A tale as old as time… – Chapter I – The knight and the sheltered princess

The old women left, locking the door behind them. No-one was allowed inside that room at the top of the tower, the same way the young girl they left behind wasn’t allowed out: her purity was to be protected. As a matter of fact, the old women didn’t come just in order to prepare the girl for the union that had been arranged, but to check her maidenhood as well. The maid was a virgin, immaculate, yet to be touched by a man… and as it turned out, ready to be claimed as well.

“Ovulating…” one of the hags whispered to the others, making them nod in approval. The wedding had to be held the following day. They wasted no time and prepared a bath for the bride-to-be.

Now the girl was sitting on her bed, alone, wrapped–up in a simple robe, as water was still dripping down her neck. She stood up, leaving the robe behind, and slowly walked towards the mirror. She could barely contain her excitement, and it showed on her flushed cheeks and lips. Or was it because of the hot bath? The dying rays of the setting sun were filtering through the open windows, together with a gentle, warm vernal breeze, lighting her full, firm breasts. One of the drops of water ran through her bosom and reached a turgid nipple before falling down on the floor. Her grey eyes and tapered fingers instinctively moved on her pale, smooth stomach, caressing it around the navel.

“Ovulation…” The maid whispered to herself. That meant that she was receptive to semen, fertile, and everyone at the wedding would be aware that. The though made the girl step backwards into the darkness, troubled by the notion, until one of her velvety legs hit the bed, and she let her petite frame fall on the sheets.

The girls could smell the scent of the dawn of spring coming from outside:

She could feel blossoming flowers pollinated into fruits as she caressed her breasts, arching her back forward, spreading her legs wide, tense;

She could feel fruitful fields softened by dew, plowed and sowed by the strong oxen, as her gentle fingers traced her body down to her glistening sex;

She could feel a rutting stallion mounting his mare in heat… the same heat she felt spreading between her smooth thighs, as she fondled her damp clitoris, whimpering, desperate to cling to a real man, aching to fulfill the call of nature.

—

The old nuns were back early in the morning.