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The Wedding Vows and The White Rose Queen

Michaela Francis

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Michaela Francis

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Product Type: EBook
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Price:  $7.95
Published by: Fiction4All in association with Silver Moon Books
No. words: 95100
Style: BDSM/Bondage - Content: Moderate - Classed as: Consensual
Categories: Erotic Domination - F/F       Erotic Domination - M/F      Male Dom - M/F
Published 8 / 2017
 

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SYNOPSIS

Lady Mathom has mated her beautiful slave Rebecca while, back in Mathomdale, Jennifer must face her most daunting challenge yet. She is nominated, at Lady Mathom's bequest, for the ceremonial role of “Festival Queen” at the valley's summer festival. It is more than just some frivolous title however. Jennifer comes to realise that the role is a pagan tradition, demanding humiliating sacrifices of her and just one more link in the chain to bind her to the House of Mathom and pledge her in marital union with the Slaves of the Amethyst.

This, the most shocking novel in Michaela Francis' monumental erotic saga yet, is a searing roller coaster of uninhibited sexuality from the agony of whips and canes to the ecstasy of incandescent passion.

EXTRACT

Slaves Of The Amethyst 5

Chapter One

 

On their last morning in Bolswick Bay, Rebecca fussed over her man; straightening his tie and teasing the rebellious locks of his hair into place. She’d insisted that he dress his best in smart pants and the blazer that suited him well. Robin grumbled for form but, secretly, he was rather pleased by Rebecca’s solicitous attention to him. “For heaven’s sake Becky, we’re only going into Saltersea!”

“Well I want you to look handsome for Alice. Anyway, we’ll be driving home to Mathomdale afterwards and I daren’t let your mother see you looking like a tramp. She’ll think I haven’t been looking after you properly. Come along be a good boy and put on those new shoes I bought you in Saltersea!”

Robin sighed but put up only token resistance. Eugene was gone. The two women had only snatched a bare couple of hours sleep, nestling on either side of Robin in the big, old fashioned brass bed, before Rebecca had driven Eugene back to her hotel to pick up her things. She would make her own way in her hired car for their lunchtime rendezvous in Saltersea.

Rebecca and Robin packed their belongings into the red automobile and bade a wistful farewell to the lovely little cottage where their love had bloomed in such fertile territory. For once, Rebecca didn’t try to wheedle Robin into letting her drive the car. In fact, she seemed very subdued and quiet for a change. Robin took this for an indication of a somewhat more submissive role on the part of his beloved; as if their relationship had changed its character as a result of his having punished her. He rather hoped that she would not take too great a role of subservience upon herself. Much as he was touched and excited by the submissive facet of her personality, he also loved the exuberant and vivacious side to her. Punishing her was one thing but he didn’t want to break her spirit. Yet she seemed thoughtful and distracted, even a little sad. Rebecca had not told him of her conversation with Eugene on the cliff top that morning. Eugene had impressed the need for security upon her and now she was unable to share her worry and doubts about the future with her lover.

“You’re very quiet today Becky. Are you still sore?”

“Only a little bit sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir Becky.”

“I like calling you sir, sir.”

Robin sighed and let it drop for the moment but, as he drove, he glanced at Rebecca out of the corner of his eye. To his shock he saw that her eyes were bright with tears. “Rebecca! Becky! Whatever is the matter?”

 Rebecca replied in a small voice “Forgive me sir! I’m not very good company this morning. I shouldn’t be so melancholy in your presence. It is my duty to entertain you with pleasant conversation, not to inflict my ill humour upon you!”

“Rebecca! Don’t talk nonsense! If you are upset about something then I want to know what it is!”

Rebecca dabbed at her eyes. Fate had dealt her a cruel blow she thought. She was newly in love with Robin, with Julie and with Jennifer. Lady Mathom had asked her to stay on at the Hall for at least a couple more years and the thought had made her delirious with happiness. She’d seen at least two more years in the chambers of her beloved home, set in the valley of enchantment, and surrounded by her loved ones stretching out before her like a dream of contentment. Her Ladyship had even promised her that Jennifer would share her confinement.

