Brendan's Last LaybyEesomeBeastie©
Several centuries ago, in rural England...
"Where've you got to, you daft beast?"
Brendan cursed as he ducked under an overhanging branch, battling his way through the thick undergrowth of the dark forest. Thorns snagged at the thick wool of his cloak. Twigs brushed his arms like skeletal fingers as he stumbled onwards through the growing gloom.
With a squelch his right foot sank into a patch of mire -- ground ever more sodden than the rest of this damp and overgrown wood. He tugged his boot free then cursed again as a wet and mouldy leaf slapped him right across the eye.
God, this was a fool's errand! He should just turn around now, before it got any darker -- return to the crippled Richard who was watching the rest of the flock in the open field by the big oak. Yes, Godfrey might throw him back out onto the road for losing the animal, but that was still better than falling and breaking his ankle in this treacherous tangle.
How unfair life was, he thought, that he was back doing boy's work. Just because he had struck back at Davies, the blacksmith, when the old fool had clipped him round the ear for letting the furnace cool. Wasn't a lad allowed to day dream about the lasses from time to time? It wasn't fair! It was hardly his fault that the doddering half-wit had fallen and cracked his skull on the anvil then gone into some kind of fit and died a week later. It had been an accident. Surely anyone could see that? But the men of the village had been set against him anyway, suspecting him of being free and easy with their daughters, and the word was that come the next manor court day he'd be sent to town to face the assizes and most likely the gallows.
So he'd run. For three days and three nights, until he was faint from starvation, exhausted and desperate.
He'd been damned lucky to find someone willing to take him in -- someone who needed help badly enough that they were ready take a chance with a complete stranger, so long as he looked able to work. Food and a lice-ridden straw pallet in the barn was all he was getting from Godfrey, but he'd managed to sneak a few extra lumps of cheese and bread, preparing a stash that would see him over the Welsh border to safety as soon as his strength was back.
And now one errant sheep threatened his plan. He wondered whether to go back to Godfrey's smallholding and throw himself on the old man's mercy again, or retrieve his stash and sneak away without anyone knowing.
Or maybe he should head straight for the village and join in the All Hallows Eve celebrations first, dancing round the fires that were meant to scare off the shades of the dead before creeping -- a last evening of revelry before creeping away once everyone else was senseless with drink and heading out on the road again under cover or darkness. Maybe he'd even manage to talk one of the girls into taking a walk with him to the grove beyond the meadow; a last night of fun before he had to go. Love 'em and leave 'em: that had always been his way.
He smiled to himself as he turned, taking what he guessed to be the most direct route back to the village, along a narrow dell where a sluggish stream trickled between the tree roots. Perhaps he had a chance with Clemence? She'd smiled at him when she thought no-one else was looking. Or maybe Emma...?
He was so busy pondering whether the redhead or the brunette's hair would look best spread across the grass below him that he almost missed the flash of off-white between the trees far to his left.
Was it the thrice-devil-damned sheep he'd been trying to catch for the last half hour? The glimpse was gone before he could make it out properly, but finding the animal would solve all his problems for the now so he left the stream-bed and set off deeper into the wood to follow.
There it was again! Closer, now, Brendan could see the shape was too tall to be a sheep but once again it flitted behind a tree trunk out of sight before he could make out anything more.
He stumbled closer. Suddenly there was movement from behind a tree, off to his left this time. Some fifty yards away, in the failing light, a white-clad knee poked out. Then, slowly, teasingly, a leg unfolded, draped in a long skirt of unbleached wool cloth. And, from what he could make out, a young, shapely leg too!
There was a giggle, too brief for him to recognise the voice, then a face peeked round the side of the trunk. She wore a mask, as was traditional on All Hallows Eve to conceal the identity of revellers from any vengeful shades looking for those who had wronged them. It covered all of her face from cheekbones to brow, where her linen cap took over, concealing her hair so that he didn't even have that as a clue to her identity.
