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The Marquesa And The Merchant Prince

Mastertank1

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The Marquesa and the Merchant Prince
A Hysterical Historical by Mastertank1​

Note that the character of the Marquesa Estrellita De Mendoza Y Sidonia is based upon Mz. Chaos of the TMF, with her permission.

The year was 1804 C. E.. Don Bernardino De Mendoza Y Medina Sidonia was the Imperial Viceroy for New Castille, the northernmost of the vast provinces of the Spanish Empire in the New World. He was a Duque, or Duke in western terms, but the ‘duchy’ he administered for the throne was easily 35 times the land area of the entire Kingdom of Spain. The population under his Viceregal authority was about equal to that of Spain, but far more widely scattered.

On this day, he was inspecting the northernmost outpost of this northernmost province, far up the coast of the sub-province of California. He was trying to determine the exact boundary of his province. Anywhere else, this would not matter. To a Grandee of the Empire, a true blooded Hidalgo of Spain, any and all claims to sovereignty by native tribes were meaningless.

The so-called borders elsewhere in the New World marked only the limit of land that any Spaniard had chosen to claim. As soon as any Spanish subject found a reason to lay claim to land beyond such a border, the border would move to include that claim. Any natives who dwelt on such land were simply part of the property, owned by the claimant.

This spot was different. To Don Bernardino’s utter shock, the Teniente in charge of the tiny outpost had reported that they had a border with another white, European power! In this place, as with the border between Spain’s province of New Cartagena and Brazil province of the Portuguese Empire in far off America Del Sur, they had a boundary with the Czar’s Russian Empire!

The report was amazing to read. Teniente Gonsalves had been engaged in a normal mapping patrol into lands that he casually assumed were the property of his liege lord. Then, as he topped a ridge of low hills into a broad, fertile valley, he sighted another troop of cavalry cresting the similar ridge at the opposite side of the valley.

Gonsalves had signaled the rest of his squadron to close on him, and soon had 135 Spanish Dragoons in line behind him. This was less comforting than it might have been, because the opposite troop had been joined by a second troop, different in accoutrements and uniforms, and now what looked like a company of infantry in white uniforms were forming up atop the ridge behind the strangers.

At that point, Gonsalves had suffered a failure of nerve, and had galloped away at the head of his squadron. Reading the account in the security of his office in the military Presidio of the colonial town of San Francisco, Don Bernardino, far better educated than his subordinate, had recognized the flags and uniforms of the strangers from Gonsalves’ descriptions.

The black double-headed stylized eagle on a white field was the emblem of Imperial Russia, and the large Europeans in breast-and-back plate armor with lances were Tsarist Imperial Cavalry. The second troop of horsemen, in green tunics with bullet loops filled with pre-made paper cartridges for their short carbines rather than chest pockets, had to be Cossacks. The banner they flew, bearing the image of the archangel Michael, confirmed that.

The white clad infantry, armed with bayoneted rifles, were standard Imperial Foot Guards. They were slow but inexorable in the attack. They were reputedly damn near immovable when defending a fortified position. Typical Slavic stubbornness.

As a result, Don Bernardino was here in the north, passing a long sound of the
Pacific Ocean to the west, which the natives called Puget, about to crest the same ridge where Gonsalves had met the Russians. Having no idea what he would find, he had brought his irrepressible daughter Estrellita with him to reassure the Russians that his intentions were peaceful.

Approaching the visual crest of the ridgeline, Don Bernardino saw the agitation among his cavalry scouts. Spurring his war-horse ahead of the wagons carrying the servants and his daughter, he reached the crest. There, he saw ample reason for agitation.

In the four months since the early spring encounter with Gonsalves, the Russians had constructed a large and seemingly complete star shaped fort, complete with scarp, counterscarp, and emplaced artillery! This was a minor disaster. The fort cemented Russian claims to this part of the continent, and for at least another 150 miles southward along the coast, or halfway to the nearest Spanish fortified position.

