As Pleases My General

When they woke in the dark in the middle of the night, he wordlessly rolled her over onto her front in the bed and reached through her legs to caress her clitoris and her vulva, her peritoneum and her anus until she writhed in the sheets and rough woollen blanket, her lifted backside begging him more loudly than words. Affectionately he grasped her tits through the folds of her ugly clothes, his penis was covered in a fresh condom from the drawer of papers which he scrabbled and flung all over the floor in his haste. He lubricated her arse with a delicately caressing horny finger and eased his throbbing thick member into it with a gentle thrust that had her quivering and moaning. She had spread her fingers on her own buttocks to hold herself open to him in abject pleasure, the thick cock slid slowly, teasingly, so gently past the rim of her anus, aaaah! so pleasurable and oh! he was pulling back and coming down into her again. As he thrust gently at her back passage, he brought a hand down and fingered her vulva -- oh oh! the moan of pleasure from her was like the call of the ocean, a great wave of salacious joy, he slipped a finger in and softly he fucked her raised backside, coming in and down, in and down, making the nerves in her anus dance with joy, his hard finger still in the wet smooth muscles of her vulva until she was coming and coming, he was cumming and he lay in the dark over her quivering body with the legs still wide for him to lie between.

And then nothing for weeks. She must have longed for him like he longed for her, his penis thickening up when he saw her leaning over the kitchen table kneading bread dough with hard strong thrusts, her cunt wetting her underpants as she bent over the stone wall of the well in the courtyard to pull up water with her arse sticking up and heard his boots tramping up behind her. She had her mission, her foremost duty was to the Crown, she liked him but she loved the Crown with devoted passion. She would turn a face with blank eyes to him, a face only mildly flushed, perhaps with the heat out in the courtyard and the effort of raising a heavy bucket of water that he went to help her carry indoors. If he laid a hand on her she turned a bovine stare at him, pretending that she would open her legs for him only because she was his slave, and the courteous Commander shyly stepped back, turning hazel eyes that were both apologetic and pleading hesitantly away.

Finally his forlorn tugging at his penis was yielding some result. By thinking hard about her creamy wet cunt which she had sometimes willingly exposed for his mouth, his fingers, his cock, he was able to bring himself off but as the sticky sperm shot into the clean white sheets, the tears spurted down his cheeks. Oh she had gone, she had taken the Crown and had gone. He had never really thought about how happy he was to be able to come back from the tours of duty to a clean bright home with the Crown there and the occasional hope of a fuck glinting in Orlissa's eyes and now they would never be here like it again. She would almost certainly kill him, the best he could hope for would be that for the sake of the pleasure he had given her and the courtesy he had shown her even when he had thought she was a stupid beast of a domestic slave, she would do it quickly and cleanly.

As he rode away from the city of mud and timber buildings with the White Castle perched on the hillside above, he turned over in his mind the occasional dangerous pleasures she took from him.

That time he had demanded that she shave him. He was in a sour temper; months of no sexual release, too dainty now to go and shove his stick in a paid prostitute, too delicately considerate to force himself on an unwilling slave. If his lover had no pleasure in it he never liked it, he always overpaid the women in the brothels who loved him for his consideration and regretted the infrequency of his visits.

He was going out with the lads then he said he'd stay home then he got so frustrated sitting in the kitchen with her vacant-eyed in a chair by the blue cooking range with her knitting. (Knitting for the nine Devils' sake! she was crap at it, how could he not have noticed that although she appeared to be knitting so assiduously there was never so much as a sock for him.)

"I'll go out after all," he said abruptly and angrily. She knew he was angry with her, he had been fizzing with frustration for days, making those gasping noises at night and his bed creaking rhythmically while he attempted to relieve himself. She just turned her dull eyes on him, sustaining the necessary pretence that she was so low, so near the beasts of the field that he could kick her or beat her if he wanted, instead of jumping up and smacking him in the face and saying: "Fuck off then you selfish shit, don't thank me for the delicious stew you gobbled up not two hours ago. I'm going out and I'm not coming back! Cook your own pissing dinner from now on."

