Beatrice 1

This is the latest story in my slowly developing quest to write at least one story in every Literotica category. This story, though fictional, seemed to fit best in the Celebrities & Fan Fiction category because of its historical context and my personal fascination with medieval history. I hope you enjoy it. As always, feedback, positive or negative, is welcome either in the comments section or by private contact.

Beatrice

High up in the castle keep, Beatrice, Duchess of Helmstadt, and her stepdaughter, Ulrika, strained to see down into the inner bailey through the arrow slits that served as windows.

The party approaching the castle were lost to sight as they entered the outer gates but came back into view when they rode beneath the portcullis and into the cobbled yard.

"Can you see him, Mama? Oh, which one is he? I do hope he's handsome!"

Beatrice smirked at the 16-year-old girl. "You'd be much better off hoping he has a good brain than a pretty face."

"Oh Mama, surely you would never want to me to marry an ugly man?"

Beatrice sighed. Ulrika had not yet met this matrimonial candidate. But Beatrice had and he was indeed a handsome: a dark-haired, swarthy young man. But he'd not been selected for his looks. He'd been carefully vetted instead for his wealth, his noble birth, the troops at his command and his ability to give the duke what he so badly wanted: a grandson and heir.

Beatrice sighed. Ultimately, she thought bitterly, this man-boy would be just another stupid male: no doubt happy to impregnate his new bride but more interested in hunting, drinking, whoring and making war. Another stupid, stupid man just like her own husband, Duke Rikard, who'd been engaged in a pointless war with a neighbouring dukedom for the past eight years; a war that had stripped both duchies of their wealth and of a generation of young men, leaving their widows and children facing destitution. With not enough men to farm the lands there was no produce and the dukedom had sunk into a mire of debt. And all because of this futile historic dispute on the ownership of some barely productive swampland and its associated eel beds, that formed part of the border between the Duchy of Helmstadt and its western enemy neighbour, the Duchy of Wechstal.

The futility of it all enraged Beatrice and she'd begged her husband repeatedly to sue for peace but his stubborn pride could not be overcome. Now Duke Rickard was pinning all his hopes on this marriage alliance with his eastern neighbour, the Duchy of Thalbard. The marriage of his only child, Ulrika, to the young Duke Gottfried would be an important political affiliation that would give Rikard access to new financial resources and hundreds more warriors to finally gain victory over Wechstal; and, he hoped, the grandson and heir he so badly wanted.

Beatrice's jaw tightened in her frustration. Stupid, stupid, stupid! The only thing that would lift the duchy out of its current devastation was peace -- not some political alliance. It would take a long time, but peace would allow the dukedom to grow prosperous again. Peace would bring the menfolk back to the land to produce the high-quality crops and livestock needed to pay off the crippling debts.

Beatrice had been married off at 18 to Duke Rikard, shortly after the death in childbirth of his first wife. That had been 16 years ago. The baby Ulrika had survived and Beatrice had raised the child as her own. Beatrice herself had not produced a male heir despite her long years of marriage. She dutifully endured the regular, passionless rutting of her boorish husband, but no pregnancies had ensued and her barrenness was known far and wide. So now, her hopes for an heir also rested on the virility of this handsome young duke. And if even half the stories were true of the bastards he had littered all around his estates, a new heir seemed like a certainty.

Beatrice had high hopes for this putative heir. She would take absolute charge of his upbringing and education. As well as the usual martial arts, she would make sure he was educated in languages, philosophy and above all... diplomacy. When he ultimately inherited, she hoped, he would have the intelligence not to engage in pointless conflicts.

*

A long afternoon of negotiations took place before the young duke was declared suitable. The marriage agreement was being drawn up and would be signed on the morrow. It was Beatrice who had controlled the negotiations and who organised the welcoming feast for young Gottfried. Not that she looked forward to this indulgence. The lavish banquet was too costly by far and would drain their meagre coffers -- and larders -- of almost all the duke possessed. But banquet notwithstanding, Beatrice planned one more important test that the young man would have to pass before he could secure his child-bride.

