Livia Preston - Witch's Orgy.

[Nickamano]

Teaser: A Historical / fantasy tale set in England's middle ages. Village boys, a village girl and a lovely young witch (all over eighteen).
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Title: Livia Preston - Witch's Orgy.
Author: Nickamano
Chapter Tags: Add story tags specific to the opening chapter of your story here if you want to.
Content Warnings: Over all there's some non-consenting content but probably more consenting content overall.
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I first published this story in 2001 (I was far more innocent back then lol). I thought I could dust it off, give it a quick rewrite and make it my first posting for the new Academy.
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Livia Preston - Witch's Orgy

Part One

The three young farmers started down the slope that led back from the fields toward their village. Twin brothers Marcus and Robert Browning, and their friend Richard Stoner, had just finished off an average back breaking day working the fields of their respective father’s shared farm plots.
All the villagers worked the land on behalf of their landowner Lord Pendragon, who allocated plots to local families, allowing them to keep a small percentage of the harvest for themselves, while his Lordship retained the majority for sale and trade.

Like wheel-spokes scatterings of farmers, having finished their working day, followed the packed pathways through the small village toward its single central gathering point.
Everyone else who had worked the fields, at varying degrees of swiftness, headed over to the local inn named “Gabriel’s Horn”. The small wood-beamed daub-coated structure was owned and run by a local oldster who went by the name Scrupe.
The collective need of the workers was to cool off with a mug of sweet apple cider, before heading to their respective homes for supper, before Evensong and then bed.

The boys intended to follow that plan heading to the pub along with all the other farm hands they had all grown up with, shared the good and bad years with. The great fire that had destroyed the harvest that one year, the floods a decade ago. Though of late, things had been improving considerably, the last three seasons had produced the best harvest years that anyone could remember. For three years in a row, the village had been buzzing with happiness and excitement of their good. Life was good and healthy, at least for the time being.

Unlike the rest of the workers, the three boys abruptly stepped off the path, slipping out of sight behind an animal pen and then onward toward the Hayes families cattle barn, which lay on the easterly edge of the village.
They went there because of one girl, the Hayes daughter, Victoria, the village beauty. Vicky had always been the prettiest and most popular girl in the village and all the boys wanted her. The brothers and their friend were no exception, they felt the same desperate desire for her as everyone. Of course, Village law forbade marriage for anyone who had not yet seen eighteen summers. Supposedly, once a child had experienced eighteen years, they were expected to have developed at least a potential degree of maturity and be able to take on the responsibilities of taking on a life partner and soon after children of their own.
Vicky had now seen those eighteen summers. And even though the boys her own age, as well as a number of unwed older boys, all desperately wanted Vicky Hayes, it quickly became an impossibility.

The son of Lord Pendragon himself had taken a liking to Vicky and her parents were filled with the hope that she and the young Master would wed one day soon. Despite the common knowledge that Hayes families wish - of their daughter marrying into the Pendragon family and therefore elevating the entire Hayes clan, young master Pendragon could and would never wed below his station. Even so if the girl’s favours were on offer the young master would hardly refuse. And her favours were very much on offer, as much at the instruction of her parents as young Vicky herself. She embraced the blind hope to grab her catch through her prettiness and allure and her father blindly ignored the reality of the situation, they were desperate. They were poor and had only the one surviving daughter. Vicky making a good marriage was their only chance for the future and Master Pendragon was the best match possible.

The three boys sneaked around the side of the barn and peeked in through a crack in the side of one of its warped oak planks. Vicky working away inside, as she always was at this time. The boys never failed to let out a collective gasp as they saw her. She was raking excess hay against the side of the barn opposite the boys.
She wore her usual garments, a peasant style blouse, thin white linen that hung off her shoulders and had short draw-strung sleeves. It set off her rich golden skin perfectly, as did the film of sweat that clung seductively to her bare flesh. The blouse revealed the shape of her pert young breasts beautifully. They were not particularly large, though generous enough to fill the adoring hands of a male suitor and the boys felt that was more than enough. Better still, without bodice support, which she rarely wore while engaged in chores, they were free to quiver and bounce erotically within the barely confining blouse. With the soaked sweat making the garment cling to the upper curves of her pretty bosom, little was concealed or left to the imagination. Her pretty straw-coloured hair was hurriedly tied up behind her to keep clean and out of the way. That golden mane that cascaded in waves when not tied back, was long and full and glowed like the sun in the daylight. It complemented the bronze tan of her skin perfectly.

As she swept, the nubile girl sang in a light, quiet voice, unconsciously keeping a rhythm with her sweeping. As well as, the boys noticed, the mouth-watering bounce of her breasts. The rest of her was immersed in a full-length linen skirt of dyed cornflower blue. It concealed everything beneath completely except for the occasional hint of the slender shape of her lower legs. In actuality, the boys had seen her legs bared almost up to her hips, once when the stumbled onto her in the wood stream washing mud from her tanned flesh. Not one of them had been able to sleep for the following week without constant dreams over those gleaming, supple, slim legs.

