Message-ID: <2112eli$9707171235@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Caintigern O'Niall Subject: A Knight on the Road, MM, medieval fantasy Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii 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: <33CCF764.355D@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. It contains graphic sex. If you're under 18, don't read it. If sexual content offends you, there are plenty of other things you could be reading... what the hell are you doing in this newsgroup/archive? 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. Being medieval fantasy, there is magic and stuff. This should not in any way be construed as condoning or informing about real life occult activities. I went for a preponderance of plot in this one. Forgive me! There is sex in this, I promise! 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. This story is the next in the series beginning with "The Knight Errant" and continuing in "The Knight and His Squire." Please keep the feedback coming! -- CO A Knight on the Road by Caintigern O'Niall They left the inn early the next morning. Robert was scarcely able to sit in the saddle for the soreness the morning brought, so he walked beside the horse for some time. His clothes, bought hurriedly with little explanation from the innkeeper's eldest son, barely fit him, his chest and shoulders being far broader than that slender lad. Livid bruises arose during the day on his wrists where his grip had slipped on the edge of the tub the night before, and he ventured to imagine that the same was happening across his hipbones where he'd been slammed against the wood. His knees and hips ached, though walking actually helped somewhat. A little before noontime, a cry pricked the knight's ears. He spurred his charger forward without a word, leaving Robert to scramble after him. Sounds of combat ensued virtually as soon as the knight vanished from sight, and a man's cry of pain made Robert force his sore body to the speed he usually reserved for chasing his youngest siblings after they'd kicked him in the shin. He broke from the trees into a clearing. A young woman lay draped decorously over a nearby stone, her clothing torn and soiled. The errant had dismounted and was engaged in beating a ruffian about with the flat of his sword. Robert watched in amazement as he chased the man effortlessly, the breadth of the blade slapping hard against the man's body. The dirty fellow winced and cried out, scampering to escape the humiliating beating. Shortly, the maiden began to stir, regaining her senses as only a lady of noble birth might. The knight immediately shouted, "At last, I have you, sirrah!" and, having steered the man toward him with a blow to discourage him from fleeing, expertly inserted his sword through the highwayman's ribcage, piercing heart, lungs and all. The bandit looked surprised momentarily before bubbling blood through his lips and collapsing, falling neatly off the knight's blade. The noble wiped his blade on the man's tunic and, flipping his faceplate up, turned to the pale maid. "My lady!" he cried, "Your honour is avenged. Are you harmed?" "Nay, sir knight," she fluttered. "He had not the time to reach his goal." Robert's knowledge of the continuing courtliness faded as he turned his attention to the man on the ground, who twitched vaguely in a pool of blood. A tiny eating dagger fell from the man's hand, and the stench of a great deal of ale arose from him. A drunken lecher, Robert thought idly. His wife is probably wondering where he got to. "Squire!" The terse word broke through the farmboy's reverie. "Yes, m'lord?" He looked up, mildly surprised to find the lady seated on the horse -- sidesaddle, of course -- and smiling benignly upon his peasantry. "Come along and stop staring at that wretch. We are escorting the Lady Aviana to her father's castle." The errant had removed his helm and a glove. He reached up and took the thin, wan hand from the reins, kissed it tenderly and returned it to its original location. The lady beamed courtly affection. "Yes, m'lord." Could this be the same man who had so viciously taken him just the night before, and so gently taken his virginity a few days before that? The errant was turning so many faces that Robert's head spun. The knight and his squire walked, one on each side of the horse "should the lady faint again." The lady exchanged idle flirtation with the armored man, who bestowed his most dazzling smiles upon her in return and his most stimulating conversation. Stories of dragons and sorcerors and great quests flew thick and fast. The castle loomed in the distance somewhere near sundown. Robert's heart gladdened, for in the travel, both he and his master had failed to eat at all since their quick fast-breaking that morning. The gnawing of his gut was only augmented by the cramps lower in his abdomen, probably from the rough treatment the night before, and his aching joints, and his throbbing headache from the sun. Dust covered his ill-fitted, ill-made clothes, and he longed desperately for his mother's seamstressing and cooking, even for his eldest brother's insults -- at least his family spoke to him. Twilight closed in like a heavy, humid blanket. The farmboy's senses told him a mighty storm approached, laden with darkness and rain and thunder. The oppression that had grown through the afternoon reached suffocating proportions now. The twisting road to the castle was blackened by a thick tunnel of trees that sucked the indigo light from the air, leaving only the onerous, inpenetrable shadow they picked through only by virtue of the bay's sure hooves and quick ears. At last, they reached the drawbridge and baroque wrought iron portcullis. Grinding, creaking, screeching, the gate raised slowly, its lowest spikes threatening like petrified devil's tails. The knight hurried the little band through the portal, apparently just as nervous as Robert about whatever drew the gate upward. Those fears seemed confirmed as it crashed down immediately behind them, tearing some of the bay's black tail hairs in its spears. The horse started abruptly and Robert and the knight leaped to catch his bridle and keep him from leaving the maiden in the dust. The beast calmed briefly, though his eyes still rolled wildly. Robert patted his neck. "I feel the same way," he whispered so that only the bay could hear. The horse twitched an ear . "Where are your father's men-at-arms, my lady?" the knight inquired, casting looks all around the empty, weedy courtyard. "Oh, he has no need of them," she said lightly. "No need of men?" The errant seemed mightily confused. "Oh, no. Come to dinner, Sir Errant, after you have washed and rested. You shall see then." The black knight lifted her from the bay. "Boy," he told Robert, "go take care of him," he nodded to the horse, "and go round to the kitchens and get yourself something to eat." Robert nodded, only too glad to escape the cloying sweetness of the interaction between the lady and the knight. He took hold of the horse's bridle and led him toward the vacant, echoing stable. Robert scuffed a thick layer of dust from the floor of the barn as he entered, making a stifling cloud with only a few steps. He coughed and wiped his eyes, peering around in the gloom. The straw on the floor crumbled to dust as his boots touched it. No lights, no sounds, no horse scent penetrated the choking dust. He judged that if perhaps the lady's father were so strange that he did not require men-at-arms to defend his castle, then he would not have need of horses either. With a strange reluctance growing in his breast, he pulled the saddle and bridle from the horse, hanging them on brass hooks nearby. The bay, accustomed to standing tetherless, calmly stood for him as he rubbed down some of the dirt and sweat of the day from the creature's coat. He patted his neck and said, "Stay, Jial. I'm going to seek some water and food for you." The horse nickered and stood wait for him. The first well he found, in the center of the courtyard, was dry. A strange knocking echoed up from the unseen depths, and he hurried away from it, leaving the bucket to dangle. Another well, behind the barn, still ran with water, but he had to cast several bucketfuls away before he reached something that smelled reasonable and looked clear. Several trips later, he had filled the trough and went to halter the bay and lead him to the water. As the horse slurped ungraciously, Robert looked around. The sky purpled in the last light of the sun, revealing clouds that boiled, glimmering redly from within. There was no sign of other inhabitants anywhere in the castle. No lights, no voices, no sound. An equine nose dripped water on Robert's shoulder. Robert drew the beast into a stall, managed to find some ancient oats that did not crawl with spiders, and closed the bay in, patting his nose reassuringly. "I'll come sleep here tonight," he promised the large, soft brown eyes that gazed at him with something like fear. "The storm will come soon and I must to the kitchen to fill my aching belly." Jial snorted and nickered, ducking his head into the oats with agreement. The squire set out in search of the kitchen door. He finally located a cement of ancient garbage, solidified into one decayed mass that only vaguely stank in characteristic fashion. Curiously, he peered into the gloom of the kitchen. Nothing moved. No light, no heat from the stoves, not even a breeze to disturb the great knives as they hung amidst the dangling pots from the ceiling. He stared and stared. The rubbish pile behind him moved. He spun, expecting a rat to scurry forth. Instead, he glimpsed, in an instantaneous flicker of lightning from the breaking storm, a bony hand clawing forth. He screamed and ran, but his course was determined rather than panicked. Robert vaulted the steps up to the shadowed platform that bore the weight of the portcullis winch. He crested the top step and rounded the corner. A skull, its jaws agape in a silent scream, faced him directly and bones bearing the shreds of ancient, crumbling material reached for him. He backpedaled rapidly, stumbled, and rolled head over heels back down the stairs. He scrambled to his feet, bruised from head to toe but alive. A quick backward glance told him that the skeltal shape stopped at the head of the stairs and seemed uninclined to descend. He broke into a desperate run for the front door of the main hall. Inevitably, the doors were locked. He pounded on them and screamed for his master. No response, no call, no reply. Only the fading echoes of his fists on the heavy wood. A roll of thunder shook Robert, and the first, huge drops of frigid rain pelted his bare head. A desperate cry from an upper window speared the silence after the thunder had rolled away. It was his master's voice, for sure. Robert cast around quickly, looking for a window, any means inside. His eyes fell upon the wall at last, and saw how the stones were badly set and the ivy had twined up it. He ran the short distance to the wall, using his momentum to push him up it several feet before catching a crevice and a ledge with his feet and higher, jutting stones with his hands. Ignoring the pain of his hands as they scraped on sharp and rough granite, he hauled his body up toward the open window. Within, a horrible sight met his eyes. The Lady Aviana crouched over the knight, who lay sprawled on the floor wearing naught but his linen tunic. At the cavalier's head stood