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Maidensdoom Wyrm free porn video
Maidensdoom Wyrm
Copyright Oggbashan March 2014
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
*************************************************
Lads and Lassies, listen now to me
While I relate the tale so dire:
Maidensdoom Wyrm roaming free
Condemning some to eternal ire.
From earth the Wyrm doth come
Giving lust to any Adam’s son
To earth again when Wyrm’s done
Who has power when Wyrm is gone?
Tup not a lass, nor woman grown
Nor e’en an ancient ugly crone
Upon the Maidensdoom stone
Far better leave the stone alone.
In the day the Wyrm doth rest.
Dead of night to take the test
For Wyrm to raise its crest,
Midnight hour much the best.
For woman sacrifice on that rock
Releases Wyrm from bar and lock,
Powers unearthed round her flock;
Powers that heaven itself doth mock.
Rash indeed must be that man
To gain Wyrm’s powers doth plan;
Better the Bible’s truth to scan
Than risk the Church’s dread ban.
But men there be who live for lust
Wyrm’s powers risk they must
But not you, I hope and trust:
Seeking ends but in graveyard dust.
Be she winsome, be she fair,
Be she blonde, or red of hair,
Be she eighteen or much mair,
Mother, crone – Rash man,beware!
Tup her but once upon that stone,
Releases Wyrm to be yours alone
Body will bring from you a moan –
Far better leave; your sins atone.
I had printed this as a modernised transcription on the printer attached to the older desktop I had put in my uncle’s study. The equipment would do until I could upgrade from the dial-up connection that was the best the village could have.
I had found this fragment, presumably of a much longer poem, in the family papers when I inherited the family estate. The parchment was torn as if was only the left hand half of a larger piece.
My inheritance was unexpected. My elderly uncle’s whole family, his son, his daughter-in-law, and their two teenage boys had been killed in a car accident in thick fog.
My uncle Simon died soon afterwards, but had instructed the family solicitors to change his will, leaving the estate to me as the next in line to the title of Socman of Maidensdoom. I hadn’t known because I was on a business trip in Sydney. While others could contact me, my uncle and the solicitors had no contact details except my London address. I found several letters from the solicitors when I returned from Australia.
Don’t think I suddenly became rich. The estate, much reduced by death duties by heirs dying on the Western Front in the First World War, was little more than the old house in poor repair, a farm leased out that had provided uncle Simon’s sole income, and the small hill behind the house. On that hill was the Maidensdoom stone of the owner’s title.
The Maidensdoom stone looks like a rough cut altar, standing about two feet off the ground. It is rectangular but has two projections at each end. The legends suggest that the projections were used to secure ropes holding the female sacrifice immobile while she was ‘tupped’. The modern word is fucked. There is no suggestion that the woman was ever really harmed, and certainly not killed. It appears that the women had been willing. I couldn’t understand why.
But there was someone who might know. If I were to die without c***dren, my cousin Sylvia would inherit the estate. She had been very close to my late aunt Hester, who had died about five years ago.
Although I call Sylvia ‘cousin’, the relationship is more distant than a first cousin. But we are both descended from past Socmen of Maidensdoom. I had wanted Sylvia for a long time, but she had treated me as a distant relation, not a friend, and certainly not a potential lover or partner. But as my heir, I had invited her to visit me.
What I really wanted was to tup Sylvia on the Maidensdoom stone. What little I understood of the legends included the suggestion that the man and woman who coupled on the stone were linked for the rest of the lives. A life linked to Sylvia seemed an attractive prospect. But how could I get her on to the stone? I had asked around in London and found a supply of the date-**** d**g. If Sylvia wouldn’t cooperate willingly, perhaps d**gged she might be persuadable? I still didn’t understand why the women were so willing to be fucked on that stone. I could ask Sylvia. Maybe aunt Hester told her something that Uncle Simon hadn’t told me?
The family solicitors had produced a draft amendment to my will. Previously I had left my estate in trust for my uncle’s son and his sons. Now they were dead, Sylvia was my only living relation. I had friends, but none close enough to leave more than a few trinkets to.
The next few weeks passed in a whirl. I had to arrange for a survey of the old house and get estimates for the more urgent repairs. I was still running my business in London, trying to create time for a week or two at the old house, yet despairing of getting my staff to take suitable responsibility. I appointed a local firm of land agents to deal with the builders and asked them to employ some cleaners to make a few of the bedrooms and living rooms vaguely habitable. It was costing money, but I could afford it. If I made an office and installed fast broadband at Maidensdoom, I could sell my London house. I could live very comfortably as Socman, travelling to London sometimes.