Sighing resignedly, Don Bernardino signaled his column forward. As he turned he saw that Estrellita had abandoned her wagon in favor of her riding palfrey, and had trotted up the hill to join her father. Her jaw dropped at sight of the fort. She knew as well as he what it’s presence portended.

The fort raised the flag of Imperial Russia. Don Bernardino ordered his men to uncase the colors, and soon the banner of Imperial Spain was visible, alongside the proud armorial bearing of De Mendoza.

There was a flurry of activity on the battlements. A small cannon of brightly gleaming polished brass appeared; clearly a saluting gun. The crew very carefully aimed it off to one side, well away from the approaching Spanish column. They then proceeded to fire the 19 gun salute proper to greet a viceroy.

As the 19th shot echoed through the hills, the gates of the fort opened wide, and a column of cavalry rode out. Meanwhile, the secondary flag mast on the fort hoisted the banner of the flag of House Gelinkta, merchant princes of the Muscovite realm.

Don Bernardino ordered his infantry to bring up their quartet of two-man post guns, the giant shotguns that were the closest his mobile force had to a cannon. He ordered the Capitano to fire a salute of sixteen guns, the proper honor for a prince who was not in the line of succession to his nation’s throne.

He made sure to specify blanks, powder only, no shot, and pointed AWAY from the Russians and their fort. The Capitano was a bit dense, and held his rank because of his bloodline, not his ability.

The leader of the Russians came within view. He was a man slightly younger than Don Bernardino, burly and powerful. His leonine mane of hair, his moustache and his full beard were a vibrant, deep dark brown that fairly crackled with bristling vitality. He equally dark brown eyes seemed to burn with a bright inner fire. His broad, ruddy countenance beamed with seeming pleasure at this visit by fellow Europeans.

When he drew near and reined to a stop, Don Bernardino greeted him in French. At that period in history, any European of any nationality who pretended to possess any education at all spoke French. He and Estrellita were surprised and delighted when the impressive Russian replied in flawless, accent free Castillian Spanish.

Mischka Abramovitch, Prince Gelinkta, invited Don Bernardino and his entire party, including the now reinforced squadron of Spanish Cavalry and his 20 native American scouts, to be guests in his fort, for however long they cared to stay. The Apaches who accompanied the Spanish party would be accommodated with the Tlingit allies who had come south from Alaska with the Russians.

Mischka explained how Don Bernardino’s troops would be quartered with the brigade of mixed Russian/Cossack cavalry in the fort, while his civilian servants, except for those who waited personally upon himself and his daughter, would stay with the infantry regiment. Don Bernardino’s thoughts were whirling. It had taken him 4 months to scrape up the reinforcement for a single cavalry squadron. Brigade! Regiment! He wondered if Prince Gelinkta would demand that the nearest Spanish outpost be withdrawn farther south!

Mischka set Don Bernardino’s mind at ease very early in the evening. He stated, quite clearly, that the outpost in which they were now relaxing was a border fort. It marked the farthest boundary of Russian claims. This was Russian custom, very different from the custom of Spain, which regarded any fortified post as the center, not the edge, of a territory.

Mischka even went so far as to offer Russian assistance in building a fort to mark the boundary of Spanish land. Not wanting to seem overtly hostile, Don Bernardino recalled a favorable and well watered hilltop they had passed about 40 miles to the south, and mentioned that he would set up his local fort there.

The remainder of the visit passed amicably. Everyone noticed Mischka’s growing interest in Estrellita. The more so as he made no effort to hide it.
He spent more time in her company each day. Her father ensured that they were always properly chaperoned, but Estrellita returned his interest.

On the last night of the Spaniard’s stay in the Russian fort (present day site of the small town of Russian Fort, British Columbia, Canada) Mischka gave a farewell feast. All was camaraderie and good cheer. At the end, after the women had retired for the night and the men were puffing cigars while they sipped flavored brandy from Georgia (the Russian province, not the U. S. state), Mischka handed Don Bernardino a wrapped and sealed scroll. He said; “I hope you will give favorable consideration to this petition, Senor El Duque.”

