The crows were flying low over the harvested autumn fields of the village, as the sun was setting. It was the day before the equinox, and people were shaking in their huts, knowing the day of the wedding was close. Mothers hid their teenage sons, husbands climbed to the attics and tried finding shelter in the hay. The only person without fear was called Tilbronne. He was sitting at his table alone. Love always avoided him.
People never spoke about it, but the fact always hung above him, like a raincloud. He was born with six fingers. It was the mark of the devil, the older people whispered behind his back, but nobody said nothing to his face. But he knew this was the reason, people closed their doors when he was passing them by, why they stopped talking when they noticed him roaming the streets.
He was an outsider from the day he was born, until the day he would die. At least he wanted to know love on that day, and he prayed to the devil, by whom he was marked, that he would be the one selected that year to be groom for the Baroness.
He poured himself some wine with his right hand, and while doing it he examined his sixth finger. How many times he thought about just cutting it off, but it would have been of no use. Where he lived, there was no escape from destiny, you were born the way you were born, and people would remember you for that and not for how you lived. He raised the cup and toasted the shadows before taking a hearty sip of the drink.
Then he heard the rhythmic thumping of horseshoes on the soft, wet ground. His heart started pacing catching up with the tune of the horseshoes, but to his disappointment the sounds faded and then died down. He finished the rest of the wine and passed out on the floor.
He woke to a sharp pain in his ribcage. Gasping for air, he was about to open his eyes, when a splash of water made him close them again. Men in red and black tunics got him to his feet and wanted to put him in shackles.
“No need, I go willingly to meet my bride,” he said trying to get his wet hair out of his face.
A brawny man, whom Tilbronne suspected to be the captain of the guards, lowered the manacles held in his hands, but still looked suspiciously at the man. Very few who were sane went willingly, knowing that they would never return after the wedding, and the Baroness would look for a new spouse the next year. Nobody knew exactly happened to the men, who were taken, but they were sure, that at least they were imprisoned and in the worst case even murdered.
The guards grabbed Tilbronne by the arms, and took him away, riding to the castle. He could hear the blood beating on his eardrum and feel a pressure inside his skull. The alcohol evaporated from his blood, and he was hungover. He even threw up while riding, but the soldier clasping him tight from behind didn’t even flinch. The others laughed at him. The gate of the castle opened, like a hungry mouth, and the teeth of the portcullis thundered as it lowered behind him. He was taken to a cold stone room, and soon a servant came to light the fire in the fireplace. Nobody talked to him, they acted as if he wasn’t there at all. It made him feel uncomfortable, but anytime he opened his mouth to speak, he decided against it. He didn’t know the protocol of the court, he realized, he was just a dirty peasant.
A servant came in pulling a tub on a cart, and he seemed vaguely familiar to Tilbronne. The servant also seemed to recognize him when he noticed the six fingers on his left hand.
“T-t-tilbronne…?” he muttered, and from the voice the other man recognized him. It was Samell, who was taken as a servant almost fifteen winters before. He was the closes thing Tilbronne had to a friend.
“I’m so glad to see you. You look good, my friend. I beg, tell me, when can I meet my bride?” he asked. Tilbronne saw a change in Samell’s attitude, the servant gained back his composure.
“Soon. The Baroness is still asleep, she will rise with the moon. Why are you so eager to meet her?” he asked with after a moment of hesitation.
“I never knew a woman in my life, Sam. I saw you looking at it. I still have the mark of the devil. It’s the cause of my misfortune,” Tilbronne raised his hand. “Now tell me, how old is she?”
“Older than you can imagine, and older than you will ever be…” Samell answered and left the room in a hurry.
Tilbronne was left wandering about the age of the Baroness. Everyone, even the oldest remembered her taking a man every year, so this led people in the village to believe she was the oldest person living in the whole barony. Others theorized that she was not the same person, but the daughter of the old Baroness, or her granddaughter even. Tilbronne didn’t really care, but the latter possibilities excited him more.
The door opened and to his surprise women came in with buckets of steaming water and they started filling the tub. They wore clothes of the finest muslin, and they were the most beautiful people Tilbronne ever saw. There were five of them, and they didn’t talk either. When they finished with the filling, they took off their clothes, and revealed their curves. They took the peasant by his hand they stripped him and took him into the tub.
Tilbronne felt intoxicated again, as the maidens washed him. They didn’t care which body parts of them touched with which body parts of him. He felt their breasts and thighs caress him; he smelled the sweet scent of their skins. They even washed him in places, that no one touched before, and Tilbronne felt the blood rushing to his face when one of the women discovered that he was erect. She gave him a smirk, but nothing happened after that. They dried him with towels and fetched clothes that were made of silk. He liked the touch of them, and the feeling of comfort when it touched his skin.
The servant girls left the room and after the closing of the door, he could hear their chattering from the corridor. Soon two guards, dressed in jeweled armors came and motioned him to follow. Through the slits in the stonework, Tilbronne saw that the sun has already set, and the moon was rising. They took him into a small chapel where a priest waited for him. It was an awkward situation. Nobody talked to each other, and they were all looking at an archway that led into the chapel from a different direction.
When Tilbronne saw her, he thought he was dreaming. Her hair was burning red in the dim torchlight, and gemstones glittered on her deep green dress. Her breasts were accentuated by it and the heavy golden chain that rested on her cleavage. The dress was tight, drawing out the body under it. Her hips flowed left and right as she approached, with the five servants who washed Tilbronne, carrying the cloak of the dress after her. She smiled at the peasant with her perfect teeth. It took a moment to realize what was uncanny about this smile. It was the fact that her sharp were too pointed and sharp.