"Give me a shave," he said sullenly. It was an intimate task he had never imposed on her before.

Her eyes suddenly flashed, his hand went automatically to his sword but he was in his own home, he wasn't wearing his weapons. Already her eyes were dull again, he thought he must have imagined it. She was putting aside the knitting and going to put a kettle on for hot water, going to fetch his razor and the soap.

He sat in his chair by the table where he had once been permitted to fuck her in the arse. The bowl of water steamed by his side, the towel about his neck had even been warmed for him on the small blue cooking range. He saw her calloused strong fingers come over his shoulders with the cut-throat razor already open in one of her hands, she tilted his chin with the other, exposing his throat to the blade. The hairs rose on the back of his neck but his stupid brain dismissed the fear shrieking along his nerves. His penis twitched in his breeches as it always did when the adrenaline surged in his veins. The razor touched his neck and her fingers pulled the skin tight, the blade came scraping gently down his lathered neck, the sound was a soft rasp in the quiet kitchen.

His eyes half-closed although his nerves were still jumping. He sat still in her hands, even his nerves settled slowly down, soothed by the firm fingers and the caress of the thin metal blade. He felt the blood pumping in his loins and his cock, but softly, he was just aroused not hard and throbbing for a fuck. Candlelight flashed briefly off the razor as she held it in front of him before coming back to scrape down one of his cheeks.

When she was done with him and had wiped his face clean of a few flecks of lather, she came round and looked intently into his half-closed hazel eyes, holding the razor open in her hand. She cleaned it, shut it, put it on the table and leaned down to press her mouth on his.

Aaaah! her kiss, at last. He sat still in the chair, his eyes drifting shut as her tongue came caressing his softening mouth, poking in his mouth, curling about his tongue. He reached up, gently took hold of her shoulders, pulling her in. She was reaching in his breeches' pocket, her fumbling fingers pushing through the pocket against his hardening penis. She found the condom and came away from his kiss to pull open the lacings of his breeches.

The expertise with which she rolled the condom on his penis was not that of a domestic slave, taken whenever and however by whoever told her to do it. Nor was the excited skill with which she peeled back his breeches to allow his squat penis to lift free in its nest of coiling hairs, putting her hand around his cock and easing up and down a few times to get him good and hard.

Her horrible underpants were stripped off and she was straddling him but he pushed her onto the kitchen table, on her back this time, bringing his face down to her cunt to rub his smooth freshly shaven cheek down her hard muscular thigh, parting the lips of her labia so he could kiss her cunt, softly softly kissing the wet shining folds, hearing her gasp and laugh with pleasure. He looked quickly up, his hazel eyes were suddenly piercing bright but she had tipped her head back so he could not see if her dark eyes were glinting in that inappropriately intelligent laughter or bovine with an animal's dull pleasure. He pressed the cool smooth clean cheek to her thigh, his tongue stroked down her labia, to her clitoris, to her vulva. He stuck his tongue in her vulva, pushed into the creaming smooth muscles in her sex and heard her laugh before he raised his head and sat back again with his eyes half-closed for her to take as she would.

She straddled him and took him as if he were one of the soldiers she led in battle and possessed in sex if she felt an idle inclination to do so. He looked up at her hard fierce laughing face in the candlelight, the glinting laugh in her dark eyes and all he did was grin softly with joy when he should have flung her off and run for his weapons and the city guard in defence of the Crown.

She put his penis to her sex and pressed and down she came on him, he was in her with a gasp and a laugh, she laughed back, catching his hands and pulling them round to her arse. He grasped those big muscular buttocks and she grunted with pleasure, gripped his shoulders and began lifting herself and pressing and pressing, the wet strong muscles of her sex pressing around his thick penis, her clitoris pushing on him. He was grunting with pleasure, she was getting harder and faster, rubbing her clitoris against him as she came up and down, her wet muscles gripping on the sensitive penis, he gripped her big strong buttocks and they were both shouting out and laughing and she came down firmly one last time on his quivering member, close and wet and clinging about him as he quivered and shot off in the condom inside her.