Sylvia and I communicated by email and text. She would arrive next Saturday and stay for a few days. I was excited by the idea of those few days. Would they be long enough to for me to persuade her to lie on the Maidensdoom stone?
I left my office early on Thursday afternoon so that I could visit the land agents, get the house keys back, and check on Friday that everything was ready for Sylvia.
The land agents had excelled themselves. So had the cleaners. Maidensdoom sparkled in every room despite the faded furniture and curtains. The curtains could be replaced. They were 1960s. Some of the older furniture could be reupholstered and some just replaced. The heirloom furniture was wooden and had been polished beautifully.
The only disappointing parts were the kitchen and grounds. The kitchen had been modernised in the 1950s. The equipment was working but antique. Two of the bathrooms had been refitted in the last ten years. The grounds showed that my uncle hadn’t spent much on gardeners. The hedges were overgrown and the flower beds had too many untrimmed shrubs.
If the land agents knew of gardeners as competent as the cleaners then the gardens could be improved.
I had my evening meal in the local public house. It was a competent meal but not up to the restaurant standards I was used to. I asked some of the regulars about local restaurants. Their opinions varied but apparently there are half a dozen or so reasonable restaurants within ten miles. They could be explored later.
Saturday morning I met Sylvia’s train. She would have come by car but some drunken idiot had side-swiped it. It would be repaired by the middle of the week but she didn’t want to drive an unfamiliar hire car that far.
I would have recognised Sylvia anywhere from her flaming red hair. Her head shone on that station platform, reminding me painfully just how much I wanted her.
We went to the Land Agent’s office first. I wrote a couple of cheques then asked if the staff could witness my new will. Sylvia objected.
“Why now, Duncan? Couldn’t it wait?”
“Sorry Sylvia, but you have to be my heir just in case…”
“OK. But I still think it could wait.”
I spread the will document on the desk, and while two of the staff and Sylvia watched, I put my finger on the seal and said:
“I execute this as my will and deed.”
I then signed it, and two copies. The witnesses signed all three versions. I put one copy in an envelope addressed to the family solicitor, put a postage stamp on it and sealed it. I gave a copy to Sylvia, and put the last one in my jacket pocket. As we left the office I posted the Solicitor’s original in a nearby post box. It wouldn’t be collected until Monday afternoon, but it was safe in the care of Royal Mail.
Sylvia didn’t say anything while I drove the short distance to Maidensdoom house. Once we were inside and her suitcase was in her room, we made coffee in the kitchen. She looked around as if in disbelief.
“Depressing, isn’t it?” I said.
“No, Duncan. It isn’t. I’m amazed at how clean and tidy it is. It was never this clean even when Hester was alive. It wasn’t tidy after she had died. Uncle Simon used to leave most things on the work surfaces. I can see what this kitchen must have been like when it was new. But I couldn’t live with it now. There’s no dishwasher. The washing machine isn’t even a twin tub.”
“I bought a microwave…”
“I can see that. It jars with the time warp that this kitchen is. Can we take our cups somewhere else? I’m feeling sad. This was once Hester’s pride and joy and now it is just out of date.”
We moved into what had been Simon’s study. It had a good view of the hill and the sun was shining on the Maidensdoom stone. Sylvia picked up the printed doggerel.
“Intriguing, isn’t it?” she said. “Is that all you know?”
“Yes, Sylvia. I assume you know far more than me. I didn’t discuss the Maidensdoom stone with Simon. He disapproved of my father going into ‘Trade’, as Simon put it. Since I was also in ‘Trade’, I wasn’t popular either. We rarely discussed anything.”
“But your father and now you have made enough money from Simon’s despised Trade that you don’t need Maidensdoom nor the income from the farm. You have, haven’t you?
“Yes, Sylvia. I could sell the business and retire tomorrow. My father sold part of it when he retired, but I’ve bought that part back. I own it outright.”
“So my cousin Duncan is rich?”
“I wouldn’t say so. Comfortable is a better word. But Maidensdoom needs money spent on it. But why? Who’s it for? If I die, you’ll inherit. Neither of us have c***dren to pass it on to.”