Don Bernardino tucked the scroll away. Later that night he broke the seal on the scroll and unrolled it. He was not the least bit surprised to find an offer for the hand of his daughter Estrellita. It was clear that the couple were on the verge of falling in love with each other, if they had not already.

What did surprise him, and greatly, was the nature of the offer. Don Bernardino had expected that his daughter would be offered title to a vast tract of land in North America, inhabited by a sparse population of natives and a bare handful of Russians. Instead, the offer of title was to a vast estate IN EUROPE!

The estate ran from northern Moldavia across the western Ukraine to include Ruthenia (the eastern tip of Slovakia) and about half of Russian Galicia in southern Poland. What was so remarkable about this was the location. This estate bordered the possessions of the Austrian Hapsburgs, the same family whose senior branch were kings of Spain.

Don Bernardino instantly thought that if Estrellita and Mischka produced an heir, that heir could be wed to an Austrian Hapsburg. That could lead to the entire estate, the size of two provinces, changing hands from the empire of the Romanovs to that of the Hapsburgs. The favor this would win for the De Mendoza family at the royal court of Spain would be immense!

For propriety’s sake, Don Bernardino would pretend to carefully consider the matter for several months, but he knew that his reply would be, must be, affirmative. He would send messengers, and arrange for the wedding to take place in Madrid, in the Royal palace, receiving the visible blessings of the King.
That way, the King could claim full credit with his Austrian cousins when the marriage eventually gained them two new provinces at no cost in blood or treasure.

Six months later, Don Bernardino and Estrellita returned to the northwest frontier of New Spain. They followed in the wake of an expedition in strength which had been despatched two months earlier to build a fort.

It was during that expedition that things began to go massively, horribly wrong.
You see, the Russians and the Spaniards had totally different ways of dealing with the native peoples.

As the Russians had conquered their way across the north Asian steppes over the past 400 years, they had amassed vast experience in dealing with tribal peoples. The Tartars, the Mongols, the Turkoman, the Uzbeks, the Kazakhs, the Khirgiz, the Jurchids, the Tungus, the Manchu, all had trained the Russians in dealing with proud, warlike tribes. Most recently, and when they had at last reached the Pacific coast, the Kamchat people had reminded them of the proper way to treat with a fiercely independent tribe.

When Mischka led his troops down the coast, he saw at once that a myriad of similarities existed between the Kamchat people of the eastern seacoast of Siberia and the Modoc nation of the coastal territory that today is Washington State. As with the Kamchat, Mischka treated them as equals. He showed them respect, and made it clear that he and his were there only to trade, not to settle.

As evidence of this, he showed them that the Russians had brought no women with them. He encouraged his Tlingit allies to mingle freely with the Modoc. The candid interactions between Tlingit and Modoc confirmed for the latter that the Russians treated the natives correctly as equals, as allies, not as slaves.

The contrast between the Russians and the Spaniards could not have been greater. The Spaniards had not dealt with any tribal peoples until they conquered the Aztec and Inca empires with laughably miniscule forces. The same thing had happened in the Philippines.

As a result, the Spanish attitude towards nonwhites had become one of unbridled arrogance. In Japan, facing a people with a well developed civilization which included metal weapons, they had gotten themselves kicked out, losing a lucrative trading market. As always happens with the arrogant, they blamed this on the ‘unreasonable’ attitude of the other side. The idea that there may have been anything wrong with their own attitudes and behavior never crossed the minds of the Spaniards.

When the Spanish expedition arrived in Modoc country, they had immediately offended the Modoc. They had arrived in strength. They came with a full squadron of cavalry and a battalion of infantry, a total of 650 armed men.
They also brought along nearly 2000 southern Californian Indians as slaves to do the labor of building the fort.

They treated the slaves incredible brutally, with the result that many died. The Modoc were watching. The Spanish expedition’s first contact with the Modoc was when they sent a troop of cavalry with a native scout to translate, to seek food.

They presented the nearest Modoc village with a list of foodstuffs that they were expected to deliver in a certain number of days. Payment was not mentioned. Then they repeated the performance at the next village, and the next, and the next. At each village they were laughed at.

