His father, was the King's blacksmith (thus the family name), and young Sebastian had been working in the stables almost since he could walk. In addition to mucking stalls, and taking care of the horses, young Sebastian was learning the art of blacksmithing. In due time he was expected to replace his father as the Royal Blacksmith.
The Royal Family barely recognized the existence of the blacksmith or his family unless something was wrong with one of the Royal steeds.
The Princess found little in her life satisfactory. The food: too bland, too sweet, too spicy, too salty. Her clothing: made her look fat, skinny, short, tall. She had replaced her personal seamstress numerous times.
From the time she awoke in the morning until she fell asleep, she was attended by twelve women, who helped her wash, dress, comb her hair, empty her chamber pot, and on and on. She was dissatisfied with all of them, too. To say she was spoiled would be an understatement.
There was one woman whose sole responsibility was to ensure that she was always clean shaven. Her legs were always smooth, as were her underarms, and following a tradition dating back centuries among the women of the Royal Family, she never had even a hint of pubic hair or fur as it was called at the time. Three times a week, her barber came to her chambers to perform the service. The woman tasked with this had been her personal assistant since she'd reached puberty.
Except for women of the status of the Princess, men and women didn't shave. Men would trim their beards, but rarely shaved. Women didn't shave at all. A distinction was made: hair grew on legs and arms, but fur grew under arms and around the genitals. Men also had fur on their chests.
Since her eighteenth birthday, the Princess had fucked just about everyone in the Royal entourage who wore breeches. She found none satisfactory. Their equipment was too small, too skinny; or they didn't last long enough or didn't worship the Royal Pussy Cat (that's what she called it), to her satisfaction. In other words, their tongues did not please her as she expected. The Princess never found a man whose cock was long enough or fat enough. To be clear: that Royal Pussy Cat was familiar to most of the male courtiers in the castle.
Of course, there is no evidence that anything would satisfy the woman who many of the commoners who worked throughout the castle, called "That Stuck Up Bitch." As in, "watch out Martha, That Stuck Up Bitch is on her way."
Sebastian Blacksmith had been calling her that since he was ten. His father had warned him to be careful, the Royal Family had ears everywhere.
One day when he was eighteen, he had her horse saddled and waiting for her. When Princess Catherine arrived, Sebastian was in one of the stalls relieving himself.
It was not uncommon at the time for men to piss wherever they happen to be when the urge came. Most, as a matter of decorum, found a tree, a bush, or in Sebastian's case, an empty stall. And women of the time, adverted their eyes if they should happen upon such a scene.
In this particular case, this particular woman, Her Royal Highness Princess Catherine, did not avert her eyes, although Sebastian didn't know it at the time. He was too busy peeing. It was what the Princess saw that is of interest.
Like the Royal women's tradition of shaving their pubic fur, men in the Blacksmith family for generations were blessed with extremely large cocks. Princess Catherine looked at Sebastian peeing, then looked at her horse, then looked back at Sebastian. ‘Damn,' she thought, ‘that stable boy is almost as big.'
Although, the Blacksmith family were not Jews, they followed the Jewish tradition of circumcision. No one knew when it started, but all the male Blacksmiths were circumcised and had been for centuries. Long before they had a family name.
Among the common women of the castle and in the near-by villages, there were whispers, "stay away from the Blacksmiths. They'll hurt you." Every woman knew what that meant. Mothers warned their daughters to avoid the Blacksmith men.
Sebastian's father had left the village when he was eighteen searching for a wife. None of the local women wanted anything to do with what hung between his legs. He ended up crossing the border into Scotland. Two years later he returned with Henrietta Lockhart in hand. The poor girl was the fifth of five sisters, and unlikely to find a husband in her small village. She didn't know the reputation of the men in the Blacksmith family. Like most lower class women of her time, she was a virgin on her wedding night.
Henrietta couldn't accommodate her husband without pain. Regardless, she spread her legs for him whenever he had the urge, which was almost nightly. The pain continued until her seventh child was born: Sebastian. She favored the boy, her only boy, because it was only after his birth that her pussy cat seemed to adapt to her husband, who still desired her frequently. She believed he was a gift from God, given to her to relieve the pain she still endured almost nightly from her husband. Her husband was pleased that the baby was carrying on the male trait in the Blacksmith family.
Throughout her horseback ride on this particular day, all the Princess could think of was Sebastian's cock. She learned to ride as a child and knew how to sit a horse: perfectly still, back straight. This morning, she was bouncing and rubbing against the saddle. To be frank, Princess Catherine was masturbating while riding through the King's Woods.
