“I would like you to please me,” he said, pouring her a drink from the bottle that Curious One had prepared.
Although she believed Mina, she had to confirm her position. “Sire, I love thee, and I will please thee, but my honour is -“
He cut her off, assuring her that he would not lay a finger on her. Coquettishly, she replied that it was not his finger that she was worried about, and politely drained the glass.
“What are you smiling about, sire?”
“My dear Jaina, I shall not steal your honour, but I have stolen a part of your womanhood. I have deprived you of your finest pleasure. It is my wish that you do not achieve a climax, and it is my desire to see the frustration as you get within a hair’s breadth of that exquisite moment. That potion will prevent such a moment.”
Jaina lowered her eyes to the floor. The Baron had never lied to her, so she knew that both elements were true - he would not take her by force, nor would he even use potions to acquire her. However, there was a fear at the effect the potion may have on her. She trembled as he stood a foot from her, and she could feel him looking down upon her.
“Remove your clothes, and relax upon the bed.”
Jaina took a deep breath and chose to obey. She was not ashamed of her body, and he had vowed not to touch her. There was no fear, as she raised her smock over her head, and carefully folded it to delay the moment.
He told her to sit at the head of the bed, with her slender legs spread and slightly bent. The muscles in her thighs twitched, betraying her emotion. She realised what he was about to have her do.
“Pleasure yourself.”
“Sire, but-“
“Jaina, I order you to pleasure yourself in the way that every woman knows, informed as you are that you may not achieve a release.”
“Y-yes sire.”
Looking down at her most sensitive area, she flushed as she felt his eyes taking in each inch of her beauty. She felt as though she would die with shame. She wanted to know where he was looking, but did not want to look up and spot the glint in his black eyes, for she knew that would double her humiliation.
Jaina ran her fingernail in a circle around her pearl, her discomfort growing quickly as she obeyed his instructions for her other hand, telling her to squeeze her breast, brush fingertips against her bare neck, and caress the soft skin on the inside of her thigh. She knew that he would not touch her, but to hear his deep voice command her to perform such acts on herself was just as invasive and obscene. Yet, he had not broken his oath, so nor could she cease her obedience.
Every so often, he would stop his talking, just so he could hear the heaving and panting of her breath, along with the quiet squishing sounds as her pink crease betrayed her wishes and became more and more damp.
“S-sire, this is a torment beyond words.”
“That is correct, young shepherdess. You have my magician to thank for this, but do not blame her. It is my wish that you do not climax, not hers. Keep polishing your tender sweetness, my dear. It pleases me to see you like this.”
“Y-yes, sire,” she sighed, and the first tear escaped from the corner of one of her blue eyes.
The Baron watched on impassively. He had the vulgar thought that watching Jaina in such distress was more satisfying than the pleasurable coupling he had enjoyed with so many other young women. He did not voice this thought, for he did not want Jaina to compare herself to other women: even in such a situation where she had his full concentration, a woman could quickly become jealous, and the emotion of the moment would be lost.
He managed to control his own tumescence by concentrated breathing of his own, which only seemed to add to the passion in his voice, affecting the unfortunate Jaina all the more. Her whimper became a sob, which soon became a scream. Her words remained polite, respecting his title, which made the jolting spasms in her body seem all the more obscene. She begged him for release, pleading for the antidote. Each request was met with a three-word response.
“No. Continue, Jaina.”
Each response was met with a deep growl of self-pity and a cry. Her sodden, shaking fingers drifted back to her sensitive regions, between her legs, on her chest, her rump. Even the backs of her legs, ankles, insteps, elbows and wrists were teased with feather light touches. When her face was red with crying, and she was on the verge of fainting, he told her to stop.
“Thank you, Jaina. I enjoyed our evening. I shall invite you back tomorrow,” said the Baron calmly, getting to his feet, the smile returning to his face. Jaina turned her head to the pillow, and sobbed into it, unable to speak. He gave her time to compose and clothe herself. As she reached the doorway, he asked her one short question. “When you return tomorrow, will you give me that which I desire?”
Jaina’s mouth felt dry when she thought of a response. “Sire, I cannot.”
“Very well then,” he sniffed. “I shall see you on the morrow.”
Each day, she was brought to his bedroom, and ordered to drink the potion whose design would bar her from orgasm. Each day, the position was different. On Tuesday, she sat on a chair, with her legs splayed over the arms. On Wednesday, she was bent double over the back of the same chair. On Thursday, she was told to crawl like a sheep, bleating whilst rubbing herself. Each time, she was so close to the release that her eyes scrunched shut and her chest heaved and the secretions poured from her virgin cleft, but she was not able to release. The Baron had taken this from her, and she knew that she had no choice.
Yet she still loved him. For the rest of each day, she would count the ways that she adored the Baron, primarily for respecting her honour. She always felt safe when she was with him, despite the agony she suffered as a result of his wishes. She picked up many a dandelion and blew, smiling to herself as she recited, "he loves me, he loves me not" in her deep, sultry voice. She strode the fields, letting the breeze refresh her, telling the sheep how much she loved him, how she wanted to be his and his alone, and cursed the erratic choices of fortune that made her a shepherdess and him a Baron.
Fortune was playing a devious game with Jaina. She was a woman, and hence more susceptible to letting emotions get the better of her, and so it was that on the Friday evening, she gave into her passion. For this bout of self-denial, he had her slip between the sheets of his bed, her modesty covered for once. He stated plainly that she was swathed so that, in his words, “I can examine the glint of fragile arousal in your eyes, whilst not being distracted by the beauty of your naked body.” She melted at this thought, and tucked her hand between her legs, following his instructions carefully. This was the worst torment of all, for she could have held back and not been as sensual with herself as he had instructed, but she had to obey, and she suspected that he knew he had this control over her.
At the point where her legs were shaking and her breath was short, and when the perspiration dripped down the soft white skin between her breasts, she pleaded with him to stop forcing her to continue. He replied that she should rub softer, and that he wanted her to make sure that the hood over her pearl was fully uncovered. At these words, she whimpered and shivered like an unsheltered lamb in the cold pasture. When he repeated the statement that he loved to see her in such distress at his whim, she swore at him. "Oh dash it all, sire!" She clamped one hand over her mouth as the words came out, the other hand's fingers stroking herself as ordered. Salty tears of shame dripped down her cheeks, their descent zig-zagged due to the violent twitches of her body.
"You insulted me, m'lady," he said in a severe voice. "I have flogged men for less."
"Oh sire, mercy, I beg you!" Jaina cried. She continued to tease and tickle herself, for he had not ordered her to cease.
"My dear Jaina, I think you need a reminder of how to conduct your speech in my presence. Stop touching yourself. Get dressed. Follow me."
Jaina scrambled quickly from the bed, stumbling through fear and arousal, and slipped her smock over her shoulders as she came into line alongside the Baron. He strode confidently forwards, looking at Jaina a few times to ensure that she was at his side, safe and not too afraid. When she cast her eyes to the floor for the third consecutive time to avoid his gaze, he stopped in the middle of a long corridor.
"Jaina, look at me," he said. She looked up, eyes filled with tears of shame. His voice was so tender, yet there was a hint of disappointment in his tone. "I won't hurt you. I won't allow anyone to hurt you. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, sire," she gulped, and forced a brave smile.
"Good girl," he said, his voice returning to normal with its bold, commanding timbre. "Come now. We're nearly there. Just a quick trip down to the dungeon."