Weekend at Vasey's, Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen
There will be an Epilogue after this, which I am also hoping to post tonight or tomorrow night. Thank you so much, everyone who has read and commented! You all kick ass.
Special thanks are also due to my husband for beta-reading and doing the Guy & Allan voices.
Warning: This chapter contains more explicit sexual content than the previous chapters. I know. You’re welcome.
Marian nuzzled the black kitten, which peered up at her with piercing blue eyes. “You know, you remind me of someone,” she said as its tiny pink tongue licked her nose. “But I can’t think who.”
The next moment the door burst open. In the doorway stood Guy, flushed and glistening with sweat and probably some of Vasey’s bodily fluids. “What’s the matter now?” she asked, standing up and brushing the floor dust off her clean white toga.
“I have a proposal to make,” said Guy breathlessly. “And I have to do it now, before there are any more interruptions.”
Chapter Fifteen
Marian’s mouth quirked up at the edges for a moment and then dropped again. “Guy, you know how I feel about marriage,” she said gently. “I value my freedom too much.” She sighed wistfully. “I am not the marrying kind.”
Guy stepped quickly over to her and clutched her hand lightly. He did not appear upset at her refusal; instead, he seemed to anticipate it. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Marian.” He snickered. “Your name is Marian, but you’re not the marrying kind. Rather ironic, isn’t it?”
“Wait a moment - you’re not asking me to marry you?” Marian said a bit indignantly. “Then what is your proposal?”
“Well . . .” Guy said, taking a deep breath, then holding her hand up to his lips and kissing it softly. “One does not need to be married to enjoy . . . intimacy,” he continued in a low rumble. His breath and his stubble tickled her knuckles.
She took a step back, her eyes widened, her pulse quickened, and Dickey the orange kitten meowed loudly from the basket on the floor. “Guy, what are you saying?”
“I’m talking about you and me,” he murmured, caressing her shoulder and “accidentally” nudging the strap of her toga down her arm. His fingers followed it down to her elbow. “And possibly Allan.” His voice was so low she almost couldn’t make out the words.
“What?” she cried, flabbergasted.
“But only if you’re into it!” he finished rapidly. “Look. There is something between us. You can’t deny it anymore, not after what happened - in the garden. And last night.”
She nervously ran a hand through her crimped hair and fingered the laurel wreath that sat atop her head. “So you are suggesting that we - ”
Seeing that she was unable to come up with an appropriate term for what he was proposing, he opted to demonstrate. His left hand cupped the back of her head, and his right swept around to the small of her back. Her lips eagerly met his as they resumed their activities sans Sheriff leg. After several minutes of increasingly heated kissing, Guy guided her toward the bed, careful to avoid stepping on any adorable kittens that were romping playfully about the floor.
Marian allowed him to guide her shoulders down until she was sitting on the bed, looking up at him. The strange bulge in his trousers was directly in her eyeline. “Guy, I want to ask you something.”
“Yes, Marian?” he said, stroking her hair. He sat down next to her and waited for her query.
“I thought you wanted to marry me,” she said. “What has changed?”
Guy’s mouth curved into a half-smile. “If I can’t have you as my wife, then I will take what I can get.” He exhaled deeply.
“So you want to be like . . . kissing partners?” she asked him uncertainly. Surely there must be more to it than that. She blushed, suddenly remembering the way his hand had crept up toward her breast earlier.
Guy looked down at the kittens and laughed. “Not exactly, my love. I want more than that from you - if you will give it to me willingly.”
“You mean my - virtue?” Marian asked vaguely, wondering if this had something to do with the “snake” in Guy’s undergarments.
“Well, if you want to put it that way,” Guy said, pulling something out of his pocket. He held out a small piece of what looked like rubber. “If we use this, then you won’t have to worry about babies,” he explained, “unless you want them.” He glanced sideways at her, almost shyly now.
“Really?” she asked, poking at the strange device. “How does it work?”
“I . . . I believe I will have to show you, since you are so . . . innocent, in some ways at least,” he said, watching her with merry blue eyes. “It’s just something I picked up in the Holy Land. We could have more of them made . . . if . . . ” he trailed off.
