From Tommy@tommys.spydernet.com Thu Mar 20 09:21:45 1997 Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!howland.erols.net!ix.netcom.com!super.zippo.com!zdc!news.pbi.net!news.infonex.net!myriad!mail From: Tommy@tommys.spydernet.com Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: When Knighthood Was In Flower and Maidens Lost Their Heads Date: 20 Mar 1997 09:21:45 -0500 Organization: Mail to Usenet Gateway Lines: 340 Message-ID: <196538241@f26.n340.z1.ftn> Apparently-To: alt.sex.stories@mail2news.alias.net To: alt.sex.stories@mail2news.alias.net X-FTN-Sender: "Tommy@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org" <Tommy%f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org> X-FTN-FLAGS: PVT TRN X-FTN-Tearline: NaNoSPaM+ 0.05 X-FTN-Via: Squish/386 1.11 1:340/303, Thu Mar 20 1997 at 11:45 UTC The THC Adult Text Archive: KNIGHT1.SEX (325 lines) Please do not allow anyone under 18 to read the contents of this message. Note: I did not write any of these stories. They are being posted from the archive as a public service only - any copyrights belong to the authors. See the footer for important information. ========================================================================== Subj : When Knighthood was in Flower and Maidens lost their Heads. I almost left her for the dragon. Being a knight on quest can be a pain in the ass sometimes. All I wanted was a peaceful day's ride to the next castle where I could wash my underwear and eat a meal I hadn't cooked myself. It had been eight days since my last hospitality, eight days of guessing riddles with trolls, jousting with truculent knights and fending off the advances of the forest witches at night. Now, when I was dead tired, I had to come across a naked maiden tied to a dragon stake. And a rather succulent maiden too, I must note, with delightfully rounded thighs, wide hips and exquisite full breasts tipped with pink. These last were rigidly erect with her fear, and made altogether a most enticing picture. My king has chosen to dub me "Sir Englebert the Ungainly, knight of the always couched lance." I suppose he thinks that's funny. Kings tend to strange sorts of humor. There is, I must admit, a certain amount of accuracy in the name, as I am seldom unaffected by a display of feminine pulchritude. Obviously the girl was some village's offering to one of the great beasts to spare their homes from destruction. If the dragon ate her, he could not then in good conscience attack the village. It was a sensible thing for the village to do, and I very nearly rode on by. Then the maiden turned in her bonds, wriggling her nude body, and I was entranced. The traditional posture at the stake, wrists tied overhead, does tend to emphasize female beauty. Do you suppose dragons care what the wench looks like? Or did some dirty old man decide how to present the sacrifices? What the Hell? Noblesse Oblige, and all that. With a sigh, I tethered my destrier and began to climb into my armor. A dragon is no mean foe, and thorough preparation is vital to survival is one is forced to fight them. Fully accoutered, I approached the maiden and inquired formally, as the rules require, whether she wished a champion? Equally formally, she offered me her slavery if I would release her from the dragon's clutches. All well and good, and strictly by the book. I suupose it was not unreasonable of her to prefer a year of slavery to being eaten. The problem was that I didn't really need a slave girl at the moment. Oh, they certainly have their advantages in the proper time and place, but on quest is NOT one of those times. I mean, give me a break! I was kind of busy here. Slave girls require constant protection and attention. And of course, they must be attended to sexually with great frequency if a knight is to maintain any reputation at all among his peers. Some rather nasty rumors have been bandied about when a knight has not been willing to display his stamina and prowess several times a day with such a slave girl as this. The rules of the game were strict. I could not simply release her, as this would bring the wrath of the dragon on her village. If I wished her to survive, I must force her new owner to relinquish his rights. And then, having acquired her, I could not simply send her home. She would be my responsibility and property for a year and a day, after which I could dispose of her as I chose, but not until. I could, of course, place conditions on her salvation; that was within the rules. I told her that I labored under a curse; that I could not enjoy a woman who was well and recently spanked. And of course, since her slavery would imply frequent use, I feared that her life must be purchased at considerable cost to her shapely rump. This was a deception, but plausible. It was a common enough curse, and everyone knew it. In any case, it gave me a graceful out. If the maiden could not see her way clear to accepting rigorous and regular thrashings over the next year, I could bow out with honor and continue my journey. With any luck, she might prefer to take her chances with the dragon. Twisting as well as she could in her bonds, the maiden presented her shapely rump to me and offered to begin her servitude on the moment. Just my luck! She'd probably turn out to be one of those women who enjoy a good warming of her nether parts. Well, I'd given it my best shot. Nothing for it now but to await the dragon and see how things turned out. Her offer would have to wait. In the first place, I had not yet won her servitude, and in the second place, it is quite impossible to take advantage of a damsel while wearing armor. And I certainly wasn't going to take it off with a dragon in the neighborhood. As the affair turned out, I was favored by fortune. The dragon was a young beast, not over thirty feet long, and not very experienced. Seeing me prepared to challenge his right to the maiden, I suspect that he too would have as soon gone elsewhere. However, rules are rules. He seemed to shrug, an odd movement for a dragon, and made his first pass. His fiery breath seemed weak and poorly focused, doing little more than coating my armor with soot. Damned nuisance, that! It would have to be cleaned almost immediately. Well, that would give the slave girl something to do. It is ill-advised to let slave girls be idle for very long. As the dragon made his second pass, I lashed at him with Stonecutter. He was a bit careless and my cut took him at the juncture of wing and torso. It was hardly a death blow, but it elicited a roaring of anguish and some nasty gouts of dragon blood. Flapping awkwardly, he abandoned the fight immediately, leaving me victorious. At least he showed good sense, feeling no obligation to die for the sake of a meal. The maiden was looking at me with eyes full of admiration and expectation. Well, no rest for the weary! It was either take her now in celebration