Sylvia sighed. I looked at her. She answered my unspoken question.
“I had hoped. He was an arsehole. He lied to me all the time. I thought… Never mind what I thought. I ditched him nearly a year ago and there’s been no one since.”
“You know that I have loved you for years, Sylvia…”
It was her turn to look at me.
“Yes, Duncan. I knew and know. But you are so boring, so staid, so wrapped up in your business. I wanted to live, to go places, to see things, to DO things. I’m sorry. You seemed like conventional suburban domesticity and I didn’t want that. What he offered seemed better. It wasn’t, because what he was offering was a lie. That still doesn’t make Duncan any less…”
“Boring?” I suggested.
“Yes. If only…”
“If only what, Sylvia?”
“If you would take a risk, expose yourself to some danger…”
Sylvia waved the printed doggerel.
“…Like ignoring the warnings in this, and going for it. Raise the Wyrm. See what happens.”
I was shocked. Was Sylvia actually suggesting I should fuck her on the Maidensdoom stone? I wanted to, I was plotting how to, and she seemed to be offering exactly what I wanted. I cleared my throat.
“If that is what you want, Sylvia, for me to prove I’m not boring… May I have the pleasure of your company at the Maidensdoom stone tonight? At midnight?”
“La, Sir,” Sylvia said, dropping a mock curtsey, “I thought you would never ask. Very well, cousin Duncan. We have an assignation, tonight, midnight, and you can tup me on the stone.”
I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed it. As I let go, Sylvia flung her arms around me and kissed me firmly on the lips. We clung together for minutes. When our lips parted she still hugged me.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I agreed, Duncan?” She said.
“OK, Sylvia. Why?”
“Because you trusted me. I know more than you do about the Wyrm and the Maidensdoom stone, yet you were willing to take the risk with me.”
“Are you going to tell me more about the legend?”
“Only after tonight. You trusted me. You don’t need to know more –yet.”
The rest of the day we spent exploring Maidensdoom house, making lists of jobs to be done, things to be changed, things to be restored. That evening we went to one of the local restaurants, by taxi, so that we could enjoy wine with our meal. We arrived back at the house at ten o’clock.
“I’ll have to change, Duncan,” Sylvia announced. “I want to be comfortable at midnight, and accessible.”
She winked at me.
“I suggest old clothes for you. Clothes you can take off easily…”
She disappeared upstairs.
“See you here at half past eleven,” her voice floated down.
I shaved, showered and changed into jeans and a fleece jacket. I stuffed some cable ties into a pocket. I had checked that they were long enough to secure Sylvia to the Maidensdoom stone.
She wasn’t on time. I was pacing the hall when Sylvia swept down the stairs. She was wearing a gypsy blouse over a long flared skirt. She pulled at the sides of the skirt and swirled it around her.
“See,” she said, “easily lifted for immediate access. Ready?”
“Ready,” I replied.
“Let’s go.”
She held out her hand. I took it and we walked out of the front door. I shut it but didn’t lock it. We were so far from the village, and even in the village people didn’t lock doors.
It took us just a few minutes to climb to the Maidensdoom stone. In the moonlight it looked far more sinister than in bright sunlight. I looked at my watch. It read ten minutes to midnight.
“Duncan. Are you going to secure the maiden?”
I produced the cable ties as she spread herself across the stone. I looped a tie around a projection and an ankle, pulled it just enough to lock, not to cut into to Sylvia’s skin. I repeated that on her other ankle.
Sylvia grabbed her skirt and pulled it up to her chin. Even in the moonlight I could see trimmed evidence that Sylvia’s red hair was natural. What had the doggerel said?
Be she winsome, be she fair,
Be she blonde, or red of hair,
Sylvia was winsome, fair as in beautiful and certainly red of hair. But the verse went on:
Be she eighteen or much mair,
Mother, crone – Rash man, beware!
Sylvia is well over eighteen years old, but why should I beware? I was securing her to the Maidensdoom stone. What risk was I taking? Surely she was the one in danger?
I stood back as Sylvia tested her bonds. It was two minutes to midnight. I wouldn’t need arousing. My prick had been standing to attention from the moment she took my hand. I shed my jeans and boxers, then the rest of my clothing. I knelt between her legs. Sylvia flinched as my hand stroked her bush then bucked slightly upwards against the hand. My watch second hand moved towards midnight. As it reached twelve I eased my erection into Sylvia’s willing body.