They all knelt there watching her through their peep holes in the wall - salivating over her tense, shuddering body as she worked. That was until the sudden shout from nearby, calling Vicky’s name, made them all jump. Fortunately, Vicky turned her back on them as she returned the deep booming call from her father. Who had informed her that Master Pendragon was riding up on the eastern trail. And would be here presently.
This was a deliberation for the boys. The private meetings Master Pendragon and Vicky Hayes shared, were frantic occasions of confusedly mixed emotion for the three boys.

Doubtless at the firm urging of her desperate father - who surely would be desperate to trap Pendragon by orchestrating his daughter to carry the Master’s child, so he could be forced to marry the village girl, Vicky was always borne into nakedness by her illicit suitor, often against her own desire. She had to obey her father’s wishes but she also didn’t want to present herself as nothing but a trollop for Pendragon. It placed her firmly in between a rock and a hard place.

For the boys it was both terrific and simultaneously heart-rending, as the young Master all too often treated the girl basely. Often employing the verbal cruelty of a drunkard, which the witnesses all too often found it hard to simply sit and watch without a gruelling, gnawing desire to go in and intercede on poor Vicky’s behalf. Their fantasies rife with imagery of running into the affair to thoroughly tan the hide of Master Pendragon for his insolence and behaviour – of course it would never become any more than a fantasy, Master Pendragon carried his arming sword and had been trained in its use from an early age. Any attempt at interference would result in the boys’ death. That was nothing less than a foregone conclusion.

They followed in Vicky’s hurried wake, keeping their distance so she would not be alerted to her audience. She was untying her hair running her spread fingers through it to smooth its shapely locks. Once her hair was deemed acceptable, she went to wiping down her bare arms, hurrying apparently toward the stream, probably to bathe her feet and cool her sweaty body somewhat.
The boys ducked behind trees in the ever-encroaching woodland forming the village boundary. Master Pendragon on his big white stallion appeared over the crest of the track that cut through the woodland toward the village. He intercepted Vicky before she reached the stream bank. She lowered her head and curtseyed. Even from the distance they could see her blushing. The young noble stared down at her for a minute, the hight from horseback no doubt offering an inviting view down the front of her blouse. He reached for her, extending a leather gauntleted fist.

“Grab my wrist in both hands wench, we shall ride a ways.”

She did so, but rather than hauling her up into his saddle to sit ahead of him as the voyeurs had anticipated, he callously pulled her up over the horse’s broad rump, depositing her on her belly there. Her extremities dangled on either side of its croup, humiliating and indecorous for her.
To add to the affront and lack of decor, he immediately grasped the length of her skirts and grinning, casually tossed them up over her back, exposing her long, bronzed legs until almost her most private areas were revealed. He laughed as she whimpered and pleaded, reaching back with both hands to try and push her skirts back down and nearly dislodging herself in the process.
Sneering, he callously slapped her hands aside then ran one leather gauntleted palm up and down her legs from calf to thigh, all the way up to the top and that part of her that was the most mysterious and the most enticing to the boys. Though their guts churned with anger at the injustice and cruelty of the young Lord, their penises strained dangerously in their breeches at the near full view of the girl’s long and luscious legs.
Pendragon locked a hand on the very seat of the sobbing girl’s skirts and then jerked on the reins, turning his steed about and leading his animal off along a narrow animal track into the woods. The boys didn’t dare pursue, however much their hearts wanted to rescue the fair maiden - well, damsel - she was certainly no longer a maiden; while the throbbing of their hard shafts was absolutely urging them onwards but for very different reasons.

Strangely saddened rather than excited by their witnessing of Vicky Hayes being so callously thrown onto the back of a horse and ridden away to be, no doubt, savagely enjoyed, the boys made their way back along the packed earth trail, a short cut that took them through the edge of the woods back toward “Gabriel’s Horn”.
It was a glorious early evening and the sun filtering down through the lush greenery of the trees and foliage gave a mystical look to their surroundings. Such mysticism no doubt gave rise to the mostly traditionally maintained tales of Will o’ the wisps and fairies and sprites that occupied the southern woodland beyond the village.

The boys reached the inn after an easy stroll. And despite Master Pendragon’s unseemly interruption, they quickly regained their good spirits. The boys had worked hard that day and had received compliments for their efforts out in the fields. And with the day being such a fine one and having just received their daily infusion of Vicky Hayes’ loveliness, they felt elated. They were young and healthy. Life was good.

They reached the inn, enjoying the aftermath of one of Richard’s made-up stories, a not particularly subtle method of interrupting their thoughts of what Master Pendragon would be doing to Vicky at that moment. Though the instant they pushed open the door, their laughter was overlapped and deadened by the din from inside the place. It was noisier than usual. They were slightly taken aback, their feet taking them across the straw cover floor, toward the bar, after a quick look around they took in the surprise that most of the village men they had expected to see were not present.
Many of the younger men were here, seated at their usual bench toward the back. There were a couple of oldsters who seemed to more or less live here and appeared to have the same mug in front of them not matter the time of day, or month or year. But that was about it. The rest of the occupants, and the origin of the rowdiness were soldiers. A group of large and burly looking men sitting on a bench against the wall to the boy’s right.