of my victory or suffer acute loss of face. With a sigh, I placed my sword belt aside for other use and climbed back out of my armor. In my skivies, I cut her loose and was rewarded for my efforts with a most lascivious embrace to which I responded. It is difficult not to result to the embrace of a naked and shapely woman. As I have noted, there are certainly rewards to the ownership of such a slave. She introduced herself as Melisande. a rather high faluting name for a village wench, and thanked me formally for her rescue, reiterating her acceptance of the obligations of slavery to her champion. Well, there it was; time to get at it. I sent her to fetch the belt, and she knelt on the grass when she returned, lifting it to me like a holy relic or something. I sighed and accepted it, told her to lower her shoulders and raise her rump, and flexed my weary arm for one more effort. Now, I must allow that she had a most remarkable bottom for thrashing, nicely rounded in all dimensions and the color of rich cream. She would display some spectacular bruises, or I missed my guess. I had pondered numbers. Undue leniency was deplorable, of course, but there was no need at this time for severity either. Arbitrarily, I assigned her a dozen good licks, and began to apply the leather to her flesh. Now this is not the primary function of a sword belt. A knight's life is often dependent on his gear, and a sword belt is no small part of it. Accordingly, such belts are wide and heavy, of a double thickness of cowhide and oiled to suppleness of cloth. As it happens, these qualities serve the purpose of chastisement admirably. With only a moderate effort of my arm, the strap burst across Melisande's upturned rump with a loud report. As I had expected, her skin quickly colored from white to pink, and then eventually, to a rather spectacular red. She was obviously no stranger to a good thrashing. She moaned her distress as the heat rose in her nether cheeks, but made no attempt to evade her due. She took it most delightfully, her buttocks squirming with agitation and making a most magnificent picture of lewd invitation. I felt sure that I would have no trouble fulfilling my duties. Indeed, my "lance" was couched already and eager for the fray. I strapped her round bottom until she quivered and begged softly for surcease. Oh, she wasn't addressing me, of course; she understood the nature of curses and knew that I had no choice in the matter. Instead, she addressed her pleas to the village shaman in hopes that he might lift the "curse." I doubt that he heard her, and in any case, he could not have assisted her. She was well reddened indeed when I finally dropped the belt and knelt behind her. Eager or no, this was the least demanding procedure, and I WAS tired. Gripping her flanks, I found and embedded myself in her moist embrace. She began to shiver in ecstasy almost immediately. Now that was proof positive. Most village girls will experience prompt orgasms when topped by a knight of the realm. At the same time, I feared it showed what I already suspected, that a sound thrashing was hardly an unmitigated disaster for her. Certainly the well-warmed flesh of her rump seemed no less eager to welcome my thrusting lance. In spite of my fatigue, I managed to acquit myself very adequately. Later, she sighed and thanked me again for rescuing her, and promised to help me alleviate the "curse" as often as possible. This promised to be a long year. I made my camp in the nearby woods, too tired to ride further that day. After a brief meal, shared with my new slave girl, I made to sleep while she set to the task of cleaning my armor. I awoke in pitch darkness to a most unusual sensation. I felt her lips on my lance. She had drawn me quite erect, and was diligently attempting to allay the "curse" at the provocation of a most mischievous forest witch. It was probably only my fatigue that prevented me from responding to her efforts, and thus casting doubt on the nature of the curse. Well, she would have to learn, and now was as good a time as any to begin. I pushed her aside, which caused the witch to flee, cackling, back into the forest. Rising, I remonstrated with the girl for her impertinence, cautioning her that the advice and counsel of such as a forest witch was almost certain to cause her grief. By way of emphasizing my point, I stepped to a sapling and cut myself a stout switch. Melisande watched, wide-eyed, as I trimmed it, leaving many of the small buds and twigs in place. I required her to stand, tied her wrists together and hung them neatly from an overhead bough. Her feet were quite unable to reach the ground, and the posture, hanging from her wrists, threw her excellent teats into bold relief. I bowed and apologized, assuring her that it had not been my intention to make her suffer any more tonight. (This was certainly true enough. I needed my sleep.) But since the forest witch had caused her to arouse me, I was left with no option but to deliver a second thrashing before I could accept her relief. Now this had not gone at all as she intended, but now she was as bound by the rules as I. She had been warned about the curse; she had ignored the warning by inducing my excitement. Two plus two almost always equals four. Now she could only endure what she had started. I try hard to discourage interruptions of my sleep, especially under field conditions. Melisande's bottom was still well bruised, and I was sure she would be exquisitely tender. The switch was going to cause her some grief, or the king was a troll. I lashed her across the widest part of her bottom and was rewarded with a kicking, squealing response that showed the truth of my observation. She was indeed quite tender. Three more licks placed haphazardly around her twisting flanks left their usual scratched and raw looking marks on her skin. I treated her to a full use of the switch, taking her across the backs of her thighs and even a time or two across those lovely, outthrust teats. The lion's share of my efforts, logically enough, was directed to the increasingly distressed appearing flesh of her buttocks. She squirmed and moaned, making my aim dubious at best, but I succeeded in imparting a crop of lacerations that would keep her rump uncomfortable for a considerable while. She was most penitent when I finally released her. As I was by then most ready to enjoy her favors, I guided her none too gently back to her earlier effort, holding her by the hair, and guiding her lips to my lance. I assured her that since she had chosen to encourage me by this method, she would now satisfy me the same way. She seemed not loathe when she perceived my desire. Her tongue skillfully encircled the head of my lance, stirring me quickly to an excitement I had thought excluded by my exhaustion. For a maiden (as I must assume her to be, since she WAS chosen as a dragon offering), she