The ceremony was short and practical. The Baroness was so tall that Tilbronne, who was not short at all, felt like a child next to her. She had to lean down to kiss her new husband. Tilbronne felt a surge rushing through him and was glad the loose clothing would hide his erection. They were taken to the chamber of the Baroness by the five maidens, and they closed the door on them.
Tilbronne was anxious both during and after the ceremony, and he tried to hide his left hand in his clothes.
“What’s your name, young man?” the Baroness asked.
“I’m called Tilbronne, my Baroness,” he answered while looking at the floor.
“Call me Louisa, we are married, Tilbronne. Why don’t you look at me? You don’t find my looks appealing?” sha asked with a smirk. The peasant blushed as he realized he was disrespecting his wife and looked at her.
“No… Don’t think that… Louisa. It’s just that, I’ve never been with a woman before.”
The Baroness laughed and in shame Tilbronne had to avert his eyes again.
“Don’t worry husband, I’ll teach you.”
She unclasped the buckle on her dress, and it fell to the ground. Tilbronne gasped for air, and he started stripping, fumbling with the unfamiliar clothes. The Baroness stepped close to him and took him to the bed. They were lying next to each other, and they shared kisses.
“What it is that you are hiding in your left?” Louisa asked and grabbed his wrist.
Tilbronne couldn’t hide it any longer, he was ashamed, and thought this was the end of it all. He is going to the dungeon and to the executioner’s block at the first light.
“O, you are marked. You should have told me earlier, you are a real special man,” she marveled at his sixth finger.
“You are not repulsed? I wear the mark of the devil,” Tilbronne said, confused by her reaction. Louisa looked at him lewdly. She had amber eyes, the man just noticed.
“No, I’m not. It excites me more than anything else,” she answered.
She took his hand and slowly raised it. As it passed her breasts, she made sure it would make contact with her nipple which contracted and hardened immediately. She took Tilbronnes sixth finger in her mouth and sucked on it. The man let out a sigh and blood rushed from his face to his nether regions. He grinded against her thighs as she was sucking on his fingers. Louisa placed his hand from her mouth on her breast, and Tilbronne grabbed on to the other one, with his other hand. He felt them out, gently at first, and then squeezed and pulled on them, while the woman let out sighs of excitement.
She took his hand again and took it lower and showed him the perfect spot where she wanted to be caressed. He felt that she was getting wetter and wetter, his fingers wondered lower and found their way inside. While there, his other hand was playing with Louisa’s nipple, he took it between two fingers, squeezed gently, and twisted it a bit. The woman’s breathing became more and more excited and shallow, all the while Tilbronne was grinding his crotch against her thigh. He could feel the softness of her skin and the firm muscles beneath it, as they contracted and relaxed in pleasure from his touch. She stopped breathing and her whole body stiffened. It was like the moment before a storm. And she let out a sigh of relief, and Tilbronne felt her muscles contract and relax rhythmically on his fingers. At the same moment, he felt that an unstoppable force was rushing down his spine and out of him. They came simultaneously.
Tilbronne was worried that she would be mad he ruined the fine sheets of the bed, but she didn’t even care that his seed was running down on her thigh. They laid there, panting, looking at the ceiling of the chamber.
“I want you to take me,” she said with lust in her voice,
It was enough for him, to want her again. They kissed each other, touched each other in the right places until Tilbronne was hard again, and Louise so wet, that when he finally tried to enter, he disappeared in her almost immediately. Both gasped at the sensation. He started going slowly, looking her in the eyes. She buried him in her embrace and panted in his ears. Urged him to go faster and faster, until Tilbronne was on the edge of exhaustion. She came first, and after the man did too, deep inside her.
He was about to roll down from her, but Louisa didn’t let him. Instead, she embraced him and got over him in a riding position.
“Again,” she simply said.
She rode him with such fierceness and force that Tilbronne thought either him or the bed will give up. He was holding onto her breast and her buttocks, and he felt her tighten around him two more times, letting out a little scream. Sweat was dripping from Louisa and onto him, and his crotch was flooded with fluids of every kind. His legs jerked as he came again. There was also pain in the pleasure this time.
“Stop, please stop. I cannot do it anymore,” he started begging as he realized Louisa would not stop.
“You have to. You are my husband, it is your obligation,” at least she slowed down, while speaking.
“I just need something to drink,” he couldn’t think of anything else, and his throat really was like parchment.
Louisa stopped, disappointed.
“There is some wine on the table. Pour me some too,” she commanded.
With trembling feet Tilbronne walked to the table and poured wine in the two goblets. He dropped the wine as he noticed himself in the mirror on the other side. His face was full of wrinkles that were not there before, there were white threads in his hair and beard. He almost didn’t recognize himself.
“You look more mature now, husband.” Louisa’s voice was coming from too close, from right behind him, yet he couldn’t see her in the mirror.
He quickly turned around and instantly his head was buried in the bosom of the tall woman. She embraced him hard, like a snake would embrace its pray.
“What did you do to me?” he asked trembling, trying to get away.
“I need sustenance as well. You eat bread, I get my nutrition from quite different sources. But isn’t this what you wanted? Why you came here? You were tired of your loneliness, just wanted to know a woman before blowing out your life. Or am I wrong?” she asked and looked him in the eyes.
“Please, let me go. I can’t satisfy you anymore,” he begged, and wanted to drop onto his knees, but she was holding him strong.
“O, but you can,” she said. Her pupils glowed crimson for an instant.
Tilbronne felt that he was standing tall again. The Baroness took him back to the bed and she made love to him until the first rays of sunlight hit the stonework of the castle. Later, when she left and went back to sleep to her own chamber, two guards came in, and they bundled up the body of the frail old man in the bedsheets. They took him out to the courtyard and whatever was left from Tilbronne they fed to the pigs. A black, furry, old swine started chewing on his finger right away, and nobody heard about him in the village ever again.