There was a tearing sound as if a plough was ripping the earth beside us. A mist formed on all sides, cutting off any vision except upwards. Sylvia shouted:
“Yes!”
My head started spinning as if I was very drunk. Although still thrust deep into Sylvia I seemed to be pushing upwards instead of down. Sylvia’s face appeared above me. How? She was secured face up on the stone.
She wasn’t. I was. My cable ties were holding my wrists, my ankles, not hers. I was the captive. I wasn’t tupping her. She was tupping me, riding me. She had grown larger. Her face shouldn’t be above mine while we were still coupled. She wasn’t tall enough. She was now. She grew larger still. Instead of looking at her face I was looking at her neck, her shoulders. She ripped her gypsy blouse open. Her breasts were hanging either side of my face and lowered. My mouth and nose were in her cleavage.
“Now you know, Duncan. The maiden becomes the Wyrm. And the Wyrm claims her victim, the man rash enough to tup on the Maidensdoom stone.”
I might have responded. I couldn’t. I was struggling to breathe between her enfolding breasts. I gasped as she raised herself enough for me to grab a breath. They lowered again.
“Oops!” Sylvia said calmly, “I forget this part.”
She lifted her breasts again, shrugged off her blouse, screwed it up and stuffed it into my gasping mouth. She knotted the sleeves behind my head, gagging me. Her breasts surrounded my head again, this time leaving my nose clear to breathe.
Sylvia’s pussy pulsed around me. I couldn’t hold back and thrust upwards, ejaculating into her.
“Good boy! Well done!” she said.
Her pussy continued to clutch me and my erection returned unnaturally quickly. I came into Sylvia again and again, uncontrollably. She was draining me. She didn’t relent for a long time but finally she let me rest, still held inside her.
“I can tell you now, Duncan, what Maidensdoom means. It isn’t doom to the Maiden. It is the older meaning of the word ‘doom’. That was ‘judgement’. The Maiden becomes the Wyrm and judges the man who tups her. However he tied her, so is he tied. However he treated her, so he is treated. You have been doomed by this Maiden.”
I tried to struggle against my bonds. All I did was sink my nose into a soft breast.
“Too late, Duncan. As the Wyrm I control you totally. I am larger than you, stronger than you, and I have an important part of you firmly held.”
Sylvia’s pussy contracted again. She sat back, allowing me to see her face in the moonlight.
“But you have nothing to fear. I wanted you. You trusted me. You risked the Maidensdoom stone to please me, because you wanted me. Instead I have you. This Maiden has decided your doom. You will be mine. No. That’s not right. You ARE mine. And the Wyrm’s. For the rest of our lives I can raise the Wyrm at any time. I don’t think I’ll need to. I think you will be a satisfactory husband and father without the surrender the Wyrm could enforce. You will marry me, won’t you? All you have to do, all you can do, is nod…”
I nodded. I had wanted Sylvia for years. A Sylvia who wanted me? I couldn’t refuse. I nodded again.
Sylvia’s tears trickled down her face and dripped on mine. She bent down and kissed my forehead. Her hands struggled to untie the blouse gagging me. She pulled out the sodden mass of material and her lips eagerly met mine. She had begun to shrink back to her normal size and I had to lift my head to keep our lips together.
The cable ties dropped away. I brought my arms to surround her as she rested her head on my shoulder. She sighed gently as the mist faded away, exposing our linked bodies on the Maidensdoom stone.
We stayed there, wrapped around each other for at least an hour. We climbed off the Maidensdoom stone, dressed as best we could and walked back to the house with our arms around each other. We went upstairs, to the same bed, and coupled again and again.
The power of the Wyrm gives me strength to continue much longer, to recover quickly, to do enough to satisfy Sylvia at her most demanding, but only when Sylvia invokes that power.
I have been ‘doomed’ and found acceptable.
If I had not been?
Sylvia told me the rest of the legend. If a man is doomed by the Maiden he has tupped on the Maidensdoom stone and is NOT acceptable, or has ****d an unwilling Maiden on it, she can decide that he will never have an erection again with anyone, and he could be left tied to the Maidensdoom stone for days.
Even if she spares him those fates, any attempt to **** another woman would lead to him being dragged by invisible hands back to the Maidensdoom stone and tied there for another ‘doom’ to be given by the woman he tried to ****.