seemed exceptionally skilled at what is a seldom mastered task. Her lips and tongue very expertly caressed me, stimulating me sufficiently to make me forget (at least for the moment) my reservations about her presence. All too soon for my taste, I filled her greedy mouth with my second orgasm of the day. Finally, drained and exhausted, I bade her return to her blanket as I would to mine. I had no intention of rising again (in ANY sense of the word) until tomorrow. Mercifully, the forest witch did not return, and Melisande was wise enough not to awaken me again. In the morning, as I made to resume my quest, I realized that I had yet another problem. The villagers who had put Melisande at the dragon stake had, quite logically, removed her clothing. No point, after all, in leaving perfectly good flax for the dragon. I had nothing she could wear, and would be unable to purchase her a garment until we arrived at the next castle. Now having a naked woman (especially a shapely one with the marks of a recent thrashing on her bottom) along on a quest is a nuisance of major proportions. It is an open incitement to riot and mayhem. I was sure that every fledgling knight on my route, seeing my delightful companion and observing her condition, would feel compelled to try and take her from me. I would have been glad enough to relinquish her, but like the dragon, I was not allowed to do so without a fight. I could take a minor wound and flee, as had the dragon, but unlike that beast I had a reputation to uphold. Indeed, the prestige of the royal court itself was at stake here. Only the most doughty knights were selected for the quests, and for one such to be defeated by a lowly country warrior was unthinkable. And of course, I was hardly at my peak. My sleep, woefully interrupted, had been inadequate to properly sustain a long day of jousting. I fully expected to have to engage in two or three battles today until I could reach the next castle and find my slave a proper cover. And that in turn meant that I would have to celebrate each victory with her body and another thrashing. It occurred to me that she had something of an interest in avoiding conflicts as well. I asked if she would assist in finding a less traveled path through the woods. She saw the merit in such a practice, and led me along a hidden path of her people. This meant a longer journey, but a less demanding one. We almost made it. It was mid-afternoon and not half a league from castle of Sir Montmorency when I heard a bellowing challenge from my right. A huge fellow, all in red armor, appeared at a ford of the river. Seeing my delightfully naked companion, he promptly made his presence known. I sighed and donned my armor again, couched my lance (my OTHER lance) and rode at him. These country gentlemen have no concept of jousting as it is played in the majors. I faked him out of his socks and unhorsed him easily, hoping his fall had not broken any bones. He seemed hale enough when he rose to commend my prowess and offer his surrender. I had a bright idea then. I demanded a boon, and he must, of course, grant it. As I recalled, my "curse" as I had explained it required merely that I could not enjoy a woman unless she was recently thrashed, not necessarily that I had to thrash her myself. I allowed to my defeated enemy that I intended (of course) to take my pleasure with the slave girl in honor of my victory, and required his assistance. I explained the curse and bade him take Melisande away for the space of four hours while I gave thanks to the heavens for my triumph. He was to return her to me well tenderized and in condition in which I could enjoy her favors. The girl sobbed at this sentence, but made no objection as the knight led her away. For four blissful hours I slept, undisturbed by anything. I awoke to her return, sobbing and kneeling by my side. The motion was imparted to her large teats which swung and danced most lasciviously. I found myself quickly and fully capable of discharging my duties. I pulled her to me, disarranging my trousers and exposing my rampant erection. With every evidence of eagerness, she straddled my legs and impaled herself on my lance. Her body quaked and trembled, spasming in her rapture while I enjoyed a more leisurely bout than the previous ones. I felt three distinct clutches of her ecstasy before I achieved my own. Later, on the trail once more, she informed me of the most effective granting of my boon by the red knight. He had simply led her out of earshot, and tying her with her arms wrapped around a large tree, had begun to practice his swordsmanship. Periodically, and more frequently as the time neared for her return, he applied his heavy leather scabbard to her buttocks. Attacking from all angles, he had bruised her flesh with considerable enthusiasm. She assured me that the red knight had most honorably fulfilled his obligation, leaving her quite sufficiently chastised to honor my curse. It was gratifying to find that a country knight, unschooled in many of the more significant virtues, was still conscious of the importance of an oath. I resolved to commend him to the king when next I was in the capitol. By evening, we were in Sir Montmorency's castle and I could relax. Or so I hoped. (The adventures of Sir Englebert the Ungainly will continue.) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Please don't send requests for reposts, missing parts, GIFs, FTP sites, etc. If you find getting stories from this newsgroup inconvenient, the archive is available on disk. Send a blank email to adultarc@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org for more information. Authors wishing to have files added to or removed from the THC Public archive should contact me at: tommy@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org. Please refer comments to alt.sex.stories.d or to e-mail. Thank you. -=( Tommy )=- From Tommy@tommys.spydernet.com Thu Mar 20 09:21:44 1997 Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!howland.erols.net!ix.netcom.com!super.zippo.com!zdc!news.pbi.net!news.infonex.net!myriad!mail From: Tommy@tommys.spydernet.com Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: When Knighthood Was In Flower and Maidens Lost Their Heads (contin Date: 20 Mar 1997 09:21:44 -0500 Organization: Mail to Usenet Gateway Lines: 303 Message-ID: <3719785295@f26.n340.z1.ftn> Apparently-To: alt.sex.stories@mail2news.alias.net To: alt.sex.stories@mail2news.alias.net X-FTN-Sender: "Tommy@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org" <Tommy%f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org> X-FTN-FLAGS: PVT TRN X-FTN-Tearline: NaNoSPaM+ 0.05 X-FTN-Via: Squish/386 1.11 1:340/303, Thu Mar 20 1997 at 11:45 UTC The THC Adult Text Archive: KNIGHT2.SEX (288 lines) Please do not allow anyone under 18 to read the contents of this message. Note: I did not write any of these stories. They are being posted from the archive as a public service only - any copyrights belong to the authors. See the footer for important information. ========================================================================== When Knighthood was in Flower and Maidens lost their Heads. (being the continued adventures of Sir Englebert the Ungainly) Thank heaven for the laws of hospitality! Unpon reaching this country lord's castle, I should get three days of rest, some clean, dry underwear, reasonably good food, and best of all, the opportunity to ignore my new slave (which in view of her pulchritude and attitude was not easy). It is presumed that a knight has better things to do around a castle than attend to his slave. Melisande could safely be assigned to some chore for the time I was here, and I could get some rest. Like most country castles, Sir Montmorency's place has all the charm of a poorly built stone barn. One shares the courtyard with chickens and sheep, and does well to place one's feet carefully. The rooms are small and drafty and meagerly furnished. The great canopied feather beds of the capitol are non-existent. The best a knight could expect was a reasonably clean pallet of fresh rushes. Supper was more likely to be roasted mutton than pheasant, and the excellent wines of the King's table would be poorly imitated by a local beer. The delightful conversation of lovely and flirtacious women would be replaced by the hairy-armpits manly discussions of weather, harvests and hunting, these being the principal occupations of country gentlemen. No one at Sir Montmorency's (or Monty, as he wished me to address him) would dream of offending hospitality by challenging me for the ownership of Melisande, and thus I would not need to celebrate with her on the occasions of my victories. Melisande was dressed now in a warm and concealing, if plain, wool garment kindly donated by the lady of the castle in honor of my visit. In spite of her peasant background, my slave was being much lionized by the local ladies, who have never before had the opportunity to socialize with a knight's slave. She has told the story of her salvation and enslavement many times, embellishing rather extensively on the whole affair. The battle with the dragon was a rather trivial affair as I remember it, but I have now heard it described as a violent and mortal combat, involving a foe so powerful and fierce as to make armies quail before him. Melisande, in this version, was the special choice of the dragon, who had demanded her innocent flesh lest he raze the whole village. Give me a break! Still, it would hardly do to allow knightly modesty to interfere in the enjoyment of a good fable in the making. I can only hope the revised tale does not anger the dragon guild. It would be irritating to be forced to display my prowess against a succession of their champions. Fortunately, they are as prone as humans to exaggerate their triumphs, and offer excuses for their failures. I doubt not that the young one has explained his wound as the result of a courageous struggle against a cohort of knightly antagonists. It is entirely possible that neither side will recognize the battle from the other side's stories. Melisande is, I fear, a typical village girl, quite unable to keep her mouth shut. She has expounded at some length about the "curse," showing off on request her well-bruised rump, and eliciting considerable envy from the local ladies for her opportunity to serve so puissant and tragic a master. She has described her thrashings and their aftermaths in lascivious detail, and again, from her stories, I hardly recognize the events. For example, It is not precisely my memory that I awoke the first night so prodigiously engorged with passion for her that nothing would soothe me save only that I spank her soundly and let her drain my tensions into her willing body. (The forest witch, you will note, is no longer a factor) It is a trifle embarrassing to have one's sexual activities the subject of dinner table conversation, but hardly surprising under the circumstances. It distressed me though when she repeated these stories to Sir Montmorency, with much boasting of my prowess with strap and lance. These country knights are all too prone to take such tales at face value, and to make suggestions based on this sort of falsehood that are well nigh impossible to live up to. As I was preparing to leave his table, comfortably full of plain but tasty food, he motioned me to him. Bother! If he came up with some grotesque labor to prove my knightly fortitude, Melisande was going to have much to answer for. As it happened, he had decided that he wanted a generation of me. I think I would have preferred another dragon. It is, of course, one of the highest honors one can bestow on a knight, to invite him to leave behind a generation of his offspring. In practice, however, this meant that I was obliged to cover as many of his women as I could before I left his castle, beginning with his wife and daughters, and continuing in strict order of precedence for the remainder of my three days of hospitality. Now ordinarily, knights love things like that. The opportunity to have a dozen or more women, each eager to please and to carry away a knight's seed, could be quite entertaining. But dammit, I was on quest! A castle was supposed to mean respite and relaxation, not the constant demands of a phalanx of women. I needed R&R, not T&A! There was one chance to get out of this. I reminded Monty of the curse, explaining that I should have to thrash his wife and daughters soundly before I could perform this honorable duty with them. A sly smile twisted his mouth, and he assured me that his wife's rump had been too long without a good set of bruises. And as for his daughters, he suspected that they would be more than willing to accept a good thrashing as the price of such an opportunity. Well, so much for that. Nothing for it now but to wade into the melee. There was, however, one little thing to do first. Melisande had got me into this with her big mouth. I wasn't about to see her get out of this visit all rested and happy while I exhausted myself in the service of this border lord. I begged a boon of Monty, which he happily granted. I did not, I said, wish my newly won slave to consider herself set aside so quickly. While I discharged my duty to the women of the castle, would the men be so kind as to attend to her? I told him that I must reserve her traditional entry for myself, but his men were to make free with her mouth and backside as pleased them. Moreover, as the men would be acting as my surrogates in the matter, it would be necessary for them to pay at least lip service to my curse. I suggested a good spanking of at least fifty swats delivered onto a bared bottom be considered a minimum, although I would, of course, be honored if any man chose to be more severe. As my slave