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The following document is a work of erotic fiction. Any and all
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And thus we begin the story...

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01Knight - Chapter Two {Moon Dragon} 
"Once a Knight" Copyright Moon Dragon - Mar/2010 
(fM, oral, FM, anal, magic, viol, F-solo 
exhib, MMf, f-solo, voy, reluc, best, f-dog 
1st-ff, ffM, shav, mf, MF, rom, hist) 
 
 - X - X - X - 

When a Contessa from present times returns 
and cannot go back for the love she yearns 
from a magical adventure in the past 
though ever more her love will last 
her squires must turn their weekend play 
into courage and prowess to save the day 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONAE 
Lady Angharad O'Shaughnessy of Kilkenny 
Lord Lincoln Mac Galbraith of Blakeshire Wood 
     (Squires to Syr Gabriella) 

     Syr Gabriella Valentina, Contessa del Giardino Bella
     (Head of House Valentina) 

Sir Edmund de la Claire 
Baroness Sokhatai Bolkhadar 
     (Lord and Lady of House de la Claire) 

Duchess Lucinda Melisande Von Landstadt 
     (The Ivory Duchess) 

Sir Tyrus, Lord Blakeshire 
     (Knight of the Kings Court) 

Helga and Hannah the Serving Girls 
     (Handmaidens at Blakeshire Keep, Sisters) 

Lord Nathaniel of Belascye 
     (Squire of Sir Tyrus) 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
... Arriving rather flushed of face, Helga quickly saw
to the needs of their guests. Sir Tyrus didn't remark
on her unusually breathless appearance, Angharad noted
with a smirk, but she could see that the girl had just
been well and truly fucked. The grinning redhead gave
the willowy peasant girl a saucy wink when the knights
back was turned, a secret between us girls, she seemed
to say, and they were directed downstairs to the great
hall. Once everyone had taken their seats, and all the
servants were dismissed, Sir Tyrus begged them both to
speak further of Gabriella's fate. 
 
Angharad explained that Syr Gabriella, or Lady Jacklyn
as Tyrus knew her, was from a time far in the future
and that she had accidently traveled back to this time
two years ago, by virtue of a magical pendant that she
had purchased from an elderly gypsy woman. Lincoln was
saved from thinking that she had come unglued only by
virtue of his own current position. He couldn't debate
any part of her story, seeing that the very same thing
had happened to him only hours earlier. 
 
The knight, on the other hand, took the story quite in
stride. Witchcraft, or at least fear of it, were quite
common things in this age. He was rather sorrowed upon
learning, though, that it had been his gift to Jacklyn
that had catapulted her back to her own time. Neither
of them could have known, Angharad said, and there was
nothing that they could have done to prevent it. 
 
"When first I knew Lady Jacklyn," Tyrus said, "She had
run afoul of a putrid pair of miscreants. I was unable
to save her from the ravishes of the first, though the
second died upon my blade ere he could lay hands upon
her. Her heart could have been thoroughly shattered by
such an ordeal, but before that same night was out she
made her way to my... Well, her heart was fine." 
 
Lincoln was again gobsmacked by this revelation. There
had never been mention of ANY of this anywhere in his
presence. Angharad merely nodded wisely, though, aware
of what had happened to Syr Gabriella upon her arrival
in this era, and how she had found comfort in the arms
of this gentle knight. 
 
"I trust," Sir Tyrus added, "That your appearance upon
my lands was rather more uneventful?" 
 
"Would that it were so, milord," Lincoln said, holding
his first part in the conversation, "Immediately as we
came to this time, we too were set upon by just such a
pair of ruffians as you describe. I was able to defeat
the first, while Lady Angharad evaded the second." 
 
"Upon my lands?" Tyrus asked, "Indeed. Where so?" 
 
"Just a few hours walk to the east of the manor," said
Angharad, "There lies a pool of clear water within the
surrounding stand of trees." 
 
"Aye, I know just the place," Tyrus nodded, "And these
two ruffians, were they in my domain alone?" 
 
