A Stolen Love

The sunrise came into full view inside the rectory garden.
It was all there, the terrible vitality of the flowers, his memories blurred, bleeding. Unbidden and merciless, showering down upon him like pelting rain.
He stared upwards at the sun-dappled canopy of trees. Bows shivering in a soft glory. Stretching his fingers to the leaves, he traced textures of veins, variegated greens and golds with troubling familiarity.
Yes, I know these. Whatever I was, whatever I've become, I was once here in the utmost purity of soul.
Then the wash of pain, longing. Tears pouring forth from haunted green eyes. For now he was a tormented, broken shadow of a man who had lost his way to redemption, to holiness. At the end of the path, surely what awaited him could only be hell and damnation.
* * *
Father Favian turned to face his parish. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore her.
But her corona hair, the very hue of fire, was too noticeable at the edge of his vision. Still, his eyes avoided her.
The rest of his body could not.
Lily, he thought. Oh, the anguished pleasure just from her name echoing inside his mind, pangs of forbidden, unbidden lust coursing through him, easing like music throughout his being. Hunger and ache, tumultuous need inside him and that warm, melting pulse deep inside his cock and testicles.
The daughter of my liege.
The sacred words he spoke were blessedly rote. He could keep his voice even if he focused hard enough.
The first time he had become acquainted with her had seared itself onto his memory forever. She had been the tender age of eleven. But her luscious red hair, bound in soft ringlets, aching to be let loose by his hands, her pure, lovely face gazing wildly up at him in delight, her full rose lips he ached to kiss... And ultimately, a fierce need to protect her precious, innocent joy from what would surely be its ruin - the casting off of dreams, in essence, the advent of adulthood.
He had watched her grow. And now, finally, she was woman as he was man. The softness of her body so delectably traceable against the velvet of her deep, verdant gown. Her tightly corseted, slender waist giving birth to such succulent fruits, white breasts large and voluptuous as melons. Ample, child-bearing hips whose very rhythm of movement ensorcelled his imagination...
Inwardly, he groaned with desire, tormented by thoughts and feelings he had not felt in decades. Thoughts and feelings long left dormant.
Even now - oh the blasphemy! - in the tortured theater of his mind, sudden visceral images, even violating the physical sanctity of the holy church... At the altar she lying in wait, her luxurious hair cascading to the floor, her clothing raised for his sole viewing, legs spread wide in desire, the moist, virgin offering for him. Pushing her onto her back with his body, his starved, aching cock pressing against her beneath their clothing and finding her slick, heated womanhood. Harsh, demanding kisses, his tongue raping her mouth. Pulling her with him to the floor and pushing himself roughly into her tight, wet passage...
He had never before in his existence ached for a woman so much.
And to make matters worse, to fuel the already-consuming fire in his loins, the conversation he had suffered only three days before with King Michael about his strange-behaviored daughter.
“Favian, my closest friend, how fare you these days?” the humble, gentle king had asked.
”Mainly well, my lord, praise God.”
“’Aye, ‘tis good. I beg of you, friend, is there somewhere we can converse in private? There is a serious matter I wish to speak with you of,” the gentle king had said...
* * *
Young princess Lily sat beside her father on the front pew of the light-filled church, listening stiffly and silently to Father Favian’s service.
Please, she thought. Please God, have mercy, do not let him read it upon my face.
As she listened to the priest’s lofty voice, truly come straight from the mouth of heaven itself, beautifully rhythmic in its lyrical profession of the virtues of temperance, she attempted to relegate her breathing to a slow, measured pace.
She was only nineteen. It seemed, not mercifully and gradually did the change take place, no, rather it appeared to explode within her one day, or most specifically, one night, the betrayal, the transgressions of her mind and body, the harsh lesson that was the secret surely everyone had been in on save her.
That to be woman was in truth to ache and yearn, then deny that ache and adopt the ultimate artifice of purity and chastity. That, or be deemed as whore and thrown to the gutter.
Be true in mind, her beloved father had said over the years. But no, he had never bothered to tell her, in truth, a woman’s purpose was to burn and consume herself in desire, to eternally long for that which would complete her - to lie with a man - but to lie and deceive that it in fact was not so, as she was helplessly forced to do now.
What had begun as mere signs of awakening had culminated to their crisis one night when, at midnight, in a strange, unfamiliar curiosity, something led her down to the banquet hall.
Laughter and bawdy music and strange sounds traveled through the air. She knew of a familiar hiding place within a small alcove away from the main dining room. Lily crouched, watching, waiting for something she instinctively knew would change her, would prove her undoing. Something she desperately needed to see.
And there it was.