The allotted time passed, and no food was delivered. The troop went out again, and was greeted with disbelief. The gist of what they were told in every village was the same; “You mean you WEREN’T JOKING?”

As soon as the ‘tenente in charge made it clear that no, they were not joking, amusement turned to anger, and they were ordered to leave. In every village.
It might have died down, but the troop returned a third time, making threats.

The threats were met with counter threats and open hostility. Then, just a few days before Don Bernardino’s arrival, the line was irrevocably crossed.

Noting that nearly one third of the slaves they had brought with them were now dead, the Coronel in charge decided to make up the difference by taking captives from the locals and enslaving them. The troops sent out succeeded because the Modoc were caught by surprise. The villages who had been attacked sent out the word, and the warriors of the Modoc nation began to gather.

The Coronel rode out with an honor guard of half his cavalry to greet Don Bernardino and the two troops of horsemen escorting him and Estrellita. By the time they returned, they came upon a scene of chaos.

The camp and the partly built fort had been overrun by nearly 2000 Modoc warriors. Most of the infantry and the half squadron of cavalry had already been massacred. The surviving slaves had fled. The few soldiers left were either running for their lives or formed into a few knots of desperate resistance.

Don Bernardino ordered the 175 lancers he had with him to form line. He was about to order the charge when a horizontal sleet of flint headed arrows swept from the bushes to either side of the clearing, felling more than half of them.

Glancing behind, Don Bernardino saw more Modoc emerging from the woods. He ordered the charge anyway, knowing it was the only chance to escape.

Estrellita seized a saber and lance from a trooper who was dead in his saddle, riddled with arrows. Riding knee to knee with her father, she joined the desperate charge.

Crossing the clearing where the camp had been, leaping the foundations of the intended fort, charging into the forest on the far side, the Spanish cavalry lanced and sabred Modoc after Modoc, but kept losing men to arrow shot and spear thrust. Just inside the far edge of the woods, they were stopped by a row of felled trees tangled with stout bushes, and the last two dozen of them were brought down.

Don Bernardino, wily veteran of many, many deadly fights in the service of his King, thrusted and slashed his way out of the trap. As he rode for dear life, the Modoc pursued him.

What saved his life was the fact that the superb horses of his personal guard troop were so accustomed to following the uniquely embroidered jacket he wore that they did so even with no one riding them. As his horse became worn out from carrying him and his weapons at a full gallop, Don Bernardino was able to switch to a horse that had been following, riderless. Then he used a second, then a third.

Eventually the Spanish grandee left his Modoc pursuers behind. He was exhausted and weak from loss of blood when he encountered a troop of Russian Imperial cavalry, who brought him directly to Prince Gelinkta.

He managed to gasp out the news that his force had been wiped out my Modoc before losing consciousness. It was most of a day before he awakened again. It was only then that he was able to inform Mischka that Estrellita may have been captured by the Modoc.

Estrellita had indeed been captured by the Modoc. Because they had taken her fighting, with a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other, they accorded her the ‘honor’ of treating her as a man, and as a warrior. That meant that she would be tested to destruction, just like the other unwounded captives. The wounded had been quickly killed.

The Modoc had held a feast and dance the night after the victory. The following morning they slept late, for them. It was still a couple of hours short of noon when the testing to the death began.

One by one, the Spanish soldiers were made to run a gantlet. This was two parallel rows of armed Modoc warriors. They tried to get through as fast as they could, but invariably a Modoc would trip the runner, and few rose again.

Of the three who rose again, only one made it to the end of the gantlet alive. He was scheduled to be inducted into the tribe, having proved himself worthy. Of the others, 7 would die of their injuries. The other 17 were to become slaves of the tribe once they recovered.

The sun was about to start setting when Estrelita’s turn came. It would have gone badly, but just then there came an interruption. A rather substantial interruption, indeed. Mischka rode into the Modoc village at the head of three troops of Cossacks. The other seven troops of the squadron were swiftly encircling the place. Even at well under the full 75 men per troop normal strength, there were still nearly 400 armed veteran warriors. The Modoc took the situation in and were quiet.