They were absolutely dressed as soldiers, armoured and armed, but they were not King’s men. They were dressed in studded leather, but it looked battle scared and stained. They also looked like they’d already had too much to drink - a good hour or so earlier - and had not yet given up. Scrupe, the ruddy cheeked inn owner, was huffing and puffing, hurrying around from his bar to their table and back again with tray upon tray of beer and cider. A strong yet gentle type, the burly oldster was in his fifties at least, he appeared hard pressed to keep up with the men’s remarks and demands.
Robert took a step over to the bench at the back and asked the lads, that were all around their own age, where everyone was.

“Are you blind boy?” One of them said, an under-the-breath snarl. “Who can enjoy a quiet relaxing drink with them bloody ruffians filling the place with their noise?”
“So why are you lot here?” Asked Robert.
“We’re here to make sure them don’t start causing trouble and smashing up our inn, that’s what.” Another of the group muttered.

The mutterer leaned back slightly, revealing a wicked-looking dagger unsheathed on his lap. All the village men had weapons of various sorts. Robert left their side and went back to a small table that his companions had secured, close to the door and some distance from the rabble at the bench near the bar. It was the least popular table being so close to the drafty door, but close to that drafty door seemed wise to Robert. The atmosphere was tense and the two benches were throwing dirty looks at each other, but the spark to bring it all to a head had not yet been lighted.
Scrupe had motioned the boys to slip behind the bar and serve themselves - something he didn’t often allow – but he was far too busy keeping the soldiers satiated. There had been growls of disapproval from the soldiers and verbal jibes thrown at the three boys, but they’d been ignored. Robert, Marcus and Richard hadn’t even taken their second sip of cider when the spark came into the inn.
The place was silenced in an instant - for an instant. Then the soldiers went wild - shouting raucous, crass oaths and lewd comments at the appearance of the spark.

The spark was named Livia Preston.

[Shocker]

An intriguing story, I feel that the name Livia Preston should spark a memory here, but alas it doesn’t. Still enjoyed this very much.

[Nickamano]

You're probably not old enough Shocker lol.

I will provide a little additional background in an epilogue, but there's more story to tell yet.

Thank you for the feedback and the thumbs.

[Nickamano]

And thank you to Claire for explaining why it wasn't appearing the way I expected it to (Damn new-fangled technology!).

[Claire]

I like that intro. You are great at setting a scene. Is Lord Pendragon a deliberate allusion to the Arthurian myth? I recognized the name but failed to see the connection so far.

Reading those boys lusting after Vicky for showing a bit of leg, I couldn't help but think that maybe it's a good thing for women nowadays that porn exists.

So you wrote this in 2001? In Large part it's probably the medieval setting, but it feels timeless while reading it. Doesn't read dated in any way. What do you think about it looking back on the story almost 25 years later?

Personally, I would have liked to get a bit more personality for the characters but maybe that will change now that the titular Livia has entered the scene. And I think Vicky might have worked better as a red herring if you had chosen a different name for the story. Given the name of the story, it was clear that Vicky would not be the main focus. But I could be wrong here. Maybe Vicky will return in later chapters and be the star of the show.

[Nickamano]

Erm, everything you say, Claire, is strangely correct!

Pendragon (named after Uther, King Arthur's dad) is just coincidental (Clue - I didn't pick the name nor is Livia my invention or Scrupe for that matter, unlike the boys and Vicky).

It is taking a lot of cleaning up, bad early 2000's grammar, plus a better developed understanding of how to structure sentences and description etc. Still, been kinda fun to revisit, so far.

[Claire]

@Nickamano Strangely correct is the best kind of correct. Hope we get to read more soon!

[Nickamano]

TWO

Livia Preston was without doubt the most beautiful woman that lived with in a week’s walk of the village in any direction. Many would wager her as the loveliest in the whole of the Island of Briton. Every outsider to have seen Livia had proffered the same conclusion.
Therefore, it was far from surprising that the inn fell into utter silence the moment she stepped in through the door. All eyes turned to her and remained there. She was literally mesmerising.

Livia, as strong willed as ever, ignored the attention and walked straight across the straw to Scrupe for once today actually standing behind his bar. She was carrying a basket brimming over with perfectly ripened apples. This was one of the ways Livia made her living. Her relatively small plot of land, that had long since been donated to her in perpetuity by Lord Pendragon - for some unknown deed of assistance - contained an immaculately kept and prosperous orchard from which the most succulent and delicious apples in the whole of England sprang.
Livia picked, cleaned and sold these apples for a high price to certain specific customers of her own choosing, which included both Pendragon and Scrupe.
The barkeep used the apples in two specific recipes. The village generally amassed a huge feast to celebrate the annual harvest festival. Scrupe’s famous toffee-dipped apples were one of the major highlights. The second was of a special potent apple brandy that only he knew how to concoct. Livia’s special apples went into both. Scrupe would accept no alternatives. And he charged a high price for both the sweet-treat and the delectable spirit. Mostly to recoup the expenditure Livia’s apples demanded of him.