One of her father’s great men of battle, always enveloped in a white cloak of glory in her mind... Now naked and rutting with a woman stripped harshly of her clothing, for it hung in tattered shreds upon her heaving body.
Lily’s breath caught. The sounds of grunting and groaning were both frightening and intoxicating, filling her with a strange warming sensation, a type of quivering and tightening in her breasts, deep inside her core... She had never seen men mate, though she had witnessed such things in outings to the kingdom among the lower classes with her father and mother. Various chickens and fowl, and even one time, a horse with its massive member sheathing and unsheathing itself into a most temperamental mare...
But now sir Thomas’ breathing was audibly loud and ragged as he held the whore hard by her jiggling arse, on all fours as he ravished her, and Lily could see the glistening stalk of his thick manhood pumping in and out of the whore’s tight, pooling crevice, whose thighs appeared glossed with wetness. The wench moaned and gasped as they sarded, and Sir Thomas seemed to explode within her, a white essence spewing its massive drops deep inside and spilling from her cunt, which seemed to be milking the knight’s massive rod for all of its worth.
Lily returned silently to her bedchambers. But the rest of the night she could not sleep, both too disturbed and stirred by the sights she had witnessed.
And now, only three days later, did she sit in Sunday mass, listening to Father Favian preach his devoted words.
Favian, she thought in her mind.
Always, throughout the years, her eyes locked on and following him of their own volition. The strange sensation in the pit of her stomach and the yearning to be near him, always.
But now, oh now.
Her chest rose and fell and her tongue flicked over her parched lips. His tall, long body, visibly firm and strong beneath his robes... She stared him up and down. Her odd reaction, brow suddenly knitting, tongue pushing hard against her two bottom front teeth, as if she was in some type of physical pain. After her bath that very morning, she toweled off in the small mirror, her body never so agonized and singing because suddenly Favian was there behind her, his mouth at her neck and - heavenly Father, his hand grasping at her quivering cunt...
At that moment the priest turned to look over the congregation, his eyes passing over hers, and she stopped breathing. Because he was suddenly between her thighs as he caged her wrists in one hand and trapped them tight against the pew back...
*      *      *
“Yes, Sire,” Favian had said to his dear King. “We may go into the chapter house. Pray follow me.”
When inside, King Michael’s face seemed as if a mask had replaced it. Gone was the look of gentleness and warmth. Instead his face registered deep angst and confusion.
Favian was troubled. “Sire, it is cold. Come sit by the fire and warm yourself.”
“Thank you, my trusted priest. ‘Tis a dire matter I’ve come to you about, and you are the only man I know who will keep my secret and know what needs to be done.”
“Yes, sire. I am here to assist my liege in any capacity he requires.”
“It’s the princess, Favian. My beloved daughter, Lily. I fear something terrible about her. When I look at her, I do not see her, I see Verity.”
Favian was silent. He remembered all too well the tempestuous queen, her long silken hair black as midnight, the deep black of her eyes. A storm of passion brewed in her eternally, something wild and never to be tamed. How King Micheal adored and doted upon her, he was madly in love. But Sir Thomas stole the queen’s heart, the impudent hero of the White Rose wars, the greatest hero the kingdom had ever known. But like Verity, wild, not a man but a hurricane of emotion and passion and will. Their love was a love that destroyed everything in its path. While attempting to rescue the queen from the castle and take her with him in his exile, he fell from his horse and was trampled and killed instantly. Queen Verity was executed the following day.
And Verity’s life and death had almost destroyed Michael. Almost. As gentle and kind as he was, he was a fierce warrior and stalwart commander in battle.
Favian remembered the beautiful queen in sadness. She had been so kind to him.
“I am so very sorry, my dear liege. I know you miss Verity still to this day, and long for
her.”
“It is just that,” Michael explained. “I am worried Lily has inherited her mother’s blood. She is nineteen now, and very curious, far too curious for good. One of my men claimed he had seen her having crept into the banquet hall one night, spying upon a knight and his nightly conquests. It seemed she was entranced by the view. I am afraid she is a wanton woman, just like her mother. And she must be kept pure until her wedding day. Else she must be sent away to another home in hard service, never to grace the kingdom again.”
Favian’s heart sank. Yes, Lily would be married to Prince Langdon on the fortnight. And if it were true she was wanton, her fate would be sealed for her.
“I understand what you are trying to communicate, my king.”
Michael had seemed lost in the fire. But he suddenly turned to Favian, and a horrid look of desperation marred his face.
“You must help me, Favian! You are my only hope! Please, man, I beg of you, do me this task and you shall have what your heart desires. What would that be?”