had already told them, I allowed that I seldom let her pass unused for more than three or four hours, and urged that this schedule be maintained while I was otherwise occupied. (She wasn't the only one here who could exaggerate for effect. By our next stop, mayhap she will be less inclined to embellish her story.) This agreed upon, I began to make my rounds. The ladies were still at table, probably having been told of my appointed task. I went first to Monty's wife. She fairly beamed at my approach and bade me sit. A plump, but not ill-favored woman, Morgana could hardly hide her eagerness to submit to me. I inquired whether she would be free immediately after vespers? Receiving her enthusiastic agreement, I sadly required that she have a stout strap available for vigorous use on her buttocks, as the curse I bore would prevent me from doing my duty otherwise. She bit her lip a bit at that, but accepted my tragic status without complaint. I was finding it a bit exasperating that the curse seemed to have so little deterrent effect. The eldest daughter, a blonde minx abundant in breast and fundament like her mother, made so bold as to inform me that she had a most excellent riding crop which she would take to her bed with her, and hold against my coming, close to mid night. The younger daughter seemed a trifle dubious of offering her more slender buttocks to my chastisement, but the prospect of bedding a knight of the realm quite overcame her reservations. She readily agreed to pick and trim a half-dozen good switches for her own thrashing near dawn. And so it went. The Seneschal's wife was past child-bearing age, but her younger sister would submit to my belt and lance sometime before the noon meal on the following day. The knight-elder presented me with his daughter and his short braided whip for a mid afternoon rendezvous. After vespers again would be an appointment with the young wife of a newly knighted gentleman who fairly beamed at the prospect of my thrashing his wife with a birch. He gleefully promised to prepare the implement himself, and to insure that it would be as strict as he could make it. His young wife, her excellent bosom straining against the bodice of her gown, blushed to hear him describe her fate. As Monty drew Melisande into an anteroom to begin her service, I withdrew to fortify myself for the fray with a short nap. It was distinctly not shaping up to be a restful stay. In such a concentrated burst of activity, much like a battle in many ways, one's foes tend to blur together, and only a few moments can be recalled clearly. Sir Montmorency's wife Morgana was eager enough, exhibiting buttocks of such abundance as to require a longer effort than I had planned. She endured a thorough strapping which left her broad bottom very well bruised indeed. And of course, as she was the first to receive my service. she enjoyed the least of my time. I filled her quickly and returned to my aborted rest. Her eldest daughter was quite the hoyden, greeting me naked in her room, and offering me the crop with her encouragement. Without needing direction, she turned and bent deeply, exposing a younger, but no less bounteous bottom than her mother's. The crop marked her nicely, wealing the tender flesh of her thighs and buttocks while she gasped and wriggled in invitation. I believe I may have taught her to be more careful in her exhortations. I certainly tried to impress upon her the dangers of flouting a curse. Since she encouraged me to do my worst, I did. If she can sit within the week, I shall be disappointed. This did not, I must admit, prevent her from accepting me most enthusiastically between her widely spread thighs, and urging a most satisfactory climax to the affair. The younger daughter offered some poignant moments, suffering nicely through her switching. I was as lenient with her as I could be without casting doubt on the curse, and her buttocks were only moderately raw when she straddled my legs and impaled herself on my lance. I usually managed to grab a sandwich, a cup of wine and a short nap between such duties. It was exhausting, but certainly of no small value to my knightly reputation that I serviced each of the women as appointed. Of the others, I remember little, save only for the young knight's wife. She was exquisitely lovely, and would be much favored in the King's court. I must remember to recommend the young knight's summons to court in the near future. Her name was Anne, and her manner was incredibly delightful. She presented me with her husband's birch, and a stricter version was no likely to be found. It had four long withes, each decorated with buds and twigs, and each of different length. With her eyes shining, she put aside her robe, revealing herself naked, and bade me allay the curse. Kneeling, thighs widely spread in a posture of submission, she presented me with quite the most spectacular pair of buttocks, and echoed her husband's earlier desire that I thrash her soundly. I spent rather more time at this assignation than I had planned. She did encourage me to ply the birch with a will, and I endeavored to do so. Her flesh marked most beautifully as the birch crossed her, and the writhing of her buttocks assured me of the severity of my attack. But her voice asked only for more of the same. Her rump was quite raw when I could delay no longer, and moved to mount her as a stallion mounts a mare. But just as I prepared to enter her, she begged my indulgence. Assuring me that, unknown to her husband, she was recently pregnant, and quite unable to conceive by me in any case, she offered me the hospitality of her bowel instead. I was a bit astounded by this, as her condition would certainly have exempted her from the thrashing, had she merely mentioned it. Evidently, she did not wish to be exempted. I was beginning to think I had chosen the wrong curse. Of course, by this time, my lance was firmly couched and eager for the fray, so I hesitated not at all in accepting her offer. As promised, her reception was warm and eager. She seemed to draw me well into her, with her well-warmed rump flexing against my belly. Her enthusiasm as she accepted my impalement was a product more of passion than of distress. Although I was beginning to be a bit exhausted, I delivered a powerful surge of lustful enthusiasm which she received with great good will and an answering rapture of her own. Between this wench's ardor, and my exhausting schedule, I fear I remember almost nothing of the others. I slapped and strapped and switched several more bare rumps into reddened and squirming masses, and offered my seed into as many greedy wombs. When, FINALLY, I stepped into my destrier's stirrups to depart, I was most honorably depleted. To my delight, Melisande seemed even more tired and subdued than I. Evidently the men of the castle had served her well. When we were well away from the view of