From: kchap@ripco.com (Dryada)
Subject: To Dissuade a Knight of the Realm (m/f, romantic, "magick")
Date: Tue, 26 Dec 1995 08:19:08 GMT

		  To Dissuade a Knight of the Realm
				  by
				Dryada

	These stories are true, and are real events in my real life.
Occasionally I will take "artistic license" with the facts, either to
fill in a fading memory or smooth out a plot, but these embellishments
will be minor.

	Yes, I do lead an "interesting life", but bear in mind that
these are stories collected over twenty-five years of being sexually
active. I have also strategically changed the names of others in these
stories when it seemed appropriate and necessary, so as to avoid
embarrassing the life out of friends who may be reading this
newsgroup.

	I am a "strong" woman who (generally) knows what she wants,
and is often sexually aggressive in those circumstances. If you are
looking for stories with women "talking dirty" or enjoying being
treated like a whore (though I have issues with prostitutes being
treated in that manner, as well), don't look here. I am not even sure
that you will find the phrase "fuck me" in my writings, which though I
don't consider talking dirty, I don't recall ever saying, off the top
of my head. I guess it sound like a demand to me, and doesn't seem
appropriate in a joyful setting. For someone who has been involved in
(generally gentle) bondage, threesomes, a few "group" activities, and
sex with transvestites, I have a very "clean" mind, basically a sex is
good, sex is healthy sort of attitude. I guess it has something to do
with growing up in the 60's. But I like to experiment. But you'll find
all that out.

	I have entertained many a friend with the "stories of my
life," and now I am going to entertain you. Enjoy.

	This particular story has a particularly long plot buildup, so
if you are looking for a quick rush to the sex scenes, you may want to
continue to the next story... it's just the nature of the tale.  When
I joined the Society for Creative Anachronism, women were just
beginning to fight. With many SCA members, particularly certain male
fighters or peers, it was still "controversial". Long arguments would
be held as to whether there were actually any female fighters of any
kind during the Society "period", i.e., 600 A.D. to 1650 A.D.  Slowly
the evidence was piling up, as people dug into their history and
pulled out female knights, leaders of various kinds, pounded the
doubting over the head with Joan of Arc (but she was an "exception"!)
etc., but movement among some segments was slow. They just didn't want
to believe it, and they didn't want to train women to fight. It guess
it spoiled the romance for them if they faced women ON the "field of
honor" instead of just fighting for their lady's honor.

	Now, there were plenty of people willing to train, armour and
aid women to become fighters, the largest segment in the Midrealm
(that's the Midwest in SCA terms) being the Dark Horde and their
friends. The Dark Horde were the Society's "bad boys" (and girls),
based loosely on the Mongol Horde which swept over Asia and parts of
Europe under Genghis Khan and his son during the 12th and 13th
centuries. The original formation of the SCA Dark Horde had been
basically for the purpose of thumbing noses at the "courtly manners"
and clickish behavior of the "peers of the realm". They caused
trouble, they were outrageous, and yet they held a code of "honor"
that occasionally made the "chivalry" of some knights look rather
two-faced and empty.

	Wilde Bill, a friend of the Horde (and my friend), helped me
make my armour and my first helmet, and for a while an informal
fighting practice of mostly women who he was trying to "talk into"
fighting met in his back yard. Bill was a "true enthusiast" for the
idea of women fighters, and he enjoyed his work. Many hours were spent
in his basement pounding steel, leather and kydex plastic into
breastplates (Bill's favorite task) and guards. Nobody minded his
quips about the attributes of his proteges, or his occasional friendly
back rub and quick "feel". Bill wasn't pushy, and he would give you
the shirt of his back in a second if he thought you needed it for your
armour.

