Ring My Bell - Ring My Bells

Ring My Bell - Ring My Bells

The punch still burned his cheek, the shame burned far more and the dense ringing of the wedding bells lingered in his ears. 

His muscles were stiff, his head throbbed and there was a numbing ache somewhere below his center of gravity. 

"Woman!" he grumbled between his teeth "why do you resist me so!"

He loved her, he had wooed her! He knew she wanted him. He could tell these things, read the signals in woman's reactions to his physical presence. He could almost smell the desire in a woman building up as he came near. It was torturous at times. Why did she have to doubt herself? "Did she think, she could reject a man like me?!" he thought in bitterness.

Guy of Gisborne opened his eyes, and squinted against the sunlight beam streaming through the shutters. When he shifted, he became aware that he wasn't alone.

"No! Not again! I've succumbed to temptation again!" he thought in frustration. The ache down yonder became clear. How did he have to end up in this predicament, time and time again!! Anger boiled up but he had to face that his guilt was assuaged by memories of what had transpired.

Slowly he turned over to find that a warm body was limiting his ease of movement. It was tempting to touch its fair skin.  And as his eye wandered up and down this slender young woman's back to her shock red head of hair, a growl escaped his lips. He vaguely recalled her name; Sharon and a smirk twisted his face as a chuckle escaped. It hadn't passed his notice how during sword practice in the courtyard, the usual hustle and bustle sounds of maids dimmed down. But these things did not concern him.

He sniffed the stale morning air and found it mixed with all kinds of sensory sensations. He flared his nostrils to take in the full morning aroma of a night of pleasures and couldn't suppress a smirk. "I am a man!" he thought "I claim the right of expressing my feelings!"

As he stretched out his limbs, he took stock of his bedchamber.

"Ring my bell - Ring my bells"

He had known which bell they had a mind for and all they had wanted was ride his disco stick.  His desperation had made him sink into oblivion.

It had been the most wanton of nights if the scent in the room was any indication. "You left me no choice!" he thought, "This should have been my night with Marian."

He swallowed, and his distinct Adam’s apple bobbed, for saliva had formed as memories of ecstasy flooded his mind.

In the heat of the moment he had lost sight of himself in the green drunken eyes of a girl with artwork on her skin.  He trailed the vine across her back, to the small elephant on her wrist; a most erroneous zone on a female body. Her long straight black hair was spread out and once again he was admiring how the fair skin of.. Rachel was a canvas for ink.

He shifted his body careful not to wake anybody, yet not ready to face the day.

His movement made him aware of sensitive flesh and he crossed his arms so to soothe it.  A buxomly wench with long wavy hair, had made him squeal like a girl, the memory of being nibbled and pinched cracked his face in a sly smile.  Lotty was creative but so was the blond he saw at the bottom of his feet. She had made talented use of her hands to which the thought caused a stir in tired limbs not ready for awakening; or was he mistaken? Nicola was not to have another chance, he resolved.

These were his wenches, his dirty wenches but what he most of all desired was to conquer Marian. And a thought started to formulate in his raddled, tired brain which gave him a glint of hope.