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Knight of Dawn

Fighting was never the most difficult part of my life. Sure it had danger -- the possibility of painful death. Yet I was an excellent swordsman and danger was the spice and joy of my occupation.

It was all the other stuff that bothered me.

The most obvious frustration involved the removal of bodily wastes. Urination was the most frequent problem. Rarely did I have time to remove the breastplate and pelvic armor before nature provided an immediate and yet unpleasant solution. With my helmet closed, the stench was unbearable, and gripped my head the way stocks encase a prisoner. Fortunately, the helmet was only required during an actual fight. The rest of the time I tore it off to dangle by crimson sash from my shoulder.

The more solid elimination was also a grievous aggravation. The newer armor had a hinge and plate to aid removal. Those of us with the older models had to deal with the stew of our own excrement. Sometimes it took years for replacement parts, so I had no immediate hope of salvation. The only possibility of rescue was on the battlefield – I might defeat someone who had a better one and thus make it my own.

Rain was another difficulty. Moisture gathered in the rivets and hinges of each piece of armor encouraging a growth of rust that might easily leave my equipment frozen and useless. To avoid such a calamity, I was forced to press animal fat into each crevice, every joint, all the places where one piece of metal rubbed against another.

The worst thing was a simple itch. One time I was riding high on my stallion when a small tickling sensation arose in my back. It was just a small feeling but of such an annoyance I could think of little else all day. I would have immediately torn off my breastplate, shoulder protections and mail coat, but at that exact moment a knight stood in front of me, his sword glistening in the fading light.

Today I felt none of these things. The sun was bright, my armor while never shiny was clean. Each surface was smooth, unmarred by scrapes or dents. I was riding my latest stallion, a black beauty of an animal, won in a recent tournament near a place called Eagle Mountain.

My thoughts were on the events of the previous evening. The opportunity had been like a gift from my liege lord, an alabaster bowl poured over my head.

She arrived with the swish of silk garments, not like the scarlet dressed hussies who frequented the taverns fat with tournament trade. She wore white, a long flowing gown, that kissed the steps as she descended the staircase.

"I have but little time," she said with a voice that sounded more like breathing than talking, as though she had just run across the castle when I knew it was merely a winding staircase, taken one slow step at a time, in full view of my assessment below.

I bent my head to the left and raised my arm to press my nose under it. A quick intake from my nostrils revealed that I still had a foul smell surrounding me. Perhaps she would never notice. After all, few men or even women for that matter bathed more than once a week, relying on perfume or a tightly bound tie to keep the odor contained. Yet it bothered me. My mother was an islander. She loved water -- boating upon it, swimming under it, and of course bathing with it. How she met a man from the interior, fell in love with him, and even married him is a different story.

"Where can we go to be alone?" I asked.

"You are so naughty - alone - without an escort. It can only be the garden. No one goes there these days."

Moments later, I understood why she chose the garden.

She lay on the soft grass, lifted an arm, a smile creeping over her lips, her legs spread apart.

I descended on her, a hand on her thigh, my lips hot against her softer ones.

"My husband has been long gone these many years," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "It has been lonely here in the castle. He may even be dead. The heathen are deadly in the holy lands."

Her words gave me pause for a moment, considering our situation. I was the tournament champion, yet of common birth, she of royal blood but without personal accomplishments, skills, or abilities. Unless the soft shadows showing beneath her filmy gown held special gifts, she was merely a prize to be taken, not a love for the cherishing. I hardly knew her. This was merely a man and a maid with their need for one another. Could anything more be accomplished here, I wondered.

My desire grew and I slid my hand along her thigh, over the smoothness of skin, under her gown, along her stomach, rib cage, to her breast. Under the filmy material, she was completely naked, the way she was born, without artifice, neither rich, nor poor, just a woman in heat.

She sighed as my hand surrounded her breast, massaging it, caressing it. My tongue parted her lips. Her tongue was a snake swirling with the growing need of me. And I responded with equal desire, our juices intermingling with the heat of our craving.

