GrayOldFart
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Oct 22, 2012
- Posts
- 340
He had left his daughter completely in the dark about the day's activities. He and her older sister -- recently widowed by the Black War and again living under his roof with her orphaned child -- had dressed the girl in a second hand gown that showed her womanly curves well, unlike the loose fitting, dingy working dresses she'd worn while herding the goats or pulling turnips from the failing garden. Her hair had been combed and pulled back into a pair of pony tails that made her look even younger than she already was. And her worn, mud-caked shoes were tossed away, replaced by a pair of tie string boots that reached almost to her knees ... almost to the hemline of the dress that stopped just below mid thigh.
"It's inappropriate," the Eldest whispered to her father when they were apart from the girl. "Her flesh of her legs is showing. God will--"
"It's what they wear," he answered. "And God has no part in this any more."
"It's what who wears?" she grilled, ignoring his blasphemy. "The only women bearing their skin this way--"
He shushed her, afraid that the Youngest would hear. His eldest didn't need to tell him what she looked like right now. She looked like one of the whores in the alleys of South Town. He looked back to her and grimaced. She is a whore, he said, not really feeling as harsh about it as his mind made it seem.
He'd heard his daughters talking several nights earlier; he'd heard the youngest confess to parting her thighs for a village boy. He'd heard her profess her love for the young man and tell her sister that the young man was coming soon to ask for his daughter's hand. But all he'd been able to envision was his little girl, on her back in the stables, naked, with a no-good peasant lad pounding his dick into her.
He had had plans for his beautiful daughter. A local Count had eyed her as wife for his son. A Viscount had wanted her himself, though only as a bed partner. And now, she was soiled. They wouldn't have her, not even as a consort.
"This isn't right," the Eldest growled. "You can't just give her to that man."
"I'm not giving her to him," he said, gesturing his Eldest to gather the Youngest's coat and shawl. "Even like this ... she still has value."
At the base of the steps leading up into the Tower, he bowed slightly to the Nobleman, then took the reins of a plow horse from the Guardsman standing nearby. He turned away, looking for a moment to his Youngest -- standing hand in hand with her sister -- before leading the horse over and handing the reins off to the older sister. He took the Youngest's hands into his and, with his eyes beginning to glaze over, said, "Sweet ... this man ... Count Yuli ... he needs help about the Tower and property. You will stay here with him ... help him. He will keep you safe and dry and well fed and cared for ... better than--"
His voice cracked with emotion. He was incensed with what he considered her betrayal, and yet he couldn't help but feel he was abandoning her to this man. And for what? He looked to the cart behind them. A plow horse, a sow, a quartet of breeding rabbits, six hens and a rooster.
"It's inappropriate," the Eldest whispered to her father when they were apart from the girl. "Her flesh of her legs is showing. God will--"
"It's what they wear," he answered. "And God has no part in this any more."
"It's what who wears?" she grilled, ignoring his blasphemy. "The only women bearing their skin this way--"
He shushed her, afraid that the Youngest would hear. His eldest didn't need to tell him what she looked like right now. She looked like one of the whores in the alleys of South Town. He looked back to her and grimaced. She is a whore, he said, not really feeling as harsh about it as his mind made it seem.
He'd heard his daughters talking several nights earlier; he'd heard the youngest confess to parting her thighs for a village boy. He'd heard her profess her love for the young man and tell her sister that the young man was coming soon to ask for his daughter's hand. But all he'd been able to envision was his little girl, on her back in the stables, naked, with a no-good peasant lad pounding his dick into her.
He had had plans for his beautiful daughter. A local Count had eyed her as wife for his son. A Viscount had wanted her himself, though only as a bed partner. And now, she was soiled. They wouldn't have her, not even as a consort.
"This isn't right," the Eldest growled. "You can't just give her to that man."
"I'm not giving her to him," he said, gesturing his Eldest to gather the Youngest's coat and shawl. "Even like this ... she still has value."
At the base of the steps leading up into the Tower, he bowed slightly to the Nobleman, then took the reins of a plow horse from the Guardsman standing nearby. He turned away, looking for a moment to his Youngest -- standing hand in hand with her sister -- before leading the horse over and handing the reins off to the older sister. He took the Youngest's hands into his and, with his eyes beginning to glaze over, said, "Sweet ... this man ... Count Yuli ... he needs help about the Tower and property. You will stay here with him ... help him. He will keep you safe and dry and well fed and cared for ... better than--"
His voice cracked with emotion. He was incensed with what he considered her betrayal, and yet he couldn't help but feel he was abandoning her to this man. And for what? He looked to the cart behind them. A plow horse, a sow, a quartet of breeding rabbits, six hens and a rooster.
