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From: Caintigern O'Niall <Caintigern@deathsdoor.com>
Subject: Knight Errant, MM, hist. fantasy
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This story is one of erotic fantasy, set in a mythical Europe, in a
mythical time.  I make no attempt to portray the realism of the dirt,
grime, and disease of the real era... that's what makes this fantasy. 
It's graphic sex.  If that offends you, there are plenty of other things
you could be reading.  Likewise, it's a story of men having sex with
each other.  If that offends you, there are plenty of other stories you
could be reading.
This work may be freely distributed via electronic media, providing that
this header and the byline is included.  It may not be sold or included
in any work of any sort that might be sold.
Feedback!  The author humbly requests feedback!  If you like this story,
let me know!  If you like these characters and this setting, I have
ideas for continuing the story!  But I need to know!


The Knight Errant

by Caintigern O'Niall

    It was high summer and Robert was in search of the stream at the edge
of his father's field.  The glaring sun was overhead, banishing his
shadow as he strode over the top of the berm that bordered the land.  He
paused at the top, his powerful, sunburnt torso gleaming with sweaty
dust from the fields.  He squinted down the hill at the treeline that
marked the streambank.  Something metal glinted in the sunlight.
    Wary of the brigands who sometimes wandered off the highways, he
skidded down the hill to crouch watchfully behind a bush.  He caught
sight of the metal shine again and looked around quickly for others. 
Assured after several minutes of listening that the only sounds he could
pick out were locusts, the stream and intermittent gentle snores, he
crept forward.
    Reclining on a bed of thick grass in a small clearing was a man in a
chain mail hauberk, the hood pulled back from his head, revealing
short-cropped blond hair.  A broadsword, well made and well cared for,
lay within reach of the man's right hand.  A shield, broad at the top
and narrowing to a point at the bottom, lay nearby, propped against a
tree and noticeably draped in black.  His head was pillowed on a folded
blanket and his left hand was hooked under his neck.  His chest rose and
fell in a slow rhythm, making the links of mail glitter and flash in the
bright beams that filtered through the trees above.
    Robert watched the sleeping knight, for knight he must be.  The man's
right hand lay relaxed by his side, a long, slender, elegant hand, the
hand of a noble.  The farmboy rose quietly and moved farther upstream,
unwilling to disturb the sleeping form.
    There, Robert stripped off his boots and his loose homespun pants and
slid into the cool water.  Blessed relief surged through his tired
limbs.  He was surprised that his back, burnt from the morning's work,
did not sizzle like cooked meat when it touched the water.  He sighed
quietly, then took a deep breath, held his nose, and ducked under the
surface.  He was engulfed in cool silence for a moment before he broke
the surface again, water rivulets pouring off his dark hair.
    He swam around for a while, stretching his cramped muscles.  As he
relaxed, his mind wandered.  The water caressed his balls and cock,
making the curly dark hairs at his groin ripple.  The sensation drew the
recent memory of the pedlar boy  in town up so that it washed over him
in a shiver of strange pleasure.


