Posted by hisdinner on June 05, 2002 at 16:22:15:
Here is one I wrote a while back, with a rough guy in the lead role. Thanks, Verity! Your post, "Rough" is so succinct. Mm.
Harvest Supper
by hisdinner
About a mile's hard climb above the town, or three miles by carriage, a wide plateau held the estate of Gregory Will. The young man was a scoundrel and a gambler. In the two years since his father died, Gregory had dissipated his inheritance with the same wantonness that he had used to spread his seed. He had sported in every tavern, gambling and whoring across the countryside. Few men would accept his markers any longer, and even fewer women spread their legs willingly for him, because Gregory was cruel. He loved the exquisite torture he could visit upon a quivering body. All those girls who might, by mischance, bear his children, first bore some deliberate mark of his derision; Gregory liked to cut.
Gregory craved the innocent, but he had no affection for them. There was no taste more keenly honed than Gregory's lust for crushing innocence. Having plowed his way through all the easy whores in the surrounding countryside, Gregory was just beginning to harvest the less accessible fruits of the village girls. The sight of their tears was sweeter than any whore's best sucking. And tonight, he smiled, the devil himself could have his fill at Harvest Supper! Why, tonight, they'll all come right to me, and I can review them at my leisure and pull out only the most delicate, if I choose, or the plumpest, or the haughtiest. But they will all parade before me, at least this one last time.
Gregory's family had held this fete each harvest moon since anyone could remember. The largesse of the landlord was bestowed upon the farmers, once a year, just after they'd paid tribute with their crops. But once Gregory had spent his silver and his gold, the land had been the next to go, and he had frittered it away in small acreages to the many better gamblers he'd encountered. He still held the plateau and a few small farms beneath it, as he still held the people's expectations. He would honor the old traditions and grant them a lavish dinner dance tonight, so that he could take one last harvest for himself. He might even make one last attempt at forging an alliance with the wealthiest household. A wife's dowry might support his debaucheries a few years more.
In late afternoon, families gathered for the trek uphill to Will House and the harvest supper. Fathers nursed grudges, eyes askance at their daughters' swollen bellies. Other men rehearsed their demands and clutched tight to Gregory's promissory notes. As they made their way uphill, every one of them worked up a hunger.
As night fell and torches lit up the drive outside and lamps glowed around the stone walls, the hungry assaulted the food. Gregory rose to begin his harvest walk, to choose and set aside the ones who seemed most promising. As Gregory strolled through the tables, not one angry father confronted him, and many of the girls pushed out their chests, and preened. The dinner had done its work, all were lulled by food and drink and momentarily overawed by Gregory's lavish gestures. The young were ready for dancing. Servants picked up plates and shoved the tables out to the sides of the hall as the musicians assembled and began to play. Gregory watched the younger women as they brushed crumbs from fitted bodices and smoothed down satin skirts, and shook their curls. The two creatures nearest the musicians were wealthy girls, their mother had inherited well, but Gregory could not bear their mulish faces. Good for the marriage bed, true, but tonight he most desired to slash and rut.
He invited the bachelors to start the dancing, and used the commotion to advantage. As each of the girls was approached, he studied her responses to the young men's invitations. He focused glittering eyes on those who blushed the deepest, and marked the color of their gowns. Gregory pictured the scarlet-clad one, strung out and tied in his hayloft, screaming as he lashed the mare's whip on her. Each cracking report would leave her with a deeper gash. The music of the piper nearly matched the shrill cries she would give as the blood trickled from shoulder blades and bloodied breasts. He would take her down and stroke her face, and wipe her tears, and she would sob and beg for him to have her. They always did. Once he'd given pain, he could mete out pleasure, and so he'd plumb her. He'd take his cock and trace it down the diagonal stripe of the most livid of the lash marks, then plunge it into her, and she would eagerly accept it.