	It took me a long afternoon to make my kydex breastplate.
First, I had to make a paper pattern. Bill helped with that, holding
the paper up against me and marking the area to be covered. "Oh, I
love having an excuse to feel women up, particularly ones with such
nice, big breasts" he said (I am a D cup, not astounding, but not
small either). Then I cut the kydex to the pattern. After heating the
kydex up, Bill placed it on me to form the general pattern, with more
cute quips and light sexual touching. I giggled a lot when I worked
with Bill, and he always complemented me on how good I was at
everything. Sometimes I got that he didn't bother to check if I really
was good at what I was doing, but it seemed he was telling the truth
about what I did with armour making. I have a good strong, steady
stroke with a hammer, and am good at detail work.

	Next step was the softball. Putting the mostly hardened
breastplate back into the oven until it softened just a bit, then
pulling it out and using ALL my strength and weight, I leaned on one
breast spot then the other, while the kydex hardened back up, making
the depression big enough that there would be room to put padding and
to have empty air between a blow and my breasts. "It needs to be a lot
bigger there, wouldn't want my favorite things to be damaged!" More
quips from Bill. It took several passes at this till Bill was secure
in the knowledge that his "favorite things" would not be damaged.

	Eventually, though, the bunch at Bill's house dwindled, and I
started attending one of the "regular" fighting practices, which meant
putting up with the occasionally hostile "Kingdomer" knight and his
squires who didn't like the idea of women fighters, or the rank newbie
male who was just astounded. I needed to learn to fight with men
present anyway, but it was a pain. At least at the north end practice
I was attending women were officially welcome, unlike the only other
one I knew of on the south end of Chicago, where the people running
the practice had an attitude.

	So, when a knight moved to the Chicago area from Tennessee,
and declared he was going to hold a "women's fighting practice" in a
Western Suburb and offered all sorts of help getting there, etc., we
were all enthusiastic, at first. Here was someone who said they were
willing to train people who had been to a LOT of tournament fighting
and won more than a few of them. That's how you get to be a knight,
after all.

	Once I got there, though, things were "not as they seemed". It
soon became clear that Sir Gregory thought that holding a women's
fighting practice was not merely "a great way to meet women," which no
one would have thought less of him for, but he also seemed to hold the
opinion that we were all now "his". He particularly seemed clueless in
regards to me. I really wouldn't have classified myself as the
prettiest woman there, at five feet tall, long dark brown hair and
brown eyes, slightly overweight but shapely, I am definitely more than
"cute," but not a fashion model either. l was perhaps the most
"exciting" in the sense that I am a strong minded and flamboyant
individualist. Or maybe he just liked my fighting style, I don't know.
I communicated multiple levels of "no". I ducked his grasps, removed
his hands from my thighs, told him "don't do that" about various
attempts to paw my breasts, arms, etc. I told him flat out I wasn't
interested, and he still kept trying. Unlike Wilde Bill's "friendly
interest," his intent was obviously predatory, he wanted more than
just to appreciate. After about two practices I decided I had had
enough, and stopped attending.

	However, this was not to be my last encounter with Sir
Gregory. Soon after the fighting practice disasters, I was attending a
Ceilidh, an SCA event held outdoors during the summer on a piece of
land in Wisconsin. I had planned to meet Rick, one of my lovers, at
the event, and we were going to share my tent, but he had already
warned me he was either going to already be there or he would arrive
in the morning. Our group rolled in at ten o'clock at night, after the
sun was down, and a practiced crew was waiting to get luggage handled
and tents set up quickly in the dark. The members of the Society are
efficient and show forethought in such things. Much to my horror, Sir
Gregory had volunteered to be in charge of the set-up crew, and
planted MY tent within twenty feet of his, without so much as a "would
this be o.k., Milady." There was nothing to be done about it, you
don't chew people out for setting up your tent for you, especially
when they are doing it in the dark of night. He seemed pleased with
himself. Something in my mind started to snap. He was going to "get
it" that his interest was not welcome, and that I wasn't "his".

