Awakening 2

Awakening

A Femdom tale by Anders Mosely

This story was written in honour of Miss Janice Jupiter.

Note to Miss Janice: I may have got a bit carried away here and attempted something bigger than I intended. The notion was to write something that was more romantic and erotic than explicitly sexual. It was also my intent to try and write something from the perspective of the Dom/woman as much femdom fiction seems to focus on the sub/male experience. I will leave it up to you to judge but I feel that while the bones of this story are good the execution is still a bit rough in spots.

Foreword:

This story commences on July 23, 1298, the day after the battle of Falkirk when William Wallace’s Scottish army was defeated by the forces of King Edward I of England.

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When Janice Jupiter left her stone cottage that day to walk to the market in town it seemed like any other day. Yet she knew it wasn’t. Already word had spread of the awful defeat of William Wallace’s army in the battle of Falkirk the day before. It was said that thousands of brave Scottish men were lying dead on the field of battle and the rest of the army was scattered to the four winds. It was a dark day for Scotland. Fear and worry was filling the land. Despite this life had to go on and Janice had things that she must do. Battle or no battle she needed to get her chores done.

The sun shone warm and bright that morning lighting Janice’s fine featured face in a radiant sort of glow as she hurried along the path. So preoccupied was she on the tasks ahead of her that she almost didn’t notice the shape lying in the shadows of the trees. At first she thought it must be a bear or some wild animal but, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw that it was a man. Startled she put her hands to her lips and made to flee. It was not always safe for a woman to encounter a man in these woods. But something in her made her stop and look more closely.

The man, dressed in a kilt, now ragged and torn was slumped against a tree. Protruding over the edge of his right shoulder was the hilt of his claymore, the large sword being strapped to his back. She could see that he was a young man, maybe 20 or 21 years of age with long hair and a beard. Both the beard and hair were matted and dirty. Even at this distance she could see that he was a big man with strong arms and legs and a broad chest. It was clear that he was one of William Wallace’s men. He must have fled the battle in an attempt to save his life.

Unable to resist she drew closer to him so as to get a better view. When finally she could see him clearly she raised her hand to her lips and gasped. The hair that she thought was just dirty was matted with blood. A large gash on his arm was bound with a dirty bit of ragged blood soaked cloth and his face and body was cut and bruised. By the look of him he must have fought bravely and well.

At first she feared that he may have succumbed to his injuries but upon careful observation noted that he his chest was moving slowly. He was either asleep or perhaps rendered unconscious from his injuries and loss of blood. Scared yet fascinated she walked up to him. She picked up a stick from the forest floor and prodded him gently. He made a sort of groaning noise but did not move and did not appear to awake.

Janice knew she had to do something. She could not leave such a brave Scottish lad to die alone in the woods as he most surely would do if she did not help him. She had brought water with her as her planned walk was long and she had intended to use it to quench her thirst. Kneeling down beside him she lifted his chin and dribbled a little water on his lips. He moaned drank a little and opened his eyes. Janice almost gasped as he looked up at her. His eyes the most remarkable shade of blue. Even now dull and unfocused they were what she could only describe as beautiful. Then she widened her view to take in his whole face. Squared jawed and strong featured he was indeed a very handsome man. Without thinking she reached down and placed her hand on his bruised and dirty cheek. As he did so he sighed and kind of leaned against her. She realized that he was completely helpless and that she controlled his fate. A sudden strange and confusing thrill of emotion ran through her.

“Help me” he whispered.

“Aye” she responded, “I will”.

It wasn’t easy getting him back to her cottage. By getting him to drink some water and splashing some on his face she managed to get him semi conscious enough that he could walk so long as she helped hold him up. He was a big man standing at least six feet tall and he outweighed her by a great deal. He was delirious and weak from his wounds. Many times they were forced to stop and rest before making it to the shelter of her house.

When finally she got him laid down in bed it was clear that he was close to death. When she laid her hand on his skin it burned with fever. At such times when his eyes were open they rolled around looking glazed and unfocused. But Janice was a strong woman and she was determined not to let him die. She cleaned him up, washed and bound his cuts with clean cloth and got him comfortable in bed.

On the third day the fever broke and he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Janice looking down at him, her eyes bright and her hair glowing in a shaft of sun that fell through the open window. For a moment he thought he must have died and that she was angel.

Then realizing he was still of this world he tried to rise.

“Don’t try and sit up” she said pushing him back gently into the bed.

“Where am I?” he asked his voice horse.

“Shh. Your safe” she comforted.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Miss Janice”.

He raised his hand and pressed the tips of his fingers against her cheek. “So beautiful” he said a haunting note of wonder in his voice. He was still clearly disoriented and lost.