“And . . . this all has something to do with - with your ‘snake,’ doesn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes.” His face suddenly became serious, almost sad. “But - Marian - tell me the truth. Is it really over between you and Hood?” He stared at her with a half-hopeful, half-vulnerable, half-trepidatious look. (Again with the fractions. Tsk, tsk.)
She suddenly giggled. “Umm . . . I think it’s safe to say that you needn’t worry about Robin Hood anymore,” she told him, “both in regards to me and Nottingham.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning . . . he has found another line of work that he hopes will suit him better. He’s gone. For good, I think.” She laid a hand on his arm reassuringly.
Guy looked down and covered her hand with his. “And your feelings for him?”
“Gone the moment I saw him in his new uniform,” she said, putting a finger beneath her nose in an attempt to stifle a laugh.
“And - what about me?”
“I haven’t seen you in the uniform,” she said, confused.
“No, I mean - what about your feelings for me?” Guy asked.
“I - I feel - rather warm,” Marian answered, fanning herself. “Is it hot in here, or is it just you? I mean, me?”
“I believe it’s both of us,” he said, pulling her into another kiss and laying her head down on the bed, which had been covered with a new, unripped blanket and clean pillows. Pudsey looked at Guy accusingly out of his one remaining eye.
Marian clasped the back of his head, enjoying the kissing but nervous about what was to come. Guy pulled down the other arm of her toga and slowly pulled the garment down past her nipples, both of which hardened under his hot breath. She gasped as he sucked one of them into his mouth and tickled it with his tongue, then moved on to the other. She could only bite her lip and stare at the ceiling. Robin never did that before, she thought wonderingly. Are we fornicating yet? But Guy isn’t using that little rubber device . . .
“Marian . . .” Guy hissed as he licked the space between her breasts, his hands squeezing them firmly. “You are a wonder.”
She inhaled deeply and allowed her neck to tilt back. Then she nearly panicked as she realized that she was growing damp in that area between her legs. Not again! But this was different, not like during the tickling. It felt strangely pleasant.
Guy stood up and began unfastening the odd little wolf clasps on his leather jacket. He finally pulled it off to reveal a black leather undershirt, which he quickly removed and threw on the floor, where the kittens eagerly pounced on it. Marian shakenly took in the sight of his sweaty chest muscles and the graceful arc of his triceps.
He paused, looking at her seriously for a moment. “Marian . . . promise me that if we cannot find away to save Nottingham from Prince John, that you will come away with me . . . and Allan,” he pleaded in a choked voice.
“No! I will not abandon Nottingham!” she cried. “How can you say that?”
“But if there is no other way -” he insisted.
“We will find one,” she said firmly. “And that is final.”
Guy shrugged in capitulation. If I’m going to die, at least maybe it can be while I’m fucking Marian, he thought. He smiled again. “Here’s to going down fighting,” he grunted.
He knelt down on the floor (again carefully avoiding squashing the kittens). He lifted her dress, put his hands on her thighs, and slowly glided them up toward her waist. Panicking as he neared her moist bits, she slapped her hands down on his and stopped them from going any further. “Guy! What are you doing?”
“Trust me,” he rumbled, kissing her knee. His lips trailed their way up the tops of her legs as a shiver shook Marian’s entire body.
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Allan wiped his bare arm across his dripping forehead. He leaned over to pat down the dirt on Vasey’s grave one more time, hoping that Guy would be pleased with how tightly he had packed the hole. As he admired his work, he noticed a small white speck on a patch of ground where the snow had been disturbed. He bent over and picked it up, squinting as he held it up to identify it.
“Gee, Vasey, looks like you left me somethin’ to remember you by,” Allan said, chuckling. He slipped the tooth into his jacket pocket and slipped his tunic over his head. Slinging the jacket over his shoulder and whistling, he trotted off back to the castle.
