On French Soil 4 - Laid In Bed Majestical

by T S Fesseln

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2006 - T S Fesseln - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; bond; kidnap; reluct; X

Disclaimer: This is a work of amatory fantasy.  Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental.  If you are under the age of 18, please stop reading here.  If you are a bit squeamish about graphic depiction's of rape, bondage and sex, please stop reading here.  The author takes no responsibility for those who wish to reenact anything written below. Permission is granted for private use.  The author wishes any agencies that wish to publish this work, to please contact him at [email protected]
Any comments are gladly accepted and encouraged.

Chapter Four - 'Laid In Bed Majestical'

"A tough boil to lance, I am 'fraid," Talbot said disturbing Sir Edward de Valence's thoughts of the bound Catherine cached away in his luggage wagon.

Edward's eyes once again looked at the two towers he was commanded to take. Though Harfleur herself had surrendered, the villains in the those accursed towers had not. On the morrow, Edward planned to array three canon against both and pound them night and day until their senses were shaken back into their heads. If not, damp hay would be mounded around them and set aflame. The smoke would drive them out.

"Indeed, Talbot. But they will fall. This soil is hallowed by our blood and this town is English today and forever. They will leave or they will die. Come, fair Talbot, let us see the rest of our prize lodging and give thanks for it."


Catherine D'Astier was not giving thanks to her lodging as she lay, bound hand and foot, beneath the scratchy blanket Edward had tossed over her. The empty bottle had not sated the desire in her womb and her bindings were raw upon her ankles and wrists from the effort. The yearning in her quim continued despite her fatigue. She could not move much and every effort now caused ache in her joints and blissful agony where her pleasure-swollen nipples scraped against the blanket. The bottle she sought her wanton solace in was now poking between her thigh and swollen lips and her need to relieve herself was growing.

Catherine wondered about what was to happen now. The baggage wagon she was in had moved twice, the last just a very short distance. She was the English's prize and she knew he would have his fill of her before discarding her like a broken flagon. It is how long of draught he would have of her before that was to happen. It was up to her to make it last as long as she could.

The English, Edward, liked Catherine's lithe looks. She could see it in his hazel eyes as they feasted upon her ivory form. He relished what she could do with her lips around his pricker. She was now glad that her cousin and her other lovers taught her the lessons no friar could. They would be her salvation. To please the English ogre would mean life for her. Catherine could also see in Edward de Valance's eyes a hatred that had been boiled to a hardness that no one could soften. What caused the anger, she did not know, but it was against her father Phillip, she was sure.

Catherine's father was an enigma to her. To him, she believed, she was just another pawn in his game of groats and florins. Catherine knew her mother was such a pawn. Adele D'Hainault was of a well landed family whose connections with the court were as tightly woven as any spider's web. She was rather a plain woman but a spirited one whose meddle was passed from mother to daughter. Adele had bore six children to Phillip before she died of the Death. The Death also claimed one of Catherine's brothers and her only sister. Their deaths left Catherine as the sole woman of the household and her mother's duties fell upon her. Phillip seemed not to care as long as things were kept in due order. His lust for appointment and filled coffer kept his attention.

Deep down, Catherine knew her father would not pay her ransom. This realization overwhelmed her and she began to sob quietly to herself.


The second story of Edward's billet was like the first, divided into three rooms, all having beds and benches. The corner room had a large, canopied bed as well as a window over looking the river. This room also had a sturdy oak door with iron fitting and an arrow loop as well as having thick walls. The merchant that built this home was more than just a mere leather craftsman. The building would suit Edward well.

"Talbot, I want all the men to comb our camp for anything we may have left as well as anything left by any others. I need the quiet to plan the breaking of the towers."

"Indeed, m'lord."

Talbot left without another word.

Edward's eyes followed him until he made sure the soldier was gone. After exploring the building a bit looking for that odd soul that might have stayed behind, he found the building to be deserted save him and the woman bound in his luggage. Quickly he open the wagon's door and tore off the blanket covering his prize. Catherine was huddled on her side and the smell of her urine and lust filled Edward's nose. Her slender face was puffed red with tears and her long, dark tresses were in a tangle about her. Her gag was still in place, damp with her drool, and her bindings were still taught. Her dark, doe-like eyes looked up at him in anguish as he reached down for her. This time, Catherine did not struggle as Edward lifted her over his shoulder to carry her. She was as easy for Edward to lift as a yearling would be. Her slender, marble white skin was smooth and warm as he hugged her arse to keep her from falling. The smell of her perfume was still strong and Edward's lust for this D'Astier she-bitch was growing again.