Then there was Lady Mathom herself, in whom Rebecca found such deep love. Rebecca was never happier than when called upon to serve her extraordinary mistress; like a moth dancing around a candle, desiring to singe its wings in the heat of the flame. There’d been a dream in formation; fragile and yet exciting in its promise. Why, she’d hardly had her beautiful Jennifer in her arms a handful of times! Now, with Eugene’s words, it all seemed to be dissolving into dust.

She was being sold abroad by her own mistress; condemned to foreign exile when she’d barely left the soil of England in her life. Jennifer was going away to university, Robin was going away on some nebulous business of some kind and she was being ordered to an alien country far from the tranquil vales and woods of Mathomdale. Her dream was scattering across the face of the globe, fragmenting up into disparate components and she knew not what glue to use to hold those components together. There was even Alice and Daniel separating away from her, Eugene away to business of her own, Heather, Helen and Abigail shortly to depart on new adventures of their own. Perhaps Pixie would still be in the boutique in Bramley, Julie in the little shop on the square in Mathom and her mistress still the queen of Mathom Hall but she would be gone, alone in a strange land. She felt the pangs of desperate loneliness and homesickness already. “Dreams do come true!” she told herself “Why couldn’t mine?”

There was another thing of course...that Goddess forsaken thesis! For four years, that study had captivated Rebecca, dragged her into realms that she had scarcely known existed. The deep secrets concealed within the archives of Mathom Hall had been just the beginning of the trail. She’d uncovered documentation that had remained unseen for centuries in some cases. There were accounts from eighteenth and nineteenth century observers, explorers and scientific philosophers that had rarely, if ever, been read. She’d delved into medieval texts, painstakingly translating the archaic Latin from the hand-written scripts. She’d married the historical documents with the latest research into the Alpha Sensual syndrome and read widely in the field of DNA tracing.

She remembered the shock she’d had when she discovered evidence of positive Alpha traits within so called primitive societies. The Australian aborigines were reputedly isolated from the mainstream of humanity for over sixty thousand years but they too had their Alpha lines, indistinguishable from those in other societies geographically far removed. She thought she detected a far more ancient lineage to the Alpha gene yet there were anomalies wherever she looked. Many Alpha clans carried a long oral and written history of their lineage and frequently traced themselves back to a founding member far in the past. It was easy to dismiss such histories as mere myth or legend yet archaeological or DNA evidence often supported the emergence of particular groupings emerging from a single founding point. The trouble was that many of these groupings seemed to have no relationship to any others. It was as if they had just sprung up at random amidst widely differing societies.

 For a long time, Rebecca had tended to believe that certain Alpha people had been widely travelled and had turned up in very diverse regions carrying the Alpha gene. Perhaps there had been far more interaction between differing people on different continents than had previously been thought possible. Although the characteristics of Alpha people were identical, however, there were subtle genetic differences between assorted Alpha lines. How could it be, therefore, that a certain line appeared to emerge in the first century AD in Europe at the same time as closely similar lines appeared among North American hunter gatherer societies and in the high civilisation along China’s Yellow River? Was that line more ancient than it appeared? Given the longevity of Alpha human beings it was by no means impossible that individuals had travelled enormous distances to propagate their seed but why did such anomalies appear to occur in definite clusters along the time line? Was that simply due to the paucity of evidence? Was it possible that the researcher was only looking at a small number of examples that coincidentally appeared to be correlated in time? Had there been inexplicable diasporas of Alphas throughout history? If so, what would impel a certain group of new humans to suddenly disperse over vast distances to found new branches of their lines? Why? Was it a conscious attempt to diversify their lines?