Once inside, he slipped down the stairs and into the dungeon, where everything was predictably dank and musty. Something scuttled out of the walkway as he lit a torch to bring some illumination to the murky place. He strolled over to the stocks where Guy had tortured him and Marian last night and began searching for the missing goose feather.
Just as he bent down to pick up the striped plume, he heard a clamor coming from one of the cells further down the hallway. Someone was banging something against the bars of his or her cell and whimpering loudly. He stuck the feather behind his ear, which made him look quite rakish, if a little silly, and strutted authoritatively in the direction of the noise. “Oy! What’s all this?”
“My brother, my friend! Let me out!” cried a raspy voice that seemed somehow familiar to Allan.
“If I let you out, everybody else’ll want out, too,” Allan replied snarkily, then paused to consider as he approached the darkened cell. Then again, the Sheriff’s dead, so what’s it matter? He wondered what Guy would do with all these poor wretches now that Vasey was out of the way. Maybe he’ll be in a good mood and set ‘em free.
“Sheriff, my dear Sheriff, let me out! You know me. You know me.” The gravelly voice continued to whine.
Finally Allan reached the cell and peered through the darkness at the face of the prisoner, which was gaunt and covered in a mangy gray beard. “Quiet down, mate. Sheriff ain’t here.” He held up the torch, taking a closer look at the man’s face.
“Let me out! I know your secret!” the man cried pitifully.
“SWEET BABY JESUS!!!” he yelped, dropping the torch on the floor and nearly setting himself on fire. “No - noooo!”
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“Guy . . .” Marian groaned, letting a wave of pleasure make her forget how strange all this was. She closed her eyes tight as Guy’s hands gripped her hips and his lips drew nearer to the bushy region that was tingling and driving her almost mad. Strange as the feeling was, her body screamed for Guy to touch her there.
Guy looked up, observing her licking her dry lips. He shot her a wolfish grin that made her want to cry out in accompaniment with the tension racking her body. “Do you trust me?” he said, smirking, but with a hint of seriousness.
When she did not immediately answer, his face darkened. “I see.”
“Guy - I do not - I do not know if I trust you, but . . . I know that I don’t want you to stop . . . what you’re doing,” she said breathlessly.
With a gutteral noise, Guy slipped a finger inside her for a moment, watching her reaction. After a few seconds, he applied his tongue to the just the spot that was demanding his attention. She might have wondered how he knew to do that, but she didn’t. She was too busy clutching his hair and wrapping her legs around his head. Now that she had jumped in head first rather than dipping her toe cautiously into the metaphorical sex pond, she was past her initial shyness. “OH MY GOOOOOODDD!!!”
Ten minutes and three earth-shattering orgasms later, Marian finally loosened her grip on Guy’s head and shook him off. “That - was the best thing ever,” she said through gasping breaths. Then she sat up, alarmed. “But you forgot to use that rubber device! I’m not going to have a baby now, am I?”
Guy, standing up, wiped his chin and laughed low and deep. “That’s not what it’s for.”
“You mean there’s something else?” she asked, suddenly nervous again. Then she noticed that his trousers were looking tighter than usual.
He nodded, looking down to the same place where her gaze was fixated. “Curious?” he asked, smirking.
“Perhaps,” she said, plucking up courage once more. She stood up in front of him and wrapped her arms around his neck, and then peppered his face with kisses.
Guy pretended to be shocked. “Why, Lady Marian, I believe you are enjoying yourself. Perhaps you truly are a wanton.”
“Is that a complaint?” she asked teasingly.
“Not at all,” he grumbled. “So you do not regret being . . . cut loose by Dunghill?”
They both laughed. “Not exactly,” she said saucily. Then her eyes dropped wanderingly down to his bulge again. “Guy . . .” she whispered as her hands dropped down to rest on his pecs, “what is that rubber thing for?”
Guy smiled ferally and stepped back from her, giving himself enough room to unlace his trousers. “Are you ready to find out?”
She exhaled loudly as if assuring herself. “Yes.” She watched as his leather trousers dropped down his steely legs into a wad on the floor. Eddie, one of the grey kittens, ran over to them, sniffed them, then sat back and mewed as loud as his little lungs would allow.