the walls, I required her to show me her rump. It was thoroughly and darkly bruised, and she explained tearfully how each and every man who had taken her had honored me extremely well by spanking her at much greater length than I had specified. She had been stripped of her single garment no sooner than I had begun making my appointments. The castle's lord himself had begun her trial, placing her over his knees and and administering a sound hundred to her bare bottom. She allowed she had found it no chore to exchange that position for one at his feet, entertaining him with her lips and tongue. As I had ordered, others followed at three hour intervals, so that her bottom was never quite able to recover from one spanking before it was subjected to another. Like my own jousts, the faces of her antagonists had faded into a confused mass, but each and every one had managed to deliver a vigorous and powerful spanking before taking her. And oddly enough, she said, every man of them had wanted either her mouth or fundament for his pleasure. She had not been had in the traditional manner so much as once during the entire period. Imagine that! By vespers on the second day, she was quite tender behind, and more than willing to perform enthusiastic fellatio in lieu of having another "lance" well up her rump. Jolly good! Teach her to shoot her mouth off. I think I may expect a tad more modesty from the wench in the future. Her last spankings were received across a hurdle in the stables. The knight in charge of the horses had offered her service to the esquires who had taken turns tormenting her. One would stand behind and spank her as vigorously as possible, while another would present his erection to her lips. Then they would trade places. They seemed to renew their enthusiasm faster than she could drain them. She was, at the last, unsure that she would ever be allowed to leave the hurdle. It was, I thought, a most effective lesson in the proprieties expected of a knight's slave. Melisande has, with any luck, learned a great deal from her stay at Sir Montmorency's. She was, she said, greatly sorry for the excesses of language which had brought on this event, and assured me that she was more grateful than ever to be my slave and no other's. Well and good. Perhaps I wouldn't have to trade her to a troll after all. And if nothing else, at least my underwear was clean again. (The Adventures of Sir Englebert the Ungainly are very likely to continue) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Please don't send requests for reposts, missing parts, GIFs, FTP sites, etc. If you find getting stories from this newsgroup inconvenient, the archive is available on disk. Send a blank email to adultarc@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org for more information. Authors wishing to have files added to or removed from the THC Public archive should contact me at: tommy@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org. Please refer comments to alt.sex.stories.d or to e-mail. Thank you. -=( Tommy )=- From Tommy@tommys.spydernet.com Thu Mar 20 09:21:45 1997 Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!howland.erols.net!ix.netcom.com!super.zippo.com!zdc!news.pbi.net!news.infonex.net!myriad!mail From: Tommy@tommys.spydernet.com Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: When Knighthood Was In Flower And Maidens Lost Their Heads (part 3 Date: 20 Mar 1997 09:21:45 -0500 Organization: Mail to Usenet Gateway Lines: 300 Message-ID: <3499644614@f26.n340.z1.ftn> Apparently-To: alt.sex.stories@mail2news.alias.net To: alt.sex.stories@mail2news.alias.net X-FTN-Sender: "Tommy@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org" <Tommy%f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org> X-FTN-FLAGS: PVT TRN X-FTN-Tearline: NaNoSPaM+ 0.05 X-FTN-Via: Squish/386 1.11 1:340/303, Thu Mar 20 1997 at 11:45 UTC The THC Adult Text Archive: KNIGHT3.SEX (285 lines) Please do not allow anyone under 18 to read the contents of this message. Note: I did not write any of these stories. They are being posted from the archive as a public service only - any copyrights belong to the authors. See the footer for important information. ========================================================================== When Knighthood was in Flower and Maidens lost their Heads. Being the third part of the adventures of Sir Englebert the Ungainly. A toe bone. That's what you were wondering, right? What was I questing FOR? I mean, a quest has to have some objective or it isn't kosher. Knights don't just wander about seeing the sights and collecting women; they seek for great and portentous wonders of the world. In this case, a toe bone. Not just ANY toe, you understand. This is the left great toe bone of the holy martyr Eustus. He carried the word to the Scyths of Asia and angered the king of that land. He was ordered to be smothered under the naked bodies of a hundred women from the King's harem in the mythical city of Carrhae nearly three hundred years ago. His body was said to have been burned along with the fourteen women who had also been killed in the melee, and the ashes mingled for all time so that Eustus could not appear before the throne unsullied. But miraculously, his toe bone has been seen on four separate occasions here in the north. When stories of this marvel reached the court, The King did not hesitate to send his best knight on a quest to find the bone and deliver it to the capitol where it could be properly venerated. Surely, in view of my unstinting labors in this search, I will be vouchsafed the honor of finding this wonderful relic. It really is quite an honor and all that to be so selected by the King, but it does make for a rather long and tedious task. I have had no sight of the bone, or of its reputed miracles, but I have the most reliable word of a visiting knight that he had spoken with the husband of a cousin of a girl who saw the bone. This girl is reputed to live not two weeks march from here, and I hope that she can provide the first real information to aid my quest. Unfortunately, the excellent roads of the south do not exist in this wilderness. Tracks through the forest are the best one can expect, and must often be traversed on foot. Whatever shortcomings Melisande may have, she is an uncomplaining traveler and keeps up well. There are few villages or castles in this area, and few of the fords are guarded by trolls for lack of travelers. Not much point I suppose in setting traps where the game does not run. And (of course) now that my slave is modestly covered, I have met no more knights errant to challenge me for her service. She could have remained naked for all the difference it would have made. I have, of course, required her to remove the garment periodically for my pleasure. She is most comely wench, and I have had to stop and spank her soundly and enjoy her body rather