Catherine was glad to be out of the wagon. The smell of her own urine was still strong in her mind and she never felt so helpless. The English's hands were warm and firm upon her bottom and they felt good. She did not recognize the house they were in, but she knew she was still in Harfleur. Her wrists were still bound together and tied to her bound ankles, however, despite the English's shoulder poking into her belly sorely, she did not dare move lest she fall and hurt herself even more. At last, after passing through two or three rooms, the English dropped her onto a huge, canopied bed. Catherine could only see the lead-colored sky outside and the swirls of smoke that still rose wraith-like into the air. Nothing else was recognizable.

"Are you going to behave, Catherine, and not act like a wild mare?" Edward asked, his voice low and gravelly.

Catherine nodded, a quiet mewl coming from her gagged mouth.

Edward smiled and stood back a little to survey his prize. Catherine was slender in build and her skin was the color of milk, though now she needed to be washed of the soot and grime that clung to her. Even as disheveled as she was as she lay in the bed bound, Edward could feel a wanton ache growing in his groin for this woman.

"I am going to untie you briefly so that you are more comfortable," Edward told her in her native French.

Rolling her onto her stone smooth stomach, Edward began to untie those knots he had tied last night. The knots were difficult, pulled tighter by her struggles, but soon he had her ankles unbound as well as her wrists. Catherine felt the bindings come off of her hands and feet, but there was numbness in them that made it hard for her to move them. It was if her body was betraying her when Edward rolled her back over and bound her wrist again, one to each bedpost above her head. The English then did the same to her ankles until she was spread and exposed before him. She turned her head away, closing her eyes and knowing what was to come. She was all out of tears.

The cold water came as a shock and instantly she was looking to see what was happening. Her eyes met Edward's dark, hazel ones and saw the slight smile in them. He had a dripping cloth in his hand and was washing her body with it. Slowly, but firmly, he washed each foot and leg, working his way up until the cold, sodden cloth was washing her belly. Then the cloth began to caress over her breasts, now flattened because of her position. It was a slow lover's caress, not harsh at all, and Catherine let out a mewl of pleasure despite herself. Edward caressed her nipples, feeling their stiffness beneath the cloth. He rubbed the cloth over them and around them, causing his captive to moan gently through her gag. Slowly, he worked his way up her chest and gently began to wash away the grim from the curves of her face. There was no longer the look of fear in her dark eyes, only a look of coy curiosity. Then Edward bent down and kissed her on her forehead.

Edwards kisses did not linger there. Catherine closed her eyes and felt his warm lips and rough beard caress her cheek and neck and felt his breath when he nibbled at her ear. There were slight purrs of pleasure rumbling in her throat as his kisses moved down her neck and over her upper chest. The English's kiss was a lingering kiss and it seemed like an eternity before his lips came to one of her nipples. He did not take it into his mouth; rather he kissed around it, caressing her areola with his tongue. Edward then kissed the tip of her one nipple before going on to the other, never actually taking it into his mouth. Then Edward stopped.

Catherine slowly opened her eyes and watched Edward undress. By the light of day, he looked less menacing. The English was a tall, broadly built man. His shoulders and arms were burled with muscle and his chest was barrel-like and was covered with dark hair like moss covers a rock. The scar across his stomach was more visible now, it's purple wake crossing the rippled flesh of his belly. His legs were sturdy and as Edward pulled his hose down, his rampant pricker stuck out of his dense, dark bush like a thick pike. After undressing, Edward crawled into the bed and pulled the curtains shut around the bed, save for the side facing the window. Edward wanted to drink in Catherine's beauty as he knelt between her open sex.

Again his lips met Catherine's flesh and now his teeth nibbled at her passion-aching nipples. Taking each one into his mouth, Catherine felt every pulse of bliss racing through her as she lay bound and at his mercy. She felt her hips rocking with the ancient rhythm and the hot, solid flesh of his penis pressing against her thigh. Edward's hands gripped Catherine's hips and lifted them off the bed as Edward positioned himself before her gates. Her nest tickled at his swollen head as Catherine writhed in the limit of her bonds, wanting him deep inside her. Her lips were swollen red and glistening with passion. He poked his head in enough to make it slick before plunging it in.

Catherine's heated quim engulfed Edward's pricker in ecstasy, her silken muscles gripping Edward like milkmaid's hand upon a teat. The rhythm of their passion was slow at first and the bonds holding her arms and legs apart frustrated Catherine. She wanted to dig her heels into Edward's thighs and force him into her faster, but Edward had a slow rhythm of his own and the mewls of want from behind Catherine's gag just made him want to enjoy her fruits more slowly. Edward's pace quickened as he gripped her hips, forcing her into his rhythm, not the wanton fervor of her own. Her moans had become louder and shorter, almost a chant of lust. The wanton fires of pleasure in her womb raged through her like a blacksmith's forge, the heat building white hot with every stroke until Catherine was consumed in the fire brands of bliss.