She giggled again, drawing a lazy circle with her foot before nipping back behind the tree trunk out of sight, leaving the astonished Brendan standing frozen as her laughter faded into the undergrowth.
With a shake of his head he threw off his momentary paralysis. Grinning, he set off up the slope towards the ridge she seemed to have disappeared over, stumbling over roots and fallen branches in the growing gloom.
Just as he topped the rise, he tripped and fell. His shoulder hit a tree trunk with a painful whack, sending him toppling sideways onto the slippery, leaf-strewn forest floor, his ankle screaming with agony as he went over it. He threw out an arm to brace his fall, only for it to jar painfully too, and then he was rolling over, sliding down the slope, gaining speed, crashing through bushes, collecting twigs and mud as he went, thorns ripping his hands as he reached out in panic at every branch he hit, trying to arrest his fall.
Then, with a sodden squelch, he stopped short. It took a moment for his dizzied vision to clear, and then he realised he was sat in a muddy puddle at the foot of the ridge, cold and filthy water seeping through the seat of his britches.
And the mystery girl was standing over him, her mouth curled upwards in amusement.
"Who... who are you?" he began, but she raised a finger over her lips to shush him. Then she held out her hand to help him up.
Grasping her arm, Brendan used his other hand to heave himself out of the puddle, his feet working to propel himself clear of the gloop.
Suddenly, before he'd regained his balance, she let go, snatching her hand away, letting him fall back onto a low hummock a yard or so clear of the water. She laughed again as his sodden breeches squelched.
Annoyed, now, Brendan tried to lift himself up off his back but she reached out with a foot to push him back down.
"What...?" he began.
"My, oh my," the girl teased. "Not the dapper ladies' man I remember, now, are you?"
That voice, bubbling like a stream cascading over rocks, seemed familiar. Her figure too, concealed by her workaday dress though it was.
"Don't you remember me?" she asked. "Last All Hallows Eve, behind the haystacks in Footroad Meadow?"
"Jeannie?" Brendan choked out. "I've not seen you since..."
"Since my parents sent me away to live with my aunt," Jeannie finished. "Aye. Ten months back, that was."
"Did you never wonder how I was?" she continued. "Did you never think back on me, your wee Jeannie?"
Brendan remained silent.
"I thought you'd at least try to find me," she said. "I thought I was your sweetheart, that you'd sneak away some feast day and come visit. It was only a dozen miles, Brendan, not a country away." Her voice now held a hint a bitterness. "But I guess I was only another notch on your tally stick. If you even remembered me at all, that is."
Brendan made as to answer, but she shook her head. "I remember you, though. I remember a bonny lad with straw hair, and a way with words so slick he could've talked the devil himself into releasing the damned." Her foot pressed down on his chest again, then ran slowly down over his belly.
"And I remember this too," she said, massaging his crotch with the ball of her foot, smiling as he began to stir. "At least one thing about you wasn't a lie. You did know how to make a lass feel good." She squatted down stride him and whispered, "And I hope you still do."
Brendan was astonished to find her fingers working at the buttons of his breeches, but always being one to take whatever opportunity came his way he reached down to help her release his erection.
"Jeannie," he moaned, but once again she shook her head.
"No sweet talk this time, Brendan," she said as she raised herself slightly and lifted her skirts to her waist. "Just the pleasure we take from each other."
There, in the gloom under the damp trees, on the cold damp ground, Brendan saw that sight that had always brought a flood of warmth to his belly: the glimpse of bare female thighs, smooth and pale, converging in towards that thin tangle of curls, that triangle barely concealing the heaven within. She took hold of his hard cock and wriggled forward until he could feel the hairs of her sex brushing against him. Looking up, Brendan caught a glint in her eyes -- those deep, brown pools made darker still by the shadow of the mask she still wore.
Brendan reached out to brush the front of her thighs as she rocked up and down, rubbing his cock against her mound. Christ, but her legs are cold! he thought. How long had she hidden in the wood, watching him? She'd be lucky not to catch a chill!
