Message-ID: <1891eli$9707041510@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Caintigern O'Niall Subject: Knight Errant, MM, hist. fantasy Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <33BB7E3E.1BE5@deathsdoor.com> This story is one of erotic fantasy, set in a mythical Europe, in a mythical time. I make no attempt to portray the realism of the dirt, grime, and disease of the real era... that's what makes this fantasy. It's graphic sex. If that offends you, there are plenty of other things you could be reading. Likewise, it's a story of men having sex with each other. If that offends you, there are plenty of other stories you could be reading. This work may be freely distributed via electronic media, providing that this header and the byline is included. It may not be sold or included in any work of any sort that might be sold. Feedback! The author humbly requests feedback! If you like this story, let me know! If you like these characters and this setting, I have ideas for continuing the story! But I need to know! The Knight Errant by Caintigern O'Niall It was high summer and Robert was in search of the stream at the edge of his father's field. The glaring sun was overhead, banishing his shadow as he strode over the top of the berm that bordered the land. He paused at the top, his powerful, sunburnt torso gleaming with sweaty dust from the fields. He squinted down the hill at the treeline that marked the streambank. Something metal glinted in the sunlight. Wary of the brigands who sometimes wandered off the highways, he skidded down the hill to crouch watchfully behind a bush. He caught sight of the metal shine again and looked around quickly for others. Assured after several minutes of listening that the only sounds he could pick out were locusts, the stream and intermittent gentle snores, he crept forward. Reclining on a bed of thick grass in a small clearing was a man in a chain mail hauberk, the hood pulled back from his head, revealing short-cropped blond hair. A broadsword, well made and well cared for, lay within reach of the man's right hand. A shield, broad at the top and narrowing to a point at the bottom, lay nearby, propped against a tree and noticeably draped in black. His head was pillowed on a folded blanket and his left hand was hooked under his neck. His chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, making the links of mail glitter and flash in the bright beams that filtered through the trees above. Robert watched the sleeping knight, for knight he must be. The man's right hand lay relaxed by his side, a long, slender, elegant hand, the hand of a noble. The farmboy rose quietly and moved farther upstream, unwilling to disturb the sleeping form. There, Robert stripped off his boots and his loose homespun pants and slid into the cool water. Blessed relief surged through his tired limbs. He was surprised that his back, burnt from the morning's work, did not sizzle like cooked meat when it touched the water. He sighed quietly, then took a deep breath, held his nose, and ducked under the surface. He was engulfed in cool silence for a moment before he broke the surface again, water rivulets pouring off his dark hair. He swam around for a while, stretching his cramped muscles. As he relaxed, his mind wandered. The water caressed his balls and cock, making the curly dark hairs at his groin ripple. The sensation drew the recent memory of the pedlar boy in town up so that it washed over him in a shiver of strange pleasure. Robert watched him from the edge of the crowd in the village square. The pedlar's son was helping his father show their wares, scarves and spices and supposed artifacts from Rome. The boy was dressed in brightly colored finery, with gold at his throat and on his fingers, a display in and of himself. He was tall and slender, fluid muscle moving under olive skin, thick black hair tied away from his handsome face. The girls and women in the crowd were near swooning over his beauty. The pedlar, a coarse, thick man with sensuous lips that hinted at a beauty like his son's yet long ruined, smiled his gap-toothed grin and nodded happily as the goodwives spent their hardearned pennies. Under his loose, dusty pants, Robert felt a stirring. The pedlar boy spun in an impromtu dance for the crowd, who began clapping a rhythm for him. The farmboy's cock jumped and pulsed to life as he imagined what it would be like to strip the bright scarves and shirt and pants from his slim form, wondering whether his manhood would be as long and slender as he. Robert's father called to him to help unload the wagon. The farmboy climbed into the