Mischka strode up to the central fire. In the Modoc language, which he had been learning the past four months, he roared out; “This women is mine! Her father has promised her to me!”

A squat, massive Modoc replied; “I have claimed her. If she lives through the test she will be mine, as wife if she passes, as slave if she fails.”

“I challenge you for her! Fight me!”

“I cannot.”

“Why? Do you fear me? Why would an old woman wish to own another woman?”

“You are not a proven warrior.”

“Not proven? These hands (holding them up) have slain more foes than the number of men your eyes have beheld in your life! You want to see proof? I shall run your gantlet. THEN I shall kill you in fair combat, this very day!”

That made all the Modoc’s eyes widen. It was not done, to run the gantlet and then fight to the death the same day. They wondered if he knew what he was in for, what the gantlet was. He knew very well. He also knew something that the Spaniards had not been aware of: if the one running the gantlet did so voluntarily rather than as a prisoner, he was allowed to fight back.

In his extensive travels, Mischka had studied the martial arts of China and Japan. He was ready to shock the Modoc gantlet.

Mischka stood ready, stripped down to his boots and under pants. His torso and limbs were slabbed and blocky with muscle. The skin of his arms, legs and trunk was all seamed with irregular battle scars. Some had the neat, stitched look of surgical work. Others were ragged, inflicted by weapons in combat.

The Modoc murmured. The onlooking Cossacks grinned. They had total confidence in their leader. They had seen him fight before.

After stretching to loosen his joints and tendons, Mischka advanced to the head of the gantlet. He said, in Modoc; “Ready.”

The Modoc medicine chief called out; “Begin!”

At the word, Mischka kicked the first man in the left hand column square in the crotch with his right foot, then snapped that foot back to strike the temple of the first man on the right. Mischka snatched the two falling war clubs out of mid air before they hit the ground. Clashing the wooden shafts of the clubs together overhead, he bellowed like an enraged grizzly bear and charged the right hand line.

Striking with clubs, fists, elbows, knees, feet, shoulders, hips and forehead, Mischka felled 12 more men from the right hand line before those on the left realized what was happening and charged. He spun, clubs extended, knocking two more out, then kicked and clubbed his way through the clump of warriors.

Once clear, Mischka spun, bellowed again, and charged. Just before making contact, he planted his right foot, turned sideways and hurled himself through the air. His flying, nearly horizontal mass took down half of the 20 remaining warriors, the flailing clubs ensuring that most of them would not rejoin this particular battle.

The Cossack battalion commander nudged his second; “See? I told you so. They needed at least 20 more to make a fair fight. Our prince Mischka is a devil when he fights, not a man!”

Rolling back to his feet, now in the midst of his off balance foes, Mischka shortened his grip on the war clubs and began driving both ends into the torsos around him, striking to his front, back and sides. By the time the four he had knocked down but not out were standing again, 8 more were down, clutching at bellies or sides and moaning in pain. It was now 6 to 1.

After standing glaring at each other for a few heartbeats, Mischka threw the clubs at head height and himself after them. The remaining Modoc ducked the clubs, only to be caught by fists a split second later.

After a total of less than five minutes, all 40 Modoc were down. Mischka stood there, his entire body gleaming with sweat. He was bruised in about 50 places, and oozing or seeping blood from 30 cuts, lacerations and contusions. With an evil leer, he turned to the Modoc who had claimed Estrellita.

Mischka pointed at him and bellowed; “Now, come here and die! You may use your knife and axe. I will use these!” as he held up his hands, dripping sweat and blood.

That Modoc warrior lost control of his bladder and bowels. He knelt, and said: “She is yours! I am sorry! I did not know I was speaking to the war God! I would never have tried to deny you one who is promised to you, mighty one!”

Mischka wiped himself dry with a cloth one of his officers handed him, then he got dressed. He walked over to Estrellita, drew his belt knife and cut her bonds. He whispered; “Take heart, little star. Your father lives. He was wounded badly, else he would have ridden with me. He is under the care of my personal physician and surgeon, who assure me that he will recover!”

