Legends of Godiva: Part 1
A knight on an errand meets a skinny-dipping beauty.
Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought in 5 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.
Editor’s Preface.
Lady Godgifu’s life is a subject of many legends, but sourcing the most accurate narrative is still rather challenging. Some myths, while not strictly accurate, are mere simplifications of a more complexed chronology. Campfire stories often morph the facts, but maintain the nature of the legendary strong-willed woman.
In this tome, we will venture into the influence that certain Coventry monks contributed to the lore of Lady Godiva. Sir Leofric and Lady Godgifu are clearly historical figures with a vast legacy in the British Isles.
Sir Leofric marched into the throne room and, when he was bidden, knelt before the King of England, Denmark and Norway, Cnut the Great. It was impossible for Leofric to tell whether he was to be rewarded or beheaded, such was the inscrutability of the new king's face. The knight had performed well in the wars, but performance was no guarantee of reward.
Kings were viciously unpredictable things, in his view. King Aethelred had given Leofric's eldest brother Northman a prominent earldom in Mercia. When Aethelred fell and King Cnut took his place, the new king rooted out the perpetrators of various schemes that had threatened the crown. Ealdorman Eadric, one of the more venomous snakes in the earldoms, was killed at the palace when he visited London for Christmas. On King Cnut's orders, Eadric's body was thrown over the city wall and left unburied.
Leofric's brother Northman and another man were with Eadric at the time, and though there was no evidence they were in league with Eadric, they also were killed in the incident. Leofric could easily see his eldest brother coming to the aid of a man under attack, but he refused to believe any of the rumors spread that Northman was taking bribes from Eadric. Northman was loyal to the crown and it had made him a powerful man; but too much power could put as a target on your back as well as treachery could.
Leofric's knee twinged as he waited, kneeling on the hard, cold stone, an injury from the wars that only hindered him when he wasn't on horseback, which was seldom. Harold, his massive Shire and Fresian mix horse, was the envy of many. Smarter than any horse had the right to be, Harold had saved his life more times than Leofric could count. He wondered what would happen to Harold, if King Cnut had decided to make a clean sweep of his family line.
"You are; handsome man to ladies, yes?" the king said brokenly in his lilting Danish accent, startling Leofric out of his thoughts. It was rare for the king to speak English, preferring the more cultured tongues of his advisors' translations of his Danish speech. Leofric looked around to see whom the king was addressing and was surprised to see the king's light blue eyes scrutinizing him. Leofric was somewhat versed in the rules of holding court, but he honestly couldn't think of an appropriate answer to the strange question.
"Sire?" Leofric asked, hoping not to have to answer.
King Cnut waved his hand dismissively to the hall where courtiers gathered and exchanged gossip and planned their intrigues. "Their eyes. They follow you. They speak to each other when you pass. You do not see this?"
Leofric glanced toward the hall. He had seen. Ever since Northman had been killed, he assumed the looks and the whispers were the offspring of the rumors spread to turn Northman's murder into an act of King Cnut's justice, rather than any particular admiration for his countenance or bearing. He was nothing but a wounded knight of the realm, now. Not that he could admit any of these thoughts to the king. "I am simply a knight, Sire. I try to keep my mind on my duties," he answered.
"Words of; handsome man," King Cnut snorted, then leaned over and nodded to his advisor nearby.
"Sir Leofric, His Highness wishes to convey to you his understanding of and admiration for your loyal and admirable performance in his service. It is his expressed intention to grant you the peerage of Earl Hákon upon his death, and until such time, he hereby appoints you as Ealdoman of Twywell." Leofric's eyes went wide and darted to the king who was watching for his reaction. Northman had been Ealdoman of Twywell before his death, and now it was to be his at King Cnut's order? The king's face held no mirth, but simply a wistful gravity. It would effectively put an end to the whispers, the cloud that had darkened his family name Northman's questionable death. But, why?
"Sire; I am honored. I; I don't know what to say," Leofric said, bowing his head in thanks and missing the significant look between the king and his advisor.
"There is, of course, a small matter with which His Highness would ask your assistance ere you assume your peerage. Perhaps you have heard of a small town in the West Midlands called; Coventry?
On the road to Coventry, Leofric scowled and gave Harold another kick to urge him faster. Harold, unaccustomed to such treatment, turned his head and looked at him disapprovingly. Kicking was for lesser horses, in Harold's mind. Leofric ignored him. He was too annoyed with himself for failing to reject King Cnut's offer outright. Oh, just a small matter in Coventry before you get everything you need to clear your honor and family name; what a load of bollocks.
King Cnut upon assuming the throne, besides routing out insidious plots against the Crown, had also discovered that the charming village of Coventry was "slightly delinquent in paying its taxes;" Yeah, right. Coventry was years delinquent in paying their taxes. They practically considered themselves another country.
Apparently, the last few tax collectors the King had sent to remind Coventry of their duties to the Crown were sent back bearing letters congratulating the King on his latest lavish expenditures on wars, naval fleets, and the latest London fashions, and requesting that an itemized list of expenditures that benefitted the landlocked West Midlands be sent, and at that time, Coventry would most happily pay taxes that were proportionate to the Crown's expenditures. The King's tax collectors had also been sent back relieved of the burden of their pants.
"I understand, Sire. Give me a regiment and I'll have them in order. Who is the disloyal overlord?" Leofric said, standing as the King bid him.
"The letters were signed 'The Lady Godgifu, Countess of Mercia,'" the King's advisor said, looking uncomfortable, "She is possessed of many lands in the area and the people are unfailingly loyal to her. What is more, she has the devoted support of the church, to whom she has been consistently and excessively generous. An armed conflict would likely end very badly for all. We believe it would be better to handle the matter with more; delicacy; than a regiment of soldiers might endeavor," the advisor concluded.
"A regiment of pants! So expensive!" chortled the King.
"So, you want me to go there alone; with nothing?" Leofric said, incredulous.
"She is widow. You go with handsome face. This is enough," the King said waving dismissively.
