The Quest. A Tale of Vengeance, Torment, and Love.

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Now it is your turn to learn about me.

She was being very brave to encourage any such thing, laying herself down beside me.

“However, Guillaume, please remember that I am both shy, and ticklish, and that I have never done anything like this before. Please be gentle with me.”

I would be.

She may be ticklish, but she was not shy.

She blushed up at me as I eagerly sat up beside her. I was overwhelmed by that clear invitation.

I kissed her then; a slow and gentle kiss as though to reassure her, but all it did was to make her more nervous; more on edge about what I would do to her.

Was she inviting me to have her now? To go into her, to make love to her?

I would soon be able to come again. I wanted to, but I was also afraid of hurting her if I tried to go into her body. Besides, I was positioned wrong for that.

I remembered what she’d said... that I could touch her anywhere I liked.

I laid out fully beside her then, pulling at her waist to get her closer to me, to turn to me so that we could look into each other’s eyes as I kissed her.

This was the girl... woman... that I was in love with, and who was in love with me.

I couldn’t understand it. There were a lot of things I didn’t understand.

My ears were on fire... as was another part of my body, recovering already.

Her breasts were of obvious interest to me.

I kissed them first, feeling her gasp in surprise and pleasure as I did that, and with her pushing back at me.

Well, she had invited me.

I touched. Placing my hand full upon her breast, feeling her response to that, and her hardening nipple under my palm as she moved more onto her back for me to do much more to her.

She took my arm firmly in hers.

“Come between my legs, Guillaume. You need to go into me here... now... if you can.”

I would, I would. Give me chance.

I laid my fully open hand upon her there, upon that hair on her Mount of Venus as I discovered her along there.

If I could get into her? Her words. I could always get into her if I didn’t care about hurting her... but I did care.

I’d waited for this moment all day, thinking it would never come.

I needed no second invitation.

Doing as she asked, I rose up over her as she placed her legs wide apart for me, exposing everything of her vulva to my fevered glance, knees raised, for me to kneel between them, and to discover her... to push into her.

I was hard again, already?

I knew what was needed, but was torn between holding back, and possibly disappointing her, or moving forward, and hurting her.

“We have to get this difficulty behind us, Guillaume. Come closer.”

I would let her decide what would happen.

“Closer. Place your tip into me... here.” She reached down and pulled herself open for me to go into her there.

Once I got a start into her there, there would be no stopping me or holding me back. All, or nothing.

I moved forward, feeling her slowly open around me with difficulty as I pushed; both of us concentrating so hard as I moved into her. I pushed a little more convincingly, moving deeper. It must be hurting her, but she said nothing.

Damn! I was coming already? Surely not! What could I do? If I pushed hard now, as I wanted to, I would hurt her, maybe even tear her, and if I didn’t....

A sudden shriek above us, caused us both to freeze, our blood running cold. Had we been seen? Caught?

I pulled back from her... a sudden blaze of anger suffusing my body and my mind. This was absolutely not the time to be interrupted!

I reached for my sword reflexively, knowing that I would be in a fight for my life... for her life, if... then I relaxed; chuckling in relief as I understood what it had been.

“It was just a hawk making a kill.”

She relaxed; we both did, but the moment had passed. I’d slipped out of her, but she was still there, partially open, waiting for me to return and to go back into her. I could return if I wanted to.

“I hope it was not the nightingale.”

So did I.

It seemed almost prophetic to think of her namesake at that moment.

What might it portend for her? It was foolish to think like that.

However, there would be no immediate recovery from that scare.

If her parents or brothers learned what she was doing with this... son of Vaillancourt, her life might be just as soon terminated as that bird’s life had been.

She knew that her brothers could be cruel and vindictive, as most boys could be. There were times when she wondered if they’d even had the same father or mother. She was closer to her grandfather than to her father, and had no time for her brothers. Nor they, for her.

I recovered after that shock, placing my sword back into its scabbard, but not my other, living sword, back into hers.