Underlying all this problem was a biological one. Alpha lines bred true only in the intermarriage between Alphas. Alpha people were certainly inter-fertile with non-Alphas but in that case the Alpha gene tended to become watered down. There were researches suggesting that a high proportion of the human race carried some admixture of Alpha characteristics, but, with each successive generation the characteristics tended to flatten out and become much less noticeable, tending toward a mundane uniformity. This was particularly true since Alphas tended to be considerably less fertile than non-Alphas. Why then did Alpha lines seem to constantly emerge in pure forms so consistently? Surely there would have had to be a dilution of the trait, submerging it under a uniform normality of the human genome. The very purity of the peaks of Alpha emergence was telling in its own right. Had the Alpha trait emerged in a single individual deviation, as had been traditionally thought, then that individual carrying the gene would instantly have begun to bury the trait in the overall mass of humanity simply by the act of mating human beings not carrying the trait. The Line would have died out almost immediately.

You needed at least two Alphas of differing gender to perpetuate the Line, an Adam and Eve if you like of the new form of humanity. How could, therefore, such an incredibly unlikely genetic deviation occur in two individuals so close to each other both temporally and spatially that they were able to mate with each other. Then their children would have had to interbreed! If God has an Adam and Eve and says, “Go forth and multiply.” then he is condoning incest! Nevertheless, it seemed incredible. The chances of such a single random mutation of the human being occurring at all were infinitesimally tiny. The chances of two occurring simultaneously that reinforced each other appeared to beggar belief.

It was worse than that too! New research was beginning to show that the Alpha syndrome was not the result of a single genetic variation from the norm but a whole complex pattern of various traits, often unconnected with each other at a biological level. An Alpha therefore was different at a whole series of levels and such a variation was impossibly unlikely to have resulted from a single genetic mutation. Yet the traits were mutually reinforcing. Some were even suggesting that the trait was moving further away from the normal human genome, to such an extent that it was possible to see the emergence of an entirely new species.

Alphas undoubtedly sought out other Alphas, were powerfully attracted to them, far more than they were to non-Alpha humans. They formed distinct social and sexual groupings that reinforced their difference even as they camouflaged themselves within human societies. In a sense, they were deliberately propagating their own specific characteristics and such behaviour was traceable throughout their history as far as could be told. It had to have been a powerful motivating force from the word go. It bespoke of a constant awareness of their difference, a pride in it, that they so persistently tried to perpetuate it. They were, let it be said, enhanced human beings in the business of instinctively reinforcing their own enhancement. That word “enhancement” was a key to Rebecca. At some point she had ceased to believe that Alphas were naturally enhanced. When you have eliminated all the other possibilities then the one remaining, however incredible, must be true. Alphas didn’t just happen, they were continuously engineered. How that could happen Rebecca had no idea. By some form of selective breeding certainly although that raised as many questions as it answered and it still did not answer who were the people that had first identified the possibility of Alpha traits within the human genome and, separately at that, had decided to breed selectively towards the production of people possessing those traits that defined Homo sapiens novis.

That was Rebecca’s best guess. That sometime, or sometimes, far in the human past, the Alpha syndrome was more prevalent among normal humans and that certain groups had decided to selectively breed together in order to create some sort of perceived superior being among themselves. This assumed that the Alpha gene was merely a regressive gene contained within all humans and that the means to genetically engineer its emergence had been rediscovered innumerable times throughout human history. The other possibility was too frightening to contemplate.

 Rebecca had long been fascinated by the cultures of Alpha humans and the way they had integrated themselves covertly into human society. She’d read widely about the mythology that had sprung up about them, from vampires to Methuselah. Every society had its body of mythology concerning humans with powers and abilities beyond the parameters of normality and it was easy to recognise the occasional awareness, within those societies, of this curious sub group living among its ranks. In many cases, societies had absorbed the Alpha culture into its own and these had often been powerful driving forces within human history, creating new philosophies, religious movements, technological innovation and wholly new bodies of ideas. The Alpha syndrome represented a fertile yeast of creativity within the structure of human civilisation.