"Sire, forgive me, but I am not a man of a temper to woo;"
"And as a wedding gift for your nuptials to the Countess Godgifu, you shall be granted the Earldom of Mercia and all of its privileges. His Highness has written to the Countess and advised her of your coming at his behest. We will see you fitted out properly for attire ere you go. The Countess is most careful about propriety," the advisor finished.
"And bathed much, yes. The ladies, they like this," the King added, nodding sagely.
Leofric angrily threw the core of the apple he was eating into the woods nearby. Un-fucking-believable. He was a knight! Perhaps not as able as he once was, but he had worked tirelessly in service to the Crown and now he was being sent off to flatter a rich old shrew that he was to take to wife like he was no better than a common whore! The insult was not to be suffered! Of course, they knew he would jump at the chance, too. His honor handed back to him on a silver platter by the King, himself. What was worse, was that he had no other option. His loyalty would be in question if he refused a request made by the King himself. Leofric knew he had been played masterfully.
So incensed was he, that it was a while before Leofric realized that Harold had left the road and gone into the wood in search of the apple core he had discarded. "Harold, not now. I'll give you another apple later," he grumbled, pulling the reins around to turn back to the road and giving him another kick. Harold's ears flattened and he turned around and nipped Leofric's leg, refusing to turn from the wood. The stupid horse wasn't even sniffing the ground, though, seeming to follow an entrancing scent in the air.
"Fine, you find our way to Coventry without the road. Everyone says you're smarter, anyway," Leofric said, dismounting and walking alongside the beast, needing to stretch his legs. The wood was secluded, but not dense, allowing patches of sunlight to lighten the floor of the lush forest. Cursing himself for leaving the caravan carrying the rest of his belongings, he took a piece of dried meat from his pack and wondered how far they were from the town.
That was when he heard the voice. High and yet rich, clear as a bell, and joyfully free. He wondered how long it had been since he had heard a woman singing like that. As a soldier at war, he heard women crying out for help, wailing in despair, begging for money. At court, he heard the careful polished tones of practiced beauty, but nothing even coming close to this. It was pure and simple, without a care in the world.
He followed the voice deeper into the wood, Harold at his side, still sniffing the air. As he drew closer, the sound of the voice was mixed with the sound of water splashing. Slowing, Leofric approached a clearing where the sunlight penetrated the forest to shine down upon a clear pond, in the middle of which swam a woman wearing nothing more than what God had given her.
He watched her turn onto her back and float in the water, arms and legs spread wide. Her skin fairly shone in the sunlight, pale and beautiful. Her tits bobbed happily above the surface, nipples hard and erect, her long hair spread out in the water like a golden aura around her. She closed her eyes and continued singing with that voice that made the war hardened things inside him go soft.
Forgetting all else, Leofric pulled off his boots, leather tunic and leggings and left them in a heap next to a tree. Then silently, careful not to disturb the water, he swam out to the middle of the pond and began floating next to her. He smiled, feeling the waters swirl about the hairs covering his body, ticklish and gentle. Closer now, he could not only hear her voice, but also her gentle breaths, even the soft crackle of her mouth as her lips formed the words of the song.
Her voice relaxed him and he closed his eyes, waiting for her to discover his presence, wondering how she would react. She wasn't a girl, virginal and inexperienced. Such tedious creatures scream at any possible overture for play, even when they desire it. This was a woman, with rounded hips and full tits. Such a woman bathing nude, alone, in the forest; she had other options, Leofric thought.
A woman was more free of the expectations of purity that were forced upon young unmarried women, free of fear of a man's body and how it might make her feel, free of the pressure to rigidly make every choice correctly lest her future hopes be dashed by the consequences of impropriety. Such a woman could choose more easily to indulge in a lusty interlude, if it presented itself appealingly to her. That was his hope; to be chosen, enjoyed. War presented men many opportunities for lust, but few for true choice, pure enjoyment. Too many haggard women, suffering through a giving a man relief for a few coppers, rather than someone choosing to spoil themselves with a naughty treat. Nothing depressed him more than being seen as a distasteful chore to suffer through, only to briefly relieve starvation.
Now, the distasteful chore was his to do. What a joke his life had become. Until he'd heard the voice in the wood, he'd forgotten what;wait, where was the voice? Frowning, he opened his eyes to see large green eyes encircled with wet lashes staring at him in; bemusement? "Can I help you?" he asked her, watching her eyes look him over, more curious than afraid.
"You're a soldier;" she said, eyes taking in the healed scars on his face, lingering on his shoulder that had taken a lance a few months back.
"A knight," he clarified, wishing he could be standing. Lying in the water was so passive, not displaying his offerings to their best advantage, and he found himself wanting to do well in in this beguiling creature's inspection.
"Perhaps once, but not now," she murmured, running her hand down his thigh to rest near his wounded knee, a look of pained concern on her face. Leofric resisted the impulse to pull his vulnerable joint away from her touch. She wasn't hurting him, but it would be easy for her to do so. "Someone has taken great pains to pretty you up, recently, though," she said, taking his hand in hers and running her thumb over his fingernails that had been smoothed and scrubbed carefully by the king's attendants.
Leofric righted himself in the water, still letting her hold his hand, and cleared his throat. "I'm on an; errand; for the King. His Highness believes the Lady Godgifu, Countess of Mercia, would benefit from; counsel," he said, hesitating to be explicit about his humiliating task to woo a pious, rich, widow with nothing but some new foppish clothes and his man-pretty face. God in Heaven, he could barely admit it to himself, much less to this bewitching nymph that was treading water before him.
The woman's face subtly danced with a suppressed smile, and Leofric struggled to keep himself from pulling her into his arms. She wasn't fleeing, she wasn't screaming, and she was obviously reluctant to stop touching or looking at him. He found himself wondering how her body would feel against his in the weightless water, her wet, pouting lips against his. She actually drew nearer to him, reaching up to touch his face, "Does the King suppose the Lady Godgifu cannot tolerate a bearded man in her presence;" she asked, stroking his newly shaven face, "or one with the long and untamed hair of a man at war?" Her small hand reached back and her fingers stroked into his carefully trimmed wet locks.