“Quiet” she said taking his hand and placing it back on the covers. “You need your rest”.

“Yes Miss” he said slipping back into a deep, dark sleep.

She sat on the edge of the bed watching the steady, slow rise and fall of his chest. She looked down again at the body of the man outlined under the thin sheet. Having had to strip him out of his dirty clothes she knew that he was a strong attractive man with smooth skin drawn taut over his well proportioned frame.

Feeling curiously emboldened she placed her hand on his chest and let it rest there for a moment. She could fee his heart beat a slow steady tattoo in his chest. Almost without thinking she slowly slid her hand down under the covers across the hard muscles of his abdomen and down between his legs. Hardly believing her own courage she took his manhood in her hand and held it softly. Without waking he groaned and his member quickly swelled in her hand. She felt an electric thrill running through her, a curious mix of excitement and something like power. Feeling almost intoxicated gently wrapped her hand around him feeling his penis pulse and throb in her hand. A second moan, one clearly of pleasure escaped his lips and her rolled his head to one side.

Then not whishing to wake him, and perhaps a little afraid of being caught, she stopped and withdrew her hand. She lingered a moment longer looking at him, a smile playing on her lips.

He slept all the rest of that day and through to the next morning. Janice was busy fixing breakfast when she heard him stir behind her. She went into the small bedroom to find him propped up on one arm.

He looked at her for a moment confused. “Who are you?”

“I am Miss Janice” she reminded him.

“Miss Janice” he said rolling the words around in his mouth as if to get familiar with them.

“Where am I?”.

“Some place safe. I found you in the woods a few days ago but I don’t think you remember”.

He shook his head. “The last thing I remember is cutting the head off some English bastard and then running for the woods” he replied.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“ I am called John de Moray Miss” he replied.

He looked down at himself and he realized he was naked.

“Where are my clothes?” he asked.

“I burned them. They were so torn and dirty there was nothing to be done for them.”

“I need something to wear” he protested.

“You leave that up to me. For now just rest. I’ll get you something to eat.”

She brought him breakfast and sat in a chair beside the bed while he ate. He was clearly ravenous and he ate the food quickly and with obvious satisfaction.

He looked over at her with his eyes bright and clear.

“I don’t know how to express my gratitude and thanks for what you have done.” he said.

She smiled at him. “Speak no more of it” she said pressing her finger to his lips to silence him. Involuntarily he kissed her finger softly. There was an awkward moment when neither of them moved. Then he looked away his face red with embarrassment.

“Forgive me Miss”.

She stood up and looked down on him. It appeared that despite his size and power he had adopted a sheepish almost submissive mien. Suddenly emboldened she reached down and took his face between the palms of her hands and she looked straight into his eyes.

“You better remember your place young man” she said sternly. “I don’t want to have to punish you”.

“I will Miss” he whispered hardly daring to look her in the eye.

“Good” she said standing back and folding her arms. “See that you do”.

She then left to tend to her chores. But she found that her mind was not on her tasks. No matter what she did her thoughts kept turning back to the scene of this strong and powerful young man apparently cowed by her presence. It was at once exhilarating and frightening that she might with her words alone control such a powerful force as he. Finally unable to deal with the distraction any longer she returned to his room.

As she entered he half rose from the bed to greet her.

“How are you feeling” she asked.

“Better Miss. Thank you.”

“I really should check your wounds to make sure they are healing properly.”

She reached down and ran her fingers over the bandage on his left arm, lifting it slightly to see underneath. The wound although still angry and red was starting to heal.

“Your going to have a scar” she said.

He chuckled. “You mean I’m going to have another scar”.

She smiled. “Yes another one. Now roll over so I can see your back”.

He turned over in the bed and lay face down with his chin on his arms.

She began to run her hands over his broad back feeling with her fingers probing and massaging the toned muscles beneath. At her touch he let out a soft sigh. She hardly believed that she could be so bold as to take such liberties. But something in her was stirring, changing; a long repressed emotion was slowly working its way up from the depths of her soul. Feeling again this strange sensed of intoxication she reached down and pulled the sheets away from his body leaving him naked before her. He indeed had several scars on his body having obviously been in more than one battle. However the blemishes on his body made the perfection of the surrounding skin even more apparent.

He gasped and froze not daring to move, confused as to what to do.

“Miss?” he asked plaintively.

“I need to see your body to make sure everything is well. I can’t do that if you’re covered. Now sit still and be a good boy.”

“Yes Miss”. Although his voice was deep, powerful and manly she could hear the tone of deference in his words.