“What’s the matter, little fellow?” Marian asked, picking him up. She watched in fascination as Guy’s smiley-faced thong slid down his muscular thighs. Gulp.
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“No, no, no, I’m dreamin’. You’re not real. This is a bleedin’ nightmare!” Allan shouted, backing up against the wall. Then he remembered that the other man was behind bars, but still he felt terrified. “You can’t be here. I just spent three fuckin’ hours buryin’ you, so you’d better be bloody dead!”
“You - you’re not the Sheriff!” cried the creepy figure in the cell.
“Yeah, well, neither are you!” Allan retorted. “But you look just like him.”
The man shuffled forward and put his thin face through the bars. “That’s Lacy,” he croaked.
“Nutter,” Allan spat, thankful that he had not eaten prunes for breakfast that morning. “You nearly scared the shit outta me, mate.”
“Lacy! Lacy Vasey!” clamored the man in the cell.
“Look, you’re clearly off your nut, but what are you talkin’ about? Vasey . . . isn’t here.”
The man’s eyes seemed to clear for a moment. “Don’t you know that I am Vasey? Stacy Vasey! Stacy Vasey!” he rattled.
“What are you on about?” Allan asked cautiously. “Who’s Stacy Vasey?”
“I am, you adorable boy!” the man cried out, starting to go off again.
Allan stepped closer and put his hand on the man’s arm. “Hey. Look at me. Focus.” He noticed that the man truly did look just like Vasey, only on a hunger strike. “Tell me what you’re doin’ in here.”
“Lacy - Lacy put me here . . . so long ago . . .”
“Wait a tick. Lacy? Lacy Vasey? That’s the Sheriff’s name? No wonder he turned out evil,” Allan said, starting to put things together. He grabbed the keys and unlocked the cell, supporting the weak man with his arm. “Let’s get you upstairs. You can explain all this to Guy.” He led the prisoner, who continued to mutter apparent nonsense, out of the dungeon and into the Sheriff’s bedroom.
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Marian shuddered as she gaped at Guy’s “snake.” Jesu, it’s like a python! And it was. It was really immense. Like, huge. Like enormously gigantically titanic. Guy possessed the largest trouser serpent in England, or maybe even all of Europe. Probably even in the entire world ever. It was big, is what I’m saying.
“Oh, my God.” Marian began stroking the kitten anxiously.
Guy picked up the strange rubber device and held it out to her. “Put it on. . . please.” He pointed to his colossal love-muscle.
“Very well,” Marian replied. She plunked Eddie down on the floor again. Her shaking fingers fumbled with the odd rubber thingummy and finally managed to roll it over his erect Brobdingnagian member. “There,” she said, hurriedly stepping back to observe the result. “Does that look right?”
“Uhh . . . I think so,” Guy replied. “I never used them before.”
“Oh.” Marian pursed her lips. “Now what?”
His face grew somber. “It will hurt the first time,” he warned her. “And there will be blood when I - take your maidenhead.” A shudder rippled through his chest at the thought.
She swallowed hard and nodded, unable to take her eyes off the rubber-encased snake. “I am ready.” She paused. “But, um, what does it do?”
Guy reached up under her toga and indicated the spot where the mysterious body part should go. Suddenly Marian’s mouth went dry at the same moment that another area was getting moist again. Oh. My. God. That is sex?
“Guy, there is something I should tell you,” she said, biting her lip nervously. “I may have already . . . um . . .”
Guy clenched his jaw tightly. “You mean you and Hood. You gave yourself to him.”
“What?” Marian laughed spontaneously. “No! Oh. Guy. No. Not Robin. I meant my horse.”
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Allan tucked the feeble Stacy Vasey into the late Sheriff’s bed and began spoon-feeding him some hot chicken soup. “There you go. Just lie still, now. Got to get your strength back before you start talkin’ too much.” Allan’s mind whirled with the possibility that this familiar-looking stranger might be the key to saving Nottingham. Of course, this man was emaciated from his stay in prison, and his sanity was questionable at best, but it was better than no plan at all. After all, they had managed to keep the scheme going thus far, so perhaps it was just a matter of persistence . . . and a strong dose of luck.