After that first day, every morning when she rode, she rubbed the Royal Pussy Cat against the saddle; her thoughts on what she saw in that empty stall.
She thought about the stable boy later that day when one of her maids was bathing her. The hot water cleansing her body from the smells and grime of the castle. She thought about him when she went to sleep, trying to imagine what it might look like when he was excited and what it might do to her. Her hand slipped under her nightgown.
Two days later while her personal assistant was shaving her an idea entered her mind. "Sarah, isn't your cousin an attendant to my brother, Prince Alfred?"
"Yes, your Highness, he's responsible for the Prince's bath."
"As a personal favorite to me, would he bathe someone for me?"
"I'm sure he would your Highness. I'll ask him the next time I see him."
"No, Sarah, the next time you shave me bring him with you."
"Your Highness, you want a man here while I shave you?"
"Sarah, you're married. You know how men can be. Could you even imagine any man seeing me like this refusing any request?" To make sure you understand, the Princess was lounging back in a chair, with her dress pulled up to her waist. Her undergarments, which only the wealthy wore at the time, were on the floor. She was fully exposed as Sarah went about her duties.
"No, your Highness. I'm sure any man would do your bidding."
Three days later, Sarah came to the Princess' chambers with her cousin, Frederick. "Sarah, let's get started." Her Highness lifted her dress to her waist, and as per usual, her undergarments were nowhere to be seen.
"Frederick, do you bathe other members of the Royal Court other than my brother, Prince Alfred?"
"No, your Highness, just the Prince." Frederick tried to avert his eyes.
"Look at me, Frederick. If I had a man here, and you used my bathing cask, the one right over there. Would you bathe him for me?"
Meanwhile Sarah, starting at her right ankle, was meticulously shaving Princess Catherine's right leg all the way to her thigh. When she reached the Princess' thigh, Sarah proceeded to her left leg, again starting at the ankle. Only then would she start on her Royal Pussy Cat. The Princess' legs were spread far apart.
"Yes, your Highness." Frederick, who was thirty years old and married, had never seen such a thing. Three or four nights a week, under the blankets in their hovel, his wife would lift her nightgown just high enough, and he would mount her.
"Good, now Frederick, like Sarah here, remember, anything that goes on within my chambers never leaves here. You understand?"
"Yes, your Highness."
Over the years, Sarah had seen things that she'd never tell anyone. It wasn't uncommon when she was shaving the Princess to notice that her outer lips were swollen, red and bruised, and her opening was well, open. ‘It looks like someone gave her quite a banging last night,' she thought to herself.
The next time Sarah was to shave her, Princess Catherine sent a messenger to Frederick and to Sebastian Blacksmith. Their presence was required in her chambers.
Sebastian had no idea what this was about. "I told you not to call her That Stuck Up Bitch. The castle has ears," his father reminded him.
Frederick was already there and had filled the bathing cask with hot water. Sarah was sharpening the tools of her trade. Sebastian knocked, "Come in."
He was hesitant. "Ah, there you are. Come in stableboy."
"Your Highness."
"Stableboy, do you know why you're here?"
"No, your Highness."
"I've been watching you. I think you have a chance to be a part of my Royal household. When was the last time you bathed?" "It was probably last Spring." The lowest classes rarely bathed, fearing they would catch a cold and die.
"That's what I expected. You smell like horse shit."
"Stableboy, Frederick will help you bathe. He's the Prince's personal bathing assistance."
To understand, at the time, there were no bathtubs as we understand them. Someone had the ingenious idea of cutting an empty wine cask in half (length-wise). Stabilized, the casks were perfect for the Royal Family and their entourage to bath. There was no shortage of empty wine casks, and anyone who was anyone had one in their chambers. The lower classes might bath in a river, stream or pond when the weather was warm enough.
"Ummmm, with you and Sarah here?"
"Of course. Sarah personally shaves me a few times a week. To prove to you I'm serious, I'll go first. Ready Sarah?" The Princess hiked her dress up to her waist.
"Ready your Highness." Frederick had seen it all before, but Sebastian's mouth was agape. He'd never seen anything like it.
"Well, stableboy . . ."
Reluctantly, Sebastian started to undress, but turned his back. "Oh no. You've seen what I've got, I want to see what you've got."
Within minutes he was naked, although she had a glimpse of his cock in that empty stall, the Princess let out a barely audible sigh, when Sebastian's breeches dropped to the floor.
Sarah, fortunately, was in the process of getting a new razor. She would have surely cut the Princess if the razor had been against her leg. The woman softly moaned, one hand between her legs to protect herself from what she was seeing.