That Rebecca herself was just such a fertile fount of creativity was clear to any intelligent Alpha, familiar with her work, but herself. Rebecca suffered a considerable academic inferiority complex. She knew she was highly intelligent but she regarded that as a normal state of being for a Lady of the Line. That she was even more brilliant than the high standards of her type was, to Rebecca, quite laughable. She considered herself to be possessed of many talents, not least of which was her feminine guile, but she cowered from being judged under the spotlight of pure intellectual examination. The thought of defending her incredible ideas in front of such academic heavyweights as those likely to be surrounding Professor Sehler filled her with dread. She realised that her abandonment of her researches had been simply a refusal to accept that anyone could possibly take them seriously. She feared ridicule. There was still that underlying servitude that told her that she was merely the slave of others far more brilliant than she. She had yet to come to an understanding that her brilliance condemned her to the servitude of humanity. She was very afraid of the future; terrified of the consequences that her own immense intelligence had imposed upon her.

Robin pulled the car over to the side of the road. “Rebecca my sweet!” he continued “If there is something bothering you, then I have a right to know about it. You’re unhappy about something. Please tell me what it is. Are you upset with me?”

“No, My Lord! I am certainly not upset with you! I swear by the Goddess that I’m not! Please don’t concern yourself sir! I’m just being foolish. I’m frightened that I’m going to lose you!”

“Rebecca my love! Look at me!” Rebecca turned a mournful visage towards Robin. “You cannot, will not lose me! I love you dearly. You are a part of my life now and are going to remain so. Do you doubt my love for you?”

“No sir and it is disrespectful of me to even make you think that. I am just worried about our future. Sometimes it all seems so complicated and I wonder if it will ever turn into my dreams. Please forgive me. I think I’m just having some post-traumatic stress sir. I came so close to dying yesterday. All my dreams seemed so fragile and ephemeral. Perhaps that’s why I hardly dare believe in them now. You should beat me for my foolishness.”

“I’m not going to beat you Rebecca. I just want to see you smile again today. Come darling we’re alive. Let’s live for this moment of happiness. Forget the past of yesterday and sod the future. We’re in love.... and that’s one powerful way to control your future wouldn't you agree.”

“Oh yes sir! Very well sir! I’ll throw away my melancholy and try not to ruin our day.”

“There’s something else Rebecca isn’t there? Something else worrying you!”

“Yes. Yes, there is. Oh, Robin forgive me but I can’t tell you what it is! Please believe me that it is nothing concerning you but it is something secret and I’m not allowed to divulge it to you. Can you accept that sir?”

“If I must Rebecca. Will you tell me when you are ready?”

“I can’t say sir! Truly I can’t. This is something bigger than us and I’m sworn to secrecy. Please accept that commitment.”

“Very well Rebecca. I’ll accept it if you kiss me and give me a smile.”

“Oh Robin!” Rebecca was passionate in his arms, murmuring endearments and clinging to him in a ferment. It reminded Robin of the first time he had taken Rebecca to his cell when she had clung to him as if frightened of losing him amongst the dark catacombs of the cellars.

“Come.” he said at last “Lets push on! I want to buy a few things in Saltersea before we meet up with the others. I might even buy my lovely slave something pretty to show her how much I love her!” Rebecca smiled and if it was a watery smile at least it held the promise of improving humour.


 

Chapter Two

 