Favian was happy. He had been saved from a life of abuse and neglect at the hands of his parents when he was sent to the monastery at nineteen. He had suffered from unspeakable nightmares... He was safe now. He was thirty-eight years old, had been blessed with nineteen years of silence and comfort, something he had not experienced his first fifteen years of existence. He wanted nothing.
And he did not understand why he suddenly spoke to his sire, “My king, I would ask of thee permission to marry.”
“Yes, dear Favian, only you must pay the fine for such freedoms. What that will be shall be tallied by the court. But it is yours, the right to lie with and wed a woman.”
A strange relief settled itself in Favian’s tight chest. He had no idea what had possessed him to say such a thing.
For there had been only one, but she had been enough for a lifetime. A lifetime of joyous memories and nostalgia. Oh, Fae, he thought with longing. He was nineteen. She was twenty-three, married to a cruel man who beat her for no apparent reason. She was indeed his fairy, she seduced and loved him in ways that were more than a man could hope for.
He could feel the tears burning behind his eyes.
“What is it you would have me do with the fair princess, my dear liege?”
“Her bedchambers,” the king responded. “You must guard her bedchambers at night, ensure she does not wander as she is prone to. You will take her under your wing and subdue her spirit, teach her the ways of chastity and virtue.”
Favian felt as if he had just stepped into a roaring brushfire.
“Yes, sire.”
*      *      *
Lily was dreaming of her priest again.
But she always dreamed of him, both in waking hours and in slumber. Her very blood obeyed him.
She was lying upon the stately bed. Lily lifted her white nightgown slowly, deliberately away from her flesh. She reveled in the tingling sensation the cool air afforded her body.
Favian, please, I need you. If only you could materialize into my room at night and take of me what you wish, have me the way you want.
Yet perhaps, you could never want me.
No, she fought back tears. I must believe. I cannot give in to doubt.
She caressed the soft sides of her breasts, passing her palms briefly across her aroused nipples, ashamed to let them linger too long. But the pleasure was too overpowering.
Her hands traveled lower to caress her hips, and she imagined his hands were gripping them as he coupled with her softly. No, she knew she wanted it differently. Though she felt deep shame and guilt at her wantonness, her mother’s blood inside her, she ached for Favian to take her roughly, almost violently. She wanted him pounding inside her, relieving her of all sanity and rationale.
Her hands crept lower. Lower. They almost touched the soft, curling hair that protected her womanhood. No, she thought. I mustn’t.
But she could not resist. Favian, she whispered aloud into the darkness, cupping her sex with her palm, applying pressure and moving against it as she imagined Favian would be moving inside her.
Favian. Fall into me. Love the life out of me. Let me lock you inside me forever.
A knock sounded upon her chamber door, and she let out a small shriek, removing her hands quickly from her body and covering herself with her gown.
“Yes, who is it? This is your princess, Lily, you may enter.”
A head of dark hair, almost black, filled the doorway. Green eyes the color of the ocean at sea. The sensual mouth, twisted by some unknown hunger and torment.
“Good evening, Lily,” Father Favian greeted her in his deep, velvet voice.
And she proceeded to swoon upon her pillow.
*      *      *
She awakened to the soft sounds of crackling timber in her fireplace.
And she realized he was holding her in his strong arms.
“Lily, Lily, please awaken,” he begged into the silence.
She lifted her face to look at him.
And there it was, unmistakable. An expression matching the haunted desperation she felt for her priest. The ache, the hunger.
He wanted her.
Please, Favian, kiss me. Everything inside and out of me screams for you, my love.
It looked as if he would swoop down and bury her mouth in his.
But he pulled away and turned towards the fire.
“Your father asked me to stay and keep watch over you. It is for your own protection. He is worried of you being stolen away in the night, so soon it is to your wedding day.”
She wanted to cry out at his absence.
Yes, the true purpose of woman, the emptiness without him, even the physical absence of his flesh inside her she must suffer.
“I understand, Father,” she said. “Please make yourself comfortable upon the chair. I shall sleep and let you be. But I pray you make yourself at home.”
*      *      *
The nights were agony for Favian. He wakened from nightmares only to find himself in an even greater one. Her body supine on the bed, how he ached to fall upon her and ravish her till his hunger was sated.
It seemed she was fast asleep.
He dozed off again. But this time when he awoke Princess Lily was gone.
The banquet hall, he thought immediately.
He crept through the great hall. He could hear sounds emanating from within the dining room.
Sounds of the most primal nature. Sounds of lust and pleasure.
He did not know where to search for Lily. Suddenly a small alcove caught his eye. Deciding the best plan would be to hide there in wait, he almost stumbled upon her as she sat crouched on the floor.