frequently. Her skills in sexual matters are coming to match her enthusiasm, and the pleasures of her shapely body are delightful during coffee breaks. In the interest of getting anything accomplished on the quest, I keep her covered as much as I can. Monty was kind enough to replenish my stores of salt and ground oats, but the bulk of our diet must still be met by hunting. There are deer and boar in this forest, but they are justly proud of their skill at concealment. Rabbit is our more common fare, and hardly a feast, but we have not starved. Nights represent the worst dangers of the road. Every forest has a resident witch, and while she may have other things to attend to some of the time, she will almost certainly take the opportunity to plague a traveler some of his nights. Witches are, I suppose, a necessary evil. They control the healing herbs, and dispense such medicine as is available to the peasantry. Their forests are proud of them, and protective under most circumstances. They do not represent the same sort of threat as a dragon; I have never heard of anyone being killed by a witch, for example, but they are pests worse than the stinging insects of the marsh. Sleep can be well nigh impossible when a forest witch is determined to prevent it. Many a knight has emerged from a forest passage bleary eyed and exhausted, and often no match for the foes waiting at the forest's edge. There isn't a lot that can be done about witches. No weapon of steel will harm them, although they can be killed by driving a stake of good green elm through their hearts. Unfortunately, one never seems to have a stake of good green elm when one needs it. Besides, killing a witch is a drastic solution and seldom advisable. I noted that a witch's forest is protective of her. The knight who casually kills a witch had best plan to spend the remainder of his life in the towns. It is singularly unpleasant to have heavy branches of oak falling on you as you ride through the woods. Witches can be bound with strands of ivy, but ropes will fall away, unknotted of their own accord. Usually it is best to simply drive a witch away with pepper. Assuming one has any pepper. It is a foolish traveler indeed who uses this efficacious substance to season food when he must ravel in the forest. It is often difficult to know when one is in the presence of a witch. Superb shape changers, they may appear as a hind, or a bear, or even a small dragon, although they seldom take such shapes around knights for fear of being killed by accident. The forest can hardly complain of a witch's death if she appears to a questing knight as a dragon (or to a hungry one as a deer). It is more often the case that a witch will steal a knight's thoughts, and appear to him as some woman of his past, sabotaging his rest by engaging him in lengthy conversations, or whatever. Especially whatever. It is distressing to find one's self addressed at night by a former paramour. One is obliged to respond, as it is remotely possible that she is what she claims to be. It is fortunate that witches do not usually converse well. Lacking the skill to engage in learned discourse, they often ruin their disguise by resorting to sexual advances. Ladies of the court do not ordinarily lift their skirts and offer to fuck one's eyes out. When this occurs, it is almost always indicative that one is dealing with a witch. It is particularly dangerous to allow one's self to be drawn into sexual relations with a witch. They are not easily satisfied, and the knight who disappoints one is likely to find his shorts cursed with a growth of tickle weed. Exceedingly distracting in battle, that. On the other hand, of course, the knight who can make a witch admit her satiation is in tall flax. He can demand boons, and may even receive a talisman which will protect him from many dangers. This next passage of forest worried me, as my supply of pepper was being slowly depleted, and Monty had been unable to offer any supplement. If I could not replenish this stock, my nights might well become most unpleasant. It was not long before I was proven an accurate prophet. Less than a week after leaving Sir Montmorency's castle, I awoke one mid night to sounds of a struggle. Rising quickly, sword in hand, I discovered Melisande rolling quite naked in the grasp of a comparably unclothed forest witch. The latter was assuming all manner of foul and threatening shapes, but my slave, a girl of the forest herself, ignored these and continued to grapple with her foe. Realizing that my sword was quite useless, I replaced it in its scabbard, and seeing no reason to waste any of my precious pepper, resolved to enjoy the sight of the two women's nudity as they fought. For a while I assumed that my slave must be overcome, but to my surprise, she seemed to be prevailing. Then I saw the reason. She had had the foresight to arm herself with several bands of fresh ivy, and with these she was slowly entangling the witch's limbs and restricting her motion. Eventually, the panting witch was quite helpless, and Melisande arose triumphant from the struggle. There is considerable enmity between witches and girls of the villages, as the latter blame the former for subverting and seducing village boys whose duties take them into the forests. Quite right, too. A boy who has known the sexual favors of a witch may not be easily satisfied. He is likely to expect the village girls to perform in a similar manner, and that's a tough act to follow. With her eyes shining (and other parts glistening with sweat), my slave told me how the witch had been trying to get her to disturb my sleep again. Having learned her lesson in that regard, she had tried to be silent, but as I was obviously awake, she offered me a stake of elm, and urged me to kill the witch and be rid of her once and for all. I tried to explain why such a bloodthirsty conclusion to the struggle was inappropriate, but Melisande was plainly not to be persuaded. Seeing my determination in the matter, she suggested that, at the very least, the witch should be thrashed as she had been for disturbing my sleep. Well now, that was a more reasonable notion, and one worthy of pursuing. I could see no reason why witches should not be subject to discipline. They were by definition mischievous creatures, and surely the forest could have no objection to a reasonable application of chastisement. Addressing myself to the captive witch, I informed her of her fate. She refused to cooperate, insisting that she had not been bested by me, but rather by the girl. Arrant nonsense, of course, as the girl was my slave, and whatever she acquired was automatically mine. When the witch heard Melisande confirm her status, she sighed and agreed that she must capitulate to my wishes. She asked how I wished to pursue this matter? I thought a moment, then required her to assume the shape of Anne, the young knight's