Throughout the negotiations Ulrika remained cloistered in her rooms. Beatrice always kept a close watch on her flighty young stepdaughter determined that the valuable prize of her maidenhead should not be despoiled. She had to admit that Ulrika was a very tempting morsel. Though still girlishly slim, she had her mother's fair complexion, blue eyes and flaxen hair -- and a saucy disposition that might tempt any man.

Beatrice herself was only 18 years older than Ulrika. At 34 she was still in the prime of womanhood and an acknowledged beauty. Compared to her stepdaughter, Beatrice was all voluptuous curves, with the darker complexion and hair of her Magyar forebears. Her sloe eyes were bewitching, and many were the men who tried to tempt her away from her marriage bed. But they tried in vain -- for not one of them measured up to the high standards Beatrice would expect from a lover. Instead, she amused herself in quite a different way.

After she'd set everything in train for the evening's festivities, she entered her bedchamber to find her maid, Brigitta, laying out the gown and jewellery her mistress would wear to the feast. The girl smiled demurely at her, just as she did every time she saw her mistress. And Beatrice smiled back. The two had that special kind of relationship that only existed between a loving dominant and her devoted submissive. The slim young woman raised a questioning eyebrow and her mistress nodded. The question did not need asking. Brigitta skipped to the door and threw the bolt that ensured their privacy. Beatrice then raised her arms from her sides and the obedient girl began to unlace her mistress's bodice. The rest of her clothes followed -- each garment being laid carefully aside -- till Beatrice was standing gloriously naked before her handmaiden. The girl's eyes shone with arousal as they always did at the sight of the naked duchess. She loved the duchess with an all-consuming passion and loyalty. When Beatrice sat on the edge of her canopied bed, Brigitta knelt obediently between her legs. She signalled to the girl with a familiar lift of her chin and Brigitta immediately unlaced her own bodice and the drawstring of her shift, then pulled the garment open to bare her firm young breasts. Beatrice's eyes took in the delectable orbs and she sighed with contentment. Then she leaned back on her elbows and thrust her hips forward to present her moist cunt to the young girl's willing mouth.

*

At the feast that night, Beatrice was seated at the top table which was raised on a stone dais at the head of the long hall. On her right, her fool of a husband was drunk and beaming happily, flanked on the other side by his son-in-law to be. The bride-to-be, Ulrika, was seated on the other side of her mother, deliriously happy that the man chosen for her was so handsome, big and strong. Her young heart beat wildly and her young body tingled with arousal at the prospect of her marriage; and she cast sly looks at her intended behind her parents' backs, looks which he returned with apparent wolfish appetite.

Below them the hall rang with the music and drunken carousal of their hundred or so guests. The noise echoed around the stone vaults and massive oak beams overhead, where the thick pall of smoke from the many braziers lighting the scene was beginning to grow intolerably thick. Beatrice kept a strict eye on her stepdaughter determined to keep her as far from her lecherous fiancé as possible. When the first signs of ribaldry began to appear among the drunken guests she ordered Ulrika to her bed accompanied by her maid. The girl went reluctantly but took the opportunity as she passed behind Duke Gottfried's chair to slide her hand along his shoulders and with an inviting smile mouthed the silent word "later". The leer in his eyes left the young girl in no doubt that, for him, "later" couldn't come soon enough.

For her part Beatrice continue to play the part of hostess, smiling woodenly at the bawdy banter and jests beginning to enliven the party. She paid no attention when Ulrika's maid re-entered the hall and slipped a small note into the hand of Duke Gottfried. He palmed the note and made sure he was unobserved when he read:

"Come to me tonight my love -- my maid will light the way when the midnight watch is called. Your loving Ulrika."

The young duke smiled inwardly and felt a thickening in his breeches at the prospect of deflowering his lovely young fiancé. The party was grinding on and on when he eventually excused himself to his hosts, claiming weariness after his long day's travel.

*

But Gottfried was wide awake in his chamber at midnight when he heard a timid knock and saw Ulrika's maid emerge, not from the bedroom door but from a small servant's hatch hidden behind one of the large tapestries that decorated the walls. She held her finger to her lips and beckoned him to follow her. The tallow dip she carried barely illuminated the narrow passages along which she led the stooping duke. He was soon disoriented by the twists and turns but eventually the maid stopped before another small hatch identical to the one in his room. She pushed the hatch open, reassured him with a smile and a nod, gestured for him to enter and closed the hatch behind him. He was faced with the back of another tapestry and when he pushed it aside the brightness of the room blinded him somewhat after the darkness of the servant's passage.

