Six Rings and a Pendant

Thanks again to Nouh Bdee, who introduced us all to Leinyere. This is my second contribution to that universe, and I hope you enjoy it. This story stands as a VERY loose sequel to my It Pays To Be Nice, Sometimes; same neck of the Marches, anyway, but the two are only tangentially related.

* * *

The Stews were a fairly nasty place, it was true... but even here, in the poorest domain of the shoddiest province in the very lowest of the Stews, it wasn't every day they chucked a noblewoman in the pillory.

It certainly wasn't the pillory itself that was unusual, that was for sure, and I'd stood guard beside countless petty (and a few not-so-petty) criminals during their humiliating hour in the sun, bent over naked, pinioned at neck and wrists for the edification of the passing peasantry.

I always stood well away from the poor bastards they threw in there, particularly if they were women. That's when it could get really nasty, especially if the woman was a cutie. All the pilloried wretches got things thrown at them, ranging from the mundane rotten tomatoes or eggs, to lumps of human shit. All of them were jeered at, cursed, insulted, pissed on. All of them started scared and ended terrified, needing to go home and take a three-day nap.

But the women. Well. Many times, we had to beat back drunken bumpkins who grew a bit... amorous, let's say? Who tried to sneak around behind and stick objects into places those objects did not belong? Who did all manner of things that, if their wives saw them doing it, would have gotten them cut off from marital relations for a month, at least. Why, just a few weeks before Her Ladyship was thrown in there, my friend Gilbert had had to smack the shit out of a sot from the countryside who'd snuck behind the pillory to jerk his prick to the sight of the (admittedly fine) ass of Sasha, the miller's wife, who'd been caught in an unfortunate situation with her husband's business partner.

I'd not been there that day. I'd been on duty up in the castle, but I'd been staring down into the courtyard instead of out at the road. Although, that's not how I knew what a fine ass Sasha had; that knowledge had come earlier, when she and I had gotten to know each other one night after the bloodfights down on the common.

So Gilbert and I were in charge of the pillory the day they clapped up Lady Manda. The priests were keeping quiet about just why they'd done something as crazy as pushing the Lord's wife between the slats, but that just meant people would come up with their own reasons. And what people! They came from all over the Dale to see their overlord's wife's tits, and to be fair, I probably would have too.

"No monkey business," we'd been told in no uncertain terms: Thorald, the Sherriff, was planning on being there to oversee this one personally (from behind, of course, so that he could look up m'lady's bunghole), but he was no fool. He knew the people hated him, and was expecting his share of tomatoes and eggs too. "Tolerate no undue disrespect to Her Ladyship, you hear?"

"Can we kill people if they get too close?" Gilbert asked eagerly.

Thorald glanced at me, but I made sure to stay carefully lemminglike. "No." He ran his fingers over his chin through his beard. "I'll authorize up to three fingers from any given peasant." He considered some more, sucking at his lower lip. "Plus one ear if they're men. And only if they act up. Fair?"

"Fair, Sheriff." Gilbert rubbed his hands briskly together. He just wanted to bleed someone, and he glowered out at the crowd like Shall'a the Cloudbringer herself as the stablemaster led Lady Manda out the gate and toward the ol' slats.

"But only if they try to touch her," he stressed, shouting now over the rising hisses from the crowd. The hisses were ignorant: nobody out there knew exactly what Her Ladyship had done. But the priests were putting her in the pillory, so all the peasants knew was that she must be a Very Wicked Person. And, of course, you always hissed at Very Wicked People. Folks had come into Hallowhall from miles around to see this.

For, again, it wasn't every day they chucked a noblewoman into the pillory.

I kept my eyes carefully ahead as the High Priest stood at the edge of the platform and read out the judgment, his fine rolling voice filling the whole marketplace, and then he turned and nodded to his underpriests. I made sure not to look as they stripped her, hearing nothing but the usual noises: an indignant yelp or two from her, then the sound of ripping cloth, then the hushed oooh from the crowd as her tits came out.

The crowd always liked tits, and Lady Manda certainly had some.

She squealed again as they brought her forward, and now I could see her out of the edge of my eye: nothing but a pair of hands and that fine, high-boned face of hers as they pushed her down into the holes and then brought the beam down, trapping her hands and head between the thick wood. I spared her a thought or two, for nobody really likes to see a lovely woman brought so low, but then I had work to do as the underpriests, leering down at her bent naked back, locked the slats.