He knew the look of innocent joy in their eyes, how they could put fresh stinging torture out of their minds and believe that it was over, if he fucked them. As their pussies wet, he'd rear back, grasp them by their ankles, and lift them up and slap their asses to a pleasant red glow. Then Gregory would toss them back down again and fall fast and hard into their tight chambers. He'd make them shriek by sinking his saber into the hot depths of them. Gregory smiled, and looked to the green-gowned mousy girl. How he'd love to use the gutting knife to slice her gown and carve his name into her ass, right as he fucked her. He'd bind her hands tight behind her, and grip that mass of dull brown hair with one hand as he plunged into her. She's be screaming even before he got the tip of the blade into her buttocks. He was an artist with the blade, and her ass looked broad enough to well display his knife strokes. What a wealth of opportunities Gregory saw before him! He could cache a few and, one by one, defile them. Oh, the days and weeks of pleasure they could offer.
As Gregory passed the garden doors, he was distracted by movement and laughter out in the darkness. He glimpsed white fluttering cloth and heard a high squeal of laughter. His interest piqued, Gregory strode from the hall and moved toward the river chasm. When he reached the vegetable garden he spotted a flicker of white on the ground just beyond the summer cookhouse. He slowed to muffle his feet, predatory stealth infusing his actions. Ahh, there. Two figures, rapt and rolling in each other's arms, and not a glance his way to indicate they'd noticed his arrival. Girls, both of them! They were young, about eighteen or twenty, and rounded just enough so that he could get a firm hold of their flesh as he used them. Gregory's cock stirred and pressed to painful fullness. He watched. The blonde's curls shook as she raised up and offered her nipple into the mouth of the dark haired girl, who sucked it in eagerly. Her hands caressed the softer flesh under the blonde's plain skirts. The blond girl was a little jumpy, acting skittish, as if it were her first encounter. Ah, just in time, Gregory thought, let's stop this before she is breached.
Maudie had drunk more than was her custom and she grew less cautious by the minute as Winn's teasing caresses touched her sex and then drew back. "Oh, Winn, come on, I want you to show me how they fuck you, don't pull back, I want it!" Winnie laughed and brushed her dark hair from her eyes, and then she noticed Gregory. He leaned against the cookhouse door and leered at them.
"Are you whores? No, this one talks as if she's never had a man. Come here," he said to Maudie. She scrambled up and covered herself.
Winnifred glowered, and said, "We are servants. You know my master. We met when he lost a wager to you." As she spoke, the young woman straightened out her clothes and tried to signal Maudie, who had already got up, and now stood obediently before their landlord. Gregory reached past Maud and grasped Winifred's chin and pulled her face upward into the moonlight. He smiled at the thin red flourish that graced the top of her breast.
"Oh, yes, I remember you. You were poor payment for his debt; you tried to bite me. Get along, go fuck your master like a good little whore, and I'll see to your friend."
Winifred looked between them, from dark to light, and shook her head. Too late already, she thought, and the way he stares at her, it will be a wonder if by tomorrow, she isn't dead. Winifred took up her skirts and made a broad circle around the two of them, the wolf and his fresh lamb. Her fingers traced the sharp ridge of the knife mark on her breast. She shivered and drew a shawl around her shoulders and walked into the light of the hall. She sought more wine and fewer memories.
Maud watched their exchange, wincing. As Winnie left them, Maud backed away from Gregory, feeling behind her for the cookhouse wall. When she reached it, Maud held onto the weathered wood as her legs shook beneath her. Gregory turned and watched the little blond press tight against the splintered walls of the cookhouse. His teeth ground hard together and the muscles twitched in his jaw. This little girl is the most delicious thing I've ever seen, he thought. Not only is she fair and young, but I have not even struck her yet, and look how she quivers. He walked to her. Maud stared at Gregory as he loomed nearer, making out a polished silk coat and white necktie against his darker skin. His sharp nose flared and his eyes narrowed above a thin mouth stretched into a permanent sneer.
