A Taxing Time

Old Mrs Palfrey is our local wise-woman. I don't know how wise she really is but she did have a dab hand at making potions and unguents. It was a choice between seeing old Mrs Palfrey for a potion or ointment or seeing the quack who claimed to be a doctor most people headed off to see Mrs Palfrey. They knew her potions and things worked.

The problem was that old Mrs Palfrey was just that -- old! She looked to be a hundred and ten, although my mother swears she's only in her eighties. Like that made a lot of difference. She was currently looking for someone to learn how to make the various stuff that she put together but she wasn't too happy with the current crop of young women available. That suited us as we weren't too enthused about spending time with her.

That lack of an apprentice resulted in my mother kindly volunteering my time to go into the woods to pick various herbs and what-nots for Mrs Palfrey.

"You're the Parson's daughter, Cynthia, and it's your duty to help her out. Besides, if not you, who? I don't think any of the other girls could tell sage from thyme when it'd growing wild. You, on the other hand, did very well in your lessons and not only know the various herbs but where they grow."

So there was I, Cynthia Montgomery, eighteen, traipsing through the woods with a wicker basket to collect herbs, when I'd much rather be down at the village flirting with the boys. I was quite sure I'd be getting a marriage proposal soon. Possibly even several. I couldn't wait.

I'd hiked deep into the woods, using some of the animal trails that I knew of. The creek ran through the woods and in several places along the banks were areas where the herbs I wanted were growing. I reached the place I'd been aiming for and started wandering along the edge of the creek, seeking the elusive herb.

"Who are you and what are you doing?" this deep voice asked and I spun around.

"Lord Brucely," I exclaimed, seeing the rider who'd managed to sneak up on me. A magnificent horse, too. A big black stallion, about sixteen hands high. Mind you, the rider certainly looked man enough to handle the brute.

"Ah, no, you're not," he said. "I know this because I am Lord Brucely. Would you care to try again?"

I spluttered indignantly for a moment. Sarcastic brute. Then I took a deep breath and started again.

"Good morning, Lord Brucely. I'm Cynthia Montgomery, the Parson's daughter. I'm currently here to gather some herbs for old Mrs Palfrey as she is running low on things she needs for her potions and she's too old to collect them herself."

He dropped down from his horse, hitching the reins to a branch.

"Doing a good deed as befits the Parson's daughter or are you, by chance, Mrs Palfrey's new apprentice?"

"God forbid, no," I said quickly. "I'm just collecting herbs as part of my Christian duty."

"And very kind of you to volunteer, I'm sure," he said.

"Yes, wasn't it," I said somewhat wryly.

"Ah," he said with a smirk. "I take it you didn't volunteer so much as you were volunteered. Your mother, perhaps?"

I nodded.

"Well, I'll think I'll call you Cyn. With a figure like yours the abbreviation suits you. You can call me Bruce."

The way he was looking at me was making me feel little hot and flustered. Not so hot and flustered as to forget my decorum.

"I certainly cannot call you Bruce," I said. "I wouldn't dream of shortening your name in that familiar manner."

"You wouldn't be shortening my name but you are showing your ignorance of the family Brucely. My given name is Bruce, and I cry a pox on parents who think it's cute to name a child Bruce Brucely. You may call me Bruce with no worries about etiquette."

"That's what you think. My mother would have kittens if she heard me call you Bruce and my father would preach a sermon about forward young ladies."

"As you wish. Did you know that my grandfather used to collect a tax from Mrs Palfrey when she came collecting herbs. He said that she'd turn up once a week, regular as clockwork, to collect her herbs and pay her taxes."

"Taxes? I wouldn't think she had any money to pay her taxes with."

"Oh, she didn't. Because she didn't my grandfather used to claim a forfeit and rape her each visit. It didn't stop her continuing to come on a weekly basis. Makes you think, doesn't it."

I blushed. The thought of old Mrs Palfrey getting raped on a weekly basis by the Lord of the Manor certainly made me think. Why would she keep coming knowing what was going to happen? You'd think she just change the date and time she collected her herbs. It wasn't as though the old Lord would have been able to wait around for her.

"Really," I said repressively. "That's not a fit subject to discuss with me. You'll excuse me if I get on with my collecting."

"The reason I mentioned the taxes is because you're here to collect the herbs so it's your duty to cover the taxes."

"Then I suggest you speak to my father about them," I told him. "I have no money on me, not having expected that I'd need to pay for the herbs."

"You're a little slow at times, aren't you," he said with a big smile on his face, apparently finding me quite amusing.

"I don't consider myself to be slow by any means," I said frowning.

He shook his head, apparently depressed at my obtuseness.

"Put it together slowly. Mrs Palfrey had no money for taxes and paid by getting ravished by my grandfather. You have no money for taxes and will pay for it by. . .?"

By getting ravished by him? I could feel my face turning bright red and could also understand how he thought me to be obtuse.

"Oh, no," I said quickly, criss-crossing my hands in a scrub that idea sort of motion. "Not going to happen. No way."

"Grandfather always said that part of the fun was having to force her each time he collected his tax. Reckons she'd fight like a wildcat, but that made the ultimate conquest all the more enjoyable. And even knowing what was going to happen she still came back, week after week."

I decided that the time had come for me to leave and to stand not on the manner of my leaving. I turned to bolt and found that Bruce was already holding onto my arm. If that was the case I decided that I could emulate a wildcat without any problems. A very angry wildcat.

It turned out that Bruce could emulate a bring-'em-back-alive hunter with no problems. He started off by pinning my wrists together and holding them behind my back in one of his hands. His next rotten move was to haul up my dress and bunch it around my neck. This not only left my arms tangled inside the dress but left my petticoat exposed. He simply pulled the bow that was at the waist and dropped it down, thus hindering my ability to kick him.

This left him in a position where he could unfasten my smalls and push them down, leaving me effectively naked from the waist down. My language at this point was disgraceful and my poor father would have been shocked if he'd heard me. Bruce was just amused.

He continued to hold my dress bunched around my neck and I could see that he was now undoing his own trousers. I was about to make the very intimate discovery of just what a man did have in his trousers. It's one thing to know in theory. It's something else to find out in person.

He dropped his trousers and linens and if I'd been the fainting type then this would have been a good time. I hadn't dreamt that a man would have so much down there.

While he'd been dropping his trousers I'd been trying to kick my way out of my petticoat and smalls and as soon as I had one foot free I kicked him. At least, I tried to kick him. He just dodged and laughed.

"Listen, we're now in a position where I can proceed with the ravishment," he told me, as if I hadn't already realized that. "However, I suspect you'll feel more comfortable if you're completely naked, so let's get your dress off."

It became plain to me that I needed some proper lessons in fighting off a man as he seemed to just ignore anything I tried. The buttons on my dress came steadily undone and then he was peeling it off me. After that it was a simple matter for him to unlace my bodice and take it off and then I was completely naked with him looking at me.

"That's quite a magnificent bosom you have," he said.

He reached out and touched it and I promptly slapped his hand away. On top of the indignity of him liking my bosom was the fact that I was breathing hard with the result that my bosom was heaving up and down and he was watching it.

"Can I assume that you're not going to just acquiesce now that you know what's coming is unavoidable?"

"If that means that I'm going to try to kill you before you touch me then the answer is yes," I snapped at him.

"My, my. Such a temper," he sighed, and grabbed me.

He hauled me flush up against him. I could feel the hard length of his body pressing against mine, his chest crushing my bosom. The worst part was I could feel 'that' pressing against me. You wouldn't think that with all of him pressing against me the one thing I was most aware of was 'that' touching me, hot and hard.

He had my hands pinned behind my back once more and his hand started feeling my backside, rubbing over it. I was beside myself with fury and could do nothing about it.

He pushed me backwards, his leg going behind my so I tripped, falling backwards, and he guided me down onto the ground, his body still covering me, holding me there. All I could do was glare up at him.

He shifted my arms so they were pinned above my head while he was touching my breasts with his free hand. That was starting to feel most peculiar. Truth be told, if he wasn't forcing me to do this I might have quite liked it. Then his hand dropped away and, for god's sake, his mouth was on my breasts, kissing, and sucking, and it felt like nibbling, on my breasts. I could feel my nipples puckering up under his touch.

My feelings about my breasts became secondary when I felt his hand forcing its way between our bodies and touching me in a most intimate manner. I gave an outraged scream and started struggling again, which got me precisely nowhere. His body lying on mine kept me firmly in place.

With his face buried in my breasts I could see down the length of his back. To my surprise I saw his bottom lifting up into the air. I hadn't really considered men's bottoms as being attractive, but there was something about the way it looked that set a little shiver through me. I was wondering what he intended to do and then I found out in a most dreadful way.

Suddenly I could feel his 'thing' pressing against me and then his hand was parting a way to my passage and he was pushing into it. His hand moved away, letting me close over him, and he gave another push, going deeper. I immediately felt something give way and I exploded in fury. I just knew I wasn't a virgin anymore.

I bucked under him, twisting and writhing, trying to throw him off, all the time telling him just what a low-life cad he was. He simply laughed and waited until my fury died down a little.

"If you stop to consider it," he said, "you'll find that your little tantrum has pushed me almost halfway home. Are you going to try again, or do you want me to finish it?"

I totally froze for a moment, considering it. He was right. All that my struggling had achieved was to push myself onto his 'thing' rather than get it off me. I glared at him, spluttering, trying to think of something bad enough to call him. That was the problem with being the Parson's daughter. My education in rude curses was sadly lacking.

It turned out I shouldn't have stopped, either, because he took this as his cue to start pushing again. I was total helpless to prevent him sliding all the way into me, watching his bottom sink down, matching his thing going in. All too soon I felt his groin pressing firmly against mine and knew he'd really done it.

That was when he decided to let my wrist go. Big deal. What was I supposed to do, anyway? Slap him? I could just see that having an effect. I contented myself for the time being by just glaring at him.

"I suspect it's reasonably safe for me to assume you have no idea of what to do next," he said. "It's really quite simple. I'll just be massaging you for a while with my cock. You can move with me, or not, as you please. It would probably be a good idea to move with me as it will help you come to a finish sooner, but I won't mind if I have to keep going longer."

I promptly decided if moving with him brought this nightmare to a close faster I was all for it.

He started moving and I started moving with him. At first it didn't bother me, it was just something that was happening. And then I found out very smartly that what he was doing was turning into a what-the-fuck session, or it was if I use that sort of language.

The strangest feelings were starting to run through me. I couldn't believe what was happening. He slowly picked up the pace and I found myself eagerly adjusting to match him. He finally settled down to a fairly rapid pace, his cock plunging in and out of me, with me shrieking and clinging to him. Was that really me asking for more?

His hands were all over my breasts, rubbing them and tweaking my nipples, and even that felt good, although it couldn't compare to what his cock was doing to me. Why, I wondered, had my mother always warned me away from boys? Could they all make me feel like this?

I have no idea how long he continued to use me like that. I only knew that he did and that I wasn't complaining. He went on and on, with me keeping up with him, while all those feelings inside me seemed to grow and grow.

"Time to finish this," he told me, and I actually felt disappointed, which was strange when you remember that I didn't want this in the first place. The next thing I knew he seemed to pick up the pace and he was really driving his cock into me. I tried to keep up with him but something went wrong and all that heat that had been building up in me seemed to explode through me, leaving me screaming and shaking, while he lay shuddering on top of me.

He moved off me and it slowly sank into me that he had finished and that I was lying there naked in front of him. I hastily tried to cover myself with my hands while he watched and laughed.

"A word of advice," he said. "I think you should tell old Mrs Palfrey that I collected the tax from you. I think she'll want you to drink one of her potions."

"Why would she do that?" I asked.

"You really don't know? I guess you don't. Talk to her. She'll explain."

While he'd been talking he'd also been getting dressed. He mounted and turned his horse away.

"Feel free to collect more herbs if Mrs Palfrey needs them," he called. "Maybe a week from now?"

"If I get more herbs it will be at different time," I snapped, suddenly feeling a lot braver now that he was leaving. "Don't expect me to come at specific time so you can pounce on me."

"That's not a problem. I'll just assume you've been collecting herbs and collect the tax whenever I see you."

He trotted off, leaving me feeling most peculiar. Just how often was I alone running message for my father? Quite often, now that I thought of it. Still, I was sure Lord Brucely had better things to do with his time than to hang around looking for me.