She looked up wildly at him. Her hauntingly beautiful face registered something unfamiliar at her recognition of him.
He could read it clearly, because his body responded to it immediately.
A physical hunger as intense as his.
At that exact moment the sounds changed from soft to loud, there were moans and grunts and voices sighing in satiation.
He dropped to the floor next to Lily. Peering through a small crack in the wall, he could see everything.
His breath caught at what he saw.
Prince Langdon coupled harshly with a woman with long yellow hair. Keeping her thighs splayed open with his strong legs, he pushed into her mercilessly. Her moans of pleasure filled the air.
And next to him stood King Michael, a serving wench on her knees in front of him. She grunted and moaned as she took the king into her mouth.
It had been years since dear Fae’s and his adventures at the lake in the mist-shrouded woods. That world had been cut off to him for too long.
Favian’s body hardened. He breathed in and out rapidly, desire centering inside him, stirring his manhood to life.
He willed himself to control. I must get Lily out of here, he thought wildly.
He turned to face her. Soft agony was etched on her face. She was trembling. Her mouth was slack and she licked at her parted lips.
God in heaven help me.
“Father, father...”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Favian, please. Please...”
He knew instinctively what she needed. His hands came to her breasts and he palmed them roughly.
It seemed she would cry out in relief. But she managed to quiet herself, only whispering, “Yes, yes, thank God...”
The sounds of sex continued to fill the room, a symphony of pleasure.
Favian put a hand underneath her gown. He found the small, pulsing bud above her womanhood, which he knew was a woman’s truest source of pleasure. He flicked his finger gently at the aroused tissue, taking one of Lily’s breasts into his mouth outside her nightgown.
He suckled her, and the places on her gown where his mouth had touched were wet, the fabric clinging to her bosom, outlining every delicious curve, her nipples that seemed to strain for his touch.
She was reaching her crisis. Favian could tell by how she trembled and sighed.
“Father, father, I--”
He shushed her gently with his mouth, but it seemed his tongue was selfish, it had to taste her. He darted his tongue softly in and out of her mouth like a wave upon the shore.
She came against his hand forcefully, her body quaking and shuddering.
“Come,” Favian whispered. We must get you back abed.”
Lily began to follow him, but she suddenly turned her head back to look upon the scene which was still taking place.
“The prince,” she said in amazement. Lily looked at Favian for explanation, for understanding and compassion.
Favian could not speak. He knew not what to say.
*      *      *
Back in her bedchambers Lily fell to her knees in front of him.
“Take me away from all this, Favian.”
“You are to wed another on the fortnight.”
“Marry me instead.”
Favian’s heart stopped inside his chest. “My love, would you have me as your groom?”
”Ye should know ye do not have to ask.”
Favian still did not know what to say.
“The church!” Lily exclaimed. “Marry us in the church.”
Only some moments later in the cool silence of the church, Father Favian performed the ceremony he had performed countless time before. But this time seemed the only time he could remember.
“I take thee, Lily, to be my lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in
health...”
When their vows were said, Favian turned towards her. He kissed her gently, his lips tasting her own, as if she were some delectable dish.
“Lie upon the altar, Lily.”
Her eyes were wide and staring. But she obeyed him.
He walked towards her. Lifting her dress, he splayed her wide open for him, and buried his face in her warm, wet darkness. He spoke into the cavern of her womanhood, a most intimate confessional.
“From the first day I saw you, I wanted you, Lily. Like this. You lying upon my altar, corona hair cascading to the floor, my mouth on you as you nourished me with your body...”
Lily bucked underneath him as he pleasured her with his mouth and tongue.
”I want you with me forever, Favian,” she moaned. “Please, never leave me...”
*      *      *
His bride.
Lily.
She stood against the farmhouse window. Though her veil still covered her face Favian could see her clearly.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld in his existence.
His chest tightened. He realized she had given herself unto him completely, to keep and cherish and protect forever. Tears burned behind his eyes but they did not fall because the longing in him burned too fiercely for her.
His body yearned and cried out for hers, to be at home inside hers.
Suddenly she turned to look at him. Moonlight falling upon her white shoulders, wide blue eyes staring, those soft, full lips he ached to kiss.
She smiled and stole his breath away. He needed her urgently, the safety and pleasure and rightness of her body.
He came to stand behind Lily. Pressing her close, her body yielded to his, the soft warmth, her womanly curves.
Favian leaned in to smell her lustrous hair. She smelled of vanilla and woman. He bent to kiss her neck. Softly at first, savoring the feel of her skin against his lips. Lily let her head fall back onto his shoulder and moaned his name softly.