    Robert watched him from the edge of the crowd in the village square. 
The pedlar's son was helping his father show their wares, scarves and
spices and supposed artifacts from Rome.  The boy was dressed in
brightly colored finery, with gold at his throat and on his fingers, a
display in and of himself.  He was tall and slender, fluid muscle moving
under olive skin, thick black hair tied away from his handsome face. 
The girls and women in the crowd were near swooning over his beauty. 
The pedlar, a coarse, thick man with sensuous lips that hinted at a
beauty like his son's yet long ruined, smiled his gap-toothed grin and
nodded happily as the goodwives spent their hardearned pennies.
    Under his loose, dusty pants, Robert felt a stirring.  The pedlar boy
spun in an impromtu dance for the crowd, who began clapping a rhythm for
him.  The farmboy's cock jumped and pulsed to life as he imagined what
it would be like to strip the bright scarves and shirt and pants from
his slim form, wondering whether his manhood would be as long and
slender as he.
    Robert's father called to him to help unload the wagon.  The farmboy
climbed into the wagon and began hoisting bales down to his older
brother, trying fiercely to fight down the sinful thoughts his idleness
had summoned.
    Near sunset, the wagon was empty.  Robert sat on the end of it, resting
and wiping the sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve.  He looked over
and saw that the pedlar's cart was closed up and the crowd was gone. 
Disappointment flushed his face with embarrassment and frustration.
    "I can tell your fortune," a voice from behind him said.  Robert
whirled to see the pedlar boy who was almost a man, white teeth flashing
a smile in  a smooth, dark face.
    "I've no money," Robert explained nervously, feeling a tenuous surge of
hope and exultation in his breast.
    "We could make other arrangements," he replied, turning and moving like
a panther into a nearby alleyway.  As if enchanted, Robert followed his
scarlet scarf into the darkness.
    In the shadows, Robert felt hot, strong hands slide aroun dhim, and an
equally hot, lithe body press against his front.  There was a warmth and
tingling gathering at his groin.  Warm breath brushed over his ear. 
"For your fortune: You will never marry a woman," the youth whispered in
his thick accent.  "You want this too much."
    Robert was about to pull away, about to snarl something sarcastic, when
a hand grappled at his crotch.  He gasped in surprise and his cock
surged into the hand.  It was massaged roughly through the homespun of
his pants and Robert's hand was pulled to close around a naked erection,
a rod of iron, burning his palm.  Robert whimpered and buried his face
in the boy's neck, in the lush black hair that flowed about the youth's
shoulders.
    "I saw you watching me.  I saw you flush with desire.  Don't deny it,"
the voice whispered harshly.  "You love this.  You could never settle
for anything but a man."
    Robert, fear clenching his stomach and warmth pulsing in his groin,
nodded helplessly.
    "Since you have no silver to cross my palm for your fortune," the hand
pulled hard at Robert's cock, "I will have to cross your tongue with
something else."
    Confused, Robert did draw back that time, only  to feel the hands
settle on his shoulders and push him downward.  He could have easily
resisted, being at least two handbreadths taller and several stone
heavier than the pedlar, but he let him force him to his knees.  The
hands caressed his hair, then down along his jaw through the peachfuzz
beard Robert was trying so desperately to cultivate.  A thumb gently
stroked across his lips.  Something searing hot pressed between his
parted lips.  It was a paradox of feeling, soft and hard at the same
time.  He smelled leather and sweat and spice and musk, a combination
that made his head swim and his breathing speed.  His jaw opened to pant
and the brand at his lips pushed deep into his mouth, thick, curling
hairs tickling his nose.  The scent was stronger as he felt the body
just inches from his face, and the taste made his cock harden painfully,
as if it were about to burst.
    Fingers entwined his hair on either side of his head and the rod was
being pumped in and out of his mouth, oozing a salty treat for the
farmboy's tongue as it stroked over his tongue again and again.  Robert
closed his eyes, not able to see anything in the darkness anyway, and
became part of an entwined whole.  He could feel the pedlar's pulse in
his mouth, hear his fast, gasping breaths as he ground himself into
Robert's helpless mouth.  Robert felt like he was just an orifice and an
aching, throbbing cock.
    The youth cursed suddenly and he jammed his rod to the hilt in Robert's
throat.  Robert choked, his throat convulsing around it, and he felt it
jump and pulse.  Hot, thick, salty fluid gushed into his mouth, filling
it to capacity.  The rod was forced into his violated throat again,
spilling some of of the pedlar boy's seed over his lips to drip off his
chin.  Then it was withdrawn completely.
    Robert fell forward onto his hands, trying to control the retching the
thrusts into his throat had caused.  The boy's hand stroked his hair
briefly and then Robert knew he was alone.


