Prompt: Write a story with a wolf in it
Being ye traveling salesman in ye olde Englande is not as muche funne as ye may thinke.
O sure, ye gets to tup ye faire milke maide from time to time, but ye must contende with ye brigands, fickle lords and whoreson merchants.
And then there is ye fearsomme wolfes. These beasties confound and plaguey me at every step.
I am John of Gaunte and I am ye traveling meat seller. I goeth from towne to towne with ye sturdy meat wagon pulled by ye trusty mule, Pope Leo, with ye dryed meats and sausage.
As I travel ye hyways and byways, ye wolfies shadow and confoundth my every step. They are always just ahead or just behind, peering from ye bushes or from behind ye trees. I smiteth them with my sturdy staff when they get too close, but they always manage to get ye errant sausage or weiner. This is called ye coste of doing business and is as much a parte of ye trade as giving ye freebie to his lordship.
One wolfe in particulare has attached himself to ye wagon. A lamentable scrawny beastie he trails after me wherever I goeth. However, he has earned a place in ye entourage and I have even given him a name. I call him Beo, not that he answereth to it.
Several months ago, I rolled in the formidable estate of ye Duke of Earl. I entered the kitchen through ye servants entrance, and encountered ye beautiful Duchess herself, ye stunning blonde vision in silk and pearles. She looked me up and down and asketh what I was purveying. “The finest dried and cured meats in the land, your Ladyship,” I replied. “If your sausage is as fine as you say it is, I would like a sample,” she replieth with ye twinkle in her eye.
Now I have been around ye blocke many times in my years, and I know ye whoreson wench when I see one, Lady or no. “I keep my finest wares in ye wagon, my Lady, and you may come and indulge at your pleasure,” I replied with a sweeping bow.
That night, there was ye knocke on ye wagon. I parted ye curtain and there was ye ladyship wearing ye dark blue cloak. “I would very much like to partake of your meat, sir,” she said as her cloak slid to the floor. Ye Gods! Ye milky white breasts, ye soft curving waist, ye ripe thighs! She was ye whole nine yards! Ye whole enchilada!
I dropped ye pantaloons and unleashed Sir Lancelot. “Egad, sir,”she gasped. “That is not just ye humungus sausage, it is ye finest set of tupper ware I have cast eyes upon!"
With that, I laid into her and she sampled as no one has ever sampled before.
Suddenly, she cried out, not for the first time, but now she was gazing over my shoulder. I turned a around and saw ye vision from hell: ye husband with ye scarie broad sword glinting in the moonlight poised to lop off my sorry pate.
“Thou unchivalrous knave!” I yelled “How darest thou come a knockin when this wagon’s rockin?”
Suddenly, he let out ye blood curdling scream. Beo, overwhelmed by the size of his lordship's promethean hams, decided he would sample some and had ye firme lip lock on his arse. He was not about to let go, not even as his worship staggered backward into Pope Leo, who does not like to have his evening vespers disturbed, and rewarded ye nobleman with ye stout kick to ye gonadies.
And so the three of us, Beo Wolfe, Pope Leo, and I, traverse our faire land purveying meats to the needy and tupper ware to the wanton.