The boys watched, jaws agape in awed silence as Livia and Scrupe stood close together chatting with quiet seriousness.
Livia Preston possessed a beauty that was indescribable (though the storyteller will attempt to do so) -
Her smooth skin was pale as fresh milk and utterly without blemish, while ‘creamy’ would be a closer expression of its texture. She was taller than most women, reaching well over five and a half feet tall in her bare soles.
She wore hand fashioned flat sandals that crossed her dainty toes and encircled her slim ankles. The rest of her was slipped into an unfathomably skintight floor length dress of soft brown hide, that might have been closer to linen in feel and texture. The skirts flowed freely following the generous, shapely curves of long supple legs. A split at the front-right of the dress’ skirts reached as far as her waist and allowed a long and beautifully firm leg to reveal itself whenever Livia so desired. Her waist could probably be encircled by the span of the average man’s hands, without corset too. Around it she wore a loose rope belt, like that of a friar. The tasselled ends hung down below her knees. The rope belt was knotted about her waist but slackly so it hung idly from shapely hips. The neckline was scooped low - and decorative shoulder straps of a casual pleat framed what could only be described as a magnificent bosom. Large, full and mouth-watering to men, Livia’s breasts were cupped and contained within the bodice-like top of her garment, showing off a more than generous amount of cool lush cleavage, which shuddered ever-delicately with her movement.
From the neck down she might be Britannia incarnate. From the neck up she might have been Aphrodite or Venus, not that many living remembered the ancient gods, or perhaps Helen of Troy. To Livia’s own kind she would have been compared to Danu, the Maiden Goddess of the Earth.
Her lovely youthful face; with full, sensuous lips, and large eyes that smouldered with a shadowy veil that promised many things. She even possessed a naturally seductive beauty spot to the side of her left eye. Her face was framed by a mass of lush waves of gleaming hair; the deep brown of ripened chestnuts. She presented the enchanting serpentine tresses as a waterfall tumble across one shoulder, the length dancing enticingly down past the lean blades of her surprisingly broad shoulders.

The boys stared. The bench of younger villagers stared. The soldiers stared.

The woman’s full rosy lips curled upward slightly into a heart-fluttering half-smile and the rich mahogany eyes, deep and lusty, flashed about the room in a heartbeat glance, landing for an additional heartbeat on the boy’s table. Those lush brown orbs locked onto Robert’s wide-eyed stare for a fleeting instant before she turned back to Scrupe to continue the conversation.
The deal was struck and the basket changed hands. Then Livia glanced around once more, this time her gaze not falling on anyone in particular, before she casually angled her head toward Scrupe to again engage him in conversation. Everyone else in the room bristled with the purest envy.

Listening to her, he started to look increasingly worried, he shook his head vehemently, his mottled skin paling visibly. He whispered something. Livia simply laughed. It was a deep throaty sound, that was as warm as it was enticing. And in sent shivers down every man’s spine. She muttered something apparently reassuring and then, with a solemn nod from Scrupe, turned and picked up a tray of cider mugs from the bar before taking it over to the Soldier’s bench.
This awoke the gang of soldier types rather abruptly, a mesmeric veil suddenly dropped. Their raucous jibes and bawdy laughter increased ten-fold. She sauntered to the table, eyes and ears closed to the lewd remarks and sexual overtures. She carefully placed their drinks down, not a drop spilled.

As she bent forward to share the tankards around the bench, one of the soldiers reached around to lay a slap onto her firm round bottom through the clinging fabric of her skirts. And yet, before he could lay flesh on skirts, his hand came to an abrupt halt. Livia had caught his eye and given him a distinctly terrifying look. His hand, having frozen an inch from the curve of her buttock abruptly dropped back to his side like a lead weight. However, the first man’s failure didn’t stop one of his comrades from taking advantage of her pertly poised ass and its distracted owner. Second palm from Livia’s other side came down hard, slapping onto hide covered flesh and then remaining there and squeezing the taut round muscle. Livia lightly slapped his hand from her body and flashed him with her withering gaze. Though unlike the first soldier’s acute reaction, this second man burst into thunderous laughter.

In her peripheral vision, Livia noted the three local boys by the door cringe, and the lads at the far bench all tensed as one. A couple of the latter group actually rose to the feet apparently enraged, Livia noticed one hand of each remaining beneath the table, blocking any potential view of what might be in that hand. Though others of their group pulled the men reluctantly back into their seats.