She must have been a good deal shorter than him, he realized, though treading in the water had brought them face to face. Her arms were slight, but strong, and having wrapped them loosely around his shoulders, he now felt her soft naked body brushing against his. Caution still bid him to leave the woman her freedom, though, and he refrained from sliding his hands up her slender waist, though the temptation to do so was maddening.
"The King means for you to entreat her Ladyship into marriage, doesn't he?" the woman said quietly with a note in her voice not of derision, but compassion. Leofric looked aside, having difficulty meeting her eyes. At this response, she continued, "After all you have suffered in his service, instead of honoring you, he reduces the rest of your lifetime into nothing but a convenient remedy for a political whim; I'm sorry you were treated that way," she murmured.
"It is not easy to rule a kingdom; I'm sure His Highness wishes he had other options," Leofric admitted, grudgingly.
"Did you have other options?" the woman asked, running her fingertips along his strong shoulders, seemingly fascinated with his body. "Why would you agree to such a task, if you find it so unwholesome?" she asked.
"It was the King's request, and I am a man of duty," he responded, allowing himself to put his hands on her waist at last, drawing her to him. "Though, admittedly, in return the King would; remedy a great wrong for my family," he said.
"Oh;" she whispered, her eyes lowered from his, seemingly troubled. "Then, I truly wish you every success; there is little the heart could not endure for the sake of family," she said, pressing against him now as he wrapped his arms around her. He felt the soft wet curls of her womanhood brushing his torso, his hot turgid member pressed against her thigh. "All these things taken into account, though; why are you here, Sir Knight, in a pond with me?" she asked, her warm breath falling on him in short pants.
"Perhaps, my heart could not endure missing the chance to meet you, Lady;" he murmured, leaning forward and tasting her lips with his. He felt her body tense with a quick intake of air, and then slacken as she surrendered to the pleasure. The kiss deepened and her legs wound around him tightly, their bodies sliding together as she fitted herself to him more intimately. "I'm going to lay you in yon patch of clover and do things to you that will make you confess your faith and scream my name," he rumbled.
"But I; I don't know your name," she panted.
"Sir Leofric, Ealdoman of Twywell at your service, milady," he said, lifting her higher and taking her tit in his mouth, sucking on it, tasting the clear water mixed with the slight musk of her flesh. He felt her moan and shiver, arching her back to present herself to him more easily. With a grunt of approval, Leofric sucked greedily, rolling her nipple with his tongue, and feeling her squirm against him in pleasure. "Have I your consent?" he asked, releasing her from his mouth with a soft pop.
"I do; wait, no; I mean, you do; I mean; wait, what do I mean?" she asked, writhing against him in her need, now. "Yes, let's swim to shore and fuck," she said, squeaking as he took her other tit in his mouth and tugged on it gently with his teeth.
"No need, milady," he said, putting his feet to the bottom of the pond and standing up in the water, "I will be your trusty steed, if you are of the humor to ride me," he laughed quietly.
"Good Lord you're tall," she gasped looking down and clinging to him, "Don't drop me; I still have many things to do before I die."
"I like a busy woman," he laughed, and their lips met again as he started for the edge of the pond with long urgent strides, the extra weight paining his knee, but on this occasion, he couldn't care less.
Leofric carried her to where the dappled sunlight lit a thick carpet of clover near an old oak tree and without releasing her, lowered himself to the ground. Immediately, she lifted up and positioned herself over his manhood, but he stopped her. "Nay, do not rush so, milady. You've just been in water, and you're not prepared to take me yet. Turn around and let me ready you," he told her.
Her mouth opened and she appeared ready to argue with him, no doubt to protest that she was no untried virgin, but then he led her eyes with his down to the girth and length of the manhood straining under her. He chuckled as her eyes widened, her mouth closed, and she turned around and straddled his face without another word.
He sighed with pleasure, examining the delicate folds of the rich pink flower she presented him. He loved this position, the way it placed her so perfectly for him, the way the globes of her round white ass danced so freely for him, and the way it would force her legs to remain apart for him, even when her body was clenching and spasming in ecstasy.
He leaned up and stroked his tongue up and down her slit, tasting nothing but the water. The lady obviously kept herself clean, but also the water had washed away her natural lubrication. She would have been hurt badly if she had tried to fit him inside her like this, he thought. Women; too many of them all too ready to forego their own pleasure in the face of a man's urgent desire. Did they not know that their pleasure feeds a man's, as well? With a growl, he dove into her petals and made love to her with his mouth.
Leofric was no novice when it came to bringing a woman around with his mouth and before long, her gasps had turned to wails and he tasted her wet response to him, salty and tart and with a growl, he greedily lapped it away. He was in no hurry and he knew he could bring her around to give him more. He would last forever to coax this woman to give him more of her heady nectar, and the pleasure of it took his mind off his own need.
Soon, though, he felt his flower inching away from him as she stretched her shorter frame to reach his manhood with her mouth. Teasingly, he grabbed her ass and pulled her back to where he wanted her and gave her a spank. She made a noise of discontent and began inching forward again, wiggling awkwardly because her knees were unable to reach the ground when she sat astride his chest.
Amused, he watched her progress forward. Just when he felt her tongue lick the tip of his cock, he pulled her back again, feeling her arms go out from under her and her body smack down on his torso. He laughed heartily at her annoyed bark. She was not a woman to be denied for long, though, and he eventually conceded to her desires and curled forward to allow them both to pleasure each other at the same time.
Her lips, though alluring in the water, were utterly magical on land. She took him deep in her mouth, sucking him and rubbing her tongue round and round his head, before slowly pulling back and increasing the suction with a deep pull. "Nuh! Oh God, woman, you are a treasure!" he exclaimed, bending his knees and lifting his hips for her, helpless to do otherwise.
He buried his face in her flower again and focused on bringing her to bloom again before she made him spill himself in her hungry mouth. He would enjoy feeding her his seed, but at his core, he needed to stretch her, fill her, see her face when he claimed her deep inside. Ruthlessly, he suckled on her clit, rubbing it along the softest part of his inner lips, until she was whimpering around his cock and finally released him to cry out her delight and bring another flood of her nectar to his mouth.