He clung to her, holding her fiercely to him. He knew now. It would be weeks before she came back out of the shadows of enslavement, laughing her glinting dangerous pleasure to take him and please him and be there truly with him. But he did not mind it so much this time. Third time lucky, since she had allowed him to mount her three times she would surely do so again if he was patient and waited courteously.

Swiftly he rode through the fields of ripening grain, turn by turn on the two magnificent bay horses from the royal stables. The silvery tipped wheat, the whiskery barley, he rode in the hot summer air with the sweat trickling off his weathered brow and the grin of warm admiration often lifting the corner of his mouth.

Five days into the journey and he was on the flat low grassy plains, three days' ride from the border where the Andarrian forces were massing into an army. He hoped very much it would be an army that could flutter its brave flags of rebellion and then just march home singing songs of victory and peace.

He ought always to have been suspicious, she had played the part of the submissive domestic slave too perfectly. Shuffling about his house, keeping it clean and bright to a military standard, caring so fervently for the Crown. The actual domestic slaves owned by his army pals were nothing like her. Shrill, quarrelsome and manipulative, the lads were always grumbling because of some unreasonable demand these frustrated bored women and men they supposedly owned were making. They even said it: "Gods, D'nar, you're the lucky one." "Does she never call you home early from the tavern/grumble because you took a dip in a whore's bum/cry because you didn't give her enough jewellery and sweetmeats and pissing flowers, for the nine Devils' sake."

Once he went back for a meal to one of his pals' homes and had to endure his pal's domestic slave casting languishing eyes at him and surreptitiously fumbling his groin while serving him food, all the while making mean bitchy comments about his pal which she pretended were teasing flirty fun. He came home and went into the warm tidy kitchen and found Orlissa lying back in her chair by the blue cooking range with a hand up her own skirt and her underpants off playing with herself. She flung her hooded head up as he came in, he strode over and stuck his own hand up her skirt and a finger right into her wet wide cunt. She threw her legs open before she could think to pull the pretend slave's outrage and sullen submission onto her face. He pressed his face into her soft bosom and fingered her clitoris and vulva, playing gently in the moistening folds, enjoying the mounds and hollows, the wetness, the smooth muscular hole, the little spur of the clitoris. He put first one finger and then he could get two into her soft vagina, gently -- his calloused hard fingers, he eased them gently in and out of her tender sex. She was moaning helplessly in his hands. She pressed his other hand harder to her clitoris, moaned and gasped and laughed, her soft wet slimy muscles clutching around his fingers, he brought her to the quivering orgasm sitting in her chair with his face pressed into her big soft tits and his fingers in her cunt.

Six days into the journey, at the end of the day as the westering sun sank over the far horizon, casting a soft glow as thick and warm as honey over the flat green plains, he caught up with them.

He reined up on a grassy rise of land, seeing the little ring of tents, the picket line of horses and a high-wheeled wagon below him. It was a curious vehicle, designed both for speed and to house someone at night. It was covered not by a simple tarpaulin but in some splendid blue hooped top with golden birds depicted in flight across it. A smile softened his weathered scarred face to see how they indulged the Crown.

He pulled the buckle from his sword-belt and allowed his weaponry to fall into the grasses of the plain. If things went well he could come back for it but if he came riding down on them armed he would be dead before he could say a word.

Both the magnificent royal steeds were tired now, grateful when he set a soft walking pace down towards the small encampment. He looped his reins about the pommel of his saddle, guiding the horse he was riding with his knees and raising his arms in the air.

The Andarrian soldiers came cantering out to him holding arrows on the bow-string; he had always admired the skill with which they could control their horses at speed while they held the arrow steady on the string. Their eyes were fixed on him. He felt the prickles of fear in his shoulders and grinned his warm grin.

"Take me to Orlissa," he said.

They forced him off his horse and two of them took him by the arms and walked him down the slope of the grassy hillside at the quick march while the others murmured admiringly about the quality of the royal horses which they led behind him.

Orlissa was already striding out of the circle of tents towards him.