As if their thoughts were linked she looked down and whispered, "Warm me up, Brendan." He made to rise onto his elbows, intending to hold her close against the cold, but she pushed him down onto his back again.
"No," she said, grasping his cock tighter. "This is all I need."
With that she started to grind herself harder against his length. He could feel dampness now between her thighs as her juices began to flow, feel the lips of her sex part against him, kissing him hungrily.
He began to thrust back up at her, eager to sheath himself within her, but apparently that was wrong too. She pushed her backside down hard onto his thighs, pinning him, stilling him.
So, she was to make all the running here? He was just to lie back and let her take her pleasure? Well he could certainly live with that, if it kept on feeling as good as this!
A dozen more long, slow strokes and then she rose up further, angling the head of his cock to press directly between the lips of her sex. Squatting, she rocked, letting the head of his erection run the length of her slit, brushing the sensitive nub then slipping over the entrance to her depths. She was biting her lower lip now, teasing herself with the promise of what was to come next, torturing herself maybe (at least to judge from the way her teeth tugged her lip back hard). Brendan was feeling the torture too, longing to thrust up each time the head of his cock slid over her entrance, longing to feel the relief of sinking at last into her wet and velvet embrace. But he knew his role in this game. It was to be her choice exactly when she pushed herself down and over him, and the straining uncertainty of it was delicious.
He was almost floating in a fog of sexual need when the sudden touch of her finger under his chin brought his attention back into focus. She tilted his head to make him look her in the eye, winked, then oh-so-slowly sank down onto him, sheathing his cock within her.
God, she felt good! How could he possibly have forgotten this, forgotten her? Her muscle control was excellent as she held her squatting form over him, lifting herself up and down with slow and inexorable motions that made him want to scream. Then she was lowering herself all the way down, sinking further until he was right inside her.
Kneeling astride his waist, to and fro she rocked, grinding her sex against his pelvis as his cock rubbed inside her. Christ! He couldn't remember her being this good. Had she been practising, with some other man? Had she taken a lover in her new village? Or more than one? But Brendan found that he didn't care. Not when she could do this to him, not when she could make him feel like this.
Freed from having to use her arms to steady her balance, Jeannie grasped her waist as she rode him, her fingers clutching the material of her dress, tugging, lifting the hem further, baring her belly to the chill autumn air. Then her hands were slipping under the wool cloth, up, to caress her breasts as she rocked her body atop him.
Whimpers filled the air as she threw back her head: high pitched, desperate, feminine but animalistic at the same time. "Brendan," Jeannie moaned, and Brendan groaned too. He was getting close.
Suddenly Jeannie stopped. She looked back down at him, deliberately letting climax slip just out of reach, clenching her thighs to keep them both on the boil.
"As good as you remember?" she asked, grinning.
"Better!" Brendan replied, and she rewarded him with a little shift of her hips and a tightening of her internal muscles, making her sex clench around him.
"Regretting you didn't give it all up to follow me?"
Brendan swallowed. Leave his apprenticeship -- his assured food and lodgings -- for a mere woman? But now was hardly the moment to say so. Not if he wanted to get off, that is.
"I don't believe you," Jeannie replied with a slow, sad shake of her head. "I was never more than another bit of skirt to you, was I?"
Realising the pointlessness of denial, Brendan remained silent. But then to his astonishment, Jeannie began to rock her hips, slowly building up the pace again.
"Ah well," she sighed. "I might as well get my pleasure from you, this last time."
Brendan's amazement at his good fortune was soon driven from his mind by the sheer delight in her body as she let loose all her passions, riding him like a beast in heat. Up and down she worked, gripping his cock with delicious tightness each time she rose up, then opening up to take him deep once more when, with heart-stopping suddenness, she slammed her hips down onto him. Her hands returned to her breasts, her head lolled back again, her cap coming loose and her blonde hair cascading loose to fall in rippling waves as her body undulated atop him.
