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From: "Hildegarde Bingen" <hildegardeb@hotmail.com>
Subject: Conquest (mf, sca)
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	I was a new fighter, scarcely knew which end of the sword to hold. He 
was a knight, my baron, and currently my king, and I had an admiration 
for him that bordered on worship...

	He was determined that I would learn the basics, and of course, I'd 
asked him to teach me. And after that, I found myself at his home, 
fifteen miles outside the city limits, each and every evening, where I 
learned under his tutelage and the amber glow of the floodlights in his 
yard. The first week we'd spent on stance. I was a fencer, and Olympic 
hopeful, and I wanted that fencing stance that was all wrong for heavy 
weapons. He wanted me to stand up straighter, tuck my as under me, keep 
my shield up, my sword arm in... and he made me walk, in stance, along a 
painted line on the ground, hitting me savagely across both ass cheeks 
with his sword if I forgot and stood wrongly. I learned.

	Next week had been spent on the pells, learning how to throw a blow, 
how to snap the sword over in my hand, sending it crashing against the 
wooden post, but still relaxing the fingers so that the shock wouldn't 
jar the length of rattan out of my fist. He stood behind me, shouting, 
telling me over and over to lead with my hip, to throw each blow with 
the force of my center. After a while, he stood closer, his hips against 
my ass, using his body to thrust my hip forward as I struck, and 
sometimes slapping the offending side of my ass with a war-strengthened 
hand. And I learned.

	This week we sparred, he in only a helm, me in helm, kidney belt, 
gorget and soft pads... standard full armor, so long ago. He was not 
getting the response he wanted, I wouldn't move as rapidly as he 
demanded, couldn't seem to coordinate shield and sword and watch where 
he was, all at the same time. And so he set me a penalty. If he defeated 
me, if I didn't move and think and coordinate, I would suffer a medieval 
woman's fate, who was defeated on the field. A little history, a little 
Robert E. Howard? I would agree no matter what the penalty was, he was 
my lord, knight, baron, king. And soon again, in my newness, I became 
flustered, forgot where I was, took the hard sword blow to the thigh and 
dropped to my knees... but then he was upon me, tearing his helm off and 
throwing it away, and he had bowled me over on the ground, taking my 
helm off, pressing rough kisses against my lips, bruising them, while he 
tore my pants down around my ankles, shredded my garments away from my 
white, soft skin, then flipping me over to lie face down in the grass, 
one knee in the small of my back preventing me from rising as he freed 
his long, thick, hardening cock. He forced me up on my knees, then 
thrust his cock into my ass with no preparation, raping me anally, 
forcing me as the war-defeated, making me take his shaft all the way. 
But he didn't expect that I would be so wet, that each time he'd struck 
me earlier had aroused me, that the wet flood of slippery juices would 
have slid down to drench my tight asshole, to make it ready for his 
assault, or did he? There was no pain, I opened for him like the gates 
of a walled city being unbarred for a conqueror. He rammed his cock into 
me hard, pounding against the bruises that he's laced across my ass, his 
strong hands reaching beneath me to pinch my nipples equally savagely. 
My tunic was in shreds around my waist, the sleeves pinioning my arms, 
helpless, and I had to take it, wanted to take it, knew I wanted to have 
him come inside my ass more than I'd ever wanted anything.

But he stopped, and wouldn't give me that moment of hot release. Rising, 
he dragged me up with him, the twisted cloth around my arms a slave's 
bonds as he led me into his house. He took me to his bedroom, and 
finished stripping me bare, and left me, hands tied more neatly with 
soft cord, bent ass-up across his bed. The rosebud-asshole burned from 
its recent violation, just as my cheeks burned with a hot flush at the 
embarrassing position I was in, and did not dare move from. He was in 
the bathroom, I could hear water running, and soon he had returned to 
survey his conquest - he was naked, muscled, dark and saturnine, his 
long black hair falling around his shoulders. He dragged me off the bed, 
making me kneel in front of a chair at the bedside. He seated himself, 
his russet-red erection bobbing in front of my eyes, and he seized my 
hair in his fists and made me take him in my mouth. I was no virgin, as 
he surely knew (rumors do fly), I wanted his cock. As I wanted, needed, 
loved the swordplay for its roughness, its pain, its raw and naked 
aggression that acted as a release. I loved the way he handled me now, 
wanted it, needed it for its raw, naked aggression... As he drove his 
cock into my mouth, he told me how he'd been watching me, knew of my 
arousal, knew that I wanted his cock. And he was right. I wanted it when 
I first asked him to teach me. I sucked, teasing his cock with my 
tongue, licking the head, driving my lips all the way down the shaft and 
up again, gripping the swelling head between my lips, teasing the 
opening with my tongue before plunging down upon it again. He let me 
continue, taking it, guiding my head, but I was young, unpracticed in 
this art, my cheek-muscles tiring. He knew that, and let me up.