Her gown separated easily, revealing her breasts. I slid the tip of my tongue over her lips, down her chin, to her neck. With the barest of touches, my tongue trailed along the slope of her skin, down her neck, a touch, almost a tickle, the tip hardly tasting her. As I neared her breast, I opened my mouth, engulfing the softness of her mound.

She groaned.

"I never knew." Her whisper was almost without sound but in the stillness of the garden, I heard every word. "Let this last forever," she said sliding an arm against my chest, snapping a button open, then another until my shirt was open.

I pulled back, removing my shirt, staring at her lying on the grass. Her skin was alabaster, the scent of lilacs spreading upward. I opened the rest of her gown gazing down at her, her hazel eyes staring into mine. I let my glance move downward over the perfect breasts the small waist, a wisp of blond between her legs, and such legs. They were white as the rest of her, long and slender. I couldn't resist touching them, sliding my hand over the outside of them, touching her knee, her foot, then returning inside the leg, spreading them, lightly grazing her thigh, and placing a hand on the hair under her stomach.

She was far different from any of the other women I had known. I had no wife, no kept woman. I wandered from tournament to tournament, finding a taste of flesh here and there wherever my path would lead me. Most of them were tavern wenches, the kind that seldom washed, had dirt under fingernails with a bit too much flavor between the legs. As an islander, I had once sworn off women altogether. I liked the fish smell but these fillies had turned it sour, spoiled like rancid butter.

Despite my constant misgivings, the toss of long hair, the strut and swish of ample hips always had me sniffing around for more.

Samantha was different, a breath of fresh air, yet troubling in a way I did not quite understand. As I gazed down on her, I felt my penis quicken, hardening like a broom handle, quivering, wanting her more than thought itself. I would give up all fighting I thought, if I could just have this garden of delights every night.

"Your tongue," she cried. "Lick me, all of me."

I slid my tongue down her breast and along her chest. Like a worm, I wiggled the tip across her skin. She was delicious. As I caressed her with my lips, my tongue flicked between them, tasting her, exciting her, enticing her. Her taste was something I would never forget, a tinge of saltiness and something else, a fruitiness.

As I approached her belly button, I turned my body sideways, positioning my penis near her mouth, so close I could feel her hot breath on it sending a tingling sensation through me. My penis twitched with desire and rubbed against her cheek.

"Please," I said softly. "Suck me."

She placed me in her mouth. She was a novice but her inhibitions were disappearing as fast as the island tides change in the early morning hours. I felt her mouth tighten around me. I pushed forward until my penis hit the back of her throat. Her nose rested against my balls. Then she tightened her mouth and sucked me as though she had been doing it for years. I felt my stomach tighten, a stirring grew deep inside me, craving to let go. But I didn't want it to end yet. There was so much more to do.

My tongue wrapped itself around the hairs between her legs. I slid to the edge of her slit, delicately probing the inner sanctums of her private folds. They were wet and I lapped up the juices like a lapdog, tasting the sweet fragrance that seemed to call to me – fuck me, fuck me. But that would have to wait. I had a meal to finish.

I continued to swirl my tongue over the edges of her slit, inching closer to that little button of love, the nub of desire – her clitoris. As I lightly grazed it, she jerked upward an act that forced my penis deeper into her throat. I was now past the back of her mouth and several inches down her throat. I wondered how she could breathe properly since with each movement, her throat and mouth clenched my penis. I couldn't believe it that I hadn't shot my load long before.

And for a moment, all I could think about was the delightful way she jerked and quivered each time my tongue touched her clitoris. And each time this happened I quivered as well, her grip on my penis constricting tight around me.

"Don't come," she cried sliding off of me. "I want you inside me."

My penis bounced up and down, quivering in the cool air. Spreading her legs, I rested the tip against her pussy. She pushed upward and the tip slowly entered her. After a couple of inches it stopped. I pushed downward and slowly her pussy expanded to allow me to enter her further and further.

It had been a long time since she had been with a man. She was tight, so very tight, as though it was her first time. I eased my penis back and then pushed forward again. It went further this time and further still the next. I wondered what this would mean to the two of us. I was a commoner, she a lady, royalty. Sure I was tournament champion, but what value was that against the blue blood of an aristocrat.