“Favian.”
His body responded to hers, the feel of her firm yet soft, ample bottom against him, pressing against his stirring penis.
“Please, Favian,” she begged him.“Please, I need you. I need you so much. Put your hands on me now...”
Her soft, lustful pleadings excited Favian even more. But he was enjoying the slow torture, the deliberate torment of the dark choreography of passion. “Almost, my love. I need to savor you a moment longer.”
“Ohh,” she breathed. He could feel her pressing against him softly, how much she needed his body, craved his touch, his lips, his hands roaming over her heated flesh.
He groan inwardly. “Come to bed with me. Lie with me, Lily.”
Favian laid her down gently on the mattress and covered her body with his own. Quickly pulling her veil aside and finding her mouth with his own, he licked and bit softly at her delicious lips. Lily wrapped her arms round his neck and ran her fingers through his hair lovingly, pulling him closer, moaning his name.
Favian’s need was growing. He opened her lips with his tongue, finding her own tongue and flicking his softly against it. “Take me now, Favian,” she whispered into his mouth. “I need to feel you inside me.”
He opened the buttons at her chest with infinite tenderness, his trembling fingers moving the bodice slowly away from her and revealing her perfect, voluptuous breasts. He leaned down to kiss her nipples. Lily gasped softly, and he felt he could bear no more. He took an entire breast into his mouth and suckled. Hard.
“Oh Favian, yes,” she whimpered, pulling his head even closer with her hands. “Ravish me, please.”
He began to remove himself from underneath his robes.
“Wait, Favian, I, I... I want to taste you.”
He hadn’t expected that. He was truly shocked. But his appetite was too great, he complied, and she leaned down, positioning her mouth over him.
Lily took Favian’s cock in her hand and placed it tenderly against her face, as if it were something to be treasured. Then she took her tongue and licked softly at the head, closing her mouth over it and sucking softly.
All the while she took her hand and slid it up and down softly along his shaft. Finally taking him full into her mouth, she moved her head up and down, all the while suckling him and taking him as far as he could go into her, caressing and massaging his testicles with her long, pale fingers.
Favian moaned in tormented pleasure. “Lily. Lie back on the bed,” he commanded.
Lily lay against the pillow, and Favian hovered over her again, taking his hands and gently spreading her legs for his viewing, fully erect and engorged for her. He took his staff in his hand and led it towards the pink flower of her entrance, pooling with warm wetness. In fact, she was so aroused her thighs seemed glossed in shiny moisture.
Favian pushed into her body slowly. She trembled beneath him and plead again, “Now, yes, now, Favian. Take me fully.”
He kept pushing into her. She was so tight around him that her face registered some discomfort but fierce lust overshadowed it. Suddenly he grew wicked; he wanted to draw the pleasure out of her body as much as possible. He removed himself from her, though it was torture. “My love, do you belong to me now and only me? Tell me. I want to hear it.” Lily was crazed. “Yes, I belong to you, please I beg of thee, put yourself back in me!”
A primal need overcame his reason. He needed to own her fully. He grasped her sex fully in his hand and she whimpered again. “Who does this belong to?” he asked harshly.
“Only you,” she choked out, seeming to be on the verge of tears she wanted him so badly.
Favian laced his fingers with hers and gave her himself again. Lily wrapped her legs around him and tried to push him as deep as possible into her tight, wet passage.
Finally he was sheathed fully inside her. He moved slickly in and out of her slowly, but they both were too famished, and his taking of her became rough and passionate. The bed shook as they made love, and Lily’s flesh trembled beneath him as he sarded harshly with her, pummeling deep inside her cunt. Lily burst in orgasm powerfully, screaming his name, her womanhood contracting around him and milking him softly. It was too much, the pleasure was too acute. Favian released his warm, thick seed into her with a harsh groan.
Still inside her body, Favian wrapped his arms around her.
“I love you so much, Favian,” she whispered, tears falling softly across her cheeks.
“I love you, too.”
Within seconds the sounds of barking men and dogs could be heard outside the tiny house.
*      *      *
The sunrise came into full view through the barred iron window. He reached his hand to the shimmering spiders’ webs that dripped like otherworldly snowflakes from the prison chamber.
I do not know these. But I know what I’ve become. A man of impurity, never to taste forgiveness.
But he had loved.
Lily, he thought.
You were never mine, and you were never meant to be mine.
Then, the wash of anguish, pain, longing. Tears pouring forth from haunted green eyes. For now he was a tormented, broken ghost of a man who had lost his way to redemption, to holiness. At the end of the path, surely what awaited him could only be hell and damnation.