Below him, Catherine's moans had become one long one as her body writhed in its bonds as if possessed. Edward felt his own seed boiling up within him and he fought to hold it back. The longer he held back, the more pleasure in the end. Stroke after stroke, he rammed into Catherine until he could hold off no longer and flooded her womb with his spent. The heat of his seed burned through Catherine and pushed her orgasm further until her body was not her own as the pleasure wracked through it. She felt his arms embrace her helpless body and hug himself to her as his rod withdrew from her. She loved the warmth of his body and would have returned the embrace if she were not bound.

Edward lingered above her, looking at her lovely face and the raven tresses that ringed her head like a halo. He moved to her side and slowly caressed circles around her still erect nipples, over her smooth belly and through the damp, dark curls of her nest.

"Catherine?" he whispered.

She opened her eyes slowly; a grin glinted from them as she looked into Edward's hazel ones. Though her mouth was gagged, Edward could see a slight smile around the soaked cloth. Edward looked around the bed and found the cloth tie for the curtain. With one swift pull, he ripped it down and coiled it beside Catherine' head. Edward then gently lifted Catherine's head and began to untie the gag.

"Promise me not a sound or word, Catherine, or I will leave this rotted rag in."

Catherine nodded, saying something unintelligible into the gag.

Edward unwound the gag from between Catherine's lips and threw it to the side.

Catherine worked her lips and jaws. They were full, sensuous lips, like petals of a perfect red rose wanting for the bee to kiss. She did not say a word but looked at Edward with a puzzled frown.

"Yes, Lady Catherine?"

"You told me not to speak."

"So I did."

"I am doing so right now, Englishman."


"You are a beast, Englishman. A filthy dog of the devyl." Catherine's word spat but her voice lacked the strength it did earlier.

"My name is Edward de Valence, Lady Catherine, not Englishman and I am going to be your lord and keeper until your ransom is paid. But my first chore is to find some suitable clothing for you. I cannot have you like this, though it would please me to do so," Edward's fingers traced his fingers through Catherine's nest of dark curls.

"As if, m' lord de Valence, I have a choice in this matter."

Edward smiled, "You do not, Catherine."

And with those last words, Edward took the cloth curtain sash and pulled it tightly through Catherine's lips, her protesting screams muffled as Edward wound the cord around and around her head until she was fully muffled. All the while, Catherine kicked and struggled against her bindings that held her tightly.

"I shall ungag you, Catherine, when I return. I will find someone to watch over you until my return. You are more valuable to me, Catherine, than you can ever know."

Edward then pinched Catherine's nipples until the pain made her scream.

"I shall return, my pretty ride."


Edward drew the curtains around the opening, completely enclosing the bed in a musty dark. It took Edward but a moment or two to get dressed and to shut the large door behind him. Luckily, Talbot had already placed one of Edward's locks upon the door and left the key within it. With a click, Catherine would be alone in the dark, a bound prisoner of Edward's lusts.

As Edward made his way down the stairs, some of his men had started ambling in and setting themselves down on the floor and closing their eyes. Edward could feel their weariness as he greeted each one with a pat or a nod or a joke. But as these small gifts of camaraderie were exchanged, all there knew of the coming hardships in breaking the other two towers. The wrestling of the bombards into place, the constant ear-numbing roar of each canon pounding shot after shot day and night and the odd arrow shot at them from the besieged. Their stay in Harfleur would not be the rest they sorely needed.

Edward sought solace outside in the cold misty rain, huddled within his cloak's warm womb. As he ambled through the muddy streets, his eyes searched every cloaked person to see if it was the one that he needed to speak with.

"M'lord de Valence?" a voice called out in back of him, a lilting, robust woman's voice that Edward knew in a moment whose it was.

"Margaret!" Edward nearly yelled as he spun around to see her standing in a doorway well out of the rain.

"Do not just stand there lookin' like a wet dog, come in, come in," she motioned.

Edward rushed into the hallway, dark for lack of candlelight, however, in the doorway, Edward could make out his favorite 'washer woman'. Her hair was the pale red of sunsets and her eyes were green with laughter. She had a wide, smiling face to go with her eyes. The top of her head reached to Edward's chest, but her curves suited her well. Edward's head had rested on her ample bosom many times during many campaigns, both before and after his wife had died. Her son was one of the gunners in Edward's command.

"M'lord de Valence," she smiled as she hugged him, "How I have longed to feel those arms around me again! It has been so long."

"Indeed, it has been too long, my Margaret."

Margaret looked into Edward's hazel eyes and saw something in there, a sullenness that made his smile bittersweet.

"What is wrong, my Edward?" she asked.

"Margaret," he said slowly, "I need to ask of you a favor. . ."

Continues in Chapter 5 - Of The Heat Of The Ginger


If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!