wagon and began hoisting bales down to his older brother, trying fiercely to fight down the sinful thoughts his idleness had summoned. Near sunset, the wagon was empty. Robert sat on the end of it, resting and wiping the sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve. He looked over and saw that the pedlar's cart was closed up and the crowd was gone. Disappointment flushed his face with embarrassment and frustration. "I can tell your fortune," a voice from behind him said. Robert whirled to see the pedlar boy who was almost a man, white teeth flashing a smile in a smooth, dark face. "I've no money," Robert explained nervously, feeling a tenuous surge of hope and exultation in his breast. "We could make other arrangements," he replied, turning and moving like a panther into a nearby alleyway. As if enchanted, Robert followed his scarlet scarf into the darkness. In the shadows, Robert felt hot, strong hands slide aroun dhim, and an equally hot, lithe body press against his front. There was a warmth and tingling gathering at his groin. Warm breath brushed over his ear. "For your fortune: You will never marry a woman," the youth whispered in his thick accent. "You want this too much." Robert was about to pull away, about to snarl something sarcastic, when a hand grappled at his crotch. He gasped in surprise and his cock surged into the hand. It was massaged roughly through the homespun of his pants and Robert's hand was pulled to close around a naked erection, a rod of iron, burning his palm. Robert whimpered and buried his face in the boy's neck, in the lush black hair that flowed about the youth's shoulders. "I saw you watching me. I saw you flush with desire. Don't deny it," the voice whispered harshly. "You love this. You could never settle for anything but a man." Robert, fear clenching his stomach and warmth pulsing in his groin, nodded helplessly. "Since you have no silver to cross my palm for your fortune," the hand pulled hard at Robert's cock, "I will have to cross your tongue with something else." Confused, Robert did draw back that time, only to feel the hands settle on his shoulders and push him downward. He could have easily resisted, being at least two handbreadths taller and several stone heavier than the pedlar, but he let him force him to his knees. The hands caressed his hair, then down along his jaw through the peachfuzz beard Robert was trying so desperately to cultivate. A thumb gently stroked across his lips. Something searing hot pressed between his parted lips. It was a paradox of feeling, soft and hard at the same time. He smelled leather and sweat and spice and musk, a combination that made his head swim and his breathing speed. His jaw opened to pant and the brand at his lips pushed deep into his mouth, thick, curling hairs tickling his nose. The scent was stronger as he felt the body just inches from his face, and the taste made his cock harden painfully, as if it were about to burst. Fingers entwined his hair on either side of his head and the rod was being pumped in and out of his mouth, oozing a salty treat for the farmboy's tongue as it stroked over his tongue again and again. Robert closed his eyes, not able to see anything in the darkness anyway, and became part of an entwined whole. He could feel the pedlar's pulse in his mouth, hear his fast, gasping breaths as he ground himself into Robert's helpless mouth. Robert felt like he was just an orifice and an aching, throbbing cock. The youth cursed suddenly and he jammed his rod to the hilt in Robert's throat. Robert choked, his throat convulsing around it, and he felt it jump and pulse. Hot, thick, salty fluid gushed into his mouth, filling it to capacity. The rod was forced into his violated throat again, spilling some of of the pedlar boy's seed over his lips to drip off his chin. Then it was withdrawn completely. Robert fell forward onto his hands, trying to control the retching the thrusts into his throat had caused. The boy's hand stroked his hair briefly and then Robert knew he was alone. The memory of the taste that clung to his tongue the entire trip back from town made Robert's cock surge and jump in the water. He wrapped his fist around it and squeezed, feeling it pulse back against the pressure. He pulled on it slowly, delighting in the feel of his own manhood and remembering the way the pedlar's cock felt and tasted as it ravished his throat. He rubbed his other hand over his broad chest, through the sparse hairs that were beginning to sprout. Unbidden, the image of the sleeping knight invaded his memory and he was suddenly very curious about what was hidden beneath