“Let us swim again, my love. We can play and discover more about each other in the water.”

I pulled her to her feet, seeing how her breasts moved so enchantingly, driving me mad with desire. I would always desire this woman.

“Then, I shall dress you and see that you get safely back to your aunt.”

We had the rest of the night for this, and maybe a few days after this one, too.

I had no patience with this. I swept her up into my arms and carried her into the warm water this time, kissing her breasts and her; kissing her everywhere I could reach; even kissing her on that birthmark between her legs. There was nowhere on her body, or in her mind, that was not open to me now.

She placed all of her trust in me, to be like this, still, accepting of me.

We would certainly try again before we left here. I'd made a small start into her, and it had not been so uncomfortable for either of us if I’d sensed it right.

I lowered her into the water to stand with me, the water coming up to our waists as we kissed and touched, pulling at each other to get closer. Her breasts pushed into my chest, bringing me even more to life.

She moved that still proud part of me to trap him between her legs, feeling ‘him’ slide along her vulva, through her legs, as my hand moved behind her, pulling her closer, touching at her, opening her again from behind, getting her ready for me once more. The water helped.

She was able to sense everything about me.

The more we played like this, the easier it would become.

I turned with her, pulling her close to me, and struck out on my back with her lying upon my body, along me, her face close to mine, ready to hold her breath if her head went under water for just a moment.

We came to rest in the shallows, with her still uppermost.

I laid still and kissed her, moving her up, on my body, repositioning myself better... that stiff part of me... to touch up at her where I needed him to go, checking, getting a start into her once more as I had before, lifting myself into her with her help, feeling her settle back down upon him... upon me... as I slid into her.

She laid her head by mine, and helped me where she could, feeling me moving into her.

I did everything slowly... as slowly as I could...balancing one need against another, as I steadily moved into her down there.

It was very tight for us both, but the warm water helped.

We kissed, adding another dimension of intensity to what we were doing.

Where was ‘he’ now? How far into her? It felt really snug down there.

She checked, feeling my testicles butting up against her, but could find none of that part of mine to touch that was not in her body. There was no gap between them. I was fully into her! Could that be possible, and her not have felt it stretching her?

She rejoiced. She had not felt her hymen tear under that gentle onslaught. And it had been relatively gentle. The warm water had done that.

Then, what she most ached to have happen, began. She felt it. I felt it too. She heard my breathing changing as I pulled her closer to me and thrust harder into her, except I was already into her there, just as deep as I could be.

Inevitably, I came soon after, with a cry... with several cries each time I pushed into her. That sperm of mine had now been delivered deep within her. God’s plan. She felt complete. So did I.

I laid like that with her in the water for what seemed like a lifetime as we kissed and touched each other, not wanting this to end.

“I think we succeeded, my Rossignol.”

‘My Rossignol’.

Yes, she was mine now, but this was just the start of it. There would be no difficulty continuing this between us after this moment.

I could teach her to swim, and I could go into her body at the same time, as often as I liked. We could be here for hours now, even until it got dark, except that might be taking a risk.


That evening, Rossignol saw me coming across the roof to her bedroom window, and she could now relax. Her heart sang. Guillaume, her lover, was here!

She’d earlier pleaded exhaustion to her aunt, (she was, emotionally exhausted), and had taken a loaded dinner tray up to her room, with enough for two people. She’d also explained that she might be late coming down to breakfast, and for them not to worry about her. She might oversleep. No one would notice. No one kept regular hours in that house.

They were not the kind of people who worried about others; blind and deaf to everything around them.

Rossignol helped me in through the window, kissing me, undressing me eagerly even as I set foot on the floor. We had no need of clothes up here. No one came up those steep stairs to the top of the house.

I’d not been gone from her for very long after I’d left her at her aunt’s house; barely an hour before. Time enough only for me to get home to make an appearance, to eat, and then to prepare my things to go out hunting, taking my crossbow and furs with me, but leaving them in the cave.