"Behold, a sinner!" the High Priest thundered, and that was our cue: Gilbert and I drew our swords with the kind of ringing flourish that impressed the commoners, and we stepped a discreet pace away from the pillory. Meanwhile the priests scampered off, because it never took long for the tomatoes to start flying once the High Priest had said his piece.

And so the hour passed to the weeping of m'lady and the jeers of her people, while I just tried not to get any stains on my tunic. I succeeded for the most part, and it was a good day out: the sausage sellers made their money, the crowd got to throw eggs at their Lord's naked, humiliated wife, she remained unraped, and Gilbert got to slice of seven fingers (and one ear!). So on the whole, everyone was pleased.

But... well. That's fucked-up, locking up your own Lord's wife. And that was the day I thought it might just be time for me to get out of the Lower Stews, for good. Especially if Wendy didn't get her monthly blood, and soon.

* * *

Just three minutes naked with that old bitch Hilda, and I already knew I was going to have to give a lot more than I'd bargained for. The woman was almost forty years of age, I assumed, and I'd reckoned she'd be grateful enough for a look at my balls, a few pumps of my cock, and my seed on her thigh.

But no. She was already turning out to be horny and supple as a springtime maiden, her naked body surprisingly sexy under the prim clothes Lady Manda made her wear. She was down between my legs now, lapping at my balls, that wet warm tongue lifting each nut in turn with a look of lazy, catlike contentment in her crafty eyes.

Based on how she talked, I'd expected her tongue to be sharp as a dagger. I guess that's a figure of speech.

I cleared my throat. "Did you not want to get started?" I asked.

She chuckled, her breath a series of warm bursts through my curly pubes. "I've already gotten started, soldier. As I think you've noticed," she winked, both of us glancing at where my cock rose iron-hard and sturdy above her head. I peered at her curiously. We'd both been working in Lord Berken's household for awhile, and in all those years this was the first time I'd ever seen her hair uncovered. I was surprised that so much of it was still dark. She kissed my scrotum. "Were you in some sort of hurry, young man?"

Well, actually, I was. A pretty big hurry. The need to get going, to set this little plan of ours into motion, burned in my head like my lust burned in my loins. A week! A week since Lady Manda had been clapped up! Time pressed at me, and I had things to do. But none of that could happen until Hilda played her part with Her Ladyship, and Hilda wasn't going to do that until she'd taken what I'd offered in return for her help: a vigorous roll in the hay out in Lord Berken's stable block with the late-afternoon sun streaming in. "It's just that I was hoping you could mention me to m'lady before supper," I ventured.

Another chuckle, more warm breath on my skin. My rigid cock shivered. "I'm already eating my supper," she gloated, her eager lips nibbling wetly along the ridges of my shaft before she opened wide at the top, engulfing me, and the sight of that experienced mouth sucking my cock deep inside made me groan, my head falling back against the wattle walls. "I'm savoring it, as well," she continued, talking to my meat, kissing every surging inch of me as she worked her way back down to my root.

She felt good, dammit. Vaguely, it occurred to me that I should have fucked her before, that I might have been too quick to write her off as an old maid. Sure, there'd been that one time, that bet at Yule when she'd sucked me off in front of all the servants, but that hadn't felt as good as this. Maybe, just maybe, some of the other older women around the household might be worth a length, at least as much as little Wendy the fuller's daughter, her with the roguish dark eyes. Her that was driving me out of this town, this household, this domain, maybe even out of the Stews, and probably forever, and all because her sweet little slit had simply felt too good to pull out of before I'd launched my duff into her.

So in about seven months' time Wendy would produce a pewling babe, and no doubt the fuller would curse my name and complain to His Lordship, and if greedy old Hilda did her job this evening Manda would tell the man, no, sorry, I sent my paladin Pewick to go hunt down that escaped sneak-thief Nellie, and he's not come back. I fear he might be dead, master Fuller. And then, knowing Lady Manda, she'd spread her noble legs and offer the man a place to lodge his cock for the night. Or? Maybe not.

Maybe that naked bow to the pillory in the courtyard of her own castle had purged those desires from her mind. Time would tell, but it wouldn't tell me: I'd be long gone by then. As long as Hilda played her part. I gasped, quite involuntarily, as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked me hard, her lips hooked just beneath where my head mushroomed out. "Good gods," I managed.