He looked around the room expectantly but the lusty smile disappeared from his face when he saw, standing in front of the fire, not Ulrika, but the duchess herself. His expectant look changed to bald shock as he met Beatrice's unflinching glare.

"Really, Duke? So surprised?" her voice was imperious and cold. "Did you really think I would let you within longbow range of my daughter's maidenhead before you were legally wed to her?" He was lost for words but the blush that suffused his handsome face told Beatrice that he really did expect to be bedding his fiancée tonight. Her expression changed to a cool smirk. She had the complete advantage of him. He stood before her uncertainly in just his shirtsleeves, breeches and boots, while she stood, tall and commanding, on the stone hob before the fireplace, dressed regally in a long velvet bedgown of richest red, that covered her from neck to toes. The firelight behind her cast a golden glow around her form -- lending a scarlet tinge to the glossy black hair that fell around her shoulders.

"Well," she said at length. "I can't fault you for audacity. It seems your reputation for unbridled lechery has substance."

Finally, Gottfried found his voice and tried to regain the initiative in this wholly unexpected encounter. "Your grace," he bowed and tried to smile. "You do indeed have me at a disadvantage. But I can assure you my intentions were completely honourable. I desired but a few precious moments with your most chaste and modest daughter..."

"Nonsense!" she cut him off. "In a maiden girl's chamber after midnight? By now you expected to be balls deep inside her virgin cunt!" Gottfried blanched and swallowed hard, shocked as much by the duchess's dismissive tone as the filthy words he'd never before heard from the lips of a lady. He opened his mouth to speak but she silenced him with a raised palm. "Don't worry, this little ... incident ... won't interfere with your plans for marriage to my stepdaughter." She gestured with one hand and said: "Sit down." Gottfried looked around but saw the only place to sit was on the duchess's bed. He looked back at her uncertainly. "I said sit! This situation could hardly be made worse by your sitting on my bed." He obeyed her, climbing onto the high bed to sit with his feet dangling foolishly six inches from the floor. These developments had left him with a curious frown as the duchess stepped down from the hob and advanced to the middle of the floor.

"So now you are asking yourself why exactly you are here, am I right?" His silence was confirmation enough and Beatrice went on. "As I said, this won't interfere with the agreed nuptials -- we need the resources of your dukedom just as much as you desire the eventual consolidation with ours. But to do that of course you will need to produce a son -- who would be the heir to your domains and -- as grandson to Duke Rickard -- the inheritor of ours." She stopped and regarded him with a tilt of her noble head.

"It seems you do have most of the credentials we require: wealth and resources, good breeding, an impressive heritage -- but tonight you have one final test to pass." He frowned in apparent confusion. Now she smiled with a lascivious look in her bright eyes. "Reputation is one thing," she continued. "But tonight, you need to prove you are man enough to produce the heir Duke Rickard so desperately wants."

"I don't understand..." he started but again she silenced him. She fixed his wondering eyes with hers, paused for a moment then untied the drawstring at her neck and the girdle at her waist to let her long velvet gown slip from her shoulders and cascade to the floor. She'd been completely naked under the gown and now she stood before the amazed duke with all the confidence of a woman secure in her flawless and voluptuous beauty.

"Oh my God..." he eventually gasped, with unmistakable lust burning in his eyes.

"Yes, my young duke, tonight you have to prove to me that you have the stamina and the ... shall we say ... noble juice to secure the future lineage of both our families." She stepped toward him and lifting one of his hands, pressed the palm to her left breast. The leer that appeared on his handsome face showed he fully understood what she needed of him. She returned his lusty smile. "Let's just call this an

undress

rehearsal."

The duke raised his other hand to capture her right breast and squeezed the ripe flesh with apparent relish. His touch was more sensitive than Beatrice had expected and she was surprised to feel her body responding. Her heart rate increased and she felt the swelling and moistening between her legs that, usually, only Brigitta could trigger. The duke pinched her nipples lightly and raised a questioning face to her.

