Rating: Mature
Rare sunlight filtered through the bars into the dungeon, highlighting the paleness of Dagonet’s skin. Prison life did not suit a noble of his stature. He was a knight and heir to a County. Other lesser warriors and nobles could expect to wait in the dank, dark reaches of their enemy’s castle for ransom to be paid. Those like him, heroes on the battlefield and nobles baptized in the same waters as princes, are housed in locked towers with full bedchambers or allowed the dignity of parole.
He had been offered neither parole nor politeness. The lordling’s anger seethed deep; these affronts will not be left unanswered.
Heavy doors opening and closing echoed to his cell. Clinking keys jiggling. During the nine days since his deposit in this stygian hole, his captors inadequately provided his needs through one girl. They hadn’t even honored his prowess with guards, bored or abusive.
Small slippered feet were the first to be seen on the stone steps, then the hem of servant garments. A covered basket emerged from one sleeve and oversized keys from the other, the hands completely concealed by the ill-fitting sleeves. Eventually the blonde chit’s pleasant face became visible.
“Good after the noon, Sir Weckheim.”
His eyes narrowed as she approached, not returning the greeting to one so below his status. Undeterred by his disregard, she confidently opened the cell door and brought the food in. She left the door ajar with no fear of his escape, his chains were heavy and cumbersome and would take an ogre to break, and she was not allowed to carry the keys to them.
The young woman gracefully kneeled, putting the keys to one side and her basket to the other.
“The cook sent the normal slop, the stuff given to the beggars.” She pulled a half-full bowl out of the basket of vegetables in chicken broth. Then she sent him a shy look, keeping her head appropriately bowed. “But today the staff had sausages, and I managed to sneak a few out.”
Dagonet’s stomach growled as the girl laid out three thick rolls of spiced meat longer than his hand. He had not had solid meat since the morning before his capture on the battlefield. Hearing the sound, her head snapped up and her face went from a mask concentrating on her duty to a sweet smile.
It transformed her.
Kneeing in a golden pool of sun, the first light to grace the cell in days, her grey linen dress tight across her legs and breasts, the oversized sleeves pushed up to her elbows, the female became for an instant the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hands were elegant, nimble in movement, leaving dust particles shimmering in their wake as she pulled another item from her basket of bounty.
Dagonet didn’t process it, he was transfixed by other attractions.
Her smiling lips were rich and plump as berries. The light changed her eyes into blue orbs of cool water.
Already seated, he found it easier to fall onto his hands and crawled to her. His chained clinked menacingly as he approached. He watched her breasts rise and fall as she inhaled, the cloth confining them clearly showing her arousal as her nipples hardened.
“And … and … the cellar had a bottle of wine go bad.” She stammered, licking her lips. “It’s vinegary, but with the sugar and cloves I added it should be better than…”
She stopped talking as he drew up in front of her. He took the bottle from her loose grip and placed it beside the meat and stew.
“Later.” The knight whispered his first word spoken at or to the servant, before taking her face in his hands and pulling her in for a kiss.
She tasted of fennel and garlic, her skin as soft as down. Dragonet slid his right hand to grasp her breast, the girl’s mouth opened in a moan and he plundered freely. His left hand ceased controlling her head and moved to press her willing body closer to him.
Her nimble, uncallused fingers danced over his bare chest. His captors had removed his armor, stripped his clothes to bind his wounds, and never gave him new garments. Much bolder than ladies of his rank, the woman’s hands quickly found their way into his braies to beguile his manhood.
He pulled away slightly, her lips waiting until the last minute to break away. Panting rapidly, he unlaced her kirtle. Before he could cup her breasts, she pushed him onto the cut stone floor.
“Oh, no, my lord, I want to see what I am mounting first.” Her saucy glee nearly made him laugh, but she removed his drawers and was stroking his prick before his laugh escaped. A moan replaced it. Her sly look came back, “Now this looks like a much better sausage than what be served at my master’s table.” After the declaration, she took his cock wholly into her mouth and swallowed.
No woman had ever taken him in such a fashion. He nearly released from the sensation.
Her tongue darted along his hardening length. Then she took him by his tip and drew her sweet berry lips tight around him, and slowly, like drawing juice from a peach, sucked him until she reached his root. How she did not gag he could not fathom, for he had never been so hard or long before.
“If you are going to mount me woman, do it now, or I will ride you, mouth and pussy, until you cannot use neither.”
The blonde released his cock with a pop. Climbing over his legs, she drew her skirts high and slid onto him, like a sheathe accepting its favorite sword. She drew up on her knees until he was nearly outside her channel then fell again, going deeper.
It still was not deep enough to please him. He rolled them over with his hands holding her thighs, he kneeled and settled his weight heavily between her legs, pinning the wench. Moving the chains so they held the skirts down, he then pushed her legs high and hooked them over his shoulders. Grasping her fleshy ass, he lifted with hands he used to control raging warhorses, and impaled her with his complete length. Holding her ass steady, he drove into her again and again.
Her shrieks echoed each slap of flesh, growing louder and louder. Dagonet moaned counter to each thrust. Eventually the wench screamed. The echo bouncing from the dungeon to the countryside. Dagonet held on through gritted teeth as the woman’s womb tried to milk his seed.
He remained kneeling, holding her ass high and her legs over his shoulders as pants and moans continued to come from the incoherent female. He held a 24-hour vigil on his knees without food or drink, he certainly could wait until the wench was ready again.
When her spasming sheath slowed its pulsing, he pulled his rigid cock partially out. Then plowed it in again, harder and faster than before. Less than two strokes later she screamed again. He kept pounding into her, until a third scream – deeper, longer than the earlier two tore from her lips. Finally he released, pumping her chamber full until he had no more to give.
Nearly unconscious, the knight collapsed onto the female, her legs sliding down his arms and back. He slid lower until his head rested on the belly his seed had filled and drifted off.
(words 1,251 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 9/19/2013 for the 5/27/12 Sunday Fun – See the picture that inspired the story! – As I do not know the copyright permissions, I have not copied it here; republished new blog format 7/14/2019)
