From Caintigern@deathsdoor.com Thu Jul 10 14:56:13 1997
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From: Caintigern O'Niall <Caintigern@deathsdoor.com>
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Subject: The Knight and His Squire, MM, hist.fantasy
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Date: 10 Jul 1997 18:56:13 GMT
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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.  (For instance, the characters
bathe.)  It contains graphic sex.  If you're under 18, don't read it. 
If sexual content offends you, there are plenty of other things you
could be reading... what the hell are you doing in this
newsgroup/archive?  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.  
There is also a hint of nonconsensuality at a couple of points.
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.
This story is a sequel to "The Knight Errant."  Thanks to overwhelming
feedback, I'm going to continue this series.  Please keep the feedback
coming! -- CO


The Knight and His Squire

by Caintigern O'Niall

The light was fading at the end of their third day of travel.  Robert's
head reeled with the teasing he'd endured all day long.  Not only the
jogging of the horse and the pressure of the knight's powerful body at
his back, but the occasional squeezes and petting the knight favored
upon him as they trotted along.  The seductive touches never gave Robert
time to reflect upon the last few days: his giving of his body to this
stranger, his abrupt departure from home and family, and the subsequent
hard travelling that left him aching and exhausted.  After their first
encounter, the knight had not seemed inclined to consummate their mutual
interest again, but he had persevered in his tantalization of the
farmboy's aching loins.  Robert began to wonder how much of the soreness
of his thighs was due to the unending time on horseback and how much was
due to the tightening he felt each time the strong hand reached down to
stroke him through his homespun.

The knight leaned forward, pressing against Robert's back.  His lips
brushed the farmboy's ear and he whispered, "We'll take our rest at an
inn this evening, my boy.  A real meal, a hot bath, and a real bed.  How
does that sound to your poor tired body?"  His breath seized Robert with
shivers, and the lad closed his eyes and leaned his head back against
the mailed shoulder.  The knight's fist closed around Robert's aching
shaft and squeezed.

"I... look forward... to it, m'lord," he gasped, trying to hold his hips
still and biting his lip to keep some modicum of control over his
rampant member.

The noble chuckled and released his grip, laughing aloud as Robert
sighed with audible relief.  He clapped the squire on the hip.  "I'm not
a very kind lord, am I, Robert?"

"The contrary, m'lord," he panted.

The bay charger whinnied just then.  The knight reined in.  The hunting
path they'd followed since daybreak emerged onto a wider, gravelled
road.  Rattling down the road and temporarily blocking their path was a
ramshackle cart hung with bright colors and drawn by a thick-bodied
mule.  Robert glanced at it, looked away, then returned his gaze to it
with keen recognition.  Draping the rear of the cart was a heavy grey
curtain.  The fabric twitched aside briefly and a handsome,
dark-complected face peered out.  Ebony eyes raked Robert's face without
any obvious recognition, but their touch made Robert's heart and manhood
jump.  Then the curtain obscured all and the cart continued onward with
nary a hesitation.

The farmboy exhaled.  He hadn't been aware that he'd held his breath.

The knight turned the charger the opposite direction from the path of
the cart and within just a few moments, a heavy, dark, woody building
came into view.  Woodsmoke hazed the courtyard with thick, aromatic
fog.  The knight swung off, scattering a small flock of chickens with
the sudden movement.  The fowl scolded the man roundly and strutted away
as a whole, scratching the ground in his direction derisively.

A young boy scurried out of the stable, straw caught in his cropped
brown locks.  The cavalier patted the child on the head and handed him
the reins, slipping a silver coin in among the leather leads.  Robert
dropped heavily to the ground and his knees very nearly forsook him.

"Some food will shore you up, young friend," the man told him, bracing
him briefly.  "Come along."

The knight, with black-draped shield on his arm, strode into the common
room.  Even in the candled twilight, he cut an imposing figure.  His
gear, his bearing, his gaze drew every eye to him.  The innkeeper
scuttled to his side, obsequiously squeaking and fawning, responding to
the aristocrat's curt orders with orders of his own, delegated to a
disorderly horde of boys.

The eldest of the boys led them up stairs that creaked alarmingly under
the feet of the armored gentleman.  The room they entered already held a
tub and several buckets of water, with a heavy, cast iron kettle heating
over the fire.  The knight dismissed him with another silver coin,
saying, "If I require ought else, my squire shall do for me."

Door closed, they watched each other across the room.  At last, the
knight beckoned to him.  "Help me out of my armor."