She cried as I ripped her apart, my penis embedded full into her, my pelvis rubbing against her clitoris. Then slowly I drew back, my penis encased in as tight a pussy as I had ever felt before. Just as the tip almost exited her pussy, I slid back again.

"Oh," she cried. "It's like fire. Don't stop. It hurts like fire but I want it, all of it."

And I obliged. I slowed my pace down as the eruption of my desire grew closer and closer. She wasn't ready yet. I did not want to release too soon. I wanted her to find the pain and the glory, the sunshine and the rain. I wanted to rock her world, to change her forever, to remove the naΓ―ve little grin from her face. This was no love making exercise between two turtle dove adolescents. No this was a man possessing a woman.

Yet my control was almost gone. How I wanted to erupt inside her to feel her pussy convulse around me. We were almost there.

I gripped her shapely buttocks in my arms and pulled her toward me.

"Ahh," I cried as I shot my seed into her.

It was as though my seed had stimulated her beyond her resistance. She came as well, screaming my name over and over. I covered her mouth so the entire castle wouldn't hear us.

And then our passions waned. We lay back in the grass, legs entangled, chests together, a tiredness covering us like a blanket, protective and warm.

Some time later unsure of the time, I shook my head to clear it of sleep. I studied the woman beside me, my thoughts on how different we were. Her station in life was so much higher than my own. She thought herself better than I. It was something that I could not accept and with the passion gone, this stared me straight in my face. I had no desire to fight for her, carry her ribbon on my shield. I had more immediate concerns.

A knight approached me at a gallop, his shield swaying in the afternoon light, catching a stray beam of sunlight that had fought through the leaves and branches above us.

The crest on his shield revealed nothing, containing a single robin surrounded by green oak leaves. I had seen nothing like it in all my previous jousting experiences. His armor was black absorbing the sunlight like a dark cavern. This contrasted with his white horse -- light and darkness together – twins of disparity. What a sight you'd make at the tournament, I thought.

I was in the best shape of my career, armor in perfect order, a well-trained horse, even a bath late into the evening. I flexed my muscles, feeling the blood flood into my fighting arm. It held a lance at the moment, certain to be replaced shortly with my blade, Blue Sapphire.

As my opponent loomed in front of me, I noticed the size of his horse – 15 hands, small for a horse, any horse. It carried a knight with heavy armor. Yet the horse raced easily, eager for the battle to begin. The rider was smaller than I had first surmised. The contrast to the horse had made me think of a giant knight ready to devour me. Instead, he was much smaller than I.

I wondered what kind of a battle I would have. Would this be difficult or easy? As fine a fighter as I was, I always had this moment of doubt before a contest. Was I still the best? Eventually someone would show up to beat me. Was this the time? Had my speed slackened just a little, that small bit that separated the expert from the mediocre?

As rider and horse reached me I pulled on the reins. "Desist a moment sir," I shouted.

Ten paces from me the horse and rider stopped. We stood there for several moments in silence. Then I spoke.

"I have no conflict with you." My words were loud in the stillness of the glen.

No response.

"Why risk death when there is no reason for it?"

Still no response from the mysterious rider.

I sat motionless for many minutes, studying the equally still rider before me. Neither of us moved or spoke as the other rider adjusted his lance. Pointing it toward me, he kicked his heels into the side of his horse.

Lance fighting was about three things. The horse was the most important part of the entire conflict. A heavy horse, fleet of foot, would almost always demolish a smaller one. Riders were just extra baggage. My horse was heavy and fairly fast. My opponent's animal was on the small side. I still had no idea how fast the beast could run.

A proper seat was also crucial to good lance fighting. A well balanced and secure saddle would provide a fighter a good foundation for the critical thrust of a lance. In my early days, I had once used a simple wooden seat. My armor would chaff as it scraped and rattled against the wood. When my opponent's lance hit my shield, the lack of secure seating caused me to simply slide off my horse. As he collected my equipment, I almost felt grateful. Never again would I need to use my worthless saddle.

