Annie. A Noblewoman in lust

Annie, or to give her her full name, the honourable Annabel Eizabeth Mary Weatherby-Hanines, strode across the meadow in the afternoon sun. The village lay before her in deep shadow as the sun began its slow descent to the western horizon. She barely considered that everything she could see she owned. She just felt lonely and persecuted. A woman alone in a man’s world. She knew everyone on her estate were taking advantage of her. It was pure luck that she had inherited the estate as back in 1334 her ancestor Erazmus had stated the estate must pass to the eldest son and in default to the eldest daughter, not some distant cousin as in most families.

She saw the village blacksmith’s workshop and forge at the village edge. No smoke issued from the chimney Tom the blacksmith had obviously gone home early. Annie decided he needed a lesson.

She had known Tom for years, why she even had a crush on him as a young girl, nearly lost her virginity to him in an apple orchard one summers day many years ago, but that was then and this was now. She was the boss and he a labourer.

She never married, with no living father and an idiotic mother she had had to fend off numerous suitors interested merely in her estate, not in her.

She could hardly blame them, her udders were disappointingly small and her buttocks trim in an age where the opposite were concidered attractive. She also found little to smile about and often dressed in a man’s jacket and boots with ankle length skirt as she did today which was hardly likely to rouse a mans ardour.

Tom saw her coming, a fine figure of a woman he mused, such a waste that she hadn’t wed.

“Afternoon mistress, what can I do for thee?” he asked politely as he set down his cup of broth.

“Do some dammed work you lazy idler.” she replied nastily.

“I’ll have thee know I been abour afore cock crow this morn fashioning gates which were to go this after, and I made a batch of horse shoes, I reckon I done me twelve hours and I deserve a rest.

“Impudent cur, how dare you speak to me like that,” she snapped.

“Thee weren’t so fiesty years ago was thee,” Tom reminded her, “When we kissed and I had me hand up thee skirt? Damn near lost thee honour didn’t thee.”

“Hold your tongue wretch,” Annie snapped as she remembered the tingle of anticipation as she had awaited the entry of his fingers within her, and entry which never came.

“That’s it,” Tom expanded, “Thee needs a good seeing to, good solid ten inches of manhood up thee one day and a squawling babe coming back out nine month after.”

“How dare you!” she snapped.

“Thee always did look beautiful when thee was roused,” Tom recalled.

Beautiful, no one had ever called her beautiful, ever. “Less of the back chat and back to work,” she snapped.

“I done me bit for the day,” Tom insisted, “A pie and a pint down the pub then it’s to bed for I.”

“I disagree,” Annie countered, “Five to five is twelve hours, less and hour for breakfast and one for dinner means you have another two hours work for today.”

“You miserly bloody bitch,” Tom snapped, “You dried up shrivelled up bloody old hag, you needs some sense fucked into you before its too late and no mistake.”

Annie stood her ground.