a wizened, withered man, his clawlike hands arched over the knight's face in a posture of mesmerization. The lady herself became more and more unlike a human with every passing moment, until, at last, a raven winged free of her courtly garb to perch on a nearby bedpost. Mesmerized himself, already drenched to the bone by the cold rain, Robert watched the knight sit up slowly and turn to face the wizard. "I should have known it was you, Naigan," the knight said in a strained, harsh voice as his body performed as the mage indicated with gestures, like a puppet on strings. "It was too perfect." "Ah, Fairfax, you are too kind," the hideous visage cackled. The knight stripped off his tunic and lay on the bed. The burning eyes of the wizard looked up finally at Robert. "Come in, boy. Come in out of the rain." When Robert glanced down, wondering how quickly he could descend and escape, the ancient man said, "Don't, if you value your life." The farmboy clambered in finally, the hail that began to pummel his back convincing him to obey the necromancer. He stood, dripping and shivering, at the foot of the bed. "I would bet that this rogue has told you nothing of himself, eh, my boy?" the man inquired. Robert became aware of the heavy accent in the ancient voice and, intrigued despite his fear, he peered into the weathered parchment face. The features were dark, powerful, alien, the eyes deep pits of despair, loss, and rage. The man stared back, his gaze piercing the boy's soul. "You're a victim to his curse too." The old man nodded sagely, rubbing his hands together idly, massaging twisted fingertips. "He is Fairfax, Baron of Sudengaard, youngest child of the Earl of the North. By all rights and accounts, another meaningless noble." The knight snarled, unable to wrest his body upright. "Were you born under an unlucky star, Fairfax?" the mage asked. "Did your mother consort with demons? All my searches and scrying cannot reveal the nature of the curse you claim." "And never will!" he yelled, managing to lift his head for emphasis. The necromancer gestured, and the knight's head slammed back down. "He travelled as a Crusader into my homelands," the wizard continued. "And there fell upon my family in a frenzy of evil, in the name of his god." "Heathen!" spat Fairfax. "I have sought revenge ever since," the elderly man explained simply, ignoring the outburst, "never quite being able to catch up to his movements, never being able to predict the next turn. But he learned better than to return to his miserable home. Therefore this," one slippered foot emerged from the density of robes and kicked the black-draped shield to the floor, "and 'his great quest.'" "I quest to cure my curse!" the noble cried helplessly. "You should have done that before you ever Crusaded. Your people have done so much harm anyway, they certainly didn't need your help to be uncivilized brutes." "Infidel!" "Savage." "Diabolist!" "I suspect," the old man said, almost kindly, "that you have more knowledge of that realm than I. And now," he continued, ignoring the knight's sputtering in anger, "I bestow my own curse upon you. In some manners, it may be considered a blessing as well, though, with your temperment, I suspect not." He made a few passes in the air. "The knowledge of the nature of the curse is with you. Do as you will, knight. And you, boy, you may remain with this monster or no, it is up to you. I stake no claim on your life for the misfortune of being part of this creature's path." He shrugged gently and raised a hand. The raven fluttered to perch upon it. "Now I bid you both farewell. Fairfax, only your demons pursue you now." With that, man, raven, room and all vanished. Robert stood in the freezing downpour over his master's nude form. The bay approached and nuzzled both in turn, looking slightly bewildered. The knight sat up slowly and blinked up at the farmboy through the rain. "I never meant to hurt anyone, not that way," he said, seeming as bewildered as the horse and perhaps somewhat more confused. "I really am trying to get the curse lifted." "I believe you, m'lord," Robert replied, shivering at the cutting wind and the memory of the night before -- and how he had responded to the brutality with exhausting pleasure. "Robert," Fairfax whispered hoarsely. Then he shook himself and looked around. "Ah, we need shelter. This storm is mad." Nearby stood the dilapidated remains of what had probably once been a barn. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, but other parts still stood firm against the elements. Robert snatched up Fairfax's clothes and armor, then pulled his master to his feet. "Come on, m'lord. You'll catch your death." The knight stooped to snatch up the tack. Jial followed the pair into the ruins. They silently rubbed down the horse with Robert's rough blanket, fearing the beast's sickness and not knowing exactly where they were. After that, they dried themselves as best they could and started a tiny fire from debris on what must have once been an anvil stone. They huddled together under Fairfax's blanket near their cheerful little blaze. Robert could not help the feelings of comfort and warmth he drew from the knight's muscular body so close beside him. All the terror of the evening melted away in the golden light with a single meeting of their eyes. The cerulean gaze of the noble bound the farmboy's dark eyes to him, and somehow, miraculously, their lips came together. A gentle heat built between them. The noble's bare skin was hot and velvety, his muscles and body beneath it hard. His tiny, tight nipples peaked under his golden fur. Robert's hands began to wander, really touching his lover for the first time, feeling the steel cord of the cavalier's back, the firm, hard