Message-ID: <47521asstr$1082358602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: RustyMagill@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} The Lord and the Lady
Lines: 161
Date: Mon, 19 Apr 2004 03:10:02 -0400
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The Lord and the Lady


The wind was blowing the heavy drapes at the stone casement window.  The 
heavy tapestries that lined the wall, moved so slightly as to be unnoticiable.  
Pictures of lions and dragons and maidens walking in gardens, knights in battle 
armor, some bright and other dull colored with age, woven into the fabric.  
Sparks flew into the air from the large open fireplace.  Logs as thick as a 
maids waist were piled on the grate, a bed of sparks underneath.  The wind was 
whipping the flames and the red light they threw on the walls and the room, 
flickered and danced across the tapestries.
       A few stool in front of the fire, two large wooden dressers and a huge 
bed covered with thicks blankets were the sparse furniture in the room.  A 
night bucket and a small table with a pitcher and bowl and goblets completed the 
furnishings.
       Through the open window white flakes of snow, swirled and then turned 
to drop of moisture as they neared the fireplace.  The earlier moon now long 
gone and stars hidden from the windows dark outline.
       A whoosh of wind and a pop of sparks the only sounds breaking the 
silence of the ebony night.  Behind the heavy wooden door, merriment still fills 
the lower rooms and the grand hall.
       On the bed a soft expulsion of air and then a slight movement of the 
coverlet.  Again the sound and movement.  Then an arm reddened by the fires 
glow, reaches and pull the covers over the soft brown curly hair.  Just the crown 
of fine hairs are seen in the shadows of the bed, and an outline of a body 
under the covers.  
       Slowly the door open, creaking on old hinges.  And framed in the door 
is the outline of a tall man.  Walking in soft leather shoes, he advances to 
the table and pours bright red wine into a goblet.  Sitting on  a stool in 
front of the fire, he sips the cool liquid.  Thinking maybe he should have warmed 
it, as a cool breeze of snow wrestles with the sparking flames.  His soft 
doeskin blouse and pants, can't keep his body from shivering  and dots of moisture 
spots his back as the snow turns to rain with the heat.
       Dark brown eyes, topped by bushy eyebrows look deep into the burning 
logs, thinking of his lady.  A flush of red fills his face, a combination of 
wine and mead and remembrance of the touch of her hand and a brushing of hips as 
they danced to the swirl of the bagpipe and the haunting airs of the flute.
       His lady a tall girl, now woman, red hair, haunting green eyes.  The 
lips turned up in a smile, full red lips.  So beautiful in her emerald gown, 
the bodice laced but showing the creamy tops of her sweet honey dew breasts.  
The tight waist and the flaring hips making her gown flow with the lightness of 
her feet in the dance.  Soft white slippers, soundless in there step.  So 
young compared to the lord, who was working on the years of his second fifty.  He 
was tall, and filled his tunic well, the easy years softening with age his 
body.  Brown hair, tinged with grey, a salt and pepper mustache.  Brown eyes, 
serious and lips rarely showing the humor that twinkled behind his eyes.
       Ah.  It was short hours ago the merriment was full, but as all must 
end and as the women and girls retired to their chambers, and the hall cleaned 
of food and drink, the men now talking of the morrow and all that must be done.
       Yea.  That I may have climbed the long stairs to the turretroom, with 
my ladies arm in mine.  That we might have entered the chamber and in the 
firelight looked into each others eyes and then touched lips.  And slowly disrobe 
and retire to the warmth off the featherdown.  But those nights are long gone 
and this merriment of tonight just a brief and hollow enjoyment of what was 
and now may never be again.
       Putting his goblet on the table, he removes belt and dagger.  Pulling 
his blue tunic over his head, muscles softly ripple in the dim light.  
Unknotting his pants they slide down his long legs and a shiver shakes his body as a 
gust of air caresses and kisses his flesh.
       Walking over to the bed, he reaches down and slowly pulls the covers 
till a white forehead and then  closed eyelids and the small nose and the red 
slash of lips, the soft expelling of air, parting them.  A white fragile chin, 
and a long white neck,  the soft pulsing of a vein, a moving fine line down to 
the white mounds of breast and the soft white gown with the square neck.  
Cleavage hinted at, sinks to the line of the square and embroidered flowers 
colorful in the red light, as flames leap in responce to the wind.   The gown tight 
at the waist and then flowing over the mound and rounded hinted thighs.  A 
shiver of her torso and then goose bumps appear on the bare arms, long and 
slender.  Long fingers neatly trimmed.  
       The short gown does not cover the long white legs as knees dimpled and 
then finely turned calves.  And finally strong feet large but in proportion 
to the tall woman.  
       Leaning over the man brushes his lips to the closed eyelids and then a 
quick kiss to the nose,  nuzzling at the soft white innocent flesh of the 
neck column.  Kissing and oh so lightly sucking at the flesh.  A soft moan 
escapes the slightly parted lips.  Reaching with a hand, he touches the cheek and 
slowly his fingers trace the line to her chin and then the back of his fingers 
trace of the other side, pushing a whisp of hair.  Brushing back the hair, a 
delicate shell of ear, fragile and inviting.  Lips touch and then suck gently at 
the lobe.  Another moan escapes as the head twist slowly towards the window.  
Pullilng the hair away, the lips caress the flesh betwist neck and shoulder.  
The suction leaving a red oval mark, as the lips part and a tongue tip 
briefly tests the air.  Eyelids flutter.  A  chill shakes the body, shoulder to 
foot.  
       Under the chin a nibble and then a series of kisses to the top of the 
valley of creamy bosom flesh.  His tongue probes the valley gently, the flesh 
yielding to the sides.  At the top of the gown a kiss to each mound, and a 
finger lifting the material.  A soft blowing of breath and the red tips reach to 
the moon.  Nipples hard and growing swell and indent the material of the top.  
A tongue laps at the material and wets the covered nipples.  As they grow 
further, teeth lightly nip and a groan is the reward.  A movement of hand to her 
chest and another flicker of eyelids.  Fingering rolling her left nipple, 
evoke  more response as her other hand reaches to her bosom.
       Laying there hands somewhat covering her breasts, raising and falling 
to her breathing, now faster and more pronounced.  Hand now  reaches down to 
her ankle and fingers now caress the leg and calve and squeezes the knee and 
then the velvety flesh of inner thigh.  Inching up slowly pushing the hem of the 
gown so every slowly up to the joining of leg and torso.  Brushing across the 
soft folds of her pubes to the small patch of hair above her womanhood.  
Gently curling the hair and then leaning over and kissing the lips, slightly 
parted.  
       With a hand pressuring gently against a knee, her legs spread slightly 
open.  The slit running between her parted legs.  The lips open to the 
questing finger that traces the line of moisture.  A moan escapes and then another 
as the finger traces up and down the wet slit.  Lips swell and fold out, as the 
finger is deep to a knuckle and then dipping down sinks to a second knuckle.  
Eyelids flutter and then for a moment unfoucused brown orbs stare and then 
are cover by the soft membrane.  Moans are steady as the finger probes in and 
out slower sinker deeper into the warm moist flesh.  Pulling his finger free, he 
lifts it to his mouth and suck at the taste.  
       His reaction, beating a light tattoo on the bed.  With no resistance, 
her thighs yielded to the insistent fingers that separated them.  Light for 
his weight, the man climbed onto the bed and then leaning forward, his manhood 
entered the well oiled tunnel of the maiden.  Smoothly it sunk to its hilt, 
like a sword in a scabbord.  A groan or a loud moan, issued from the parted lips 
and again the eyes flashed open for a brief second.  Lifting her legs till the 
were raised bent in the air, the older man sunk his shaft again and again 
into the swollen pink lips.  The fire reflecting on the lips made them bright red 
with the flickering of light.  
       Pursed breathing and a flaring of nostrils and then the legs clamped 
around the hips of the impassioned man.  As he leans over the girl, hands clasp 
his wrists and looking down, he stares into the hot gaze of his lady love.   
Leaning forward their lips meet and tongues duel and then his tongue his drawn 
deeply into her mouth, matching the deepness of his hard organ in her hot 
pussy.   
       Matching rhythm of tongue and cock.  A warm reception greeted each 
stroke as hot flesh squeezed each shaft.  As the pace quickened moans, continuous 
breathed from mouth to mouth.  Then in a heated rush, fluid spewed deep into 
her womb.  Again and again, as her thighs tightened and milked the last warm 
drop from the mushroom head.  Then as he stroked her thighs tightened and pussy 
squeezed hard and her hips shook his body, like a dog shaking a bone.  A long 
low moan soft and then growing in timbor filled the room and echoed into the 
night air.  Slowly she subsided and then lay still as he lay on her warm body.
       Still filled with his softening cock, they lay welded tight to each 
other, lips one set nipples hard small and large.  Hips fitted as thought they 
were one person.
       Looking deep into his eyes as she broke contact with his lips, she 
whispers, "you are a good man."   Tears fill her eyes and reaching up the old man 
savors their taste, as water fills his eyes.
       The morning comes quick and the chill in the air deep.  Dressed in 
full armor, Lord Russell leans over from his steed and kisses the sweet lips of 
Lady Pauline.  "I will be back soon, my sweetness." are his words as pennants 
flying in the stiff breeze the column of riders and footsoldier pass through 
the raised gate.
      
       
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