I’m enjoying my doom.
Copyright Oggbashan March 2014
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
*************************************************
Lads and Lassies, listen now to me
While I relate the tale so dire:
Maidensdoom Wyrm roaming free
Condemning some to eternal ire.
From earth the Wyrm doth come
Giving lust to any Adam’s son
To earth again when Wyrm’s done
Who has power when Wyrm is gone?
Tup not a lass, nor woman grown
Nor e’en an ancient ugly crone
Upon the Maidensdoom stone
Far better leave the stone alone.
In the day the Wyrm doth rest.
Dead of night to take the test
For Wyrm to raise its crest,
Midnight hour much the best.
For woman sacrifice on that rock
Releases Wyrm from bar and lock,
Powers unearthed round her flock;
Powers that heaven itself doth mock.
Rash indeed must be that man
To gain Wyrm’s powers doth plan;
Better the Bible’s truth to scan
Than risk the Church’s dread ban.
But men there be who live for lust
Wyrm’s powers risk they must
But not you, I hope and trust:
Seeking ends but in graveyard dust.
Be she winsome, be she fair,
Be she blonde, or red of hair,
Be she eighteen or much mair,
Mother, crone – Rash man,beware!
Tup her but once upon that stone,
Releases Wyrm to be yours alone
Body will bring from you a moan –
Far better leave; your sins atone.
I had printed this as a modernised transcription on the printer attached to the older desktop I had put in my uncle’s study. The equipment would do until I could upgrade from the dial-up connection that was the best the village could have.
I had found this fragment, presumably of a much longer poem, in the family papers when I inherited the family estate. The parchment was torn as if was only the left hand half of a larger piece.
My inheritance was unexpected. My elderly uncle’s whole family, his son, his daughter-in-law, and their two teenage boys had been killed in a car accident in thick fog.
My uncle Simon died soon afterwards, but had instructed the family solicitors to change his will, leaving the estate to me as the next in line to the title of Socman of Maidensdoom. I hadn’t known because I was on a business trip in Sydney. While others could contact me, my uncle and the solicitors had no contact details except my London address. I found several letters from the solicitors when I returned from Australia.
Don’t think I suddenly became rich. The estate, much reduced by death duties by heirs dying on the Western Front in the First World War, was little more than the old house in poor repair, a farm leased out that had provided uncle Simon’s sole income, and the small hill behind the house. On that hill was the Maidensdoom stone of the owner’s title.
The Maidensdoom stone looks like a rough cut altar, standing about two feet off the ground. It is rectangular but has two projections at each end. The legends suggest that the projections were used to secure ropes holding the female sacrifice immobile while she was ‘tupped’. The modern word is fucked. There is no suggestion that the woman was ever really harmed, and certainly not killed. It appears that the women had been willing. I couldn’t understand why.
But there was someone who might know. If I were to die without c***dren, my cousin Sylvia would inherit the estate. She had been very close to my late aunt Hester, who had died about five years ago.
Although I call Sylvia ‘cousin’, the relationship is more distant than a first cousin. But we are both descended from past Socmen of Maidensdoom. I had wanted Sylvia for a long time, but she had treated me as a distant relation, not a friend, and certainly not a potential lover or partner. But as my heir, I had invited her to visit me.
What I really wanted was to tup Sylvia on the Maidensdoom stone. What little I understood of the legends included the suggestion that the man and woman who coupled on the stone were linked for the rest of the lives. A life linked to Sylvia seemed an attractive prospect. But how could I get her on to the stone? I had asked around in London and found a supply of the date-**** d**g. If Sylvia wouldn’t cooperate willingly, perhaps d**gged she might be persuadable? I still didn’t understand why the women were so willing to be fucked on that stone. I could ask Sylvia. Maybe aunt Hester told her something that Uncle Simon hadn’t told me?
The family solicitors had produced a draft amendment to my will. Previously I had left my estate in trust for my uncle’s son and his sons. Now they were dead, Sylvia was my only living relation. I had friends, but none close enough to leave more than a few trinkets to.
The next few weeks passed in a whirl. I had to arrange for a survey of the old house and get estimates for the more urgent repairs. I was still running my business in London, trying to create time for a week or two at the old house, yet despairing of getting my staff to take suitable responsibility. I appointed a local firm of land agents to deal with the builders and asked them to employ some cleaners to make a few of the bedrooms and living rooms vaguely habitable. It was costing money, but I could afford it. If I made an office and installed fast broadband at Maidensdoom, I could sell my London house. I could live very comfortably as Socman, travelling to London sometimes.