He smiled, watching her toes curl into adorable tight fists, feeling her shaking against him with the delight he had given her. Before she fully recovered, he reached forward and pulled her body around to face him again. "Take me inside you now, lady. I would see your face as you ride me," he said, stroking her wet hair back from her face. She nodded in spent obedience, and rose up, guiding him to her entrance.
He watched her eyes close and her mouth open as he stretched her tight passage to accommodate him. Her warm, wet massage around his cock was a sweet welcome. She rose up and slid down on him a few times, until he felt the head of his cock press against the entrance to her womb. With eyes still closed, she smiled widely and then looked down to where their bodies joined. She had taken all but a couple inches of his length. A woman offering a man release for a few coppers seldom became excited enough to be able take more than half of what he offered, but having this woman's warm, wet caress around most of him was exquisite.
"Oh, hell no;" she said, grunting in dissatisfaction.
"Is there something amiss, lady?"
"Shut up and hold still. There's no way I'm not getting this whole thing in," she barked, putting her hands back on his thighs for balance and beginning to bounce up and down on him with a vengeance.
He laughed heartily, putting his arms back behind his head and watching her with delight. The nimbus of sunlight around her played up and down her body as she rode him, obviously enjoying herself. Her tits rose and fell, bouncing merrily with each luscious stroke. Her hips rolled and her strong thighs squeezed him, but most transfixing was her face. Even with her eyes closed, he could read her like a book, the shuddering pleasure she felt upon being filled with him, but even better on the upstroke, the shattering sensation made her open her mouth and gasp until she greedily sought him to fill her again. She was a vision.
So absorbed he was in her glorious ride that he was taken by surprise when her eyes opened and met his with a look of triumph. Her dark blonde curls were pressed against his black ones and all of his hard length was inside her. "Congratulations, Lady," he said admiringly, "I honestly believed the task was beyond you, but that I would enjoy your efforts."
She only smiled wearily, panting. She was exhausted. With a chuckle, he rolled them over and covered her body with his. Purring in satisfaction and gratitude, she reached up and stroked his face with a shaky hand. He leaned down and kissed her again as he stroked inside her, languishing in her exquisite embrace. Her legs curled up around him, rolling her hips to meet every steady thrust. "Uh; uh; uh; uh;" her panting grunts filled the wood around them, as his cock filled her smaller frame so full that it forced the noise from her body. "Oh, Leofric!" she gasped, and he felt her squeezing him with yet another orgasm.
"Now, if you're quite satisfied, milady, I would like to spend myself sometime this season. Chivalry has its limits," I said.
"Oh God yes, you've earned it. Fuck me hard," she begged.
Smiling at his favorite words, Leofric lifted her legs up to his shoulders and began thrusting into her more quickly. Though only just satisfied, the woman squealed with delight and urged him on, the lusty wet sounds of their union and the slapping of their flesh echoing around them. "Fuck! Fuck me with that hard cock! Yes! Yes! Yes! Uh, uh, uh, uh, wee!"
"That's right, little nymph; you take it. You take it all," he said, putting his hand into her hair, turning her face to his. "Now, I'll fill you till you overflow with my seed, Lady. Be you ready?" he hissed through gritted teeth, his rhythm breaking into jerky thrusts as his peak hit him.
"Yes! Oh yes! Oh, oh, oh; wee! Gimme your cum, please! Please!" she squealed. At her words, he winced and with a slight gasp he released, his cock filling her wet cunt with bursts of warm seed. Under him, her eyes went wide as she felt him swell and release inside her, then looked up at him with such wonder and contentment that he felt an unblemished rush of pride and satisfaction. If only life were always this simple, he thought wistfully.
The two stayed there kissing, talking and making love again and again, their limbs entwined under the oak tree, as the sun climbed the sky. Leofric told her stories of his travels as a knight, his childhood, even briefly of the death of his brother Northman and the pall it had cast upon his family.
"And after all that, you're still going to Coventry to bind yourself with Mary the Ever-Virgin's most devout follower? I don't think she's even seen a cock for years! What about the rest of your life?" she asked.
"If I could stop the sun rising, I would spend the rest of it here with you," Leofric teased, playing with one of her locks of wavy hair that had dried to a lighter blonde.
"Then, do it. Haven't you given enough? Leave the King and the Countess to their squabbles. Stay with me, instead. Why not let yourself just be happy?" she asked, curled up in the nook between his arm and unwounded shoulder, stealing the warmth of his body.
Leofric sighed. He had hoped things wouldn't end between them like this. The appeal of a grown woman, besides knowing herself and being more free to allow herself some pleasure, was that she almost always had a life to live afterward that didn't involve him. Usually, the way things progressed allowed him to be sure this was the case, but he realized that he knew almost nothing about this creature curled up against him; only that he was loathe to let her go. He realized that he hadn't even learned her name, but he knew she was irresistible; and dangerous. She could make any man forget his obligations.
"I have a duty," he said quietly. "My life has been filled with many unpleasant tasks; the only thing justifying me in God's eyes, now, is that what I have done has been in loyal service to one in authority over me. If I forsake my duty, what has it all been for?" he said, almost to himself.
He felt her rise over him, her eyes filled with tears. "Let me tell you something about duty," she said, surprising him with her quiet intensity, the tears of what he realized was rage, now rolling down her cheeks. "Duty; unlike life; never ends. It also never gives back. It just takes and takes and fucking takes until there's nothing left but an old body and a hollow sense of pride. You go face God and tell him that you always did what the latest political schemer told you to do! I'm going to tell him what I chose to do with the life he gave me!" she yelled, jumping up and giving a piercing whistle.
Out of nowhere, a lovely marbled white filly with a grey mane and legs galloped up, followed closely by an aroused Harold. With a graceful jump, she lept up onto her horse bareback and wheeled around to look at him once more as he and his injured knee slowly regained his feet. "Good luck prostituting yourself to your King and the Ever-Virgin," she hissed, then galloped away in a naked and glorious fury. Then, much to his consternation, so did Harold.
Leofric stood there alone, completely dumbfounded. What happened? Where had all that fire suddenly come from? They'd just spent a most pleasurable day together and then this. She'd seemed so reasonable until now. He was even thinking to ask her to continue on as his mistress if he married Lady Godgifu, a mistress who would be certainly more cherished and treasured than a piously frigid wife.
Leofric sighed. Women made no sense. He stretched and began walking back toward the tree where he'd left his clothing, only to discover that nothing but his boots remained. He groaned. At least the tax collectors had been left their tunics, he thought, pulling on his boots and trudging back toward the road. Why had he left the caravan, again? God, he was an idiot. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled for Harold. After waiting and hearing nothing, he realized that the woman's mare was probably in heat. He'd never catch up to her now, and he'd be lucky if he ever saw Harold again. Damn horse.
That was how Sir Leofric, the newly dubbed Ealdorman of Twywell, came to be limping up to the door of the new Coventry monastery, and rang the bell, wondering how he would explain his naked and terrifyingly sunburnt condition to the monks. He needn't have bothered worrying. When the door opened, Leofric looked down at the shaved head of a man with a merry face, wearing a monk's habit. Leofric opened his mouth to speak, but the monk only raised his hand to stop him from speaking. "Godiva;" he sighed wearily, shaking his head as he opened the door wider for the knight to come inside.
"So; you seem to have aroused the ire of Lady Godiva more effectively than dozens of the King's tax collectors," Brother Mark observed offhandedly while digging through a pile of folded pants and occasionally holding a pair up to Leofric's long body.
Leofric grunted in response. After drinking three pitchers of water and falling asleep in a spare bed, he had awakened the next morning with his bright red skin screaming in searing pain under the light blanket they had thrown over him, and a burning desire to mete out revenge upon the woman the monks called "Lady Godiva." Apparently, over the years, she had sent numerous half-nude men to their door by somehow convincing them to take off their clothing and then inhospitably riding off with their pants. The monks had even engaged some of the poorer families to sew a stockroom full of replacement pants to be ready for the men that fell victim to her.
"These will fit you in the middle, but I'm afraid we have nothing that will even come close to suiting you for length. You will need to have new ones made once you're back in London;" Brother Mark said, handing him a pair of simple pants made of a strong, rough fabric more commonly used to hold animal feed.
"I'm not going back to London," Leofric said, pulling the pants on and wincing at the sensation, "I have a duty. I will be going on to Coventry and holding counsel with the Lady Godgifu," he gritted out.
"So fine a lady; may she never sleep," the monk said, bowing his head reverently. "When the King took power over Coventry from King Athelred, he destroyed the nunnery here that was providing relief to the people, leaving not one stone upon another. Many would have perished, then, but for Lady Godgifu's goodness. Immersed in her grief over the cruel death of her husband, she devoted herself and a great deal of her late husband's wealth to the care and nurturing of her people. The town would not be here, but for her. We all owe her a debt of life," he said, looking off toward the town with more devotion than Leofric had seen in church.
As Leofric considered his next words, the sounds of the monastery registered in his ears, rather louder and more familiar than what he was accustomed to hearing in such a place. It occurred to him that he would have to speak with Lady Godgifu about more than just taxes. "I should set out quickly, then. Might you also have a tunic I could use?"
"Alas, we only keep a stock of the taxpayers' pants and our habits here. I beg your pardon, but we will not be able to lend you one of our robes. The Lady Godgifu has forbidden any but priests to wear them, since King Cnut killed all of the priests on the assumption that we had disguised soldiers in our garb. Since then, we have not had occasion to clothe a fully naked man, before. One wonders how you found such ill favor in the Lady Godiva's eyes;" the monk commented again, obviously hoping for a bit of gossip.
"Brother, you had the right idea when you gave women up. There is no reasoning with them," Leofric grumbled.
"Ah; I'm sure you're right. Of course, I always try to reason with my clothing on. I'll tell Brother Phillip you will be joining him on his trip to town today. He will be glad of the company," Brother Mark said, leaving him alone.
Leofric endured the bumpy ride to town in Brother Phillip's cart as stoically as he could. With each jolt, the scratchy pants scrubbed another layer of skin off his sunburned buttocks, but that was nothing to the heat emanating off the newly baked bread filling the cart. When the roads turned to the vibrating bumps of cobblestone in the streets of Coventry, Leofric jumped off the back of the cart rather than endure the torture any longer. After thanking Brother Phillip, he followed the directions he was given to reach the home of Lady Godgifu.
Coventry impressed him with its cleanliness and order. Unlike so many other towns, the streets were relatively dry, the liquid waste being cleverly channeled out of town through a series of stonework gulleys. He entered the town square to find a thriving marketplace. Many stalls sold fabrics of a variety of colors, most commonly blue woad. His shirtless appearance drew many eyes and smiles to him, but it was his pants that made the smiles become even wider.
He looked around for any sign of his belongings being sold by the vendors, but saw nothing familiar. Next, Leofric checked the local stables, for it was almost certain that his steed would turn up in one of them. Harold was a horse of enviable size and intelligence, a prize few would leave wandering about without an owner.
He walked downhill to a street where several of the townsfolk directed him, and found a surprisingly pristine lane with scrupulously clean stables lining the sides. Again, he was grudgingly impressed. By housing the animals only in one section, it enabled the waste of the animals to be channeled away from the town and down into an area where farmers took it away for their crops. As a result, the town was almost free of the smell of animal excrement, and he suspected, suffered far less disease.
Still, it did leave him with a long lane of stables to search. Thankfully, Leofric saw a young man go tumbling into the street out of one, holding a currying brush and suspected the cause. Harold was very particular about how the backs of his haunches were groomed. He whistled for the horse and was happy to see his black monster come trotting happily out of the stable and stand before him, as if expecting his promised apple.
"This one yours, sir? Cor, he's a beaut!" the young man said, admirably not seeming to hold a grudge for his fall.
"He is. He ran off from me yesterday. I'm glad to see he's been well cared for. Might you know how he arrived here?" Leofric asked casually.
The young man's eyes flickered down to his pants several times, nervously. "He was just in one of the stalls when I came down here this morning, Sir," he said.
