A Husband's Letter to the Cuntess of Middlesex

Made Known by Maria Bordelon

This letter in poetic format from the Cuntess of Midlesex's husband explains how they met and married. It also details their desires, affairs and issues such dalliances cause. The location and time of this poem is early medieval England. Please read these previous postings, I am The Cuntess of Middlesex and The Cuntess Of Middlesex Remembers Lady Godiva for mood and background. Your votes in the Literotica 2022 Letters of Love Story Event and all comments are genuinely appreciated.

To my wife, The Cuntess of Middlesex,

Spare me witch and bitchcraft of centuries gone,

I was your manly man young, virile and strong,

Sky blue eyes with crown of red poppy and carrot orange,

What gods and men everywhere should be,

Love we did pledge on separate days standing before Druid and Christian Priests

On each day you declare as my wife and to me alone give name, body and love,

That night you decreed your name never be said,

All must give reverence to The Cuntess of Middlesex,

For those who need to note seek poems broadly proclaimed,

I am the Cuntess of Middlesex and

The Cuntess of Middlesex Remembers Lady Godiva,

Spare me the witch and bitchcraft of centuries gone,

I shall tell of more of thee but first me,

A son of Puck and Ostara, old of seven,

Wife and mother was always spring fountain of joy, life, and love,

Of fair skin, sun in hair and flared hips to gestate and birth,

Breasts bountiful with circles pink and round as coin of realm,

Nipples same color and prominent,

No surprise to see breast bare for babe to suckle there,

Ostara last of her kind without shame upon her female form,

True to Celtic glory past,

Did know of war and hunting yet loving wife and mother was she,

I oldest of seven did bury parents in graves merely seasons apart.

Spare me the witch and bitchcraft of centuries gone,

Alone, brothers gone away with life and wife,

Only I did keep what father gathered,

More than wooden hut of wattle and daub with thatch above,

This landed one worked more than serf to keep home and hearth in name and fame,

So I hired you with nicer clothes to weave and sew the cloth covered me,

You came as daughter noble with two servants so kind,

Yea, they were beauties but none compared to you,

Gold crown, spring leaves eyes, smile bright, womanly strong and breasts firm,

Quickly entered eye then heart,

Passions flamed when we joined body bare then love,

Fear of babe made and what others might say we married as said.

Spare me the witch and bitchcraft of centuries gone,

Passions aflame for many night we mated naked in love,

Your swollen belly and breast never came,

Prayers with Druid and Christian priest futile,

As was child from your womb,

Desperation for heir and child raised my desire,

Maidens I did seek,

Found whore and more yet never knew if I made any yield a bastard's fate,

Was noble enough to claim prima noctis,

Blood she had so unlike you my wife yet never sure her child mine,

Did bribe a poor peasant man and wife to take and mate their girl child,

Seeing her swollen belly made you rage,

Your magic intervened,

Was then I knew you were a faerie rare,

Tears from all as mother and child went to whatever god called.

No fear of shame no swelling belly or breast worried you,

Anger and revenge you sought,

First was nights in tavern and castle near and far with mead and ale,

Such drink made you cruel as a shrew should man or woman not please you,

No care that others saw your precious hair and breasts bare,

Joy and manly fluids you took yet your pleasures never slaked,

So you tried sapphic love and desire,

Though some give pleasure your desire moved higher,

Words among the throng you treated others wrong and failed to reciprocate,

The faerie in you knew no limits of Heaven or Hell.

Spare me the witch and bitchcraft of centuries gone,

Celts, Romans, Vikings and Anglo-Saxons did play their part,

I am from the time when holidays--Yule, Imbolic, Ostara, Beltane, Lithia,

Lughnasa, Mabon and Samhain celebrated Nature supreme,

Those glory days of Nature's splendor and bounty conquered by the great three--Father

Son and Holy Ghost,

Celtic roads did fine though Roman were indeed better,

Nearby noble came with soldiers more than my few,

I traveled no roads nor took another wife,

So now I ask, Dear wife, What have you gained by taking my strength and manliness away?

You a wicked may seek pleasure and love but know this,

As I sleep among those no more.

You wicked faerie shall be cursed and be another wife,

Spare me the witch and bitchcraft of time evermore.