The last crucial ingredient for a successful lance fight was the fighter himself. The better the fighter, the more battles he would win. I was one of the best. Since that fateful day when my saddle caused me to fall off my horse, I had been flawless. That was at least twenty matches in the past. It would be so easy to be over confident now. Few knights had ever been so successful.

As we raced toward each other, I raised my lance, pointing straight at the other's shield. I had perfected a trick that almost always worked. Most knights would point the lance toward the center of an opponent's torso. The opposing knight would counter with his shield to receive the blow and at the same time deliver an equally powerful attack from his own lance.

My trick was to follow this basic pattern, but at just the right moment, shift the lance away from the torso and catch the shield off center. If implemented in just the right way, this would spin the other person and often unseat him.

I planned to perform such an exhibition today. The only risk was the rare possibility that I might miss the shield altogether, my lance slide into the air, leaving my left side open and vulnerable. So far that risk had never become reality.

The fight did not proceed the way I had expected. First, my adversary's horse was unusually fast. Then when I tried my trick of shifting my lance's point to the outside portion of my opponent's shield, I missed the shield altogether. It wasn't so much that I missed the spot I was aiming at as my adversary simply sidestepped the forward thrust of my lance.

I saw a flash of his lance, heard a clang on my helmet just moments before spinning stars fogged my head. When my head cleared, I was lying on the ground, my horse standing over me and my opponent a few horse lengths away, waiting.

There wasn't much I could do but try to get up again. Only trying and doing were two separate things, especially for a knight fully decked in tournament grade armor.

My back ached, my legs throbbed, and the blasted armor was so heavy, so incredibly heavy. I felt as though the inside was filled with lead. Every muscle in my body screamed in pain.

Eventually I propped myself against a nearby stump and with my back to it, was able to sit up. The other knight backed his horse toward me until its long tail swished around my helmet. Taking the hint, I grabbed the tail and the horse pulled me upright. As soon as I was vertical, I release the tail.

The other knight stopped his horse a few lengths away and leaped from the saddle. I had never seen anything like it before. None of the usual clanking and twisting, practically falling out of the saddle. No, this was a nice clean jump. That's when I realized that his armor must be different, not as heavy, less protective perhaps, but so much more agile.

As my opponent approached, Blue Sapphire leaped into my hand. The knight striding toward me also had a sword out, its sharp edges gleaming against the rays of light that fought through the leaves. Again I observed the smaller size of the other knight, his light armor , not much more than chain mail. I thought that perhaps this fight would be over quickly. And another thought crept into my thinking – Why had he helped me get back on my feet?

"I am a swordsman of goodly skill," I said. "I have oft times killed my opponents. I do not want this folly to fall on your head."

The other knight said no words in response, simply closed the distance and swung his sword. It was a lazy tentative swing and I easily blocked it. I decided to surprise him, and swung my sword with as powerful a stroke as I could muster. He didn't even bother to block my swing, simply flicked it aside so the strength of my stroke caused my sword to sweep into the air in an explosive arc of power but only finding empty wind to oppose it. The force of the motion through the air caused me to stumble.

The smaller knight pounced on this opportunity and whipped his sword toward my helmet. I jerked back so the blow was only a glancing one, but it still hit the edge of my helmet leaving my head ringing and almost forcing me to the ground again.

Then I swung at him, a probing swing, not committing anything, ready to parry a stroke, or swing for the kill. I was more cautious now, ice in my veins. This would not be a quick ending. I needed to be careful. So far I had been lucky. I should already be defeated, but somehow I was still on my feet.

For over half an hour, we parried each other, probing the other's defenses, trying to find a weakness that either of us could expose. Both of us were of fairly equal skill. I was the more powerful, but my opponent was quicker. The question of who would win might certainly come down to who would tire first. Of that possibility I was quite unconcerned. I was renown for my endurance. Of course each of my massive strokes did consume more energy than his quick ones, jabbing, slicing, stabbing.