Sarah's razors weren't really razors in the modern sense of the word. They were more like knives, with a blade so sharp that even an expert like Sarah frequently drew blood. She spent hours sharpening her knives on a whetstone, and on occasion used the blacksmith's foot-powered grindstone.
What she was seeing was a cock almost as thick as her arm and almost as long. It hung almost to Sebastian's knee. Yes, it rivaled the Princess' horse in size. Neither woman could take their eyes off it.
The Princess called to another servant girl. "Prudence, come in here and get rid of these clothes, burn them, and find something clean for the stableboy to wear."
"Yes, your Highness." The servant girl, actually a woman, could not help but see Sebastian standing there naked. Like the two other women, she didn't try to look away.
The cask was situated about ten feet away from the chair where the Princess sat back, legs spread. Sebastian had a perfect view of something he'd never seen before. Of course, he was intrigued.
"Stableboy, get in the cask, so Frederick can wash you."
Frederick finished bathing Sebastian about the same time that Sarah finished shaving the Princess. "Sarah, Frederick, you may leave."
Sarah smiled to herself as she closed the door behind her. She knew the Princess too well, but kept it to herself.
"Stableboy, would you like to work in the castle as part of my Royal household?" Sebastian was wrapped only in a towel and was standing right in front of the Princess, who had not bothered to cover herself. He couldn't help but stare.
"It would be an honor, your Highness, but I am just a lowly stableboy, what would be my duties?"
"Honor, that's the right word. Not many men have had the honor of my Royal Pussy Cat. Stableboy, honor my Royal Pussy Cat. Get on your knees and kiss it."
If Sarah or any of a hundred members of the Royal entourage had heard Princess Catherine say, ‘not many men,' they would have rolled on the castle floor laughing, but Sebastian could not know. He was honored.
At the time young people knew little about sex. The Church made sure they were kept in the dark about ‘carnal knowledge.' In their one room hut, he could hear his parents on the other side of the room at night, but had no idea what was going on.
Of course, he saw animals all the time. Dogs, horses, cows, goats, sheep.
Kneeling in front of Her Royal Highness Princess Catherine he was face-to-face with something he'd never seen before. She hadn't been fucked recently, but her outer lips were fat and puffy, and her inner lips extended beyond those outer ones. Her skin was pale, but those inner lips were a dark purple.
"Just give it a kiss, stableboy." She never did learn his name.
"That's it. Now, another, and another. That's a good boy. Now stand up, stableboy."
Princess Catherine was taking it slow. "Stableboy, drop the towel. Let me see you again."
He obeyed, but didn't know why his cock was acting the way it was. It was standing almost straight up. That happened only in the morning when he needed to relieve himself, which he did just outside their shack, against a wall, and when he went to bed at night, and slid his hand under the thin blanket.
On those occasions, his thoughts turned to Mathilde Bronwyn, the 18-year-old girl who lived next door. Her plump breasts fascinated him. He spied on her whenever he thought she might be changing her clothes. He knew putting his hand on his cock was sinful, as was spying on Mathilde, but he couldn't help himself.
The Princess' heart skipped a beat when she saw Sebastian's cock at its full growth. Today, men quip about being a ‘grower, not a shower.' If the term existed back then, the men of the Blacksmith family, including Sebastian, were growers AND showers. "Damn, that thing is huge," the Princess thought.
She could feel her Royal Pussy Cat getting wet, just looking at it. The Princess desperately wanted to touch it, stroke it, feel it's power, but ‘not yet,' she thought. "Your clean clothes are over there, and I'll have Prudence show you to your room.
Tomorrow, go home and tell your parents that you are now a member of my Royal Household. I'll summon you when I need you."
"Yes, your Highness. Excuse me, Your Highness, I'm an apprentice blacksmith. I'd like to continue, if possible."
"I see. Here's what we'll do. You'll live here in the castle, and every morning you'll go to the blacksmith shop, but at noon, you'll report back to the castle."
"Thank you, Your Highness."
Princess Catherine thought to herself, ‘in due time I will be the first to have him, and I'll make sure he learns to please me."
Prudence, who had been standing there the whole time, led Sebastian to his room. It was small, but almost half the size of his family's hut. The castle, made of stone, was always cold. The single bed was in front of the fireplace. "There's another set of clothes over there," she told him, "and each day if you leave your clothes on your bed, I'll see that they're washed and returned to you. Every day someone will bring firewood, and every few days you'll find new candles."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me, thank the Princess. There are also nightclothes with those other clothes, although the way her Highness looked at you, I doubt you'll be needing them." She smiled.
Sebastian wasn't sure what she meant.
TO BE CONTINUED
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