Placing Estrellita onto a spare horse he brought for the purpose, the whole party returned to Russian Fort. Estrellita was joyful when she got to see her father, and know that he had truly survived.

Two nights later, Don Bernardino was recovered enough to take dinner with his host. He wore a grave expression, as though facing an unpleasant duty. He was.

When Mischka mentioned preparations for the wedding to come, Don Bernardino sadly pointed out that it was no longer possible to contract an honorable marriage for Estrellita. She had been in the hands of the savages for more than 24 hours, and there was no way to be sure she had not been taken advantage of by the Modoc. She angrily protested that she was sure, and her father pointed out that no woman’s word would ever be taken for such a thing.

Then Mischka shocked them both; “I don’t give a tinker’s damn! I wanted her before, and I want her now! Unless SHE no longer wants ME, I mean to have her as my wife, and anyone who thinks that improper may go directly to the devil!”

Don Bernardino turned to his daughter; “Estrellita, do you still wish to marry this man?”

“Of course I do! Mischka fought and defeated 40 Modoc warriors for me, single handed. I mean to give myself to him, with or without the sanction of the church. I am his. He has paid for me with the blood he shed in battle.”

There were no Catholic priests available, so the nuptials were celebrated by a Russian Orthodox priest and by Shamans of the Tlingit who were Mischka’s allies and the Northern Lakota who were his newest friends.

When the ceremony was over, Mischka skipped the party afterwards. He simply lifted the substantial Estrellita in his brawny arms and carried her upstairs to his private chambers in the fort.

Bearing Estrellita across the threshold, Mischka thrust the doors shut with one foot. Then he held her in the crook of one arm, seemingly without effort, while his other hand flipped a huge, pivoted bar into place. It was a bar that two normal men would have struggled to lift with both hands. The entrance was sealed.

During the past week, Estrellita had witnessed many displays of the massive strength of her new husband. It made her a bit apprehensive. What would he be like in bed?

Estrellita’s worries on that score were almost immediately allayed. When Mischka began to undress her, his touch was amazingly, almost shockingly gentle. As he removed her clothing, she marveled at the sweetness of the sensations. These very hands, the same hands that she had seen break the bodies of powerful Modoc warriors, were caressing her with such gentleness, such tenderness. The sensations thrilled and excited her.

Mischka’s kisses excited Estrellita still more. Clearly, he knew how to kiss a woman. He knew how to tease and excite her. She felt herself growing progressively hotter and wetter.

When Mischka picked her up again and laid her on the bed, she was a bit startled. Why was she face down, and with her head toward the foot of the bed?
Then she felt him trapping her ankles in the crooks of his knees.

Mischka sat crosslegged, feet tucked under opposite thighs. Estrellita’s right ankle was trapped in a triangle formed by his right thigh and calf and his left ankle. Her left ankle was similarly caught on the other side. Twisting around to look at him, she asked a question with her expression.

Mischka grinned broadly. He explained; “I am going to tickle your feet, my dear. It is an old Russian custom.”

Before Estrellita could voice her many objections, his big fingers were lightly, wickedly teasing her soles, and she burst into laughter. She laughed, writhed and squirmed. It was futile. Her strongest attempts to pull free got her no where. The laughter was rapidly sapping her strength.

Estrellita was bigger and stronger than many small men, but her strength was as nothing to Mischka’s might. His legs were not squeezing her ankles, not hurting her at all. They were simply as impossible to move as if carved out of granite rather than made out of flesh.

She could not stop squirming. She could not stop laughing. Yet, she did not mind. She liked it! The feelings of being so helpless and out of control were turning her on, more and more. It was torture, and yet it filled her with pleasure and joy. On the one hand, she felt she would go mad unless it stopped at once. On the other hand, she loved the feelings the tickling was giving her. She wanted more, more, more! She remained unable to express either feeling in words because she was laughing so hard.