Maud forced her legs to bend. As she slipped down against the rough wall her yellow hair was snagged and pulled hard into a crack. She cried out and brought up her hands to free her hair from the wood's bite. When her arms stretched above her head, Gregory reached across her body and clamped one hand around her wrists. Maud choked off another cry as the landlord closed the space between their bodies. He pressed her harder to the wall, leaned down, forced his head between her arm and cheek and sank his teeth into the tender flesh that joined her shoulder to her neck. Maud shrieked, and Gregory smiled and sank his teeth in deeper. Maud's body squirmed, pinned hard against Gregory's. As he felt blood straining close to the surface of her bruised skin, Gregory thought over his situation. "I can make quick work of you," he considered, pushing her out before him to take another look, "or stow you away and let you simmer, while I go and harvest my red and green-gowned lovelies."
He spent a moment picturing a stable as it might look full of clear-skinned girls. A frown formed between his brows as Gregory recalled that his own stable was practically empty. It held few horses now. He'd sold all but six and soon he'd need to sell another, or more land, if he did not secure a new source of wealth. Gregory's lust for the tears of young women was only surpassed by his need for the means to obtain them. If tonight, he did not cement a bond with the richest household present, Gregory would be forced to curtail his habits, lose his dark indulgences. Before he used his knife, then, Gregory was determined to secure new riches.
He held Maud's wrists until her arms spasmed, then wrenched them sharply down and behind her, and forced her in a short march to the cookhouse, and pushed her in. He nodded to himself, yes, let's save her for later. Maud is too delicious a morsel to ruin quickly. I'll just go into the hall, and woo the least ugly of those two sisters. And when we have a pact, I'll celebrate on the white skin of this young lass. Gregory bound Maud tightly to the heavy shelving on the far wall of the cookhouse, her arms splayed out and stretched across the shelves, bound tight with leather straps which bit. She sobbed and her head drooped, as Gregory snatched her skirt, tore off two strips and wadded one into her mouth, then secured her gag by wrapping the other strip around her head. Wispy curls escaped. "There now. You'll keep while I go romance the Fisher sisters."
Maud's eyes flew open and she jerked her head up, straining with the effort to be understood. Fisher! Her own half-sisters, that's who he meant. Gregory meant to marry one of Maud's own sisters, the same sisters who had used her as a servant since her father died. Now this monster will join those two rancid spinsters. I think they were wrong, she thought, when they told me that I was lucky to wait on them, and not be turned out on the street to whore. Look where serving them has brought me.
Gregory ignored her muffled sputterings, but he couldn't look away from her heaving chest. He brought the stiletto out of his boot and placed its tip on the top of one round breast. Gregory watched, eyes widening as the breast rose up and pierced itself. As Maud panted, the soft swell of her white skin brushed against the point, and she bled crimson. A single drop of blood formed a thin thread that followed the curving slope and trickled down into the cleft between her breasts. Gregory shook himself and stepped back, mouth twitching. "That's just my promissory note, dear, of what's yet to come."
Gregory made quick work of the Fishers. The sisters seemed to inhale his every word as their eyes drank in his dark features and fine clothes. Gregory turned first to one and then the other, his rich baritone caressing their sharp features and softening them. He flattered them, conjuring beauty and charm from the banal. He watched them swell and redden, fanning themselves, their damp bosoms glowing. Why, he thought, if the church allowed it, both these stinking women would share my marriage bed. When he told them he wanted a marriage, the Fisher women squealed their pleasure. Gregory shook his head, stifling a shudder that ran through his body . He smoothed out the sneer that threatened to dispel his beatific smile. He reached out and took Agnes' hand. As the eldest, the property was in her hands. "I keep your hands in mine," murmured Gregory, thinking, "and if I could I'd chop them off and pour your blood and your gold into this cup and drink it down!" He raised his glass and peered at her dry skin.
The younger sister, Delores, snatched his cup away and took his other hand. Her eyes bulged out with her need to communicate her desire for him. Delores squeezed his hand and narrowed her stare and sucked in her lower lip as Gregory said, "A fine family we'll make." He kissed Delores' hand and stroked her palm with one finger, pressing his nail into her flesh just deep enough, giving a tiny nod to show his acceptance of her offer. "I'll get the church service arranged, and tonight we'll inform the townsfolk, if it's your pleasure. But first, I have some other business to attend." And Gregory left the hall.