The red car pulled over the hill top of the coastal road before dipping down into Saltersea. The town was built along the banks of a small river that cut through the cliffs to join the sea and the enclosed estuary formed the harbour around which the town’s fishing industry revolved. It was justifiably famous as a town of great beauty and historical interest. The old ruined abbey that dominated the cliffs above the cluster of red brick houses, clinging to the harbour, dated from the twelfth century and it had been built on the ruined site of an even more venerable abbey, whose roots stretched back at least as far as the seventh century. The destruction of the original abbey had been through the activities of foreign invasion. The Vikings had razed it to the ground. The Benedictine house that had replaced it owed its demise to purely English desecration. The tyrant King Henry had ordered its dissolution in 1536 and the inhabitants of the town had contributed to the dismantlement of the magnificent Gothic construction. Many of the better cottages and houses in the town were built with the fine stone quarried from the abbey’s buildings, leaving only a haunted ruin standing forlornly on the cliff tops. This house of spiritual learning had suffered a final ignominy in 1914 when its empty ruins were damaged somewhat by the shells of a German battlecruiser. Now all that remained were a few roofless walls with gaping windows, and some remnants of the towering buttresses streaked with the guano of the seagulls and jackdaws that were now its only inhabitants.

Robin parked the car close by the harbour. It was early yet, not quite eleven o’clock, so Rebecca and Robin took some time to enjoy the little town. It was a curiously busy little place for, in addition to still being an active fishing town, it was also a popular tourist venue and this gave the place a purposeful bustle of activity. In contrast to many resorts, tourism had not ruined the timeless loveliness of the town. On the newer side of the harbour there were the mandatory amusement arcades, ice cream parlours, fish and chip shops and so forth, of course, but the older part of the town still retained its character with narrow cobbled streets winding between brick cottages. It had a lovely sea feeling to it with the pervasive aromas of seaweed and fish and the incessant background caterwauling of herring gulls, nesting on the chimney pots of the houses, that rose to a crescendo each time a fishing boat entered the harbour as the gulls rose, in a body, to swarm about the vessel, squabbling for scraps.

There were cosy little tea rooms and shops everywhere. There were old fashioned bazaars and tiny, inviting pubs. There was virtually no traffic in the older part of the town and its cobbled streets were reserved as the domain of the wandering pedestrian, inviting a casual stroll through its archaic charm. The couple walked, with linked hands, through the old town, shopping for trinkets. Rebecca’s beauty attracted much attention from the local inhabitants and Robin once more felt a deep pride in the fact. She was dressed conservatively today in a smart knee length brown skirt and a simple white blouse over quite ordinary brown shoes but she was still a picture of female loveliness, her sweetness somehow accentuated by the uncharacteristically shy, demure persona she wore this day. Her humour was restored by now and it pleased her to play the role of the suitably chastised and respectfully penitent young concubine that, having been taught a lesson by her master, was now on her best behaviour. She knew that this tickled Robin’s ego and that he was well aware that her conservative clothes were a necessity this day since she still wore the marks of her punishment beneath them. A short skirt, plunging neckline or bare back would have been out of the question in the circumstances. She was careful to wince ever so slightly when she sat for a coffee in a little café, sharing the secret of her punishment with Robin and she fielded his questions of concern with an endearing lowering of her eyes and a polite, and respectful, murmured affirmation of her wellbeing.

Back on the street it was still only a quarter past eleven so they meandered happily about the streets until they were halted by a piercing whistle from behind them. They turned to see Alice waving frantically at them from the door of a little pub overlooking the harbour. They retraced their steps to join her. Alice gripped Robin’s hand before jumping into Rebecca’s arms and kissing her with such lack of inhibition that heads turned on the crowded street. Alice looked radiant today in a pretty floral print dress cut low enough to display Rebecca’s jet necklace at her throat. It was more than just her natural attractiveness that made her shine on this sunny Friday morning however. She was quite clearly in a fever of excitement.


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Michaela is a UK author based in Yorkshire. Born in the city of York, Michaela spent many years travelling throughout Europe during a career as an entertainer before returning to the UK to study for a Masters degree in history. The author of several novels and many short stories, as well as several works of non-fiction, Michaela's style mixes romance, fantasy and eroticism in a rich blend of well researched authenticity and descriptive imagination. Widely travelled, multi-lingual and multi-cultural, Michaela draws upon her own experiences and adventures to enhance the diversity of her writing while adhering to Tolkein's mantra "the inner consistency of reality" to bring realism and credibility to the imaginary worlds she creates.

 


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