After several minutes of relentless tickling of her soles, she was no longer struggling so hard. She was still laughing quite uncontrollably, but not as loudly. Her enjoyment and arousal were steadily growing. She was actually having fun!

Then. Mischka changed targets. His fingertips left her soles to begin lightly, wickedly teasing her toes. Estrellita went wild! Her laughter went higher in pitch. Her struggles resumed their helpless violence, as she writhed even harder than at first. Her toes twitched and wiggled desperately, trying to evade the teasing fingers.

The wicked sensations were driving her crazy. She felt so helpless, so out of control, so eager to be taken by her man. She wanted to tell him, but couldn’t because she was laughing so hard.

Then he unfolded his legs and released her. Mischka seized Estrellita by her womanly hips and lifted her, turning her around and over so that she now lay face up on the bed with her head on the pillows where his had just been. He leaned forward above her, his fingers caressing and teasing her thighs, groin and hips. After gasping in a couple of deep breaths, she exhorted him; “Don’t stop now, you big dummy! It was just getting good!”

Grinning in delight, Mischka picked up her feet and rested the backs of her ankles on his massive shoulders. Easing forward, he entered her. The hymen was long gone due to lots of horseback riding, and she was very well lubricated, so that despite the snug fit the entry was easy, and painless for her.

They fit together very well. His length and thickness were just right, neither too small nor excessively large. As he settled all the way in, she felt four spots of bright pleasure flare up whenever either of them moved. Two were on the outside of her sex and two inside, but her new man was exactly the right shape and size to touch them all at once.

Having been a virgin until this night, Estrellita had nothing to compare him to. She just knew that this felt awfully nice, even more so when she wiggled, so she kept wiggling, hoping he would do the same. The bursts of pleasure were slowly building. Then Mischka reached up and began softly teasing the arches of her feet with the tips of his big fingers, and Estrellita saw stars!

This tickled even worse, even better than when he had played with her toes. Her entire body seemed to convulse with the force of her laughter. She wiggled, squirmed and writhed with a joyful abandon, feeling the bursts of pleasure from those four spots grow and grow, knowing that something remarkable was about to take place. Then she climaxed.

The bursts of pleasure seemed to gather and then explode, like the firing of some great cannon. The pleasure and joy were indescribable! The ongoing tickling of her arches, her wild, helpless laughter only seemed to make everything feel even better. She could feel something spreading though her body now, something that made her feel very warm and happy, and very, very sensitive. Then that feeling reached her lower spine.

Suddenly, with no warning, Estrellita’s feet were almost twice as ticklish as before. She roared out her laughter. Her four pleasure spots also nearly doubled in responsiveness. It was terrible, and yet wonderful. She loved it. She loved Mischka. She climaxed a second time, and then a third. She was close to a fourth when she felt her new husband reach his climax, emitting a deep throated bellow of pleasure and happiness. She felt every muscle in his big body stiffen and then relax, and that triggered her fourth orgasm.

Mischka pulled out and lay down beside Estrellita, gently drying them both with a bit of scrap fur he had left by the bed, which he then threw away. He cradled her in his arms. She rubbed her tingling feet on his mighty, solid legs.

Lying beside this huge man made her feel tiny and feminine for the first time. She also felt warm and protected. She liked it. For the first time, she understood why some people had sex out of marriage. This was amazing.
As her new husband pulled up the fur cover of the bed, swathing them both to the necks, she contentedly snuggled up to him. The last thing she thought before falling asleep was a single word; “Mine!”

And she smiled in her sleep.

The End.
 
Thank you Mitch. I am honored to be the focus of one of your stories. I found it to be historically interesting and very well written. You are truely the master of Hysterical Historicals.
 
Thank you, my dear.

Mz Chaos said:
Thank you Mitch. I am honored to be the focus of one of your stories. I found it to be historically interesting and very well written. You are truely the master of Hysterical Historicals.
I'm so glas you liked it.
Note that I depicted your character as no shriking violet who wrings her hands while the men fight; she grabbed a sabre and lance and tried to cut her own way out of the ambush. That's how I think you would have reacted in that situation!
luv
Mitch
aka
 
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