    The memory of the taste that clung to his tongue the entire trip back
from town made Robert's cock surge and jump in the water.  He wrapped
his fist around it and squeezed, feeling it pulse back against the
pressure.  He pulled on it slowly, delighting in the feel of his own
manhood and remembering the way the pedlar's cock felt and tasted as it
ravished his throat.  He rubbed his other hand over his broad chest,
through the sparse hairs that were beginning to sprout.  Unbidden, the
image of the sleeping knight invaded his memory and he was suddenly very
curious about what was hidden beneath the hauberk.
    He drew himself out of the water.  Water coursed off him, by the gallon
it seemed.  His cock bounced in the air, water dribbling out the tip of
his foreskin.  A slight breeze caught him, feeling cool now that he was
wet. 
    Naked, he padded quietly through the trees toward the prone noble.  He
paused as the metallic gleam came into view, only to assure himself with
the snores that were barely audible over the trickle of the stream that
the gentleman was still sleeping soundly.  He moved to be in line with
the feet of the slumbering lord, then crouched to peer at him through
the bushes.
    Moments passed.  A light breeze ruffled Robert's hair, dancing over his
cock.  Finally, his courage rallied, he crept forward quietly, staying
low, the tip of his swollen rod brushing the grass.  He finally saw the
knight's face clearly.  The lord was young, nearly Robert's age, but the
beard on his chin was full and red-gold.  His skin was the pale, pale
white that marked the nobility, and his long golden lashes concealed
eyes Robert was sure were sky blue.  The face was finely chiseled, like
a statue Robert had once seen, the features straight and strong, the
lips sensuous and slightly parted.
    Robert reached forward and carefully took hold of the edge of the chain
mail hauberk, whose skirt extended to just above the knight's knees.  He
slowly lifted it, exposing more and more of the sweat-stained breeches
beneath.  The links slid and jingled a bit, and he froze, watching the
aristocratic features for signs of wakefulness, but the gentle snores
continued.  The hauberk was back past mid-thigh now and Robert was
holding his breath.  The heavy metal moved slowly, shifting in an almost
liquid way.
    Finally, the chain mail was shifted back to rest against the thick
leather girdle that cinched the hauberk tight at the waist.  Robert let
go the edge and let it lay there, exhaling quietly and inhaling again,
staring at the horseman's powerful thighs that stretched the breeches
tight.  He reached for the ties that fastened the breeches and carefully
opened them.  His fingers trembled as he took hold of the flaps of the
fly and tugged them open, exposing a thatch of dark red hair.  His heart
stopped briefly as the man groaned in his sleep and shifted his
shoulders and hips.  Robert caught the heap of chain mail to keep it in
its precarious perch at the cavalier's waist.  Seconds ticked by as
Robert waited after his quarry had settled again.  His eyes were locked
on the man's face, his body frozen in its predatory crouch over his
crotch.  Finally, the snoring resumed, a bit louder this time.  Robert
relaxed, giddy with relief.  He resumed his work.  With a final gentle
tug at the fabric, he exposed the knight's genitals.
    Dark red hair circled the thick, soft, white mass that was the noble
cock, nestled along the man's muscular left thigh.  His balls were
bloated and hairless, resting comfortably in the nook between his legs. 
Robert delicately stroked his finger along and under the cock, freeing
the length completely from the breeches.  The scent of sweat, leather
and horse combined muskily to make Robert's head swim and his own
engorged organ dance.  He bent forward, inhaling the scent cautiously,
like a dog sniffing at a coiled snake.  The aroma was heavy, like it
should be for a man who had been riding for many days.  His hand slid
around it like an old friend and slowly stroked it, watching the thick,
yielding foreskin slide over the rod underneath.  The flesh pulsed and
began to fill with blood, and the tip that was barely visible through
the opening in the sheath turned hard and red and wet.
    The knight moaned, rolling his head from side to side.  Robert was
beyond caring at this point, falling forward onto his knees in the grass
and lunging down to take the patrician penis in his mouth.  His tongue
plunged inside the sheath, licking the salt and musk and piss off the
hidden crown, his work-roughened hands stroking the base and palming the
soft, smooth balls.
    The knight's eyes snapped open and his head raised to gaze in
astonishment at the naked peasant who was sucking the blood into his
cock.  He groaned and threw his head back onto the blanket, his elegant
hands reaching for the boy, sliding over his hard, muscular back and
into his tousled dark hair.
    Robert moaned around the rod that filled his mouth and followed the
urging of the hands to let more and more slide back and into his