Sylvia and I communicated by email and text. She would arrive next Saturday and stay for a few days. I was excited by the idea of those few days. Would they be long enough to for me to persuade her to lie on the Maidensdoom stone?
I left my office early on Thursday afternoon so that I could visit the land agents, get the house keys back, and check on Friday that everything was ready for Sylvia.
The land agents had excelled themselves. So had the cleaners. Maidensdoom sparkled in every room despite the faded furniture and curtains. The curtains could be replaced. They were 1960s. Some of the older furniture could be reupholstered and some just replaced. The heirloom furniture was wooden and had been polished beautifully.
The only disappointing parts were the kitchen and grounds. The kitchen had been modernised in the 1950s. The equipment was working but antique. Two of the bathrooms had been refitted in the last ten years. The grounds showed that my uncle hadn’t spent much on gardeners. The hedges were overgrown and the flower beds had too many untrimmed shrubs.
If the land agents knew of gardeners as competent as the cleaners then the gardens could be improved.
I had my evening meal in the local public house. It was a competent meal but not up to the restaurant standards I was used to. I asked some of the regulars about local restaurants. Their opinions varied but apparently there are half a dozen or so reasonable restaurants within ten miles. They could be explored later.
Saturday morning I met Sylvia’s train. She would have come by car but some drunken idiot had side-swiped it. It would be repaired by the middle of the week but she didn’t want to drive an unfamiliar hire car that far.
I would have recognised Sylvia anywhere from her flaming red hair. Her head shone on that station platform, reminding me painfully just how much I wanted her.
We went to the Land Agent’s office first. I wrote a couple of cheques then asked if the staff could witness my new will. Sylvia objected.
“Why now, Duncan? Couldn’t it wait?”
“Sorry Sylvia, but you have to be my heir just in case…”
“OK. But I still think it could wait.”
I spread the will document on the desk, and while two of the staff and Sylvia watched, I put my finger on the seal and said:
“I execute this as my will and deed.”
I then signed it, and two copies. The witnesses signed all three versions. I put one copy in an envelope addressed to the family solicitor, put a postage stamp on it and sealed it. I gave a copy to Sylvia, and put the last one in my jacket pocket. As we left the office I posted the Solicitor’s original in a nearby post box. It wouldn’t be collected until Monday afternoon, but it was safe in the care of Royal Mail.
Sylvia didn’t say anything while I drove the short distance to Maidensdoom house. Once we were inside and her suitcase was in her room, we made coffee in the kitchen. She looked around as if in disbelief.
“Depressing, isn’t it?” I said.
“No, Duncan. It isn’t. I’m amazed at how clean and tidy it is. It was never this clean even when Hester was alive. It wasn’t tidy after she had died. Uncle Simon used to leave most things on the work surfaces. I can see what this kitchen must have been like when it was new. But I couldn’t live with it now. There’s no dishwasher. The washing machine isn’t even a twin tub.”
“I bought a microwave…”
“I can see that. It jars with the time warp that this kitchen is. Can we take our cups somewhere else? I’m feeling sad. This was once Hester’s pride and joy and now it is just out of date.”
We moved into what had been Simon’s study. It had a good view of the hill and the sun was shining on the Maidensdoom stone. Sylvia picked up the printed doggerel.
“Intriguing, isn’t it?” she said. “Is that all you know?”
“Yes, Sylvia. I assume you know far more than me. I didn’t discuss the Maidensdoom stone with Simon. He disapproved of my father going into ‘Trade’, as Simon put it. Since I was also in ‘Trade’, I wasn’t popular either. We rarely discussed anything.”
“But your father and now you have made enough money from Simon’s despised Trade that you don’t need Maidensdoom nor the income from the farm. You have, haven’t you?
“Yes, Sylvia. I could sell the business and retire tomorrow. My father sold part of it when he retired, but I’ve bought that part back. I own it outright.”
“So my cousin Duncan is rich?”
“I wouldn’t say so. Comfortable is a better word. But Maidensdoom needs money spent on it. But why? Who’s it for? If I die, you’ll inherit. Neither of us have c***dren to pass it on to.”
Sylvia sighed. I looked at her. She answered my unspoken question.
