Previously in Frankengeld. Damion von Frankengeld, now Herr Doktor, has left his university to return to his home town, Carlsbruck, with his housekeeper Helena. The travelling has been made entertaining by the pair meeting Sophie, two merchants, and the mysterious Lawyer. The coach has stopped overnight at a tavern at Gelenberg where, upon answering a knock on his door, Damion is presented with the sight of Sophie in her nightdress. She wants him... to open her shutters.
Now read on...
Sophie's eyes had a strange glazed look, and her mouth was slightly open, her lips full and red in the light of the candles provided by our hosts. Through her nightdress I could see that her breasts were extraordinarily pert, pointed in form, and that the nipples were engorged. With the jerking movement of her chest, as she gasped and panted, the effect was like two tiny birds trapped by a hunter under fine netting.
I stood for a moment trying to work out if what she had just said was a euphemism, only for her to grab my hand and start to drag me towards her room at the end of the corridor. She was very strong, far stronger than I expected. I could have resisted but I decided that wrestling with her in the corridor, both of us half-naked, was a very impolite response to a lady in need, so I allowed her to pull me along.
As we set off I could see that the tavern keeper and his wife were outside the room that the two merchants shared. Perhaps they had come to set a fire for them, or to answer some complaint about the décor, but I noticed that the tavern keeper's wife was dressed only in a thin linen nightdress which did little to cover her modesty, which seemed unusual. They spotted us immediately and she gave me a wicked little smile that said 'I know what you are up to.' I tried to indicate, by gesture, that I was just following Sophie in order to render her some assistance. I'm not sure I convinced her. The door to the merchants room opened, our hosts slipped inside, and I passed onwards towards Sophie's room.
Sophie drew me into her room. Like mine and Helena's it had a fair sized bed and a servant's mattress. Here I discovered, to my disappointment I will admit, that she did indeed want her shutters opening. She pawed at them ineffectually and then fondled them, pressing herself up against the wood. I watched for a moment as she rubbed her breasts against them, then, fearful she would get splinters in her, gently pulled her away and applied myself to the job. Why anyone would want the shutters open on such a windy, rain-soaked, night as this I could not understand, but a lady has requested it, so it must be done.
The left hand shutter, I realised, would never move without tools I did not possess. For some reason it was firmly nailed shut. But the shutter on the right side was possible for it was held closed by only a couple of loose, badly-placed, nails. With a bit of effort, and pain I might add, I was able to pull them out with just my fingers wrapped in my night shirt for protection. But then I found that the shutter was jammed closed. It probably hadn't been opened for years. But, it was designed to swing outwards so a good push should release it, I thought.
As I applied my shoulder to it, and put my ear close, I thought I could hear something soft padding against it on the outside.
"I am here Master," moaned Sophie. "Come, take me now."
I glanced back, hoping she was talking to me. Perhaps she had given up on the idea of opening the shutters in order to do something much more interesting. She was kneading her breasts with one hand, with a strange faraway look in her eyes. The other hand was between her legs, rubbing the thin cloth against her sex. She looked, not at me, but at the shutters.
The sudden realisation came to me that she was sleepwalking. I had heard of such a phenomenon, that people moved about their houses, performed tasks, even spoke to those they met, all the time being asleep. And I remembered reading that waking them too abruptly could be a terrible shock to their mind and body. My thoughts turned back to the shutter. Perhaps a bit of cool air and gentle rain would be good for her, I thought, waking her more naturally than shaking her. And, if she did wake and was interested, then perhaps we could do the thing that I had thought about earlier that was more interesting than shutter maintenance.
I returned to the task in hand. I pushed, hard! One, two, three pushes to no avail, then suddenly - on the fourth - the shutter gave way and slammed wide open. I feared that it would bang against the wall of the tavern and wake any of the guests who were asleep but before it could strike the wall there was a soft thud, a crunch, a very high-pitched squeak, and something fluttered to the ground.
I turned back to Sophie to see how her sleepwalking reacted to the fresh air, just in time to see her faint. She sprawled to the floor in an inelegant position with her legs splayed wide, revealing pubic hair as bright red as that on her head. So, one thing learned.
I lifted her up and carried her to her bed, very aware of the close proximity of her nubile body. The gauzy nightdress blocked my view about as much as quality glass windows and I quickly found my penis rising again until, to my embarrassment, it was tapping the underside of her body as I walked. I gently laid her into the soft sheets and pulled the coverlet over, resisting the strong temptation to slide in beside her. Then I closed the shutter again as the rain was blowing into the room, and - for good measure - replaced the nails.
Sophie looked very fragile and innocent lying there and, for what reason I don't know, I picked up a garland from the wall above the bed, and put it on her brow. It was something the tavern staff had placed in the room, a circle of white flowers with a gentle aroma of garlic. Her breathing had returned to normal, whatever had upset her had clearly passed, and I did not worry about leaving her to sleep it off. I left her candle burning in case she woke up, frightened, in the early hours.
Closing the door to her room, quietly, I walked back down the corridor. The sounds of passion were coming from the merchants room and I discovered that they had left the door slightly open. I could not resist looking in, and immediately regretted it. Why? Well I found myself staring at a bacchanalian scene. This was fascinating but I was tired, and wanted nothing more than to sleep. On the other hand what was happening before me was something that no self-respecting scientist, who was interested in developing a pleasure elixir, should pass over. I must overcome my tiredness and make my observations.
The tavern owner's enormous wife was laying on her back with the younger merchant crouched over her. He was holding her legs up high, by the ankles, and was pleasuring her with long, deep, strokes. She had her eyes screwed shut with passion, and her arms were flung wide. She was grasping at the bed sheets in her ecstasy as she encouraged him, with very rude suggestions, to greater efforts. Then, to my alarm, she opened her eyes and looked straight at me stood in the doorway. Would she scream? No, quite the contrary, she patting the sheets gesturing for me to join them on the bed.
I looked around the room, anxious to give myself time to think. The older merchant and the tavern-keeper were both sat, naked, on chairs watching the young man's efforts. Part of me wanted to study the behaviour of these wanton people, for research purposes only you understand. And another part of me wanted to run back to my room, to sleep until dawn.