throat.  As the muscles of his throat closed on the broad head, the
knight cried out and arched his back, pushing his hips higher.  Robert
swallowed and drew back slowly, then dived forward to impale his
throat.  Again and again, he sheathed the knight's sword in his throat,
the taste of a warrior horseman making the farmboy's senses overload.
    The knight shouted, bucking violently into Robert's throat.  Robert
felt a spray of thick cream scald his throat and tongue, tasted the
bitter salt of the knight's seed.  The cock in his mouth pulsed and
pumped until Robert's mouth was full and he struggled to swallow it all.
    He was pushed away from the knight's crotch and he sat back, hypnotized
by the melting manhood.  The softening  staff slumped over the flaccid
balls, still damp and twitching.  A gentle hand hooked under Robert's
chin and drew his face up.  The cavalier was inches away when he raised
his eyes.
    Eyes like blue ice searched Robert's face for a moment, then the ice
melted.  "Why have you done this, boy?" he asked in an unexpectedly deep
and gentle voice.
    Robert stuttered, a problem he had occasionally since childhood. 
"I...I...I wanted to see it, m'lord."
    "I...see."
    The knight sat back, considering the tanned, husky farmboy for a
moment, stroking his beard.  His breeches still lay open, the thick,
pale flesh of his cock still pulsing softly.  "What's your name, boy?"
    "R...Robert, m'lord."
    "Robert."  It was like he tasted the name.  "A strong name for a strong
lad.  I need a strong lad.  My squire was slain some months ago."
    "B-b-b-but I thought squires had to b-b-be of noble blood, m'lord."
    "Normally, they are.  But as you see," he nodded toward his black
shield, "I am far from normal.  For the duration, I haven't even a name
to give you."
    "Why me?"
    The knight had a kind and handsome smile.  It made Robert's chest
tighten and his manhood convulse.  "A squire must always care for a
knight's sword.  And you seem to have a good start at that."
    The farmboy blushed scarlet, casting his eyes down.  His attention was
caught by the rising standard between the cavalier's legs.
    "Now that it's been polished, the sword needs its sheath."  Robert
could feel the smile.  "Can you find a sheath for it, Robert?"
    Robert looked up at him, puzzled.  There was a knowing look on the
handsome, bearded face.  Enlightenment dawned upon Robert as he gazed
into the azure eyes.
    He crawled forward, across the armored body.  The knight was holding
the chain hauberk, keeping it out of the way.  Robert straddled the
horseman's narrow hips and took hold of the hilt of the knight's most
personal sword.  He aimed carefully and slowly settled it against his
hole.   When he chanced a look at the paladin's face, it appeared to be
haloed by the golden hair that was gleaming in the sun.  Looking upon
this transfiguration, he pressed down with his hips.
    Robert cried out as the knight's hips lunged up and he was speared.  He
closed his eyes against the pain so that tears dripped down his cheeks.
    "You've ridden a horse, haven't you, boy?" the noble asked through
gritted teeth.
    The farmboy bit down on a sob.  "Y-yes, m'lord."
    "Ride me like you post a trot, boy.  Up and down."
    "Yes, m'lord."  Robert clenched his lip between his teeth and lifted
himself, thighs straining, then lowered back down.  The dry wrenching of
his insides was excruciating.
    "Good boy, good boy, it won't hurt long."
    "Yes, m'lord."  His misgivings were well-hidden behind his tears and he
continued to ride his lord.
    It seemed an eternity passed in the slow rhythm that he set, but quite
suddenly, he realized that the pain was fading, replaced by
something...else.  A fullness, a pressure, that was growing as the
noble's sword ground into and out of him.  His cock swelled, his balls
contracted tight against his body.  The pressure grew into a pleasure
shot up the length of his cock with every motion.  His rhythm sped up. 
The shots of ecstasy became a constant, agonizing ache for release.  He
leaned over the knight, his hands on the cavalier's armored chest, as he
worked for that release, all his muscles rippling.
    Robert screamed as he felt his cock explode a fountain of white across
the chain mail.  He bucked his hips, as if urging his horse to go
faster, and bowed his head, hissing between his teeth.  There was a
blast of heat inside him and the man beneath him grunted.  The pillar
inside him writhed as it sprayed aristocratic seed into him.
    They both were breathing hard and sweating in the afternoon sun. 
Robert looked down at the knight and leaned forward to kiss his mailed
chest.  The horseman stroked his hair gently.
    "You pass the test, Robert.  You've taken good care of my sword this
afternoon."  He lifted the farmboy's chin and tenderly kissed his lips. 
"I ask you to ride with me."
    Robert's breathless reply was, "Yes, m'lord."

The End... or a Beginning?

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