But the end never was a result of any of these possibilities. Like many aspects of life, the conclusion to our affair was decided by chance.
As luck would have it, my opponent slipped on a rock that turned under his foot and threw him sprawling to the ground. Quick to grasp the advantage, I had my sword at his throat in an instant.

"Remove your helmet, knave," I said.

And he did. As the helmet slipped over his head, golden locks of hair fell around his shoulders. That was when I made an important discovery.

"You, you, you're a woman." My mouth was open, jaw slack. If she had possessed a weapon, I would have been a dead knight, I was so shocked.

I helped her to her feet. She began to remove her armor. "It is yours now. You have truly defeated me in fair combat. Never have I lost by the sword. You are truly a master of the weapon."

Minutes later, she stood before me in thin shirt and pants that revealed every contour of her lovely young body. I was amazed that such a young thing could have such skill with weapons. Of course looks can be deceiving especially in regards to age. I myself was not even twenty, considered one of the best fighters in the archipelago. At the moment thoughts of chronological disparities were far from my consideration.

I was staring at the way her chest pushed out against the thin cloth of her shirt. I could see the points of her nipples, poking from behind the thin material. I slipped my hand under her shirt and started to pull it upward.

"You want the shirt too?" she said, her voice rising in what I surmised to be panic.

I smiled. It was certainly not meant to be an evil smile, but my thoughts were certainly focused on my own needs, passions, desires. That she was the object of such interest was merely a matter of circumstance, opportunity that happens seldom and when it does must be grabbed like a lifeline.

So I pulled her shirt over her head. She never resisted, allowed me to expose her pale mounds of softness and joy. Oh how I wanted to run my hands over them to touch them. She was so beautiful and yet I still recalled that this was not a mere maiden found in a tavern, but a fighter as well. She was a woman to walk beside not to drag behind. I had never met her like in my entire life.

She stood there before me, a calmness like a cloak surrounding her, her breasts pale in the flickering light from the canopy of leaves.

"I have never met anyone so fine in battle," I said. "And a woman. I would desire to know you."

"You have my steed, my armor, and now my shirt," she said. "I am vanquished before you. What else do you want?"

"You can have the horse," I cried. "And the armor. I am struck dumb by your beauty. Where did you learn to fight so well?"

She had been staring into my eyes, blazing blue jewels set in the perfect oval of her face. Now she glanced downward. "My father wished for a son but I was all he had."

Then she glanced back into my face full force, straight at me. "There is a lake nearby. I stink."

Soon the two of us were running toward the water, armor and clothes tossed aside. Splashing in the wetness and warmth, I found her near me and pushed her playfully. She slipped and fell under the water. Laughing I walked further into the lake, the water creeping to my chest.

Suddenly, I felt a force on my back. I slipped, fell under the water. Something was on my head forcing me under. I felt her breast in my face and leaped up for air.

She was laughing. "I almost had you," she said the water dripping from her face.

I hardly noticed as my tongue extended to lick a nipple. Soon my mouth had covered her breast. She no longer fought me, her legs curled around my stomach, her arms pressing my face into her chest.

I was drowning now and it had nothing to do with the water around me. Her hands, arms, legs seemed everywhere, under me, around me, entwining me. Hot lips pressed to mine, the softness of her breasts on my chest.

Eventually we ended up on the green carpet of grass beside the lake. Her mouth was around my penis, a hand wrapped around the bottom portion, her mouth fastened to the top. As she slid her mouth downward, her hand would flatten against the side of my leg. Then she pulled up, her hand again grasping my rod, squeezing it like a ripe banana.

Meanwhile with my face between her legs, I licked her thighs. My tongue stroked her skin, moving closer to her labia lips. As I touched them, the juices eased out and fell on my cheeks. I buried my tongue inside of her, curving it to scoop her juices, pulling the liquid toward me, slurping them, swallowing all of it with deep breaths.

My tongue pushed up between her lips, under her clit, pushing against the walls of her pussy, the tip inching upward toward that center of pleasure. As I touched it, she gasped. Her mouth pulled away from my cock and a groan escaped from her.