Ye Gods and Devils she was magnificent. She strode completely upright with the same rigidly straight back as her soldiers when they rode on horseback with an arrow to the bow-string and it was suddenly apparent how tall she was and how big her gorgeous breasts were. Her head was held high with what would have been arrogance if he had not known by now just how skilled and how powerful she was. The hair was of course kept cropped very close to her head, just as his was, so that it never got in the way of her weaponry, especially the bow and arrow -- the Andarrians excelled at archery although those powerful muscular arms now bared of the disgusting disguising cloth promised a tremendous skill with the broadsword slung low off the black leather belt at her hips. She was absolutely magnificent, like a Goddess, his penis was engorging with blood just at the sight of her striding down on him.

She wore a black leather hauberk chased with a black design of a flight of birds, leather breeches and thigh length black boots which did not disguise the powerful muscles of her long strong legs. Her broadsword hung off her belt in a black leather scabbard with the design of flying birds repeated on it. On her left wrist was the leather guard which prevented the bow-string slapping her arm.

She came down on him with a face as pale as a Devil's, seized him by the armholes of his hauberk and snarled at him: "How many men with you? How far behind are the rest of your forces?"

The danger snapping in her glinting dark eyes was making the adrenaline rush about his body, his penis was rising and pushing at the lacing of his breeches. He grinned with warm admiration and pleasure to see her at last in her true self. It was a bad mistake.

She punched him in the jaw sidelong; just hard enough not to break his jaw -- she wanted him still able to talk. She kicked him savagely in the thigh as he keeled sideways in the tight grasp of her soldiers.

"You pissing insolent dog!" she hissed. "Answer me before I cut off your balls for my breakfast."

Mainly he was still admiring her. What an opportunity to take out five years of frustration, slaving after him, cooking and cleaning and taking his cock up her arse -- although hopefully that had not been frustrating for her. But for her as for him, violence was just a weapon, she controlled it, she was not controlled by an unreasonable rage which she took out in some mindless assault on him. It was not he who had given her the mission, he had not asked her to hide out in his house to rescue the Crown, to pretend for five years that she belonged to him, a submissive dull-eyed domestic slave. She hit him because she needed the information quickly not because she wanted to punish him for the inhuman indignity she had suffered to be his slave.

"There's no one else," he moaned, spitting some blood out as he said it. "I came alone."

Her fist was still raised to him, her dark eyes narrowed in the intent glare into his piercing hazel eyes.

"'Lissa," he mumbled. "'Ware the Crown."

Behind her, he had seen a flutter at the curtained back of the covered wagon.

Orlissa flicked her eyes back and then dropped her fist like a stolen apple, stepping away from him with a hissed: "Stand up." Obedient to the tone of absolute command in her voice, he straightened in the grip of the soldiers, wincing as he was obliged to bunch the muscle of his thigh.

"Da! Da!" the little figure screamed out to him in delight as she scrambled out of the back of the wagon. Her funny face was lit up with pleasure. "You came, you came! Mam said you would come, she said you would." D'nar flicked a look at Orlissa who stared away at the horizon, pretending to be interested in something that was not happening on the hillside.

She was a snub-nosed freckle-faced jolly kid with wispy brown hair and laughing brown eyes, about seven years old now. Nobody in the Tarknan city below the White Castle had ever looked twice when he carried her through the market streets, the domestic slave on whom he might have fathered her coming after them carrying the groceries with her head submissively bowed. As she came running across the grass to him, the soldiers flicked hesitant glances at Orlissa. A wordless glare caused them to drop D'nar's arms. They went on their knees, bowing their heads, their faces filled with the soft adoration which the Andarrians show to the Crown.

D'nar took a step forward, stooped and caught up the little girl as she ran laughing gleefully to his arms, he lifted her to him for a kiss.

"Yes yes," he said, as comfortably as if he had just caught up with them on a trip to the marketplace and she was pleased to see him because he was much more likely to indulge her with sweetmeats than the mother figure who was obliged to be the strict one. "Of course I came."

Orlissa was standing back from him with her arms folded but they were loose in the fold, ready to go for her weapons. Her face was cold and reserved.