As I knelt there before him, eyes down (actually, I watched his cock 
with all the mesmerized fascination of the rabbit for the cobra), he 
asked me what I wanted. I told him, simply, that I wanted him to take 
me, however he wanted me, that I was his captive and would do as I was 
told. Peeking up through the veil of my hair, I could see his smile, 
before he sent me to stand at the edge of the bed. I did as I was told, 
and he made me bend over the high edge of the old bed. He untied my 
hands, and made me place them, fingers laced, behind my neck. Then he 
spread my legs just so, and admired the picture I presented to him. He 
asked me if I wanted to be whipped. I told him that he was the master, I 
would follow his will. He leaned close down beside me, and asked again, 
asking me if I took pleasure from the pain. I was red-faced again as I 
told him that yes, it was so. His tongue belt was near at hand, and this 
he took up, looping the buckle end around his fist, and standing back 
away from the bed. The whistling sound of it cutting through the air 
acted as if it were a tongue upon my nipples, a vibrator throbbing 
against my clit. The leather came cracking down across my ass, once, 
twice, and again, until after the third I couldn't keep my hands from 
futile efforts at covering the tender flesh. He tore my hands away, and 
then placed them back behind my head. He asked me, quietly, what it was 
that I wanted. I answered that his cock was all I desired, and that I 
would do anything to have it inside me. He asked me where I wanted it, 
and I refused to answer, stubbornly leaving that choice to him. 

He stood back again, and long moments passed while I waited, until 
finally the belt came whistling back across my ass again, harder than 
ever. I trembled with the effort of not moving, but again, after the 
third blow I couldn't keep my hands from trying to shield my tender, red 
behind. He stopped, and in that kind, courteous voice, asked me again 
what it was that I wanted. Your cock, lord, please, I begged him. 
Silence greeted my entreaties. Frantically, lest the whipping begin 
again, I told him what I wanted. I could hardly force it out of my 
mouth, the words creeping on a whispered breath. He was not so easily 
placated, asking me to repeat what I had said, and louder. I told him 
that I was his, to use as he would, but that if he would give me the 
choice, I would take his cock in my ass.

He walked closer, leaning his cool thighs against my hot, well-marked 
ass. The long length of leather he held before me, and indicated that I 
was to take the middle part between my teeth, gag and reins all in one. 
Then I could feel his hand, sliding back to seize his cock, guiding the 
hard shaft to my tight opening. He set the tip only against the rosebud, 
and waited. I moaned, low and deep in my throat, wanting it. He took up 
the leather strap, one end held in each fist, and pulled me back upon 
his rod, and it slid inch by slow inch into my ass. Once his cock was 
fully in me, he held still for a moment, and took up the slack on the 
strap, pulling my head up sharply. Then he started to stroke into me, 
slowly, gently. I wanted it rough, like he had taken me in the yard, but 
he took his time, caressing with his big hard cock. I found and matched 
his rhythm, and we moved for a moment as one. Gradually the pace 
increased, until he was pounding into me, and I was screaming around the 
leather, rocking back to meet him. Suddenly he let out an eerie moan, 
and I could feel the burning come shooting into my ass. Still he rode 
me, taking me harder than ever, finally shouting that I was to come. 
That was apparently all my body waited for, for on the heels of his 
permission my orgasm overtook me, causing me to moan and writhe and 
scream and buck, and at last to slide down onto the bed in contented 
silence...

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