Stacy slurped the chicken soup cautiously, but his cheeks brightened as its warmth suffused his body. “You mean to tell me that my brother is dead?” he asked between sips.
“Yeah. No comin’ back from that one,” said Allan, thinking of the shovel plunging into the Sheriff’s decaying torso.
“What a pity. I mean, he did lock me up in that cell for God knows how long with no food, but he was my only twin brother.” Stacy shook his head sadly.
“Uhh, yeah, it’s a real tragedy,” Allan muttered. Poor bloke really is off his nut.
“I say, do you have any Swiss cheese?” continued Stacy, as if he’d forgotten what they’d been talking about. “I’ve had a real hankering for it lately.”
Not that again! Allan bit his tongue and replied gently, “Uh, sure, mate, I’ll check and see if we’ve got any left.”
Stacy finished his soup and fell into a heavy sleep. Allan decided to take this opportunity to go and tell Guy the good news. He walked in the direction of Guy’s bedchamber, but, not finding him there, remembered Guy’s words to him, and headed off toward Marian’s room.
Excited by the prospect of not being beaten for once upon delivering a piece of news, Allan flung the door open heedlessly.
SWEET BABY JESUS!
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“Your - horse -” Guy coughed and spluttered, then began searching Marian’s room for a pitcher of water. Not finding it, he turned to her wash basin and brought some rose-scented water to his mouth. Marian began to vigorously pat him on the back. After a few minutes of this, Guy regained control of his breathing and turned around to face her. Marian sneaked a peek downward, noticing that, although it was no longer stiff, his “snake” was still gargantuan.
Guy grasped her arm as if for support. “Marian,” he began, inhaling deeply, “what do you mean, you lost your virtue to your horse?”
“Well, one day I was riding through the for- um, on my father’s property, and the horse was particularly jumpy that day, and the saddle horn . . .” she trailed off, mumbling something inaudible.
“What?” Guy asked, leaning in closer.
Marian raised her voice again. “And that is how I ruined my white riding dress.”
Guy looked at her suspiciously for a moment. Could she be lying? Is she protecting Hood again?
Marian, reading his thoughts, said, “Guy, I swear to you it wasn’t Robin. Do you think I could make up such a story?”
He searched her face intently for a moment, then reached out for her hand. “Horse or Hood, doesn’t matter,” he whispered lovingly. “You’re with me now . . .”
Guy untied the sash at her waist, then slid her toga down off her smooth shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Then he swept her up in his arms and carried her back to the bed, laying her down gently. His extremely large “snake” began to extend itself again with the sight of her naked, willing body.
Guy got up on the bed on all fours, then crawled on top of her. He slid a finger inside her, then another, then another, then another, in order to stretch her out for his huge member to enter.
“Oh, Guy!” she cried out feverishly.
“Are you ready, milady?” he hissed into her ear, slipping his massive instrument into her.
“Oh! Guy!” she cried, a little more agitatedly. Beads of sweat began forming on her brow as Guy began to pound into her. “Ohhhhhhhh . . . ohhhhhhhhh!” She gave herself up to the strange sensations going on between their legs.
Guy groaned as he felt himself filling her with his vastness. His mind suddenly went back to the fantasy from his sexy alone time. “Marian . . . I want you to ride me,” he grunted, rolling them over so that she was on top of him.
She raised herself up and gripped him between her warm thighs. Guy could feel himself nearing the point of release as he reached up and squeezed her soft breasts and pinched her nipples. “Marian, you are the most beautiful woman in the wooooooooooo -aaaaaaahhh!”
“Oohhh - aaaaaaugh!” she screamed in unison.
Allan, master of inappropriate timing, opened the door at just that moment, in time to see Marian’s bed collapse in two pieces with the naked pair trapped in between. They had forgotten that the bed itself had almost been destroyed in the fight yesterday, not just the blankets and pillows and Pudsey.