“I had hoped. He was an arsehole. He lied to me all the time. I thought… Never mind what I thought. I ditched him nearly a year ago and there’s been no one since.”
“You know that I have loved you for years, Sylvia…”
It was her turn to look at me.
“Yes, Duncan. I knew and know. But you are so boring, so staid, so wrapped up in your business. I wanted to live, to go places, to see things, to DO things. I’m sorry. You seemed like conventional suburban domesticity and I didn’t want that. What he offered seemed better. It wasn’t, because what he was offering was a lie. That still doesn’t make Duncan any less…”
“Boring?” I suggested.
“Yes. If only…”
“If only what, Sylvia?”
“If you would take a risk, expose yourself to some danger…”
Sylvia waved the printed doggerel.
“…Like ignoring the warnings in this, and going for it. Raise the Wyrm. See what happens.”
I was shocked. Was Sylvia actually suggesting I should fuck her on the Maidensdoom stone? I wanted to, I was plotting how to, and she seemed to be offering exactly what I wanted. I cleared my throat.
“If that is what you want, Sylvia, for me to prove I’m not boring… May I have the pleasure of your company at the Maidensdoom stone tonight? At midnight?”
“La, Sir,” Sylvia said, dropping a mock curtsey, “I thought you would never ask. Very well, cousin Duncan. We have an assignation, tonight, midnight, and you can tup me on the stone.”
I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed it. As I let go, Sylvia flung her arms around me and kissed me firmly on the lips. We clung together for minutes. When our lips parted she still hugged me.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I agreed, Duncan?” She said.
“OK, Sylvia. Why?”
“Because you trusted me. I know more than you do about the Wyrm and the Maidensdoom stone, yet you were willing to take the risk with me.”
“Are you going to tell me more about the legend?”
“Only after tonight. You trusted me. You don’t need to know more –yet.”
The rest of the day we spent exploring Maidensdoom house, making lists of jobs to be done, things to be changed, things to be restored. That evening we went to one of the local restaurants, by taxi, so that we could enjoy wine with our meal. We arrived back at the house at ten o’clock.
“I’ll have to change, Duncan,” Sylvia announced. “I want to be comfortable at midnight, and accessible.”
She winked at me.
“I suggest old clothes for you. Clothes you can take off easily…”
She disappeared upstairs.
“See you here at half past eleven,” her voice floated down.
I shaved, showered and changed into jeans and a fleece jacket. I stuffed some cable ties into a pocket. I had checked that they were long enough to secure Sylvia to the Maidensdoom stone.
She wasn’t on time. I was pacing the hall when Sylvia swept down the stairs. She was wearing a gypsy blouse over a long flared skirt. She pulled at the sides of the skirt and swirled it around her.
“See,” she said, “easily lifted for immediate access. Ready?”
“Ready,” I replied.
“Let’s go.”
She held out her hand. I took it and we walked out of the front door. I shut it but didn’t lock it. We were so far from the village, and even in the village people didn’t lock doors.
It took us just a few minutes to climb to the Maidensdoom stone. In the moonlight it looked far more sinister than in bright sunlight. I looked at my watch. It read ten minutes to midnight.
“Duncan. Are you going to secure the maiden?”
I produced the cable ties as she spread herself across the stone. I looped a tie around a projection and an ankle, pulled it just enough to lock, not to cut into to Sylvia’s skin. I repeated that on her other ankle.
Sylvia grabbed her skirt and pulled it up to her chin. Even in the moonlight I could see trimmed evidence that Sylvia’s red hair was natural. What had the doggerel said?
Be she winsome, be she fair,
Be she blonde, or red of hair,
Sylvia was winsome, fair as in beautiful and certainly red of hair. But the verse went on:
Be she eighteen or much mair,
Mother, crone – Rash man, beware!
Sylvia is well over eighteen years old, but why should I beware? I was securing her to the Maidensdoom stone. What risk was I taking? Surely she was the one in danger?
I stood back as Sylvia tested her bonds. It was two minutes to midnight. I wouldn’t need arousing. My prick had been standing to attention from the moment she took my hand. I shed my jeans and boxers, then the rest of my clothing. I knelt between her legs. Sylvia flinched as my hand stroked her bush then bucked slightly upwards against the hand. My watch second hand moved towards midnight. As it reached twelve I eased my erection into Sylvia’s willing body.