bride at Sir Montmorency's. I remembered with some heat her submission to me so recently. The witch trembled a bit at this, reading the use to which I intended putting her, but with a small flickering of light, she complied. I found myself once more facing the nude and shapely young woman who had been so eager to encourage my efforts with the birch. I set Melisande to constructing one of these implements, and lifted the witch to her feet. The young "Anne" seemed most compliant, as she had before, turning in my grasp to arch her excellent breasts to my touch. She moaned in very well simulated ecstasy, and urged me to loose her bonds that she might please me. I don't think so. Loose the ivy and the witch would be gone into the forest without so much as a farewell. Instead, I lifted her bound wrists and fastened them well over her head to a projecting bough. With more ivy, I fastened each of her slender ankles to opposite ends of the stake with which Melisande had intended her death. This perforce spread her legs widely apart. She was then quite helpless and well displayed for my purposes, thighs widely parted and breasts arched forward. She began to beg for mercy, promising all manner of witchly favors. Displeased, I insisted that she assume the manner of Anne as well as her appearance. There was a gasp, then a well remembered voice began to encourage me to whip her well. Melisande produced an admirable birch, long and stout. "Anne," squirming in her bonds, softly urged me to be quite strict. With my left hand, I explored the witch's projecting buttocks and found them rigid with muscle and covered with skin the thickness of an ox. Nice try, but no cigar. I told her that the woman in question was rather more fully rounded, and MUCH softer in the nether region. And exquisitely tender. She was certainly not to forget that in her impersonation. The witch made a small moaning sound of consternation, but I felt her buttocks swell and soften under my fingers. Much better. I reminded her again that she was to be quite sensitive behind, so that the birch would be especially effective. I received a small sob of agreement, nodded, and stepped back to begin her thrashing. I discovered something that evening. Witches do enjoy being thrashed. However, when required to feign enjoyment of such treatment, they do so rather well. My "Anne" gasped and moaned as the birch striped her rump, but she gave every evidence of rising passion as she endured the cuts. Moreover, knowing that the real Anne would have done so, she encouraged me to even greater effort. I accepted this invitation, of course, both by way of discouraging further interruptions of my sleep, and because it was a rather pleasurable chore. The witch would, I think, find something better to do at night in the future. I had somewhat restrained myself in the real Anne's company, being unwilling to inflict any serious damage on the young woman. In the present case, there was no reason for such restraint. Witches are quite as competent at healing wounds as they are at changing shapes, so I lashed the birch across her shapely rump with a will. She was rather obviously in some distress, but she was not allowed to admit it, and could only beg for more. And when I finally threw away the well worn birch, she almost choked on the request she was required to make. She asked, as had the real Anne, to have me up her backside. Her body arched back to the usage, and her tethered position placed her at an excellent height for such things. I set aside my trousers, and fully rampant, gripped her well switched hips. I spread her widely and sought entrance. She was admirably tight and warm, and squirmed in distress as I forced my entry. Well buried, I enjoy the clenching caress of her bowel. She had faithfully copied the response of young Anne, to my delight, and as I began to pleasure myself, she moaned in good imitation of answering passion. I felt her body first tremble, then shake with rapture, even as Anne's had done, and thought this an excellent imitation. Then I began to realize that the voice urging me to greater effort was no longer that of the knight's wife, but that the witch herself was being aroused by my efforts. I was largely recovered from the depletion of my stay at Monty's castle, and enjoying this thoroughly now. As I impaled her welcoming rump, I heard her grow rather incoherent in her speech, but her response was undeniable. She thrust herself against me, seeking ever deeper intrusion of my lance, and gasped at the force of my jousting. Like all good things, this ended, climaxed actually, with a burst of pleasure on both our parts. Withdrawing, I heard her sigh in a manner which could only be interpreted as approval of my efforts. That was certainly gratifying. I had no wish to be counted among those whose service was found inadequate. Having achieved this distinction, I decided to press my advantage. I reminded her of my holy quest and its objective, and required her assistance. To my great disappointment, she knew nothing of the holy toe bone, nor had she encountered any other who had seen it. The best she could do on my behalf was to offer me her talisman, which as I have noted, is no small favor. I accepted with gratitude, and released her from the ivy bonds. She no longer had a reason to flee, and assumed once more her natural shape. Well, one assumes it was her natural shape, but with a witch, one never knows for sure. She extracted from her discarded gown a rather obscenely shaped root which she offered me, explaining (quite unnecessarily) its powers. It would be a poorly educated knight who did not know the many functions of a witch's talisman. It guaranteed me passage across any fords guarded by trolls. It was a most excellent cure for any number of ailments. But probably most important, considering the way this quest seemed to be shaping up, the talisman was an aphrodisiac unparalleled in potency. Now ordinarily, such a device is used to encourage one's female partners to eager participation in one's fantasies. But to date, That had been the LEAST of my problems. Indeed, I had found eagerness to be so common a commodity that I had no intention whatever of generating any more. No, I suspected that my need for an aphrodisiac would be the result of too many opportunities, not too few. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Please don't send requests for reposts, missing parts, GIFs, FTP sites, etc. If you find getting stories from this newsgroup inconvenient, the archive is available on disk. Send a blank email to adultarc@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org for more information. Authors wishing to have files added to or removed from the THC Public archive should contact me at: tommy@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org. Please refer comments to alt.sex.stories.d or to e-mail. Thank you. -=( Tommy )=-