[Copyright (c) 1988 by Edward L. Stauff. Duplication of this story, without
changes or omissions, is permitted for personal, non-profit use. All other
rights are reserved. This is a work of fiction; any reference to real
persons or events is purely incidental.]
It happened in Soskermo, on a very hot day in the middle of summer. It
was, in fact, the last time I passed through that city before moving north:
the supply of minstrels had quite exceeded the demand for our services. On
that last trek along my route I nearly starved, and I rode into Soskermo
with one letter to deliver and a firm resolve not to surrender it until my
stomach had been filled at the expense of the letter's recipient. In the towns of the north, basement apartments are occupied by those
who lack the means for more desirable lodging. In Soskermo, however, it was
the fashion for the wealthier classes to occupy the lowest levels of a
building, in order to escape the constant heat. My destination, as I found,
was the lowest (and therefore the most expensive) apartment in a tall
building near the center of town. This edifice was set well back from the
street, which made room for a deeply sunken garden between the pavement and
the front of the building. A bridge of wrought-iron, brightly painted,
crossed the center of the garden to provide access to the main doorway. My
knock was answered by a door-man, who evidently was employed jointly by all
the residents of the building. "What is the nature of thy business?" he asked in a pompous voice. As
he spoke he studied me with a practiced eye from my cracked and dusty boots
to my cropped, sweat-damp hair, and added with ill-disguised reluctance
"Sir?" I bowed low, sweeping my hat through the air in a grandiose circle, to
show him that I was civilized, too. "I have here a letter for the Lord
Rathmund t'Auliern, from his brother the Duke of Whinton." My northern
accent seemed to lower his opinion of me even further, if that was possible. "Milord is not at home. If thou wouldst be so kind as to turn over to
me the letter, I shall see it into his hands." The doorman held out his
hand, his eyes inspecting the door, as if he feared my vagabond hands had
soiled it. The possibility that I could do otherwise than to obey him and
depart had not even occurred to him. Making no move to produce the letter, I informed him: "The Duke assured
me that I would receive a suitable recompense from the recipient of his
letter, most likely in the form of a full meal." This last part was in fact
not true, but I doubted that the doorman would know that. That he was
unaccustomed to arguing with minstrels and other riff-raff was becoming
evident, as his neck (which was nearly as wide as his head) was slowly
turning pink. My hunger notwithstanding, I would gladly have discussed the
matter with him for the rest of the morning, purely for amusement, but at
that moment we heard steps on the stairs behind him. "Who is at the door, Chumfers?" "Milady," said Chumfers, turning and bowing, "It is a minstrel who doth
claim to bear a letter for Milord, but the ruffian doth refuse to surrender
it." "Until," I added swiftly, "I am assured of a meal in payment, as is
customary." Milady had reached the top of the stairs which led to the
apartment below. I could see that she was small and pretty, but I dared not
look too long at her: had Chumfers' eyes been pikes, he would have
transfixed me where I stood. "Thou mayst come and join me at my luncheon," said Milady. "Where is
the letter?" I handed over the letter and followed her down the wide stairs,
conscious of Chumfers' eyes boring into my back. The apartment was
deliciously cool after the cruel sunny streets of Soskermo. It was richly
furnished, with tiled floors of myriad colors and translucent windows which
let in the sun's light while keeping its fiery heat at bay. In a large, low
hall filled with couches, chairs and tables Milady stopped and looked at
me. "My name is Ridleigh," I said, bowing and looking back. Her hair was
light and wavy, and stopped just short of her neck. She was dark-skinned,
as were all the natives of that region, and wore a short dress without
sleeves. The dress was the color of butter, and its neckline was cut very
low between her small breasts. "Thou mayst call me Milady t'Auliern," she said, leading me to a small
table which had been stocked with food of various sorts. As we ate we
discussed such vital matters as the climate, the cook's prowess, and the
health of the Baron, whom she called "uncle". I noted this with interest,
reasoning that if the Baron was her uncle and also the brother of Milord
t'Auliern, then Milady must be Milord's daughter, and not his wife as I had
assumed. When we had finished our repast, I rose to leave. "Milady, I thank you for most graciously sharing with me your food.
Please permit me to leave, before I tarry longer than propriety allows." "Wouldst thou not stay yet a while, Ridleigh?" she asked, rising and
crossing to a large couch, in the corner of which she sat down again.
"'Twill be many hours before Milord returneth." Her eyes made clear what
her words hinted at, and I was suddenly aware of an intense lust to see this
woman naked. "But surely," I said, taking a step toward her, "Such a fair maiden
must be betrothed, if not married altogether?" "Milady is neither married not betrothed," she responded, "Nor a
maiden." I required no further convincing. Striding to the couch, I sat down
beside her and grabbed her about the waist, pulling her light frame against
me. Her arms snaked round my back as we kissed. Any doubts I might have
had about her intentions were washed away by her long, soft tongue which
pushed between my lips and teeth and proceeded to fully explore the inside
of my mouth. My hands felt small buttons on the back of her dress and began
to unfasten them, one by one. Milady's hands proceeded in a similar manner
until the tiles before the couch were littered with articles of clothing,
and nothing remained to impede the mutual touch of our skin. With a strength that surprised me, Milady t'Auliern pushed me down on
the wide couch and sat upon my thighs. We paused for a moment as I gazed at
the tuft of hair below her belly, the same color as her skin, but so fluffy
that it completely failed to hide the dainty lips beneath. "If thou wouldst
be so kind?" she asked, smiling sweetly. I complied willingly, holding my
stiff organ upright with one hand. She settled down on it, and two sighs
sounded as one as we felt my penis slide slowly up Milady's vagina. Her
hands moved forward to support the weight of her shoulders as she wiggled
her hips to lodge me as deeply as possible. "Is Milady comfortable?" said I. "To the very depths of my crevasse," she answered with much
satisfaction. "But I fear that the heat of the day doth parch my nipples
most cruelly." "Perhaps I may remedy your discomfort." Leaning forward, I licked
first one pink tip and then the other, which immediately blossomed forth
into lovely dark red buds which seemed too large for such modest breasts.
She arched her back to present them more conveniently. The sweet mounds of
flesh were soft against my face, her nipples stiff against my tongue.
Presently her arms grew tired and she dropped her chest upon mine. One hand
tangled itself tenderly in my hair; the other slid between our bellies to
investigate what was happening between Milady's legs. I felt her fingers,
wet from the union of our bodies, touching here, stroking there, then
rubbing the tiny knob which I knew lay nestled between her furry lips. I
heard Milady start to whimper, and the knowledge that her climax was
imminent hastened my own. With our hips pressed tightly together, waves of
intense pleasure washed over us, leaving us both gasping for breath.