There was a tearing sound as if a plough was ripping the earth beside us. A mist formed on all sides, cutting off any vision except upwards. Sylvia shouted:
“Yes!”
My head started spinning as if I was very drunk. Although still thrust deep into Sylvia I seemed to be pushing upwards instead of down. Sylvia’s face appeared above me. How? She was secured face up on the stone.
She wasn’t. I was. My cable ties were holding my wrists, my ankles, not hers. I was the captive. I wasn’t tupping her. She was tupping me, riding me. She had grown larger. Her face shouldn’t be above mine while we were still coupled. She wasn’t tall enough. She was now. She grew larger still. Instead of looking at her face I was looking at her neck, her shoulders. She ripped her gypsy blouse open. Her breasts were hanging either side of my face and lowered. My mouth and nose were in her cleavage.
“Now you know, Duncan. The maiden becomes the Wyrm. And the Wyrm claims her victim, the man rash enough to tup on the Maidensdoom stone.”
I might have responded. I couldn’t. I was struggling to breathe between her enfolding breasts. I gasped as she raised herself enough for me to grab a breath. They lowered again.
“Oops!” Sylvia said calmly, “I forget this part.”
She lifted her breasts again, shrugged off her blouse, screwed it up and stuffed it into my gasping mouth. She knotted the sleeves behind my head, gagging me. Her breasts surrounded my head again, this time leaving my nose clear to breathe.
Sylvia’s pussy pulsed around me. I couldn’t hold back and thrust upwards, ejaculating into her.
“Good boy! Well done!” she said.
Her pussy continued to clutch me and my erection returned unnaturally quickly. I came into Sylvia again and again, uncontrollably. She was draining me. She didn’t relent for a long time but finally she let me rest, still held inside her.
“I can tell you now, Duncan, what Maidensdoom means. It isn’t doom to the Maiden. It is the older meaning of the word ‘doom’. That was ‘judgement’. The Maiden becomes the Wyrm and judges the man who tups her. However he tied her, so is he tied. However he treated her, so he is treated. You have been doomed by this Maiden.”
I tried to struggle against my bonds. All I did was sink my nose into a soft breast.
“Too late, Duncan. As the Wyrm I control you totally. I am larger than you, stronger than you, and I have an important part of you firmly held.”
Sylvia’s pussy contracted again. She sat back, allowing me to see her face in the moonlight.
“But you have nothing to fear. I wanted you. You trusted me. You risked the Maidensdoom stone to please me, because you wanted me. Instead I have you. This Maiden has decided your doom. You will be mine. No. That’s not right. You ARE mine. And the Wyrm’s. For the rest of our lives I can raise the Wyrm at any time. I don’t think I’ll need to. I think you will be a satisfactory husband and father without the surrender the Wyrm could enforce. You will marry me, won’t you? All you have to do, all you can do, is nod…”
I nodded. I had wanted Sylvia for years. A Sylvia who wanted me? I couldn’t refuse. I nodded again.
Sylvia’s tears trickled down her face and dripped on mine. She bent down and kissed my forehead. Her hands struggled to untie the blouse gagging me. She pulled out the sodden mass of material and her lips eagerly met mine. She had begun to shrink back to her normal size and I had to lift my head to keep our lips together.
The cable ties dropped away. I brought my arms to surround her as she rested her head on my shoulder. She sighed gently as the mist faded away, exposing our linked bodies on the Maidensdoom stone.
We stayed there, wrapped around each other for at least an hour. We climbed off the Maidensdoom stone, dressed as best we could and walked back to the house with our arms around each other. We went upstairs, to the same bed, and coupled again and again.
The power of the Wyrm gives me strength to continue much longer, to recover quickly, to do enough to satisfy Sylvia at her most demanding, but only when Sylvia invokes that power.
I have been ‘doomed’ and found acceptable.
If I had not been?
Sylvia told me the rest of the legend. If a man is doomed by the Maiden he has tupped on the Maidensdoom stone and is NOT acceptable, or has ****d an unwilling Maiden on it, she can decide that he will never have an erection again with anyone, and he could be left tied to the Maidensdoom stone for days.
Even if she spares him those fates, any attempt to **** another woman would lead to him being dragged by invisible hands back to the Maidensdoom stone and tied there for another ‘doom’ to be given by the woman he tried to ****.
I’m enjoying my doom.
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