Livia smiled and picked up the emptied tray. She was turning away from the bench to take the tray back to Scrupe’s bar when another arm came at her, this time encircling her narrow waist. She was firmly dragged down onto the lap of a probably the biggest of the gang of soldiers, more than likely the group’s leader.
She didn’t resist at all. Nor did she struggle when his rough hand pulled at the split in her skirt revealing her long, bare leg from upper thigh to ankle. The soldier’s ungloved yet soiled hand slipped along her creamy flesh, caressing her up high along her inner thigh and into the shadow at the top where her skirt’s split begun.
Livia neither flinched nor tried to swat his hand away, she merely sat there in his lap watching him molesting her with increasing intimacy. His other hand came up, hooked roughly onto the back of her neck and pulled her face down toward his.

Sneering an unspoken threat, his rough lips - surrounded by unkempt stubble that scratched her warm silky skin - mashed against Livia’s. His tongue flickered out like an adder, licking disgustingly at her lips before it pressed inward, forcing its way between her lips and past her teeth to lick at her tongue, tasting her and then caressing the inside of her mouth.
He tongue-kissed her aggressively bruising his lips with his own, forcing her tongue to stroke and frolic against his own.
Livia put up no struggle. She sensed the other soldiers shuffle closer to them while at the same time she felt the leader’s hand sliding further upwards along Livia’s thigh until it pushed it way down between the apex of her warm thighs to get at the delicate heat of her bare vagina.

The captain’s fingers touched her sparse patch of softly curled pubic hair, there was surprisingly little. He probed beneath with a calloused fingertip for the little delicate lips of her sensitive vulva, pushing between them, splaying her lips to gain access to the hotter nucleus.

Livia barely let out a gasp as his fingers found her entrance and asserted pressure on it, stroking in little circles around the opening, pushing at it without penetration. She barely reacted at all, nothing more than a little tremble down the inside of her left thigh. The leader's tongue was still feasting away inside her mouth and now his fingers, first one and then multiple, ravished her vagina and the reactive hot flesh surrounding it.

The other soldiers involved themselves en masse. Hands reached out to grab the straps of her dress. The left strap was perpetually hanging freely off her shoulder. But the right was grabbed and yanked downwards, the front of her bodice immediately followed it and forced her large full breasts to tumble free, shuddering as they took their natural position, high and bountiful on her chest.
Six pairs of hands fought for that newly bared flesh. Her enticing, ruddy nipples were pinched and stroked to full stiffness, the weighty flesh of those twin mouthwatering mounds was cupped and squeezed, three hands on each, stroking mauling and manhandling. All too soon pinching fingers were replaced by tongues, sucking lips and even gnashing teeth.

Robert and Marcus felt they could sit and watch no longer. As one they snatched back their chairs in a rush to get to their feet; they stood, shaking in fear, though determined to come to the woman’s aid.
Simultaneously, the young men sitting on the far bench appeared to have come to the same conclusion as they angrily rose as well, weapons now openly on display. Even Scrupe came around from behind his bar with a stout length of oak in his hand.
Livia caught their combined stand to action, even though the lust distracted soldiers did not. However, she shot out an urgent staying hand. Hand open and palm out stopping all of them dead in their tracks. The pale hand stayed put, her dark eyes moved commandingly, from the table to the bench to Scrupe and then back again, until everyone had however reluctantly taken the seats again. Livia was in control and knew exactly what she was doing.

Her arms slid back into the writhing mass of leather armour and flesh. She reached down to stroke the prominent bulge in the leader’s thick leather breeches.

“Cooperation, eh? The right choice.” The captain muttered between, wet engorged kisses.

More hands shifted down to the sensual length of Livia’s bared legs, jerking at her skirts to pull the hide fabric aside so they could reach all the way up to her round hips. More hands attacked the outer curves of her soft yet firm buttocks, both through and under her skirts.
All too soon a new cacophony of grunting and moans even ribald curses of appreciation - of serious, hardened male lust had filled the room. Leather armoured breeches had grown tighter, even uncomfortable as penises stiffened and tented the variously protected crotches. These same hardened hot ridges were pressed against Livia in a number of places, as much as possible, she was dragged this way and that, off the captain’s lap and onto the bench beside him. Trapped, aching penises grounded against her thighs, her back, her arms and shoulders, Livia turned into a human rubbing post.

At last, she dragged her mouth off the Leader’s, disentangling her dancing tongue from his, leaving his bulging crotch in order to grasp his own aggressively frigging hand about the wrist in a surprisingly powerful grip - powerful enough to stop his thrusting and wriggling fingers from their fun. Holding him secure, she stared the leader deep in the eyes, her smouldering gaze burning into him, a different kind of mesmerism.

“Just you...” She said seductively, her voice soft and husky.
“Then we’ll see about the others.” She added, idly motioning to remaining soldiers.

