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From: RussellMagill@aol.com
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Subject: {ASSM} Lord R and Lady M 1/? {Rusty Magill}(Romance/sex)
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Date: Wed, 01 Feb 2006 03:10:09 -0500
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Lord R and Lady M 1/? {Rusty Magill}(Romance/sex)

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, light brown hair, haunting brown 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 sllightly 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 have made me a baby."  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 
Margaret.  "I will be back soon, my love." 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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