She continued to slide her hands over his skin pretending to still be searching for wounds. She could hear his breath quicken as she explored his body. She smiled to herself feeling her own heart beating faster. “Mine” she thought to herself. Then instantly, mentally shaking her head, she drove the strange notion from her mind.

“Well you seem to be in piece” she said.

“Thank you Miss” he replied a husky almost breathless tone in his voice. She could see from his breathing and his attitude that he was clearly excited by her touch. She had to admit to herself that she liked that, liked being able to stir these emotions in him.

“Roll over on your back” she ordered..

“I am fine Miss” he protested.

She frowned. “How am I to see if you don’t roll over”.

“I’ll look for myself” he mumbled blushing.

“Stop acting silly. Now do as I say.”

“But Miss”

“John” she said her voice holding a hint of warning.

“Yes Miss”. Reluctantly he rolled over onto his back. As he did so she saw that he had a large erection. Seeing it she inwardly smiled.

Embarrassed he looked away.

Mischievously she placed a hand on his thigh only inches from his straining manhood. He drew in a sharp gasp of air. She knew he was dying to have her touch him.

“What’s this then” she said raising one finger and pointing to his member bringing within a fraction of touching him.

She could hear his breathing speeding up.

“Sorry Miss” he replied still not looking at her his voice strangely distorted.

She reached down and pulled the sheet back up over him. As she did so her hand slid over his stiff member in what she hoped appeared to be an accidental touch. As she did so his whole body stiffened and he drew in a sharp breath. As she settled the sheet on his body she could see a flicker of something like disappointment or frustration or maybe both on his face. She knew he wanted her and in truth she wanted him. But there was a power in denying him the pleasure of having her. She had a weapon to control him that was as powerful in its way as his body and muscles were in theirs.

She decided she to take the tension out of the air.

“Your going to have to stay here for a while” she said. “The English are looking for men like you and they will kill you if they find you”.

“Bastards” he said his voice still rough and strained with erotic excitement.

“Your safe here” she said. “I have found you some clothes and I will bring them to you.”

“Thank you Miss, very kind of you”.

“Now there is one thing. If you’re going to stay here you’re going to have be of some use. I will give you chores to do and you will do them without complaining. Is that understood?”

“Yes Miss. It will be my pleasure”.

“Good boy.”

A few weeks later Janice found herself looking out into the yard watching John chop wood. He wore nothing except for his kilt and shoes. He swung the axe with powerful sure strokes, splitting the wood cleanly. The sheen of sweat on his skin highlighted the lines and shapes of body. Such was his physical conditioning that despite the work his breathing was only slightly elevated. Seeing how powerfully and surely he wielded the axe she came to understand that he must be a fearsome warrior indeed.

Janice smiled to herself. The last weeks had been some of the most pleasant of her life. She and John had come to know each other. While she had initially been attracted to his physical beauty she now found the man himself to be equally charming. They had shared meals and walked through the woods and fields. He knew things that she didn’t and she had things to teach him. He always treated her as if she were a high lady or some delicate and precious creature. He made an effort to please her and undertook his tasks about with a humour and good will. Never once did he complain or argue always deferring to her. Although she was afraid to admit it was clear that her feelings were growing for this man. But it was just not her that had feelings. She could see in his eyes and hear in the tone of his voice that he was falling in love with her too. It scared her for all this was new and strange to her. It also scared her because it brought her such pleasure and she feared that in the uncertainties of the world they lived it in all could be ripped away in an instant.

Janice beckoned him over to the door and offered him a drink of water.

He thanked her, took it and swallowed the whole thing in one long draught.

“I’m going to walk into town” she told him. “I will see you when I get back”.

“Perhaps I should go with you Miss. Its not safe with those English bastards around”

“I’ll be fine. Just get your chores done.”

“Yes Miss.”

She had not gone more than a few minutes down the path when she heard the sound of horses coming up behind her. Turning she saw two mounted men dressed in the garb of warriors riding up behind her. She could tell by their livery that they were English. Instantly her heart leapt into her throat.

One of them rode in front of her and blocked her way. The other stayed behind making sure there was no escape.

“Well now what have we got here” the one in front said.

“Looks like a tasty little tart to me” the other said.

“Are you a pretty little tart” the first asked her.

“Please sir move your horse so I may get to market”.

“What do you think Will. Should we let her got to market?”

The other laughed. “No market for you today sweet heart. Today your going to be a little bit of fun for us.”

The man in front of her edged his horse closer to her boxing her in even more closely.

Being distracted by this she failed to note that the man behind her had dismounted. He grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her. She struggled but she was no match for his strength. The other man dismounted and held her arms tight while his companion bound her wrists.