The leader smiled, licking his spittle flecked lips, and he gave a nod. With surprising ease Livia stood, incidentally shoving back the mob of lust drunk soldiers crowding in on her. Strangely, no one seemed to really notice this little soupçon of impressive physicality.
The Leader, perhaps trying to retain his apparent control over the lovely young woman, grabbed her and scooped her up in his arms. Her breasts were still free of her dress and bounced erotically, shuddering as he lifted her up off the floor, and tossed her over his shoulder. Robert, for one, could do nothing but stare at the intensely erotic sight.
As Livia was carried like a sack of potatoes, up to the bottom of the narrow, steep staircase that reached up along one wall to the upper floor where customer sleeping chambers were located. And the strong powerful soldier seemed to carry and manoeuvre Livia without problem as he ascended.
The lovely, dark-haired woman caught the stares of the three boys near the door, saw the mixture of anger, concern and deep sexual interest in their eyes, and threw them a wink.
But then they were out of sight as the soldier reached the top of the stairs and stepped into to the first open door he came to.

There was the slam of a door upstairs, a few echoey gasps from the woman and then the thump of bodies on a bed. Then a long, loud and deeply impassioned groan of what sounded like extreme sexual joy from the chief soldier.
And then everything was abruptly quiet.

There was a nervous, expectant anticipatory silence from everyone the inn below. Most eyes were aimed up at the upper floor, staring at the shocking silence. There were a few darkly glaring looks between the two benches and the small table but most eyes remained locked to either the oak beamed ceiling or the narrow stair, everyone listening out for audible signs of the juicy, illicit goings on.
However, there was only silence.

Livia reappeared long heart-aching minutes later. She descended the stair with a gentle float. And she was naked, her lower body concealed behind a sweat soaked bed sheet that she clutched to her midriff. Looking up at her felt like a living dream, that lovely face and that awe inspiring body, floating down the stairs with an unaccountable confidence.

The linen sheet was almost translucent due to the amount of sweat soaked into its fibres. She looked at the remaining soldiers sitting impatiently around their bench. Smiling, she pointed to one in particular and then turned, showing of the naked beauty of her solid creamy buttocks and the long suppleness of her shapely legs.
The soldier hurriedly rose and hurried to the staircase, trying not to trip over the scabbard his arming sword.

Richard stared agape at the sight of Livia, naked from the back. He found himself utterly enchanted, unable to look away, unable even to blink. The hypnotic flex of her perfect, sculpted buttocks, no quiver or bounce as a result of her step, he found his mouth dry but couldn’t divert his attention even to wet his lips with a sip of his cider.
Unable even to blink, his eyes were watering terribly and it wasn't until Livia and her chosen bed partner were out of view, into the room, and the door slammed shut, that he was able to close his eyes and reach for his tankard.

Again, there were the telltale sounds from the room, a few muffled unintelligible commands from the soldier, the soft acquiescence from Livia. The rustle and dull clangs of weapons and armour being dumped onto the bare boards of the floor, closely followed by the sounds of the bed moving under their combined weight. After another second there was a pleasurable grunt from the soldier along with a long gasping sigh from Livia. And then the silence returned.
A minute or two later she reappeared, again wrapped in the same sweat soaked bed sheet. This time she seductively pointed to one of the soldiers, and then a second.
Robert, looking at her wide eyed saw her flesh was not only gleaming with her own perspiration but seemed to be almost bathed in a warm healthy glow, a touch of tanned golden brown to her once snow-white skin. As she waited for her two chosen soldiers to clamber up from behind the bench, Livia again caught the boys’ stares and flashed their table her dazzling smile.

Again, the men sprinted up the stairs in the woman’s seductive wake, slamming the door shut behind them. There were the same sounds echoing of sexual interaction as before. However, this time the audio suggestions were punctuated by a different keening, wailing cry from one of the brutish soldiers. To Robert the sound carried a strong implication of sudden shock, and even terror.
There was a sudden movement upstairs. The door opened, slamming violently in its frame. One of the soldiers, naked and wild eyed, body glistening in sweat, his phallus still thick and at full stretch, bobbing around wildly to his desperate sprinting run. He had bolted down the stairs and burst out through the inn entryway door before anyone inside the inn could react.

This time, Livia's reappearance at the top of the stairs made the rest of the soldiers rise to their feet and reach for their arms.
Livia barely glanced in their direction. Her cool eyes were narrowed in sudden anger, she flicked her open hand in the general direction of the soldiers’ bench and one of their number erupted instantly into a writhing, screaming column of flame. His whole body turned to a howling inferno of agonised flesh.
His companions were so startled and horrified that they forgot about Livia. The men stumbled back from the raging heat that had, a second earlier, been one of their comrades, a man who had saved the lives of at least two of the others backing away from him.
However, there was one man who did notice Livia as she darted out of the entrance in pursuit of the escapee, the lone observant soldier kicked over his chair and drew his sword, his intent to slay the woman, obvious.