What he hadn't counted on was the strength of young Delores' infatuation. He hadn't foreseen that she would misconstrue his touch and words as invitation. When Gregory was about to pierce the belly of his precious Maud, when he had the glinting tip of his hunting knife poised just above her navel, when he was drawing out the agony of anticipation and growing hard with pleasure, they were suddenly not alone. Delores strode in the cookhouse door and turned and latched it tight behind her. And then she laughed, thin screeching waves that rose and filled the smoky room. "I thought you wanted a tryst with me, you rogue," she said, "And here I find you slicing my stepsister!"
Delores moved to Gregory's side, and ran her hand down his frozen arm. She encircled his hand with hers, tight on the shaft of the immense blade. Delores looked from the knife point to the quivering play of the muscles in Maud's belly. Gregory had bound the girl and used a sack of grain to stuff between her back and the shelf, to stretch her belly; so much easier for making art, when the canvas is taut. Now Maud's body curved outward in a soft C with her navel foremost. She shrieked and spittle soaked into her gag, but neither Gregory nor Delores paid heed. Delores pressed her body against Gregory's, adopting his stance and, turning her head from the sight of the trembling girl for a moment, she whispered, "This is far more delicious than what I had thought to offer you. May I assist?"
Two hours later, Gregory wiped his brow with a last bit of unsoaked muslin and stood back to admire his prize. He offered the cloth to Delores, who stood beside him, panting. Both had taken off their evening dress and were enrobed in glistening scarlet. Their faces were slack and sated as they gazed at the lattice work that once had been unmarked flesh. Delores shivered as she relived that first slicing stab. How it thrilled her as their joined hands pressed into the taut skin, felt resistance, and then broke through. She smiled, remembering the brilliant crimson of the first welling pool of blood, and how it coursed down into the barely furred cleft of Maud's sweet pussy. So many chores she'd handed this girl, she'd made her do so many mundane tasks, but this work, this was, by far, Maud's best use ever. Delores reveled in the strength she felt transferred up her arm as Gregory guided their hands about the careful job of latticing white flesh. She'd helped him strip the smooth long ribbons from Maud's thighs to weave between the six wide ribbons which now comprised her belly. "Just like an apple pie, all ready for the baking," Delores said.
"Not just yet, Delores." Gregory said, as he cut down the girl and placed her in a roaster, belly up, before the huge stone ovens. Gregory let the girl's legs dangle out of the shallow pan as he decorated her belly and breasts with cinnamon and oil, sprinkling generous amounts above her intricately woven skin. He grasped her limp arms, and using them as handles, he forced his cock between her thighs, then pulling, grunting, he shoved himself deeper in. Soon Gregory was thrusting hard as Maud's head rocked, senseless, at the far end of the pan. Delores edged closer, and sank to the girl's red mouth and sucked hard, moaning as she stroked her own wet cleft. Delores took Maud's lower lip into her mouth, then sank her teeth in. She tasted fresh blood. Delores moved her bloodied mouth further down the girl's remaining intact skin. She heard the wet sucking rhythm of Gregory's pounding as she suckled at Maud's stiffening nipples and lapped the blood from her swollen skin. As Gregory arched and groaned, shuddering and panting, Delores also felt the throbbing break within her. The two spent a drowsy moment, smiling in sweet delight, and then they rose as one and shoved their golden pie into the oven. They sat for hours nestled close together, and watched as Maud turned a delicious brown.
In two weeks time, the elder sister Agnes and Gregory were married. Then came a tragic fire, when they say his new wife was trapped in the burning cookhouse and overcome. No one could fault him for cleaving to the sister soon after. Indeed, no one muttered about him much at all, anymore. He'd paid his debts, and they'd stopped seeing his face in the newborns of their wandering daughters. And Delores looked as pleased as Punch, when she carted her new maids about the town.
by hisdinner