With many awkward fumblings at laces and liftings of heavy metal, Robert
learned what awaited him as a squire.  At last, the noble stood clad
only in a sweat- and dust-stained linen tunic and breeches, and they
eyed the heap of metal and leather skeptically.  "You shall learn to
clean the armor on the morrow," the cavalier finally said.  "I have no
patience for further teaching on the matters of my garb this evening." 
He stripped his tunic off in a manner suggestive of his impatience.

In the firelight, Robert could see the matted golden thatch of fur that
sprouted from under his lord's arms, faded, then spread uncontrolled
across his lord's muscular chest, trailing down his hard belly.  The
knight doffed the breeches at last, and stood naked for Robert's
consideration for the first time.  His massive thighs flexed under a
layer of golden fleece, forming an Adonic frame for the stiffened rod
rising from the darkness between them.

The former farmboy could feel the tension grow between his own legs once
more, his cock swelling to the rock-hardness he'd become familiar with
over the last several days.  Attempting to conceal his discomfort and
better fulfill his duties, he cleared his throat and asked, "What can I
do, m'lord?"

The errant turned and picked up a bucket, providing Robert a magnificent
view of his broad shoulders and muscular back, the long, lithe muscle
lines that led downward, and twin pale domes of flesh which betrayed
lean muscles beneath with their every flexion.  Dumping the contents of
the bucket into the tub, he told his squire, "I would like to soak a bit
as I scrub, and I'll need water to rinse with.  Empty these into the
tub, pour the heated water, then you need to go refill the buckets at
the pump."

Though his very fingertips ached with traveling, Robert good-naturedly
hoisted water into the tub until it was near-full.  With a thick handful
of cloth left for just such a purpose, he then removed the kettle from
the fire and poured the boiling liquid into the cool water.  The water
after was warm enough for the patrician to slide into with a sigh. 
Robert set the kettle back on with more water, then lifted the buckets
and set out for the pump.

Twilight had fallen away into the shroud of darkness.  Stars glimmered
high in an indigo sky.  No moon spread its friendly light across the
countryside.  The common room sounded with shouts and laughter, with a
few strains of music here and there.  A scruffy black mongrel sniffed
briefly at Robert's boot, wagged its tail, and cringed only slightly
when he bent to scratch its ears.

The way to the common well was a well-beaten path, and the area around
the well itself a mudpit.  He drew up the well's bucket and filled his
first pail with it.  Then something cracked hard across the back of his
knees, forcing him to the ground with a yelp of pain.

Before he knew what was happening, a hot length of flesh forced into his
mouth.  He struggled, but the hands in his hair gripped hard and
painfully.  The tip brushed the back of his throat, making his
unprepared throat rebel.

Even as he fought, some calm, sensible part of his mind recognized the
heady scent he breathed, of spice and leather and darkness.

"Yes," the other said gently as Robert's mouth softened and his tongue
rippled along the underside of the cock in his mouth.  The fingers
loosened from his hair and stroked his cheek.  "You remember your first
taste, don't you?"

Robert tried to look up as he swallowed on the velvet rod that moved
slowly in and out.  The pedlar smiled down at him, the bright grin
glittering in distant torchlight, the stars touching his sleek hair like
a crown.  "I saw you on the road and had to come for you again.  You
have the sweetest mouth.  Oh, wondrous Fortune."

The farmboy's strong hands clutched at the pedlar's hips, catching
handfuls of his breeches, pulling him in hard and managing to swallow
the entire length, which seemed a little greater than it had before. 
The other gasped and held Robert's head tight against him, the squire's
nose buried in a patch of tight, dark curls.  Two or three hard thrusts
more and Robert swooned to the sharp tang of the creamy heat in his
mouth and throat.  The pedlar cursed softly and pumped hard into the
squire's pliant mouth, emptying himself completely.

The farmboy rocked back on his heels at the last, wiping his mouth on
his sleeve and gazing upward at his seducer.  The full moon at last
cleared the trees it had hidden among.  The light played over the
pedlar, touching his locks with liquid silver, transfiguring him for a
moment into an angel... or a demon.

"As sweet as I remembered, as sweet as honeyed wine."  A dark hand
stroked his jaw and brushed through his hair.  "How I wish I could teach
you more, but you have a lord now who would... frown upon your spending
yourself before he had his fill of you."

"You know him?" Robert whispered, eyes wide.