"But..." he started.

"Oh, don't worry," she soothed. "I am famously barren. I have not bled these ten years."

Like most men, Gottfried didn't know exactly what that meant but he was reassured. When she stepped closer to him and pulled his face to a stiffened nipple they both moaned in growing excitement. Gottfried was clearly in familiar territory now. The whores of his own duchy had taught him well and he seemed to grow in confidence. When one of his hands slid down the duchess's belly and into the bush between her legs he discovered moist warmth, and when his fingers began to ply their trade he was greeted with gratifying gasps from Beatrice. The duchess felt a rush through her body she had never felt with her husband. Rickard was the only man who had ever possessed her and the prospect of being fucked by someone new -- someone young and virile -- made her body tingle with excitement. But she knew she had to maintain control. She was familiar enough with the sexual tricks that could coax an erection and eventual orgasm from her husband's withered loins and she wasn't shy in doing the same to this young man.

Taking his hands, she pulled him to his feet, quickly stripped him of his shirt and applied her lips to his smooth hairless chest and her teeth to his nipples. He gasped and she raked her fingernails down his taught stomach to unfasten his breeches. But when they dropped about his boot tops, she was surprised to see that further coaxing would be quite unnecessary. His cock was rearing hard and strong from the thatch of dark hair at his groin. She licked her lips and grasped it in both hands.

"Is that what you were hoping for, your Grace?" the young man smirked.

She feigned nonchalance and shrugged. "I suppose it will have to do if that is the best you can manage."

This made Gottfried frown and he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her roughly onto her back on the bed, leaving her legs dangling over the side. Beatrice was surprised but delighted at the sudden sexual rush that surged through her body. She smiled up at him and parted her legs. Gottfried made quick work of his breeches and boots and was soon standing naked between her knees gazing hungrily down at the glistening prize. He dropped to his knees bringing his head level with her vagina but when he began to kiss down her right thigh, she grabbed his head to stop his progress.

"I don't need that," she scoffed. "Is that how you think you'll get an heir out of my daughter?"

The young duke clearly did not like her taunting tone and he rose to roughly grab her legs under the knees. He lifted and parting them and pulled her to the very edge of the bed. The fire in his eyes and the set of his jaw made Beatrice's own eyes spark with passion and she looked down to where he fisted his cock and aimed it at her heated centre. With a single thrust he was home. The sudden penetration took the wind from Beatrice's lungs and she half screamed in shock and lust. For a moment Gottfried worked his hips against her, straining for maximum depth, and she felt the twisting invasion with awed apprehension. Her husband had never reached such depths. But her cunt responded, gripping him with a force she'd never felt. Soon enough, he withdrew almost to the tip, then lanced into her again. She gasped again and they locked eyes in a fierce battle for domination. The next time he thrust into her she closed her legs around his hips to pull him in. A satisfied smile broke across his handsome face and Beatrice knew this was a battle she was prepared to lose.

He remained standing, thrusting into Beatrice with almost murderous intent. Her whole body shook with each lunge, her breasts shaking and quivering with the force of their coupling. It wasn't long before an amazed Beatrice felt the tremors deep within her belly that signalled an impending climax -- tremors she had felt before only with Brigitta, and never with her husband. Without losing his rhythm, Gottfried managed to bend over Beatrice and suck one swollen nipple into his mouth and lash it with his tongue, making her cry out at the unexpected pleasure. He did the same to her other nipple before standing to continue fucking her with even more vigour. He grunted with each thrust and when he pushed one hand down between their bodies to thumb her clitoris, the climactic wave that overtook her made her howl with ecstasy as electric sparks of pleasure spread from her cunt deep into her belly and up to her nipples. She half rose, clinging to him desperately as he continued to fuck her, wanting this pleasure to last forever. Eventually, as the spasms subsided, she fell backwards onto the bed and he slipped out of her. Her body began to relax but her heart was still beating wildly. She looked up to see a self-satisfied smirk on his face but no lessening of passion in his eyes.