muscles beneath, the masterful power of his shoulders and thick neck, the glory of his solar hair. They pressed against each other, their legs tangling, their cocks silkily wrestling. One hot hand closed around Robert's throbbing rod, eliciting a cry of surprise from the squire. The knight chuckled low and began to stroke him slowly, squeezing from base to tip, milking a small bead of clear liquid to the tip. With a practiced flip of the wrist, Fairfax swept that jewel into his hand and down along the length. His thumb pressed up the underside to rest in the niche just under the head, working another droplet, and another, and another out. Robert moaned, the sensation of another hand pulling on him so expertly setting every nerve afire. "My lord," he gasped at last, falling back onto the floor, leaving himself open for the cavalier's ministrations. Fairfax continued to build a painfully slow rhythm of strokes. The farmboy's cock gleamed darkly in the firelight. The baron tugged gently downward on Robert's tightening testicles, then leaned down to lave the smooth skin there with his tongue. The sudden heat, the soft and hard touch together, set Robert's back into a powerful arch as he pushed his hips upward with an incoherent cry. The peasant looked down at the noble who now licked gingerly at the base of his blood-heavy manhood. Their eyes met around the breadth of the swollen rod, and then Fairfax moved up Robert's body, releasing his grip and letting their skins slide sweatily against one another. Their lips met again, and Robert could taste his own sweat on his master's tongue. The knight's powerful thighs straddled his waist. When the hand closed on his cock again, Robert's eyes opened, startled, and then he began to struggle to break the kiss so he could say something as he felt the head guided against a hot cleft. The wiry hairs there tickled the sensitive crown as Fairfax pressed it back and forth along the furrow. The knight's teeth clenched gently on Robert's lower lip, but did not prevent him from whispering, "My lord?" As the words came from his mouth, Fairfax pressed back, pushing Robert's broad tip into himself. The squire's eyes went wide as the heat made him gasp and the tightness of those powerful muscles gripped at him. "My lord!!!" he cried, bucking his hips upward uncontrollably, thrusting more of his considerable length into the noble. Fairfax grunted, his eyes closed tightly, biting his own lip now. Robert could feel the body on top of him relax in a manner more suggestive of force of will than anything else. Of a sudden, the knight pushed back, sinking the rest of Robert into him. He sighed, and holding himself tightly crouched, threw his weight to the right, bringing himself onto his back and Robert on top of him. The farmboy's cock slipped out in the motion, but Robert, finding himself in control, pushed back in immediately. Fairfax caught his own legs under the knees to hold his hips upward. With adolescent fervor, Robert began to stroke in and out of the noble. The first several minutes of this relentless thrusting left Fairfax weak-kneed and pale with pain. At last, he managed to lift himself so that Robert was pushing at a different angle. Fairfax let out a cry at the first tentative jab there, his face transforming with sudden pleasure. Robert pushed and pulled, trying for the same spot again, and finally elicited a similar cry. The knight's cock, which had lapsed flaccidly against his belly, began to stir again. Robert began to thrust hard and fast, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Fairfax cried out his name, which spurred him on to his last spasm before he felt his scrotum contract and his legs and back seize. An explosion of ecstasy struck him between the legs, shot up his spine, trembled his body with its force. Liquid heat shot the length of his cock into the knight, who clenched down on the length inside him. He screamed, his body racking into Fairfax, out of control. At last, he collapsed forward, senseless. The gentle hand of the noble stroke his tousled hair for a few moments. The farmboy's limp rod slid out of his lover, the remaining spasms tickling the head almost painfully, waking him from his stupor. He crawled backwards off Fairfax, letting the other lower his legs. The pale, veined sceptre rose from its base of golden fleece as the baron did so, and Robert, gratitude swelling with desire, seized upon it with his lips. Fairfax groaned, pushing deeper into the warm, liquid mouth of the squire. The very edges of teeth scraped lightly past, stimulating as much as threatening. He seized Robert's head and began to thrust up. Robert pulled and sucked at his master's swelling sword, moving his tongue against the underside, flicking against the lower edge of the crown in a way that drew gasps from the knight. The taste was fresher than the first time, muskier and darker than the last time, the sweat diluted with rainwater. The noble pushed up hard, pulling Robert's face down to touch the thatch of gold and groaned, letting forth a jet of hot, slithery seed. The sharp scent/taste hit the roof of Robert's mouth and a joy of familiarity seized him. He relentlessly squeezed and pulled at Fairfax's rod, swallowing greedily. At last, he pulled off, letting the length slid from his grasp with a soft popping sound. He lay his head on his master's hip, and the strong patrician hand stroked his hair. "Thank you, my lord," he enunciated finally. "You're very welcome, my squire," Fairfax replied softly. "'Twas a lovely show," a strange male voice said. "Will you not include us in your fun?" They spun, dismayed, Fairfax scrabbling for his sword. (to be continued) -- +--------------' 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> /