"I see. Well, thank you for caring for him. I expect to stay for a while. Whom should I see about the fee?" he asked.
"That'll be Mr. Talbot, sir. You'll find him at the inn. The Minxy Mare, sir."
"Thank you, you've been very helpful. Your name?"
"Uh; my name's Hamlet, sir. Just 'Ham,' though, sir, if you please," he said, still glancing down at Leofric's pants.
"Well, thank you, Ham. I should caution you on Harold's currying. Watch the curl of the back haunches, and go lightly on the flanks. He is accustomed to wearing different trappings than what your horses usually;"
"He's usually in barding, then, sir? Yea, I saw that from the flow of his hairs on his;" Ham began, then stopped short and his eyes widened.
"Yes, he is," Leofric said, looking more closely at the young man. "Funny that a boy your age should know about the trappings of war horses;" he said quietly, leaving the statement in the air between them.
"Must get on, sir. They don't allow me to keep horses in the lane, here. Don't want the mess, you see. I'll be sure to mark your words though, sir," Ham said, swallowing and leading Harold back into the stables.
From there, Leofric walked to the Minxy Mare Inn and walked inside. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he found that the walls were decorated exclusively with pants, with one exception: where his own leather tunic hung directly over his pants in a place of honor.
"Good morning! Can I help you, sir?" a portly man asked, hobbling up to him.
"Good morning. Yes, at the stables, I was told to ask for a Mr. Talbot here. Is he about?"
"Aye, that would be myself, sir. You have need of a room, as well?"
"I do, in fact. Though, I appear to have mislaid several of my belongings for the time being," Leofric said, not moving his eyes from his clothing displayed on the wall. "Sir Leofric, Ealdorman of Twywell at your service," he said, turning and nodding to the older man, then returning his gaze to his clothing. "I assume a line of credit from His Highness, King Cnut will be acceptable payment?" he asked.
Out of the corner of his eye, Leofric saw Talbot set his jaw and cross his arms. "Begging your pardon, sir, but His Highness' debts in these parts are great indeed, and have gone too long unpaid. I can let you the room until you find your belongings, though, sir. Your word is good enough for me," Talbot said.
"What is the rate?"
"The room, board, and stabling would be four schillings per night; plus, the horse tax, of course."
"And what will it be with the tax?"
"Two pounds," Talbot said evenly.
"Ten times as much; that's a significant horse tax, Mr. Talbot," Leofric said lightly, not moving his eyes from the wall displaying the trophy of his clothing.
"Aye; would you be wanting anything else, sir?" Talbot said, looking back and forth between Leofric's pants and the wall.
Leofric smiled, barely containing his laughter. He wondered what other bread crumbs Godiva had left for him. "You've done quite enough, Mr. Talbot. Thank you. Might you tell me where I could find a good tailor? I will be in counsel with the Lady Godgifu, today, and I will need something more appropriate to wear," he said.
"Aye, you'd be wanting Rose Morgan's shop, a few streets over. If you're visiting with the good lady, there's none better," Talbot said.
At Rose Morgan's shop, Leofric found that the shop owner just happened to have several pairs of men’s' pants near completion, but none that would suit his height. "I'm very sorry, sir. I just finished working on a wedding dress for the Miller girl and hadn't had the chance to see the latest decorations at the Minxy Mare, or I'd have gotten something ready for you, straight on," she explained, while measuring his legs from waist to ankle with several pins in her mouth.
"You receive a lot of business from the Minxy Mare, then?" Leofric queried lightly.
"Not as much as we used to, but things pick up in tax season, of course."
"Of course," Leofric said.
"You know, if you don't mind, you favor my late husband somewhat in size, and if you are in a hurry, I could lend you some of his things, until your order is ready; you might find folks a bit more friendly if you weren't wearing these," she said, inspecting the hem stitching with a small smile on her face.
"That would be very kind of you, thank you," Leofric said. Rose straightened and took in his broad shoulders, slim hips, and neck size with a critical eye before nodding and walking out of the room.
Stepping down from the platform where he'd stood for the seamstress' measurements, he looked longingly at a chair in the corner before deciding against it. The burlap pants had been chafing his sunburnt skin all day, and the very thought of sitting in them was excruciating.
Out of the corner of his eye, Leofric saw a small figure dart behind several bolts of cloth leaning in the corner. "In the name of His Highness, King Cnut, I charge thee stand and state thy purpose, villain!" he commanded.
Large blue eyes peered out of the cloth and a girl, no older than six years old, scrambled out from the rolls of cloth, straightened her dress, and clasped her hands in front of her tightly. "You seem overly short, villain. Are you a gnome?" he asked, squatting to look her in the eye.
The girl shook her head vigorously, but remained mute. Leofric leaned his head to see behind her, "Hmm; I see no wings upon your back, so you are no fairy; unless you, too, have also met up with the highway robber known as Lady Godiva and she stole them off your back," he said, scrutinizing her.
"I am a girl, sir! And Diva is not a highway robber! She's nice! She taught me the secret stitch that nobody else knows! You shouldn't say unkind things about good people when you wear those pants, sir. Those pants mean you take money from people who need it more. That's mean," she said, outraged.
"You know about these pants, then, Little One?" he asked, realizing belatedly that squatting in burlap was a very bad idea, but now that he had a direct source of information about Lady Godiva, he was reluctant to give up his advantage.
"I made those pants," the girl said proudly, pointing at a place near the hem at what was supposed to be the ankle, but was almost up at his knee. "That's where I do the secret stitch. Diva showed me how to backstitch so it doesn't unravel, but to do the secret stitch there so it looks pretty like a flower. See?" she said, turning his cuff and showing him the stitchery.
"Ah yes, very pretty. I wouldn't think the Lady Godiva believed I deserved such finery. She was quite upset with me, when last we met," he said, quietly.
"Did you try to take her money?"
"No; she, ah, asked me for something; and it was something I was not free to give her," Leofric said, carefully.
"Did she take it anyway? That's what she does with pants," the girl said matter-of-factly.