the hauberk. He drew himself out of the water. Water coursed off him, by the gallon it seemed. His cock bounced in the air, water dribbling out the tip of his foreskin. A slight breeze caught him, feeling cool now that he was wet. Naked, he padded quietly through the trees toward the prone noble. He paused as the metallic gleam came into view, only to assure himself with the snores that were barely audible over the trickle of the stream that the gentleman was still sleeping soundly. He moved to be in line with the feet of the slumbering lord, then crouched to peer at him through the bushes. Moments passed. A light breeze ruffled Robert's hair, dancing over his cock. Finally, his courage rallied, he crept forward quietly, staying low, the tip of his swollen rod brushing the grass. He finally saw the knight's face clearly. The lord was young, nearly Robert's age, but the beard on his chin was full and red-gold. His skin was the pale, pale white that marked the nobility, and his long golden lashes concealed eyes Robert was sure were sky blue. The face was finely chiseled, like a statue Robert had once seen, the features straight and strong, the lips sensuous and slightly parted. Robert reached forward and carefully took hold of the edge of the chain mail hauberk, whose skirt extended to just above the knight's knees. He slowly lifted it, exposing more and more of the sweat-stained breeches beneath. The links slid and jingled a bit, and he froze, watching the aristocratic features for signs of wakefulness, but the gentle snores continued. The hauberk was back past mid-thigh now and Robert was holding his breath. The heavy metal moved slowly, shifting in an almost liquid way. Finally, the chain mail was shifted back to rest against the thick leather girdle that cinched the hauberk tight at the waist. Robert let go the edge and let it lay there, exhaling quietly and inhaling again, staring at the horseman's powerful thighs that stretched the breeches tight. He reached for the ties that fastened the breeches and carefully opened them. His fingers trembled as he took hold of the flaps of the fly and tugged them open, exposing a thatch of dark red hair. His heart stopped briefly as the man groaned in his sleep and shifted his shoulders and hips. Robert caught the heap of chain mail to keep it in its precarious perch at the cavalier's waist. Seconds ticked by as Robert waited after his quarry had settled again. His eyes were locked on the man's face, his body frozen in its predatory crouch over his crotch. Finally, the snoring resumed, a bit louder this time. Robert relaxed, giddy with relief. He resumed his work. With a final gentle tug at the fabric, he exposed the knight's genitals. Dark red hair circled the thick, soft, white mass that was the noble cock, nestled along the man's muscular left thigh. His balls were bloated and hairless, resting comfortably in the nook between his legs. Robert delicately stroked his finger along and under the cock, freeing the length completely from the breeches. The scent of sweat, leather and horse combined muskily to make Robert's head swim and his own engorged organ dance. He bent forward, inhaling the scent cautiously, like a dog sniffing at a coiled snake. The aroma was heavy, like it should be for a man who had been riding for many days. His hand slid around it like an old friend and slowly stroked it, watching the thick, yielding foreskin slide over the rod underneath. The flesh pulsed and began to fill with blood, and the tip that was barely visible through the opening in the sheath turned hard and red and wet. The knight moaned, rolling his head from side to side. Robert was beyond caring at this point, falling forward onto his knees in the grass and lunging down to take the patrician penis in his mouth. His tongue plunged inside the sheath, licking the salt and musk and piss off the hidden crown, his work-roughened hands stroking the base and palming the soft, smooth balls. The knight's eyes snapped open and his head raised to gaze in astonishment at the naked peasant who was sucking the blood into his cock. He groaned and threw his head back onto the blanket, his elegant hands reaching for the boy, sliding over his hard, muscular back and into his tousled dark hair. Robert moaned around the rod that filled his mouth and followed the urging of the hands to let more and more slide back and into his throat. As the muscles of his throat closed on the broad head, the knight cried out and arched his back, pushing his hips higher. Robert swallowed and drew back slowly, then dived forward to impale his throat. Again and again, he