"I'm good, no?" She came up off me, grinning. "That's what experience will do for that splendid young cock of yours, lad." I smiled a little uncertainly: I've got over twenty-five years, I think. I'm no lad. But as long as she kept making me shake, I supposed she could call me whatever she pleased. She kissed my head again, that nimble tongue trawling the little hole where I pissed. I groaned. "Well then. I reckon you're ready to be mounted," she hummed happily.

I licked my lips as she rose up onto her knees. She'd stripped quite eagerly, cackling when she caught my doubtful glance. "M'lady will notice cum on my dress," she'd pointed out, standing over me with that unexpectedly lush body she'd been hiding. "I'd prefer that it go where the gods intended," she'd leered, "but I know that's not wise, and since we all know how potent that seed of yours is?" She'd winked lewdly. "Why take the chance? I don't want another babe."

I'd shrugged, hiding my doubt; it was well known that women her age couldn't be gotten with child, but if she wanted me to fling my wad out in the garden rather than inside the house? That was her business. It was a sin, obviously, not to cum within the sacred vessel of a woman's hallowed hole, but I certainly didn't care. Nor did she, now, as she loomed over me in the dusty half-light, drifting motes catching the sun and making her sparkle. She had a knowing, expectant leer as she parted her legs, lifting her knees over my thighs before planting herself in the hay. She looked down at my body with a vaguely challenging look, her eyes landing on my surging penis. "I reckon I'm deep enough for that long nail of yours," she nodded.

"Then what are you waiting for?" I grinned back up at her, my mind far away: time was passing. I needed to go, and I wasn't the only one. "Get that fine pussy wrapped around it, then!" I reached around and softly slapped an ass honed by years on her feet, for a housemaid never really stops working. Unless she's fucking a paladin in the stables, that is. My other hand lifted my prick, raising it straight up for her. "Get on there," I urged.

"So eager!" she laughed, her eyes shining, and then her hand had joined mine on my shaft, spreading the spit she'd left there as she'd feasted, her finger drifting at last across the very tip as I twitched. "You really want this useless old cunt?" she jeered quietly.

I reached around and slapped her ass again, and with another giggle she leaned forward, arching her hairy muff toward my standing cock and then settling onto it, her hot slit wedging itself open over my flesh. I surged upward a bit, wanting to feel her, pushing up with a sensation like my cock was slipping up into a handful of warm butter, whisper-soft, and then Hilda was sighing as she relaxed, riding me down, her body taking me willingly in.

Her thighs met mine, I arched up, and suddenly I was deep inside her. She settled, smiling. "That's a fine full prick you've got there, Pewick," she burred, speaking past a thickness in her throat. "Am I going to make it spurt?"

"My god," I wheezed. She was a talker, too? Where had this sexy wench been hiding, in plain sight beneath her wetnursing and her work over the fire? I was a strong sword sheathed within her, totally rigid. I hunched upward. "Want me to?"

"Of course I do, lover," she purred, her hips swiveling across my lap: we stared down at where we were joined, a riot of curly hair there in wild, lush profusion, mine fair and hers dark, mingling. Twining together. tangled as our flesh was tangled, as our fingers now tangled themselves together. I watched mesmerized: I'd never been inside such a lushly hairy woman, and I found it deeply exciting.

She smiled down at me, her big tits bobbing before my face as she began to ride me. "It's been so long," she whispered, and now her voice held a quavery hint of wonder in it. "Such a fine prick," she murmured again, enthralled, her eyes closing into slits as she leaned lower, and before I knew it her fat dark nipples grazed over mine. "Let me fuck you, lad," she cooed in my face.

I didn't trust myself to speak, arching rhythmically upward, driving high into her: it was hard to keep up, she was grinding so fast, pushing herself toward that melting climax she knew I could give her. If I could hold out, that is; her old, wet quim was deceptively, wonderfully tight and warm, coaxing my prick higher and harder, greedy for my seed.

And so we grappled there together, writhing, hips gnashing together in a slick, sweaty grapple, letting our passion rule us both as we urged each other onward. "Fuck me," she growled, her spit lashing my face: hers was a grimace of lust, teeth clenched, for she needed this. Needed me. I didn't even want to think about what my own face looked like. She pulled my hands to her chest, pressing my palms to those deliciously bobbing tits, clasping me to her as her flesh pressed out between my eager fingers.