Leofric roared with laughter, making the girl back up several steps toward the rolls of cloth in the corner. Wiping tears from his eyes, he waved her back. "You are wise beyond your years, child. I suspect she took what she wanted without my knowing it; but she is such a lady that I think what she took is better off in her care. Do you see her often?"
The girl's answer was cut short when Rose re-entered the room with a hunter's tunic and pants. "These might be a bit snug on you, but they'll look and feel better than burlap," she said handing the clothing to Leofric. "Please give my best wishes to Lady Godgifu. I don't know what Anne and I would have done without her these last few years."
"I will, madam. You have my thanks," Leofric said, taking the clothes from her. "Your little one was just showing me a stitch she had learned from the Lady Godiva. Do you happen to;"
The seamstress whirled around just in time to see the back of the little girl's dress disappear around the corner. "That Better Be All You Ever Learn From Her, Anne!" Rose shouted. Then, turning, she skewered him with a glare, "You'd best be moving on, sir. You'll not gain favor here, talking about that woman with my daughter. I'll have your order ready this Saturday." After mumbling apologies, Leofric dressed quickly in the clothes and left.
The more he strode up the hill to the home of Lady Godgifu, despite his more comfortable clothing, the more Leofric grew weary. As a knight, he had lived his life in line with the Code of Chivalry. He was bound in his duties to the King, but obeying those God has placed in authority was only one of the vows in the Code. As he climbed and pictured himself pitching woo to Lady Godgifu, it struck him hard that he would be violating his vow to speak the truth at all times. How could he honorably attempt to marry a dried-up saint, when his heart and his mind kept wandering back to a naked sinner swimming in a secluded pond in the wood?
Godiva leaned her head on her folded hands, as if in prayer. Why had she been so foolish? Why didn't she just scream, leave him there in the water, and steal his pants like she always did? It was his fault, really. Why was he was just floating there next to her? He hadn't tried to sneak up on her. He hadn't offered stupid words meant to fool her into a tawdry tryst. He hadn't looked anything like the overfed toads that Cnut had sent to drain her town of its life blood, either. He was beautiful; beautiful, and weary, and sad in a way that called to her, because she knew what it was to breathe the heavy air that he had breathed. She, too, had suffered wounds and endured a life of saying "no" to herself for the sake of duty. Now, her indulgence threatened to destroy all she had built.
She had to get Leofric out of town. That's all there was to it. She had to get him out of here before he ruined everything. She'd have to move fast, but unfortunately, moving fast was completely beyond her abilities at the moment.
"Astrid, I'll need my husband's staff today. I'm afraid I'm not feeling well," she said, after summoning her maid. Through the veil she wore, Godiva saw her maid's face turn into a mask of worry.
"Milady, you should stay in bed. Hulgar will;"
"It's Sir Hulgar, Astrid. He has earned the respect of his title many times over, but despite what he thinks, his feats have not earned him authority over me. Please fetch the staff," she said, watching the maid curtsey and leave the room. She sighed. Now, the maid would probably tell Sir Hulgar that she suffered an ailment of some sort and then her knight protector would badger her the entire day to lie abed and protect her health.
If Sir Hulgar knew that her "ailment" was actually a swath of angry, bright-red, and chafed skin between her soft thighs gained by galloping several miles bareback while naked after rigorously consorting with the latest tax collector in a clover patch, he would probably die of shock, but not before reminding her of the importance of her virtue and high moral standing to the town with his dying gasps.
As if she didn't know. Practically from her infancy, she had been taught that purity and virtue were the only things valued in a wife; so much so that she had actually trembled when Lord Wilfred had taken her hand upon their introduction. It was the first time a man who was not related to her had touched her. She remembered that his skin was rough, weather-worn from long days of riding on the King's orders to keep peace in the land. That's what he had called it, keeping peace.
Wilfred's hand was enormous compared to her small pale one. It was no stretch of the imagination to think that his hand could crush hers without even trying, but looking up into his eyes, she saw that such unwarranted violence was not in his nature. She noticed that he was only daring to touch her gently with only his fingertips, as if she were a newborn babe still in its mother's arms, his face solemn and concerned. His careful restraint made her laugh with delight, and she pulled him to her table to see her embroidery and the other crafts that women were expected to make. Curious, he touched the fine stitchwork, as if it were made by magic. She laughed again when his enormous fingers could barely pick up the tiny needles she used, but she loved that he had tried.
"You have clever fingers, Little One," he said, taking a knee so that he could see her face more closely.
"Oh? Is that why you've talked with my father about me?" she asked, coyly.
When she chanced a glance at him, she saw that troubled thoughts wrestled behind his eyes and she knew he was struggling with what to say to her. She felt sad that her childish flirtation had burdened him; perhaps he didn't even want to marry her. Men often didn't yearn to marry like women did. They didn't need to. They could ride and fight and have adventures without anyone thinking anything amiss. A woman who did not marry, though, she was a dangerous unknown. If she did not embroider, make food, manage the household, and above all, give her husband a family; people did not know what to do with her. They did not even know what such a woman was.
"Never mind," she said and patted Wilfred's large hand before standing and taking it in hers, "Would you show me your horse? Papa says he looks like he's half-dragon;" she said, trying to lead him to the stables, before she stopped because Wilfred had remained where he was, kneeling next to her, holding her hand in his.
"Little One, a man marries a woman for the comforts she brings him," Wilfred said, his low gravely voice more accustomed to shouting orders at men and horses. "He marries to be cared for, to give his life some joy and peace," he said, his face weathered from life. "I spoke to your father, because after seeing you riding with your maid, so happy and carefree, I yearned for those comforts. I yearned for a home; and I knew I would have no peace until I knew you were safe in my care. That is why I spoke to your father; because when a man finds a treasure, he has no peace until he can hold it close to his tit. Will you let me keep you safe?" he asked.
"I would be most grateful to be in your care, Lord Wilfred;" she whispered, suddenly shy and acutely aware of his hand holding hers. "But, will you still show me your dragon?" she asked.
At that, Wilfred roared with laughter, startling her. "I will show you the fearsome beast, but you must do exactly as I say, Little One, lest he eat you up in a mouthful," he rumbled.
