Today there was hustle and bustle at the Manor House. Six months before, the master of the house, Lord Roger de Couverley, had received the Princess Anne, daughter of King Edward, who on that occasion became betrothed to Lord Roger's son, Richard. A neighbouring landowner, Sir Thomas de Montfort, had provided finance for Lord Roger to institute a small militia to safeguard the interests of the King in that area. A feast had been held at the Manor House, to celebrate both the creation of the army, and the betrothal.
And now the wedding day was come. As it was fitting that on her marriage Anne should be received into the de Couverley household from elsewhere, and her former home at Winchester was too distant for the day's travel, Sir Thomas had offered his castle for her temporary disposal, thus Anne and her small retinue had travelled the day before from the castle of de Montfort.
At the Manor House, the day dawned to see servants rushing this way and that, setting up a tented dais and chairs in the garden, the kitchens abuzz with both the Manor's, and visiting, chefs putting final touches to flesh and fowl, fruit and fancies. Barrels of mead and cider were being brought up to the feasting hall, and large trestle tables laid in place. All had to be just so, as the King was coming!
Richard awoke early, and remained in his chamber, remembering the clandestine pleasure he had already enjoyed with Anne on her visit at the time of the betrothal some months ago. Unexpectedly and to his great pleasure, Anne had followed him into the far reaches of the garden in the late evening, and he had had great pleasure in unwrapping, initiating and exploring her on the lush, soft grass throughout the night. He had found her fair enough, and although untried, she showed signs of potential pleasure once he finally took her to wife. Indeed, she had so enchanted him that in the long months in between, he had sought the company of more than one local girl in order to quench the fire in his loins which Anne had aroused. His member was beginning to arouse now at the thought, and he rubbed it a little, thinking "Soon, my boy, be patient!"
Anne had journeyed the previous day from nearby Rockingham Castle, with her maids and Lady de Montfort, and had passed a restless night in the stately guest apartment at the Manor House. Her maids supposed that this was due to her excitement about her pending marriage, but in fact there was a totally different reason.
Two nights before, at Rockingham Castle, Anne had retired alone to her chamber, her maids beyond the communicating door. Anne had snuffed out her candle, and settled into the large four-poster bed, clad in a linen shift and a cotton bonnet. After a short time, the door at the other side of the room opened, and the figure of a man walked softly through the room towards the bed. Anne was about to call for her maids when, in the light of the candle he carried, she discerned the features of Sir Thomas.
Realising she was a guest in his house and that to jeopardise the betrothal would bring great shame upon all, she dared not call for anyone, but lay, rigid with fear, and regarded him. He was dressed in night attire, being a long linen chemise and nightcap of the same material. De Montfort pulled back the coverlet, and looked the length of Anne's body in its linen wrapping, setting the candle down on the night table. Impatiently he undid the fragile fastenings down the front of her shift, and coming to the waist, rent the remaining fabric in two, to reveal Anne's naked body in the candlelight. His bony hands squeezed at her flesh greedily, stopping at her breasts and bruising her delicate nipples. De Montfort drooled with anticipation as he parted her legs, climbed upon the bed, and lifted his chemise to reveal his large, ugly penis, dark red and swollen with lust.
Anne gasped with horror. It was all she could do not to scream, and De Montfort bound her mouth with torn linen to ensure her silence as he leaned over her, parted her roughly, and forced his engorged organ into her unready sex. Of course he then discovered that she was not a maiden, and was exceedingly angry, and swore at her, as he had a taste for virgins and had long looked forward to deflowering Anne. Hot tears of suffering and outrage escaped Anne's eyes, as he butted his penis into her repeatedly, muttering obscenities. Forgetting totally that he was addressing royalty, he called her a trollop and told her she had to suffer. After more savage buffeting, he wrenched his penis out of her, which made Anne recoil with pain. He turned her over roughly, and having her thus supine, he parted her legs again, spat on his penis and entered, this time not the soft fleshy folds now bruised, but her rear orifice. Even through the linen gag, Anne cried and tried to scream as he finished his brutal act, disgorged his slime into her and withdrew, panting, delivering a vicious slap to her buttocks.