“Not bein’ funny, but - oh, fuck me, I’ve got nothin’.” Allan doubled over in laughter at the sight of the couple as the kittens raced over to see what all the excitement was about. The mama cat (dubbed Ghislaine by Guy) followed after them. Soon Guy and Marian were surrounded by pussies, all meowing and jumping and licking.
“Allan!” Guy growled at his manservant. “Quit laughing and help Lady Marian!”
“Oh, it’s Lady Marian now, is it?” he said with a chuckle, assisting her out of the mass of bedding and kittens as she attempted to cover herself by holding Ghislaine across her chest.
Next Allan attempted to pull Guy’s arm to help him to his feet. As he tried to avoid stepping on Dickey, his foot slipped and he fell straight onto Guy’s solid chest. He could feel Guy’s huge “sword hilt” pressing into his ribcage again. Suddenly Guy’s strong hands clapped around Allan’s arms and lifted him up.
“Hey, I knew you’d be happy to see me, Guy, but this is ridiculous!”
“Shut up, Allan, and get the kittens to safety.” Guy waited until all the kittens were out of the way before he stood up. The bed creaked and then gave way completely.
Marian had re-covered herself with her toga and was just putting her laurel wreath back on when Guy approached her and, squeezing her arm, asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Guy, I don’t think anything’s broken . . .” she looked down at him. “And . . . and you?”
“Not broken,” Guy assured her as he picked up a sheet and wrapped it around himself.
“Are we goin’ camping, Guy? ‘Cause it looks like you’ve pitched us a tent!” Allan said, pointing to Guy’s prominently protruding member.
Guy clenched his teeth. “Something you wanted, Allan?” he snarled dangerously.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve got great news, Giz! The Sheriff’s got a identical twin brother!” Allan reported cheerfully.
“That’s impossible,” Guy snorted. “He would’ve told me.”
Allan and Marian looked at Guy pityingly.
“Oh. Right.”
“Tell us more about it,” Marian said encouragingly.
“Well, apparently - get this - the Sheriff’s real name was Lacy Vasey!” Allan answered with a chuckle.
“But isn’t Lacy the dog’s name?” asked Guy dubiously.
“His name is Algernon!” shouted Marian curtly.
“But the Sheriff called him Lacy,” Guy reminded her.
“Then he must have named the dog after himself,” Allan said, hoping this wasn’t going to devolve into another pun-fest. “Anyway, the point is, we can dress him up like the Sheriff and Prince John’ll never know the difference, right?”
“What about his teeth?” Guy asked. “The Sheriff had a missing tooth.”
“Oh, I dunno about that.”
Guy sighed. “Well, I will go and see him . . . later.” He looked significantly at Marian, who smirked back at him.
“Alright, alright, I get it,” Allan grumbled. “I know when I’m not wanted.”
He moved to go, but Guy grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. “Not so fast,” he rumbled. “I never said you weren’t wanted.”
“Wot?” Allan said, astonished.
Guy looked at Marian questioningly. She looked uncertain, but then shrugged her shoulders. “Monogamy is merely the consequence of the patriarchy’s ascendancy over the hierarchical structure of interpersonal domestic relationships,” she said with a little smile.
“Pardon?” Guy asked, confused.
“I think that was a ‘yes,’ Guy,” Allan said, beaming.
“Well, then . . . what are you waiting for?” Guy said with a leer.
Allan whipped out the goose feather and twirled it around admiringly. “Oh, don’t be so impatient.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes as he looked back at Guy. “We’ve got all night.”
Guy gulped. Not the Feather of Fear! His looked pleadingly to Marian, who shook her head slowly at him, an amused smile creasing her lips. There would be no mercy from her, either.
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Several hours later . . .
“I apologize. This is going to hurt you a lot more than it’s going to hurt me,” Guy said gently. Then he firmly socked Stacy Vasey in the jaw.
“Oooooooowwww!” the poor man moaned. Marian wiped the blood off his mouth with a towel, then Allan applied a cool compress. Stacy coughed for a few minutes, then spit up a single tooth, which Allan picked up and deposited in a bowl.