No one had asked where I was going or when I would be back.

Rossignol had also made her plans as she’d waited for me, knowing that I would soon be back. I would stay here with her for the next few days, making an occasional appearance at my home to stop my mother worrying.

We would live here, in this room for as long as she was here with her aunt, which would never be for long enough. During the day we would explore the woods around the house, as well as down to the river, always spending the better part of the afternoon and early evening in that cave, on a bed of grasses I’d prepared, as we drank wine, or we would be on the plateau, swimming. We could make love no matter where we were, and we did.

We would have no difficulty doing that now after that previous day in the pond, when we had first made love.

Each evening, we continued lying in each other’s arms, making love until morning. Each time was always better and easier than the one before.

Each morning, she put on her nightdress to cover her nakedness, going downstairs; sometimes feeling my sperm running from her open vagina, and down her legs (so she told me afterwards). Her aunt was not one to notice anything like that. Rossignol brought a large breakfast upstairs for us both to share as she giggled over that accident, taking the dishes down again after that, scuffing at whatever had landed on the stairs--was still landing on them-- and even washing the dishes herself, to hide what she could, of there having been two, sharing everything.

She even saw to the stained bedding. She should not leave that, for others to find.

Her aunt complimented her.

“You can stay here again, my dear, anytime you like. I never saw a girl like you; able to occupy herself so well during the day, or so ready to clean up after herself and do the laundry. One might almost think you had a man, secreted away in your bedroom.”

She told me of that comment that had almost stopped her heart. We both laughed over it, but we made sure we were very quiet after that.

If it rained, we stayed in her room and made love as we talked the hours away, or we dressed lightly and went down to the cave, where we could be more private with each other.

It was even pleasant to swim while it rained.

Our clothes stayed dry in the cave as we swam together... she could swim for herself by then, or could tread water with me as I held her breasts or tried to touch between her legs... or we gamboled naked in the warm rain across that little Eden as we’d investigated everywhere, as well as each other, and made love again, whenever the mood took us.

When I appeared fleetingly, at home, two days later, ready to rush of again, my mother had been pleased to see me, but was sorry to learn that I’d had no success on my hunt. That was unusual.

I’d later told Rossignol—laughing at the strangeness of it— that my mother had not appeared to be worried about where I’d been, or what I’d been doing, but that she seemed, nonetheless, concerned for me, as a mother would be.

My mother had known I’d not been hunting pigs, but that I had found a girl to hold my attention. But what could she say?

She’d said nothing, while knowing everything, as mothers usually did.

That same wonderful unfolding of our love, went on between us for the next six days while Rossignol was with her aunt.

I made an occasional appearance back at home, clearly tired, but never wanting to rest before I took off again. I know my clothing smelled of sulfur... and possibly of... a woman... of Rossignol. I loved that smell from between her legs. I lived there. It was a very distinctive, strong scent. My mother would know that smell, of course. I swore, but there was nothing I could do about it.

My mother still said nothing. She knew that if she were patient, she would find out eventually. Such secrets soon came out, especially if the two parties were not careful. I know she referred to the calendar in her head and counted forward nine months while saying nothing to caution me.

On the seventh day, Rossignol went back home, and our freedom with each other was severely curtailed.

At that time, I was also back home again as before, to pick up my usual routines.

My mother noticed those changes in me, I know she did. My daydreaming; the deep sighs which startled even me; my constantly looking across the valley, yearning. The heartache. She noticed everything. I still disappeared for hours at a time, but then I’d always done that.

I still smelled of sulfur, but not of Rossignol. Not for a while.

This time, she knew I was different. She knew I was in love. It happened to all boys eventually.

It was obvious that my mother knew! But what did she know? Only that there was a girl in my life; that I was becoming a man, and that there were some things she should not question me about.

As a wise mother, she knew better than to ask me ‘who?’, or ‘where’, or ‘when?’

I would tell her when I was ready. If I dared.

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