	I changed into my red garb. Hours had been spent researching
and then carefully planning just the "right" sort of outfit, my
persona was "early period," but that didn't mean the construction
needed to be crude. The cut and materials were simple, but striking.
Soft red cotton was gathered with folds in the back and front, and
joined at the neckline in the front to the arm pieces. The neckline
was a "softened" square, showing the off the tops of my ample bosom,
and decorated with Celtic fingerweaving in red and white. The sleeves
billowed slightly, but were gathered at the wrists with a gold and
white trim. A red sash cinched the waist, and was decorated with a
pair of old buckles made of gold-colored openwork metal and studded
with amethysts. Close around my neck I wore a heavy chain-like piece
of gold-colored junk jewelry that did a passing imitation of a druid's
collar. I was going out to hunt. My blade was on my sash.

	I started by trying to find Rick. As I asked around, I ran
across an enigmatic figure, a tallish pale-skinned blonde man dressed
in a black kimono and a Japanese-style straw hat. Obviously a
Hordesman, from his "peasant" affectation and his choice of black.
Since Richard also had an "alternate" Japanese persona, perhaps he
knew him.

	"Have you seen Dick the Tinker?" I asked for him by his SCA
name.

	A lilting tenor voice answered me, "No, why don't we go take a
look around the camp?"

	I was already just a bit enchanted, first by his presence, and
then his voice. Then he moved. Gracefully, like a dancer, or a fighter
who had studied the martial arts forms. As his pale blue eyes drew me
in, I could see his aura about him, bright yellow-gold, full and far
extending. Standing this close was like being in the sun's full heat.

	We talked about our personas, fighting, and his armor-making,
and whether there was any chance of finding Rick as we walked. His
main persona was a "Brother Gilbert", a Knights Templar. After several
inquiries, we decided Rick was no where to be found, and unlikely to
show. We stood by the main campfire and talked. I basked in the
presence of the sun, and listened intently to his lovely, lilting
voice.

	Then she came up, and put her arm around him. The sun went
out! His face fell. His shoulders hunched. This lady was a bit extra-
large, and though it wasn't her fault, he obviously wasn't interested
and felt a bit "put upon". I didn't know what sort of history this
non-relationship had, but I knew what I wanted to do, I did not like
this suddenly blackened aura. I put my arm around the other side of
him. He stood up straight, and the sun was back, shining golden again,
as his eyes shined and he looked into mine with a big smile.

	Shortly after this brief eclipse and return, he asked me to
join him in a walk to his tent, to get something he needed. We walked
in, and I wrapped both arms around him and gave him a deep kiss,
pressing my body against his. I was in heat! Our tongues and lips did
what we obviously both wanted to do more of, penetrating and sucking
each other deeply. When we stopped for air, though, he said "It is not
that I don't want you, milady, but my tent has other people in it."

	"But I have my own tent, and I am alone," I responded.

	After he wiped the slightly surprised look off his face, he
said, "OK," and we walked over. He smiled broadly, and I skipped a
bit, pleased with myself.

	Inside the tent, I discovered my little "fun time" was going
to be a bit more than that. As we kissed this seemingly shy and
innocent man's hand roamed over my body, through my dress, I realized
I was in for a long, hot night. Every place he touched felt like it
was on fire. His touch was neither too gentle, nor too rough, with no
trace of the timidity for which I had mistaken his gentlemanly
approach. I had said yes, and now he was going to take me at my word,
and take me completely. I shuddered, moaned, and collapsed a bit
against him.

	My visitor gently lowered me to the sleeping bag, quickly
removing my garb over my head. His lips traveled to my breasts, and as
he suckled them vigorously his fingers first cupped, pressed, and then
gently penetrated my vaginal lips. He sucked my breasts harder, and
worked his fingers in and out. I cried and gasped softly, panting,
feeling totally at the effect of his ministrations. In a very few
minutes, my pussy gripped his fingers tightly as I orgasmed.

	While I was still reeling, he kissed a trail down to my
crotch, and planted his mouth over my mound and my still throbbing and
pulsating clit. Quickly I went into orgasm again, as he expertly
tongued and tasted my opening. I cried and moaned a little louder this
time. I felt awash in a sea of pleasure, another universe, the silence
pierced occasionally by my cries.