Leering he pushed his face up close to hers. He was missing teeth and his breath smelled horrible. “I’m going to enjoy this I am”.

He took a knife out of his belt and slit her blouse open exposing her breasts to full view.

He then placed the point of the blade on her throat. “No screaming Missy” he hissed.

The man standing behind her laughed harshly. “Nice tits” he said reaching around and twisting one of her nipples viscously.

She cried out in pain.

“Shut up bitch” the man standing in front of her said. He slapped her hard and her vision went red and her eyes lost focus.

They dragged off the rest of her clothes and tossed her on her back on the ground. One of the men kicked her legs apart and started to reach for his belt. She tried to struggle but her arms were securely bound and she was disoriented from the blow to her head.

Suddenly the air was rent with this sound, this blood curdling animal scream of rage. Both men turned at once their hands falling to their swords. At that moment John, half naked and clad only in a kilt, burst from behind one of the horses and charged the men his giant two handed sword raised high above his head. The men came together and there was a flash of light as he swung the sword down at the nearest man who was still struggling to raise his own weapon. But the man’s efforts were futile and the claymore struck him on the shoulder, breaking bone and rending flesh deep into the man’s breast cleaving him half way to his waist.

Without hesitation John wrenched the sword from his opponents flesh and kicked the dead body aside. By this time the other man had his sword out and was warily pacing John feinting and looking for an opening. It was clear that the man was a talented swords man as the blade dancing moved in the air. Suddenly he moved in quick and swung at John’s chest. John reared back but not fast enough to avoid a long but superficial wound. Most men would have at least flinched or showed some pain but John was unmoved. The wound might have been the most inconsequential scratch for all the impact it had on him. He continued to advance on his opponent showing no sense of fear whatsoever. He swung his sword and the Englishman raised his own to parry the blow. The two blades struck and Johns heavy sword broke the lighter weapon in half. The Englishman threw the useless weapon away and scrabbled for his knife. By this time John’s sword was once again in the air.

“Die” he said coldly. Janice heard the sword whistle through the air followed by a sickening sound of snapping bones and rending flesh. This was followed by the soft thump of a lifeless body landing on the ground.

John reached down cut her bonds and picked her up off the ground. He held her against his chest. She could feel his breast heaving and he was sweating.

“Are you all right Miss” he asked.

She looked up at him and smiled. “I am now” she said wrapping her arms around his knotted neck and pulling herself closer to him.

It took Janice a few days to regain her composure. But with John waiting on her hand and foot and with the passage of time the initial shock soon faded and her humour returned.

One evening towards the end of August they that sat at the table after the evening meal sipping on wine she had bought in town. The sun outside had almost set. A candle flickered on the table sending shadows skittering across the walls. A soft breeze wafted through the open windows.

“This is very nice John” she said.

“Yes Miss it is”. Despite the intervening weeks and their increasing closeness he still did not call her by her first name. It was always Miss or Miss Janice. Somehow it felt right to her and she had done nothing to encourage a change.

She looked over at him his face lit in the warm candle glow and something in her let go. Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps the phase of the moon and stars and perhaps it was something else entirely. Whatever it was there was a feeling of some long lost precious thing that was now found. She could not explain it but suddenly she knew with clarity what she had to do.

“Come here John” she said.

He got up, walked around the table and stood beside her.

“Miss?” he inquired.

“Kneel down here” she said pointing to a spot on the floor beside her chair.

Silently he knelt beside her. Even on his knees his head drew almost even with hers. She took his face between the palms of her hands and kissed him full on the lips. She could hear the sound of his indrawn breath and feel the erotic tension in him. She tasted his sweetness on her lips. When he reached to touch her with his hands she grabbed his wrists and shook her head.

“Put your hands behind your back John. Keep them there until I tell you otherwise”.

Obediently he did as he was bidden.

“Good boy” she whispered in his ear. Then she kissed him again her hands moving under his shirt sliding slowly over his skin. She kissed his neck nibbling on the soft skin there. He let out an audible gasp.

“You like this don’t you” she whispered in his ear.

“Yes Miss” he said the passion clearly evident in the tone of his voice.

She pulled his shirt off him. The candle light made his skin glow. His eyes were bright and clear and little flames flickered in them.

“Mine” she said.

“Yes Miss” he replied.

Then at that moment she knew it. She owned him. He was hers.

“Come” she said rising. She turned and walked toward the bedroom. He followed her with his hands still behind his back.

She stopped as they entered the bedroom. She reached over and with one sift motion jerked the kilt from his body. He was now completely naked. She looked down and saw his swollen manhood straining and erect.

She smiled.

“Good boy” she whispered.