“Are you alright?” Guy asked, leaning over the frail man. Stacy was looking a bit better, though, after enjoying a hearty meal with some Swiss cheese that Phillip had miraculously not eaten. His beard had been trimmed into a neat goatee, and his long wavy hair had been shaved away. Aside from his scrawny frame and the facial hair, he now looked exactly like the late Sheriff, except that the usual scowl was replaced with an infectious smile (minus one tooth now).
Stacy attempted to answer, “Mmmff, mmf feewng mch brr nww.” Despite the punch to the jaw, he looked delighted to be there and not in the dungeon. Stacy spat out more blood and then cleared his throat.
“Thank you, my good man. Words are not enough to express my gratitude for your setting me at liberty.”
Allan coughed.
“And you, of course, young man. You found me when I was just about to give up all hope. My mind had gone; I have been living off rats for the past three weeks. You see, my brother - God rest his soul - imprisoned me when I refused to impersonate him. He wanted me to go to Prince John and provide some service that he could not bring himself to perform.”
“That would be the - uh - ” Guy said, slowly realizing what “service” he meant. Truly, it isn’t so terrible . . .
Marian smirked knowingly, having lately learned to perform such services on Guy and Allan herself. It’s not so dreadful, she thought.
It’s actually not that bad, thought Allan, grinning at Guy.
“Sixty-nine,” said Stacy abruptly. “Sixty-nine days I have been in Lacy’s dungeon with only a little water and a few crusts of bread to eat, and I didn’t even get that the past few days.”
“How awful for you!” murmured Marian soothingly. “But as the Sheriff you will be well looked-after. We promise.”
“Yes, well, thank you, young lady. I believe I shall be Sheriff in name only and allow your fellow Gisborne here to run things for me. He seems to be a most capable man.”
“Oh, he is! Very capable,” she replied, smiling slyly at Guy. “He is very well-endowed with skills.”
Allan chimed in, “Yeah, he’s a right enormous talent, he is.”
“All right, you two,” Guy said, pretending to warn them, but with a sparkle in his eyes. “Don’t want me to have to gag you.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Giz. Our lips are sealed.” Allan mimicked sealing his mouth and hiding the key in Guy’s pocket.
“Yes, not another peep,” Marian replied solemnly, holding her fingers crossed behind her back.
Stacy leaned his head back against the pillow and sighed contentedly. “Ahh, to be young and virile again.” Then he looked at them curiously. “So, are you three doing it, or what?”
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Marvin roamed the hallways looking for Guy, who still had not signed his time card. I’m not even supposed to be here today, thought the unfortunate fill-in. Sighing, he sank down onto a chair, despairing of ever being allowed to leave Nottingham castle before his children were grown and his wife married to someone else. Percy owes me big time.
Suddenly he heard the gait of the Master-at-Arms trudging down the dark hallway. Marvin stood up eagerly, hoping that perhaps this time he would get lucky and the nobleman would not ignore him. “Sir! Please, I just need a moment of your time -” he said, holding out the time card as Guy almost swept past him.
“What is it?” Guy asked, less harshly than usual. There was a strange smile on his face, as if he were incredibly pleased about something.
Wonder if it’s true what they say about him and his manservant, thought Marvin. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
“S-sir, I just need you to sign this,” Marvin said, trembling. Guy snatched the sheet and the quill and hurriedly scratched his name into the paper.
“There you go, uhh . . .”
“Marvin, sir.”
“Marvin.” Guy began to walk off down the hallway, then turned back suddenly. “Wait, I don’t recognize you.”
“That’s because I’m only fillin’ in for me cousin Percival, my lord,” Marvin said nervously.
Guy half-smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Well, you’re doing a fine job. I could use a few competent guards. How would you like to work for me full time?”
Marvin gaped at him, then paused to consider the offer. “Do you have dental?”
End of Chapter Fifteen
Will Guy, Marian & Allan have more kinky sexcapades? Check out the totally gratuitous Epilogue to “Weekend at Vasey’s”! You know, if you feel like it. Or not.
Epilogue