It was Robert who took action. He was quickly out of his seat and throwing himself between the door and the armed soldier, grabbing a nearby stool and brought it hard across the pursuing soldier's head. It was so quick and unexpected that the soldier didn't even notice until it was too late. He ran straight into the well put-together stool, hit the floor heavily, letting out a wheeze, that could have been a curse. Blood trickled from his mouth and the blunt wound across his brow. The boy lifted and struck him with the stool twice more, then let it drop from his hands. The soldier was either dead or dying. He had formed a new wound, gaping and bloody in his temple, exposing his crushed in skull.
Robert’s brother and friend joined him, leaving their little table, the three of them sprinted from the inn in pursuit of the naked woman and naked soldier. Though unspoken, the boys all were intent of witnessing what was to happen next, as much as any concern for the local woman.

Inside the inn the young men took advantage of the remaining soldiers’ confusion and attacked them with their knives, staves and a couple of hatchets. The soldiers didn't stand a chance. Scrupe dodged and darted between them, desperate to get flagons of water onto the fire to put out the burning corpse before his fiery body spread right through his inn.

The pale form of Livia remained barely visible through the foliage and undergrowth of the woods surrounding much of the village. Robert, Marcus and Richard sprinted after her.
When they caught up the soldier and his pursuer had come to a halt in a small clearing.
The soldier seemed to have tapped his reserves of courage, he had stopped in his tracks and, still panting away, had snatched up a large shaft of fallen oak to use as a club. Livia had stopped a few yards from him and was watching, uncertain.
The boys came upon them from behind, puffing and panting. Once they had passed the edge of the clearing, they took an uneasy step back to watch the scene playout.
The soldier was wild-eyed and moving frantically, afraid. He cursed Livia darting forward and swinging the branch at her in a near frenzy. He spat at her as she backed up a step or two, calling her "devil's whore". This time, Livia stood her ground, breathing heavily and watching the soldier warily.
Robert tried not to stare at the starling rise and fall of the young woman's deliciously shaped breasts. Livia half turned to see who was spread out behind her, which was the precise moment the soldier decided to attack. In a panic, Livia gasped and threw herself to the ground, simultaneously lashing out with her hand as the shaft of oak swung down toward her head.

Everything happened at once. In mid swing the branch seemed to melt, suddenly taking on the shape of an adder. The snake's tail connected with Livia's cheek, knocking her down as if slapped, she fell back to the ground in a daze but overall seemed unhurt.
The soldier squealed in sudden terror and dropped the snake which slithered off into the bracken edging the clearing behind him. A heartbeat later, Marcus and Richard had thrown themselves on the man, pinning him to the ground and then preceding to beat him senseless.
Meanwhile, Robert had leaped to Livia's side, at first to protect her from the soldier's club and then to make sure she was unhurt. He pulled off his sleeveless leather tunic and laid it over her torso, concealing her nakedness. Though it wasn’t all that easy, pulled low enough to hide her private area revealed her nipples, while covering her nipples revealed her pubic bush. She appeared to be unconscious or at least stunned.

Everyone in the village knew her to be a witch, just as her mother had been. In fact Alizon Preston had been hanged for that particular crime, when Livia had been a little girl. Since then she had been raised by her maternal grandmother Mary Preston, who still lived with Livia in their small though well-kept dwelling a quarter of a league beyond the village boundary.
They all knew where her home was, though just about everyone avoided it as, even though Livia was more or less a kindly young woman and her grandmother hadn't been seen in years, it was well understood how powerful and dangerous if they were angered - as the boys had seen this afternoon.
Only once had the local Rector attempted to confront the ‘heathens’. Livia had returned the threat with a Sunday morning visit to the church. Sitting on the front row along with the rest of the villagers listening to the rector give his unusually stammered and distracted sermon while Livia sat there starting up at him with a little smile playing across her full lips. Afterwards she had spoken to the Rector quietly. No one had known what she had said, but never again had one word about local heathens being an affront to the Lord passed his lips, and he had gone on with his pastoral duties as if nothing had ever happened. Even, on a couple of occasions, When Livia had visited the village to barter or trade and had crossed paths with the Rector both had exchanged polite pleasantries, a tip of the hat and a gracious curtsey in response.

Robert took charge. He carefully lifted the surprisingly light young woman into is arms and summarily decided to carry her home. He sent his brother and Richard back to the inn to fetch Livia's belongings, which would be her dress and basket, and to help out with the straightening of matters. Robert did not feel as afraid of Livia as his companions, who desired her the way most men did, but were as much afraid of her potential wrath as they were excited by her appearance.
Robert felt more trusting, or more naïve as the others implied. However, it allowed him to perform such kindnesses, as carrying the young woman home, that others were often too afraid to.