Brendan knew he wasn't going to last much longer. Nor was Jeannie, he guessed, the rhythmic contractions of her sex around his cock having given way to a crazy fluttering. She jabbed down onto him at each thrust now, impaling herself with mad abandon, shaking her head, sending her blonde hair swinging like a glistening halo around her in the last rays of this now-glorious autumn day. She looked like an angel.
Then she ripped off her mask and Brendan saw that the woman riding him was far from angelic. Her skin suddenly seemed grey. Her eyes, which had glittered with joy from behind the mask were now revealed as dark pits, glistening not with tears of ecstasy but with the slime of decay. Gagging, he realised that the flash of white in one putrid eye socket was actually the wriggling of maggots.
The delicate cheekbones he remembered were now sunken, sharp. One cheek was flensed bare of skin, the red raw muscle below gleaming, white bone poking through.
He tried to push her off, but she seemed to have developed immense strength. She gripped his shoulders and pinned him down to the dirt, her foul face leering over him, the clear fluid leaking from abused flesh to drip down onto him, her hips still working even as her thighs pinned his legs to the ground
"You got me with child," she hissed, her voice scarcely recognisable. "Didn't you realise that, you selfish little prick?"
He opened his mouth to answer but she slapped him hard before grabbing his shoulder once more.
"That's why I was sent away. To have my baby away from the condemnation of the rest of the village before my swelling belly betrayed me. Were you too thick to realise that? Or did you simply not care?"
Brendan croaked. His throat was too dry to say anything, even if he could have thought of anything to say.
"Three months I waited, hoping you'd come. Three months I tortured myself with the thought that I actually mattered a damn to you."
Spittle was flying from her lips now, and Brendan shrank back in fear, praying for the ground to open up and swallow him. His cock, though, hadn't got the message. Far from shrinking, it was swelling harder than ever as the creature that had been Jeannie continued to ride him even as she condemned him. His heart was palpitating with terror, beating fit to burst even as his balls drew tight with his seed, preparing to spray it into her depths which were even now massaging his length with delicious contractions.
Jeannie seemed to be on the verge of her climax too, but it was a vicious and harsh one, her teeth grinding together as she spat her words at him between groans that were more animal than human.
"Then I miscarried. The only thing I had left from my old life gone, just like that. And there was an infection too. This body that grips you so beautifully went rancid, leaking puss. Foul, stinking puss."
She was gasping now between words as she hammered her body up and down on his.
Fuck! thought Brendan. She's going to kill me! She's going to get off on me then kill me! He tried once more to push her off but she was too heavy. She retaliated by grabbing his head by the hair and smashing his skull against the ground before continuing her demonic abuse of his body.
"I died, Brendan," she told him between gritted teeth. "You killed me."
Brendan's terror redoubled. Was she mad? But then everything clicked into place. She wasn't just mutilated, and driven insane by disease. She was actually dead. Her strength, the way she'd managed to flit away from him in the forest faster than he could battle through the undergrowth, none of that was possible for a woman less than two thirds of his weight and lacking the power of one used to the physical labour of the smithy. She really was the vengeful re-animated corpse of the once-sweet Jeannie.
"I hunted you, Brendan," she continued as her flesh seemed to shrink in onto her skeleton, her hips becoming harsh blades that battered him as she fucked him madly. "Tonight was my last chance. We unsettled dead, we who want revenge... All Hallows Eve is our last chance to pay back those who have wronged us before the power of All Saints Day sends us at last through the portal to what awaits."
"Tonight we have power. Tonight, sensible men huddle round bonfires, hide behind masks so that those whose souls scream for retribution cannot recognise them. But you...," Jeannie sucked in breath suddenly as her climax rushed towards her, "you came here, beyond the fields and meadows of civilisation, into the wild places."
Jeannie's foul form, mummifying before his very eyes yet retaining the strength of ten men, leaned in closer still. "You are mine. Mine to fuck, mine to kill. Over and over. For ever!"
And with that last, she threw back her head and rattled out her climax through her dead, dry throat even as Brendan's cock finally let loose his seed and the ground opened beneath them, sending them plummeting straight down to the Hell he deserved.