sheathed the knight's sword in his throat, the taste of a warrior horseman making the farmboy's senses overload. The knight shouted, bucking violently into Robert's throat. Robert felt a spray of thick cream scald his throat and tongue, tasted the bitter salt of the knight's seed. The cock in his mouth pulsed and pumped until Robert's mouth was full and he struggled to swallow it all. He was pushed away from the knight's crotch and he sat back, hypnotized by the melting manhood. The softening staff slumped over the flaccid balls, still damp and twitching. A gentle hand hooked under Robert's chin and drew his face up. The cavalier was inches away when he raised his eyes. Eyes like blue ice searched Robert's face for a moment, then the ice melted. "Why have you done this, boy?" he asked in an unexpectedly deep and gentle voice. Robert stuttered, a problem he had occasionally since childhood. "I...I...I wanted to see it, m'lord." "I...see." The knight sat back, considering the tanned, husky farmboy for a moment, stroking his beard. His breeches still lay open, the thick, pale flesh of his cock still pulsing softly. "What's your name, boy?" "R...Robert, m'lord." "Robert." It was like he tasted the name. "A strong name for a strong lad. I need a strong lad. My squire was slain some months ago." "B-b-b-but I thought squires had to b-b-be of noble blood, m'lord." "Normally, they are. But as you see," he nodded toward his black shield, "I am far from normal. For the duration, I haven't even a name to give you." "Why me?" The knight had a kind and handsome smile. It made Robert's chest tighten and his manhood convulse. "A squire must always care for a knight's sword. And you seem to have a good start at that." The farmboy blushed scarlet, casting his eyes down. His attention was caught by the rising standard between the cavalier's legs. "Now that it's been polished, the sword needs its sheath." Robert could feel the smile. "Can you find a sheath for it, Robert?" Robert looked up at him, puzzled. There was a knowing look on the handsome, bearded face. Enlightenment dawned upon Robert as he gazed into the azure eyes. He crawled forward, across the armored body. The knight was holding the chain hauberk, keeping it out of the way. Robert straddled the horseman's narrow hips and took hold of the hilt of the knight's most personal sword. He aimed carefully and slowly settled it against his hole. When he chanced a look at the paladin's face, it appeared to be haloed by the golden hair that was gleaming in the sun. Looking upon this transfiguration, he pressed down with his hips. Robert cried out as the knight's hips lunged up and he was speared. He closed his eyes against the pain so that tears dripped down his cheeks. "You've ridden a horse, haven't you, boy?" the noble asked through gritted teeth. The farmboy bit down on a sob. "Y-yes, m'lord." "Ride me like you post a trot, boy. Up and down." "Yes, m'lord." Robert clenched his lip between his teeth and lifted himself, thighs straining, then lowered back down. The dry wrenching of his insides was excruciating. "Good boy, good boy, it won't hurt long." "Yes, m'lord." His misgivings were well-hidden behind his tears and he continued to ride his lord. It seemed an eternity passed in the slow rhythm that he set, but quite suddenly, he realized that the pain was fading, replaced by something...else. A fullness, a pressure, that was growing as the noble's sword ground into and out of him. His cock swelled, his balls contracted tight against his body. The pressure grew into a pleasure shot up the length of his cock with every motion. His rhythm sped up. The shots of ecstasy became a constant, agonizing ache for release. He leaned over the knight, his hands on the cavalier's armored chest, as he worked for that release, all his muscles rippling. Robert screamed as he felt his cock explode a fountain of white across the chain mail. He bucked his hips, as if urging his horse to go faster, and bowed his head, hissing between his teeth. There was a blast of heat inside him and the man beneath him grunted. The pillar inside him writhed as it sprayed aristocratic seed into him. They both were breathing hard and sweating in the afternoon sun. Robert looked down at the knight and leaned forward to kiss his mailed chest. The horseman stroked his hair gently. "You pass the test, Robert. You've taken good care of my sword this afternoon." He lifted the farmboy's chin and tenderly kissed his lips. "I ask you to ride with me." Robert's breathless reply was, "Yes, m'lord." The End... or a Beginning? -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /