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When Knighthood Was In Flower and Maidens Lost The
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
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)
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