	As he leaned back, I found enough presence of mind and
awareness of my body to lean forward and enclose his tool in my mouth.
I gently sucked the glans, and ran my tongue along his frenum as I
lowered myself eagerly and gratefully onto his prick. I took as much
as I could into my mouth and sucked vigorously. After my head had
bobbed up and down for a few minutes, however, he interrupted me,
apparently coming in my mouth was not what he had in mind.

	Again he commenced in swallowing my nipples and gently pushed
me backwards as I raised my voice in pleasure. As he mounted me, I was
in sheer ecstasy as his hot prick slid into my awaiting cunt. Every
stroke filled me with both absolute joy, and fear at my
disorientation. I cried, screamed softly, moaned, and came, and came,
and came, as he rode me and drove his penis in and out, in and out,
for a very long time. When he came, I felt every pulsation of his cock
as his jizm spurted into me. I was sobbing hysterically from the
pleasure.

	I fell asleep in his arms, almost immediately. But that was
not to be the "end" of our evening. I found myself awoken numerous
times during the night, sometimes to be pulled astride him to ride his
cock as he fondled every available inch of my torso, sometimes to find
myself being eaten with his feet towards my face, as I grabbed
hungrily to suck his penis. By morning I had lose all sense of shame
or self control, and screamed louder than I knew it was possible for
me to scream for what seemed liked forever as he fucked my cunt hard
and long. I was locked in one continuous, long orgasm that didn't seem
to have an end. When it was finally over, I realized that everyone in
camp now knew I had been thoroughly fucked. Stepping out of the tent
with Gilbert was going to be "interesting".

	We got dressed, stepped out, and he left, noting that Richard
might be here and he had some things to take care of himself, but he
would see me later.

	A few steps outside my tent, I noticed Marek Sundragon, and he
told me the tale of Sir Gregory's morning activities. Apparently, not
being able to sleep (I wonder why... ), he decided to attempt to dig a
firepit, seeing as it was light out. Carefully picking out the spot,
he had gone about the business of pushing in the shovel and removing
the resulting mound of dirt, apparently oblivious to the brass band of
sexual noises a few feet from him. Or so he managed to seem, stoicly
ignoring the sounds, and carefully staring at the spot he had chosen
on the ground, for about three or four shovelfuls. Then he abandoned
the attempt, and threw down the shovel, and just starred at my tent.
He stood there for quite a while... Marek found it all very hilarious,
and enjoyed telling me the tale a great deal. Hearing all this made me
feel a bit less embarrassed about my behavior, as well.

	I was never again "bothered" by Sir Gregory... in fact, he
never again so much as dared to meet my eyes.

	As I toured the camp, looking out on the morning, I was
congratulated by many for my fine "showing". Apparently many people
found this a very pleasant way to be woken up, and thoroughly enjoyed
the "interesting things, happening in the morning" part of the event.
I felt quite the celebrity.

	As the day went on, Rick showed up, and I ran into Gilbert a
few times. They were apparently good friends, and Rick seemed not the
least concerned that I may have spent the night having fun with his
friend, which is what I expected, but was pleased to find was true.

	Later in the morning, it started to rain, and kept up for a
while. Gilbert's tent was a swamp, and he and the rest of his "party"
prepared to leave. I went to say goodbye, prepared to never see him
again. But that wasn't his "style". He insisted on having my address,
telling me he had so few friends, he can't afford to lose any. As he
told me this, and accepted my address, a darkness lifted from my
heart, the darkness of some early dealings with men who just wanted to
fuck and forget a "warm body". I was more than that to him, and he
hardly knew me, as I hardly knew him. But everything I knew, I liked.
In the morning conversations I discovered the major reason I had not
gotten any sleep... I had picked up a nurse who worked night shift. He
also had not had any sex in about six months. Quite a lot of excess
energy to spend, during his awake times, as well.

	He came to visit regularly over the next two years. We had
wonderful times together, but it was not "meant to be" other than a
very loving friendship, we had some very different ideas about some
topics. He got married to someone who he felt `needed' him, and I hope
they are happy. I have lost touch with my golden sun-god with the
expansive aura. I wish him ever well.

					Love, and Balance,

					Dryada