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