Marcus and Richard made their way back to the inn in silence. They both wanted to speak of the things they thought they had witnessed, of serpents and men set to flame from within. Marcus also wanted desperately to voice his innate fear that he might never see his brother again. Both boy’s childhoods had been filled with tales of ugly ancient witches seducing children into their hovels, with sweet treats, before trapping and cooking them over a fire - as a feast for the Devil. Still, they were eighteen now, they were men and men did not believe in the inherent evil of the witch. They looked and assessed with their own eyes and the comely wench Livia Preston had only ever been a comely wench, had never said a bad word to anyone. Like the rest of the village, they had long known of Livia Preston's so called witchcraftery though, up until this very moment it had always been nothing more than rumour and village women's gossip. However, they had personally witnessed something fantastic with their own eyes. Hadn't they?
Neither would speak about it for fear of having witnessed nothing more than hallucination, and had no desire to appear foolish and gullible.

The inn was a mass of confused movement. Scrupe had successfully put out the fire before it had spread. Outside the entrance was a small pile of naked bodies. The soldiers. Most of them were bloody and covered in blackened bruises, apart from one whose foetal curled body was burned to blackened cinders, his putrid black flesh burned right down to the bone in places. Of course, the bodies would have to be dumped out in the woods, far enough so as not to attract wolves and bears.
The young men were the only patrons still present, and were sorting through their weapons, armour and personal belongings that were spaced out on their bench. Scrupe was at the Soldier's bench straightening the area out, mopping up spilled drinks and scrubbing at scorch marks. All were subdued and quiet, the occasional business-like mumble from the young men. One of them looked up and caught sight of the boys.

“So, what happened?” The man asked.
“We took care of the other one.” Richard answered. “We left him in the woods.”
“He was naked already, wasn’t he?”
“Aye, he was.”
“What happened to Miss Livia?” Scrupe asked. “Is she unhurt?”
“Seemed to be.” Richard answered. “Robert has taken her home.”
“We're to take her things to her.” Marcus added, glancing at the ceiling above him.

He found himself gulping down a sense of dread. Three soldiers had been taken up there and none had returned. He caught sight of the young men looking over at him. Though silent, they looked as wary as he, as though sharing his dread.
Not wanting to appear a child in their eyes, he straightened his shoulders and swallowed his icy dread. He should use this to prove himself to them, show off his mettle. He would stride up that narrow stair with pride and certainty.
He turned and ascended though could not conceal the shaking in his arms or the knocking of his knees. His mind was passing pictures across his eyes, and each was more brutal than the last. Reaching the top, he turned to face the door, found it ajar.
He swallowed, braced himself and swung the door wide open. He walked in immediately before his nerve collapsed completely, heart like the smith’s own hammer against his ribs, teeth gritted, jaw set.

The room was not blood drenched as his thoughts had painted it. There were no bodies and little sign of activity beyond the disarrayed bed, it’s top sheet on the worn floorboards. The only strangeness was a strong and distinctive scent of wildflowers, like rose petals on the air.
On the far side of the bed and at its foot, was a pile of randomly discarded armour, clothing and weapons strewn haphazardly. Livia Preston’s dress was present, in fact it was folded over the back of the wooden chair beside the window.
Feeling a little more relaxed Marcus crossed over to the brown hide dress, soft as kid skin. He noticed with some distaste that there were thickly puddled semen deposits on the bare wooden floorboards. He foolishly held his breath as he carefully stepped over the creamy greying mess and collected Livia's garment.
He was surprised by the fact that her dress was still warm to the touch, as if she'd only this second taken it off. He could also smell her sweet body scent, similar to the fragrance that permeated the room though of a slightly different flavour, a snowdrop after a spring rain, rather than the stifling summer rose blossom that pervaded the chamber. Glancing back at the door, he lifted the dress to his face, burying himself into the bodice and inhaling deeply. His cock grew instantly solid, straining against his breeches and, while his head danced, dizzyingly, almost making him swoon.

A call from down in the inn brought him back to his senses and he turned and stepped quickly out of the room. He was back to normal by the time he had reached the inn floor. The unusual feeling had abated and he couldn't think what had affected him.
He shook off the experience and along with Richard, headed back through the woods to the animal track that would lead them to the Preston’s dwelling.

[Shocker]

You're probably not old enough Shocker lol.

I will provide a little additional background in an epilogue, but there's more story to tell yet.

Thank you for the feedback and the thumbs.

That’s nice of you, I haven’t heard that a couple of decades being applied to me.

[LaLia]

Well, I'm definitely too young to remember anything. 2001... I wasn't even in the planning stages yet.

Back to the main point. I really like medieval stories because they leave a lot of room for world-building, so much is possible in the imagination. Starting with the fact that women's rights were completely different back then, all the way to magic, monsters, etc.! But there's always the danger that the reader will think that potential has been missed, which I don't see at all. In the first part, I would have agreed with Claire's criticism a bit, but it was better in the second part. I also like your descriptions of the characters (skin as pale as milk, etc.). But was 1.65 tall for women in the Middle Ages?

One thing that caught my attention:

Everyone in the village knew her to be a witch, just as her mother had been (she had been hanged for it) and her grandmother Mary Preston, who still lived with Livia in their small but well-kept dwelling a quarter of a league beyond the village boundary.

I should have included that in the parentheses in the sentence. I think it would read nicer then, and not like additional Wikipedia information.