It was in the year of our Lord 1265 AD. The land was gloomy and all signs pointed to an ominous event. The evil Baron Vladimir was to be wed this very midday. The young lady Charity Calderon was to be the Baron’s prize. It was Charity’s ill-omened fate to have drawn the passion of Vladimir. Perhaps like all other tragedies it started off all very simply. Charity was at the market with her mother procuring bolts of cloth for dresses. The Barons procession was heading back into the keep when Vladimir’s eyes befell the young lady. “What a jewel amongst the rabble, why have I not seen her?” rasped the Baron to his aid. “She is the Calderon’s eldest daughter she is back just now from finishing school my lord.” The Barons jowls puffed and started to become slick with saliva as they always did when he was aroused. “I simply must have her!” he barked. The aid sniveled out a response. “Sir I shall arrange it like all other times, she shall be bedded before the sun rises tomorrow.” The Barons eyes bulked out of his meaty face. “Listen you fool, this is no dalliance I wish to sow. I wish her to be my wife. It is about time I become married and respectable in the eyes of my people.” “Lord it can’t be, a night defacing her flower perchance as that is your lordly right. However, she is betrothed to Duke Winthrop’s son. It is he who paid for her finishing school. Think of the scandal my Lord.” The Barons deep jowls shook as he scowled. “That old fool, his taste runs towards young boys. The old fagot would not even have a son if his wife had not cuckolded him with the stable boy. Have I not set up his debauchery many times and he a patron of the church! Tell that old fagot to release his hold on the girl or all his sordid past will run like infected puss onto the land.” So it was that Charity pure of heart was to have her destiny ever twined to the Baron Vladimir.
There is more to tell yet before the unfortuitous wedding. When told of the Baron’s plans Charity’s father refused outright any wedding between his daughter and such a repugnant man. The Baron held much power though and all of this from money. He owned all the banks in the region and in one of these great financial institutions laid the deed to the land owned by the Calderon family. The Calderon’s were not rich by any means but they were landed gentry. The modest farm kept them happy and sound. The Baron threatened to foreclose on the deed and revoke the ownership of the land. It was all financial witchery for the deed was free and clear. Power was the spell the Baron used like a club to gain his desires. Without the land the Calderon’s would be forced into serfdom. Doomed to work the land they rightfully owned as slaves. Charity’s father begged her not to ransom herself, she knew though it was ether sell herself or her family into a hopeless future. Charity kind of spirit and stout of character knew it was her who must pay the price to liberate her family from the evil clutches of the Baron Vladimir.
Charity was a wise and smart girl with many resources. She would go stoically into the hearth and keep of the Baron but not without her own revenge planned first. One night before the wedding Charity crept from her house and crossed the moor in the deepest of nights. Where the forest was its thickest and the moons light its palest she sought the old crone. Tales were told of women caught in the jaws of the quickening being freed by ancient and arcane haberdashery dispensed by the old crone. In a sudden break in the deep forest Charity saw the shack that was the abode of the one she sought. Smoke bellowed forth from the chimney. The smell was dank and reeked of medicine best not made. She approached to knock on the wooden door when it was suddenly swung open. A large ruckus cackle was heard as a face as lined and wrinkled as a road map peered out from the ajar door. “Do come in my pretty come in.” the crone husked.
The door creaked closed like a rusty coffin lid. All was gloomy and smoky inside the ramshackled hut. “So fair and pretty for one such as he.” the old woman’s dry leathery lips rasped. “The great Baron Vladimir’s feet have fungus as green as cheese and just as smelly growing between his toes. He bathes only in his own sweat and grime.” The glee in the old lady’s face could be seen even through the gloom and smoke. Charity alarmed spoke “And why should I care about the Baron?” “Oh you well care soon enough my pretty, when you are laid up under such a man.” The old crone let out a high piercing cackle. “What is it you know crone?” Charity asked. “Oh I know enough I know you are to be wed to the Baron a fine prize for him.” Charity asked “And why have I come?” The crone’s face floated out of the gloom to within an inch of Charity’s face. One watery fish eye drooped twitching like a bug trying to escape the hags face. The good eye stared relentlessly at Charity. Her breath smelt of rot and decay and her tongue slithered like a maggot through a cadaver. Charity began to speak the old hag silenced her “Speak not a word my pretty lest you leave without what you seek. Undress now quickly!” Charity baulked. The old hag grabbed Charity’s belly in one twisted claw like hand. “This is what you wish to keep, your belly safe from his semen.” Charity gasped involuntarily as the crone spoke. “How innocent, how pure.” the old woman sneered. “You wish to attempt to save your true self for love all the wile cheating the Baron of what he needs most an heir.” The crone chortled. “Do as I command or may your belly ripen and rot with the sperm of our great Baron Vladimir.” Charity undid her bodice and slipped out of her dress. The crone with one quick movement threw something into the fire. The fire shrieked like a demon in pain and soon the whole room was ablaze in yellow red light. Charity’s flat belly reflected the light of the fire. Her breast though large perked upward casting shadows on the wall of the hut. Out a fear her nipples stood erect. The hag’s tongue was flopping out. Like a dog in heat she was drooling thick ropes of silver slick saliva. Drops of spittle were clinging to her chin. The witch rubbed absentmindedly at the slobber and her hands came away wet. The one good eye burned with passion. It moved up and down Charity’s naked and vulnerable body. The other eye twitched even more in unknown excitement. The witch’s hand more claw like than human reached to touch Charity’s perk nipples. The touch of which was like leather from a corpse. Charity’s nipple in horror shrank into her bosom. This is what it is like to be touched by the dead in a morgue Charity thought. The leathery claw caressed and cupped Charity’s breast. It was perplexingly rough and soft like the touch of furry spindly spider legs. Charity’s eyes rolled wildly as the hags hands moved around her soft skin. The rough scaly hands felt like snakes pawing her body. Her left nipple gleamed in the fire left slick and wet from the crones drool. The old woman p
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