"In a manner of speaking.  I know of him."  A noise nearby brought the
pedlar's head round sharply.  He narrowed his eyes, then turned back to
Robert. "Until later, my sweet lad," he whispered.  He brushed his thumb
over Robert's parted lips and disappeared into the shadows.

One of the rowdy sons of the innkeeper ran up then.  "Your master is
yellin' for more water now.  I'm t'help you get it back."  He finally
looked at Robert carefully.  "Say, you fall?'

"Yes," Robert replied quietly, hauling himself to his feet.  The
pedlar's seed burned his mouth still.

The two boys wrestled the full buckets back to the room.  The knight sat
in his tepid bathwater, glaring at the doorway as they entered.  Robert
mumbled, "Sorry, m'lord."  

The innkeeper's boy rattled, "He'd fallen, he did, m'lord.  Just look at
his breeches, all covered with mud!"

"I see."  The noble's voice was flat with fury.  Robert snatched up the
cloth and boiling kettle and added hot water to the bath.  His hand
trembled with his fear.  The boy scurried out a moment later, the
knight's icy blue gaze sending him scampering.

The silence was crushing.  Robert, accustomed to cold farm splashes, did
not think to warm the rinse at the end.  The chill water laved over the
errant's body.  His eyes widened, but he didn't cry out.  Ironically,
the gelid water fanned the flames of rage.  His fury transmitted itself
to his squire, who retreated, backpedaling, into a corner of the room.

The gleaming, firelit body of the knight as he turned, his burning eyes
resting on the peasant boy.  He stepped delicately from the tub and
shook himself like a dog.  And then he advanced upon Robert.

Robert slid to his knees, tears starting unbidden from his eyes. 
Clothed only in a bizarre divinity, his lord stopped and stood only
inches from him.  The knight's fleshly sword stood out before him.  With
instincts born of fear and his own aching manhood, Robert leaned forward
and took the other man's staff with his lips.  He felt it harden and
thicken there, and the man stood still, not moving.  The peasant took
this as a sign to continue, and carefully took it to his throat.

But he had only just done this when he felt hard fingers close around
his jaw and force his mouth open.  The knight pulled out and stepped
back, only to step back in and grip the front of Robert's tunic, hauling
him to his feet as easily as a cat queen lifting her kitten.  The
homespun, sturdy enough to stand up to farm work, tore effortlessly
under the doubled grip of the maddened cavalier, leaving Robert naked,
dusty, and muddy in the middle of the room.

A steely grip closed on the back of Robert's hair, making him cry out
with pain.  The cry only tightened the grip.  Robert expected his scalp
to come loose at any moment.  He tried to speak.  "M-m-m-my lord!"

He found himself dragged by the hair to the tub and shoved across it. 
His hands caught the edge of the tub before he fell uncontrollably.  His
legs were hauled apart and his hips lifted.  A hot, wet brand pressed
against him.  "My lord!" he gasped, trying to brace himself for what he
knew was coming.  His legs buckled as the knight's cock slammed into his
depths, but he dangled in midair, held transfixed on this pike by the
preternaturally strong hands of his master.  The opaque water sloshed in
the tub.

Then the pounding started.  It was hard enough to jar his teeth, the
every slap of skin against skin stung like a leather strap.  The pain
grew into heat, the heat into scalding flames.  His body was the earth
and the earth quaked.  Pleasure grew like air churning round a boiling
cauldron.  He was screaming incoherently, words that had no meaning and
all meaning, bestial grunts and shrieks tearing from his throat.  The
knight clutched his shoulders, now crouched over him like a lion in rut,
his hands grasping at flesh, at hair.  Finally with a draconic roar, he
came, screaming his furious passion to the last.

Robert slammed back against the ruthless hammering in those last few
seconds, and seized hold of his own cock.  Only a few strokes and he
moaned hoarsely, spasms of white shooting hard into the water under
him.  The tableau held for a scarce few seconds and then the two of them
gracefully folded into a heap on the slate floor.  The squire sobbed
quietly.

At last the knight crawled forward and touched the boy's face.  The
squire kissed his hand fervently.  "Master?" he asked in a weak voice.

The errant hushed him.  "Of a sudden, I am at times seized with a fury,
a frenzy that none can withstand.  I am sorry.  It is my curse.  Have I
hurt you?"

Robert shook his head mutely, now thoroughly exhausted and only a little
sore.  But he realized that he not only had to fear whatever mysterious
quest his master was on, but his master as well!

-- 
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