Then she engulfed me again, fully, so that my cock entered deep into her throat, her lips locked around it, her mouth just above my anus. And we lay that way for some time, her lips locked around me, my tongue now slowly circling her clitoris with soft easy strokes.

I knew I was drowning. This was to be no quick round of play, a gasp, a squirt, then fair thee well. No, this was the real thing. I had heard that such an event might happen, a rarity to be sure, but still known to occur. Well, it had finally happened to me.

I broke from our position, crawled over her and engulfed her breast with my mouth. Her nipple was against my tongue and with a circular motion, I slowly grazed the soft point, around and around, then a flick, and finally just sucking it.

One of my hands held her other breast, gently squeezing it, holding her nipple between thumb and first finger. My second hand slid down below where the juices still flowed, entering her, touching her clitoris with a finger.

Her moaning was louder now, her hands around my penis, guiding me to her. I felt the wetness and at first thought it was merely her hands caressing me. Then I felt her thrust upward and I knew that I was inside her.

She was tight as though this was the first time for her. Yet I knew that was not the case. No one with her skill could possibly be a novice. No, this was a woman who had been places, known men. And now it was me she was knowing, knowing in a way that was both wonderful and yet something else, something scary and frightening, like death.

My lips were hot on hers, my tongue deep into her mouth, twisting and swirling like a snake devouring her soul. Only it felt as though my soul was being consumed. I slid my hand down her back, pressing her to me. Her breasts pressed against my chest as though we wanted to merge our bodies together. Sliding my hands down further, I felt her buttocks. Soft and round, not massively large but everything a woman should have with hips that curved from her small waist, to taper back toward her legs.

Pulling her butt toward me, my penis pushed into her as far as possible. I could feel the end rubbing against something, a wall of flesh perhaps, maybe her womb.

Something squeezed inside her and I felt my penis gripped even tighter by the strength of her pussy. And I lost control and pounded back and forth for several minutes. Her passion equaled if not exceeded my own as she met every thrust of mine with a responding movement just as strong and desperate as my own.

"My knight," she cried. "You have won all of me. Now give me that one boon I must have."

"Anything," I whispered, barely able to talk so consumed was I by her silky legs and the tightness of her pussy. "What is it? What do you want?"

"I want your soul," she cried. "You must grovel before me, let me walk over the embers of your wasted life."

"That is one boon I cannot give," I said in return. "I can however give you something far grander, like the elephant is to the mouse, this boon will tower above all other gifts."

"And what is that my Lord," she said softly in my ear, her tongue twisting inside the lobe. Each twist of her tongue caused my penis to jerk as though I was about to erupt.

"My princess," I said. "I want to carry your scarf on my arm as a banner of our endless love. No slave to your demands but Lord to Lady and Lady to Lord."

"But that would be true love," she said jerking against me so I was thrust into her, my pelvis hard against her clitoris.

With my hands on her buttocks I pressed her against me, my penis throbbing inside of her, her clitoris hard against me. We stayed that way several minutes quivering like a dear and stag in heat, craving the release, almost finding it but allowing it to fade before the onslaught of our contemplations.

"I would you be my slave," she said, "And you mine. I want to feel your hand on the rosy cheeks of my bottom, feel the pain of my naughtiness, then explode into pleasure at your passion."

"You are such a naughty girl, no Lady at all," I said at last. "Yes, I think you should be punished greatly for your sins."

So saying I raised my hand and popped it against the softness of her buttocks.

"Again," she cried. So, I did it again and again.

At the last she cried aloud as if dying. It was the power of her orgasm. As her cries filled the empty forest, shooting across the placid lake, her pussy gripped my penis harder than ever, and finally giving up all hope of sanity, I exploded into her, streams and streams of white fluid squirting into her.

And I collapsed with her on top of me until sleep enfolded us in its loving arms.

As the night slowly faded and the dawn of a new day appeared, I shook my head, pulled myself to my knees to look around

The love of my life was gone, as was her horse, her armor, sword, and shield. Unfortunately, my horse, armor and shield were gone as well.

Only Blue Sapphire remained. So much for true love I thought.
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