"Oh, honestly! Horses don't eat people! You're just trying to scare me. He wouldn't eat me any more than you would;" she scoffed, pulling on his hand as he got to his feet.
Wilfred scooped her up in his arms, ignoring her squeal of surprise, "Perhaps not ‘more’ than I would, Little One," he said, nestling her under against his side and carrying her with one arm, "But don't tempt me to take a taste, ere the banns are red."
Godiva wiped the tears off her face under her veil, hearing footsteps returning to her room. Wilfred had kept her safe. She discovered that as long as she did as she was told, there was no gentler soul in the realm. Even their wedding night was defined by his restraint, for while she had been taught to expect pain as he broke her maidenhead, it was all done with such care that she barely felt any pain. As he strained silently over her, not even daring to give her his full weight, Godiva was in awe of how gentle he was as he slowly stroked inside her until he stilled in his release, shaking slightly. Then, he had rolled to his side and looked at her with grave concern, pushing down her shift and asking if it had hurt. That night, she was confused because it hadn't hurt; indeed, she had barely felt a thing.
That's what it was to be safe; to be protected from pain. As Wilfred often taught her, pain was everywhere, and ladies were not made for pain. He always said that pain changes a person; and it would break his care-worn heart if she ever changed. So, she lived within the small safe space that his countenance could tolerate. She lived within his rules, because his rules were the offspring of his love.
It was their first day touring his lands after their wedding that Wilfred commented how lovely she had looked in her veil as a bride. He said that, in knowing the others could not clearly see how precious a prize he had won, he had felt peace. Godiva knew Wilfred meant more than he had said, for she had noticed that he became restless and ill at ease when the driver had complimented her beauty as he helped her up into the carriage. Wilfred had suffered a life filled with confrontations that arose from such tiny offenses, that Godiva resolved to protect him from any challenges driven by her beauty and fashioned a short veil of a thin cloth to cover her face. The first day she wore it for him, his eyes had glowed with pride, and he breathed a peaceful sigh. There were no further troublesome compliments to her face after that.
Her tiny hands, though, were a similar problem. Godiva was certain that men were simply trying to be polite, but she noticed the clench of her husband's jaw, or the slight flare of his nostrils, when she took any hand offered to help her onto and off of a horse or carriage. So, she began riding less, limiting her times to when Wilfred was able to go with her and help her up and down from her horse. Though one day, after a long ride together, Wilfred had curtly dismissed the groom, telling him to return when they had left the stables. When she asked him if the groom had upset him, he shook his head, checking to see that they were alone before helping her down from the horse. "No, Little One, but I would not risk tempting him overmuch with the sight of your lovely hands or your sublime ankles. Your very skin could drive a man to distraction," he said. From that day on, Godiva never ventured out without gloves and tall boots, the sight of her very skin a threat to the well-being of her loving husband.
Despite these slight inconveniences, Wilfred's attentions to her were pleasant, and sometimes even approaching a quiver of something that was mysteriously more than pleasant, making her wish for more. Sadly, it was not to be after Lord Alfred's wife passed in childbirth. So many women died in giving life to others. Even the thought of watching her struggle to give birth to a babe began to torture Wilfred until he hesitated even to spill his milt inside her. It didn't matter. Children were so prone to spreading illness anyway, she told herself, wiping away the tears that inexplicably rolled down her cheeks as she changed her monthly rags again. And so, Godiva was protected; she was kept safe.
Then war came, as it always seemed to come. Wilfred returned to his duties for the King, but not before arranging his affairs to provide the greatest protection he could to his young wife. Believing that only wealth protected the weak from harm, he arranged for Godiva to inherit control of all his properties upon his death.
To be absolutely certain of her safety, he also charged his most experienced and fearsome guard with the lifelong care of her person: Sir Hulgar the Untempted. Under Sir Hulgar's care, Godiva had remained as covered and as untouched as a man could wish his wife to be while he was away at war. She had remained safe, even when they returned Lord Wilfred's broken body to her, and a new King took power. She had remained so safe, Godiva thought, that there was hardly any evidence that she had lived a life at all.
It came as quite a surprise to her when, one hot summer night, she suddenly had the impulse to sneak out of her home, and ride bareback until she came to the secluded pond where she used to swim as a child. It made even less sense to her when she took off her clothes and stepped gingerly into the cool dark water. It swirled around her thighs, the soft mud at the ass squishing between her unbooted toes. The smell, rich with life, took her back to carefree childhood.
She swam out to the middle of the pond and floated atop the waters, feeling the ripples play about her tits. She remembered when Wilfred had taken her nipple in his mouth, making her gasp in pleasure. He thought he had hurt her, of course, and ceased his attentions there, immediately. In the water, she reached up and brushed her hands over her nipples, feeling them harden. It was exquisite. Then, she took one in her fingers and, without knowing why, she gently pinched the pink bud. The shock of pleasure it sent through her made her yelp in surprise.
Swimming to shore, she lay down in a patch of clover and brushed her palms over her soft tits, sighing with pleasure. With her hands, she followed the delicious sensations going through her body to the spot between her legs where Wilfred had given his attentions, so long ago. She closed her eyes and pictured his large frame, propped up over her on his arms, his hips gently pushing himself into her again and again as he shuddered in delight. She missed him so. She missed feeling a man enjoying her body. While it wasn't quite the same, she felt around the wet folds and pushed her finger inside, and the memory intensified. Hungry for more, she tried two fingers and the sensation was almost like laying with her dear husband again.
While thrusting her fingers into herself, her hand brushed against something swollen at the top of her wet slit and she sat up in shock, panting. What in heavens' name was that? She pulled her slippery fingers out of herself and gingerly touched the tender spot again, feeling trembling waves of pleasure radiate through her. She closed her eyes and continued rubbing the place, circling, shaking and stroking it until she was tossing her head with need, feeling some unstoppable force building inside her. Faster and harder she worked herself until with a cry, the feeling burst through her along with a spray of juices that wet the clover beneath her.
To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought in 5 parts, for Literotica.