I arched farther and farther, our bodies slapping loudly, an amused grunt coming from one of the horses in the corner as we coupled desperately. "Oh Cuvehr" she prayed, wavering, her eyes quite closed now, and her body was suddenly a sweating rigid mass atop me, cunt gripping me like a tight fist as she fell down onto my thighs and pushed her face against my neck to muffle the joy I was giving her.

I gasped, breathless, feeling my pride mount like a bird on the wing, grateful to myself and my prick for having satisfied this woman without losing my own control, for by then I was bucking strongly to fuck her through her climax, stoking her body, whipping her like a galloping horse as I raced to find my own pleasure. "Get off me," I managed, my voice a hoarse croak. "Get off me or I'll shoot it right up in you, I swear!"

She blinked through her haze, looking at me for a long, dulled moment before her mind returned to earth, to sense, and she sprang off me just in time. My cock emerged red and twitching from her wet cunt, and no sooner had she landed back on my thighs with my penis waving before her than I lost it, releasing my seed with a long, shuddering groan, the thick white cum arching high between our naked heaving chests. I watched, awed, as it speckled the underside of her heavy breasts, running down off her nipples onto my chest.

While I? I just lay there, my cock singing to my whole body, the feeling powerful and relentless as ever. I loved this, the thrill of cumming, and as a paladin I was able to do it often: most women, I'd learned early, enjoy having a warrior. Hilda was plainly no exception as she sank down atop my body with my spent prick caught in her bush, our naked limbs warm and lazy in the autumn afternoon. "Well!" she breathed after a few moments of this, her hand stirring on my chest, "you don't disappoint."

I smiled. "Then our bargain is sealed, for my part?" I kissed her forehead, surprising myself. "A fuck from me in exchange for a word in m'lady's ear?"

She went still at that, then after another pause she slid aside so she could prop herself up and see my face. "You're leaving here. Aren't you?"

I stilled, then shrugged out the lie. "Only for awhile. I'll come back."

"As soon as I saw the fuller's little whelp rubbing her belly, I knew you'd flee," she mused. "I'm sure the whole household knows."

"Except Lady Manda," I hoped.

"Perhaps." She toyed with my nipple, smearing my seed there, seemingly captivated by the trail the white liquid made over my chest. "Her ladyship is... good at lying to herself." She smirked. "A good woman, I suppose, and kindhearted. But she enjoys making up stories for her own mind, and her priest's."

"Enjoys?"

The housemaid shrugged. "Well. Perhaps, perhaps not. It's nothing to me, what she tells herself when she opens her legs." She glanced around. "Know who it was this time? When they snapped her in the pillory?"

I shuddered at the memory of her shame, just a week ago: Lady Manda, nude and mocked by her people. "Cullen, the blacksmith's boy."

"Oh. You do know." She rolled some of my cum between her fingers. "Ever fucked her?"

"Lady Manda?" I chuckled. "She's far above my station." I patted the woman's nude, sweaty rump. "I'm much better suited to old hags like you."

She giggled at that. "I've got barely forty years," she protested, "and your cock doesn't seem to think I'm too old..." she mused, her hand sliding down my lazy, half-hard length, still filmed with her pussy. "What do you think? Do you think I could make it hard again?"

"No doubt," I laughed, and to be honest? She probably could, her guileful fingers tracing my flesh. "But we've no time, Hilda. You've got dinner to cook, and a Lady to speak to," I reminded her, thinking I too had a lady to speak to as well. Two days now I'd been waiting to go do that.

Well, no. Mine was not a lady. But she was certainly a woman.

"You know what to say?" I pressed now, low and urgent as her hand cupped my emptied balls.

"I'm to suggest to Her Ladyship that she send you after that wretched little bitch Nellie." The whole household was still abuzz: a slave, maid to a Lady, running away, was not a common event. "She won't want her back, you know," she added viciously.

"No?"

"No. That little slut knows all of m'lady's secrets. All the non-husband pricks she's had in her noble twat. And when Lord Berken comes back and hears about Manda's shame in the marketplace, well... he's going to want to know those secrets." She licked a gobbet of cum off my skin. "Tasty."

"You don't think she'll tell me to bring Nellie home?"

"She might tell you to kill her," Hilda frowned, "though I don't think m'lady is quite that bloody. But no. She's well rid of that little whore, as I've already told her." She stirred. "She actually thinks the girl's a sorceress."