"Nay, they were not, milord," Angharad replied, "There
was with them an older golden haired lady. They seemed
to follow her orders." 
 
"Her name," Tyrus demanded, sitting quickly upright in
his oaken chair, "Did either of them speak her name?" 
 
"Oh," the Irish lass replied, "One did... But I am not
certain that I recall it." 
 
"Was it Lucinda, by chance?" 
 
"Aye, that was she," Angharad agreed, "Duchess Lucinda
he called her." 
 
"Gods ballocks," Tyrus swore, "The ivory duchess under
my very nose, and I oblivious to it." 
 
"The ivory duchess? Who is she?" 
 
"That is far too great a question to answer at so late
an hour," Tyrus said, "We will speak more of it in the
morning. Surely you must be exhausted. Helga will show
you to your rooms." 
 
Helga, appearing from nowhere upon command as servants
often seem able to do, approached the high table with
another girl, younger but also blonde, in tow. The new
girl began to clear the table as Angharad and Lincoln
got to their feet, curtsying to them politely, and the
brawny Scot guessed her age at somewhere near fourteen
summers, or thereabouts. 
 
"This is my little sister, Hannah," the blonde servant
girl said, "She heard someone say that there were two
outlanders in the manor who knew Lady Jacklyn, and she
wanted to meet you." 
 
"You knew Lady Jacklyn as well?" Angharad asked. 
 
"Nay, milady, not I," Hannah replied as she took up an
empty wine goblet, "Not personally, though each one of
us has heard Sir Tyrus speaking of her." 
 
"Does he speak of her often?" 
 
"Ceaselessly," the younger girl said, "It is said that
none here had ever beheld him so happy as when she was
with him, nor so broken as when she disappeared. They
had not been together long, milady, but he had come to
love her fiercely, even now still as much as ever, and
he misses her terribly." 
 
Hannah had nothing further to add, though what she had
already told them spoke volumes about the knights true
feelings for the missing Contessa. Angharad nodded for
Helga to precede them, but as they went upstairs, she
couldn't help but notice Sir Tyrus standing before the
great hearth at the end of the hall, tenderly cradling
in his strong hands a small shining thing which looked
for all the world like a piece of golden filigree. 
 
Once they had returned to the upper level of the manor
house, with Helga leading the way, they each went into
their own chamber. Lincoln muttered under his breath a
little at not sharing his room with Angharad, but they
didn't fuss too much. Young men and women who had not
been properly wed could not share sleeping quarters in
this age; it simply wasn't done... 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
... Later that same night, when the manor was dark and
silent, Angharad found herself unable to sleep. Taking
up a candle in an ornate silver holder, she opened her
chamber door and slipped across the hallway, clad only
in a light chemise. Judging by the snoring coming from
his chamber, Lincoln did not share her sense of unease
and had no difficulty sleeping. Having nobody to talk
to, she set out instead to locate the garderobe. After
she had gone down a stone staircase, and around a few
corners, she found the facilities and, upon completing
her business, headed back to find her chamber. 
 
She traveled through a seemingly endless assortment of
hallways and corners, and back up a stairway, but then
realized that she must have taken a wrong turn at some
point, as this stairway didn't open on the hallway in
which her chamber was located. As she was on the verge
of calling for Lincoln or anybody else who might come
to help her, she caught a glimpse of moonlight falling
through an open door. 
 
Thinking that she might find the right way back to her
chamber if she could just figure out what part of the
house she was in, Angharad opened the door and stepped
outside into the sultry summer night. The light of the
full moon showed a crenellated walkway all around the
sloped roof of the keep. Breathing in the warm moonlit
air, she gazed out over the battlements, taking in the
wonderful spectacle of the estate. 
 
Just to the west was an expanse of forest, but between
manor and forest, and on all other sides as well stood
a crystal clear lake, resting mirror flat in the quiet
air. The keep had been built upon an island that rose
some forty feet out of its surface, such that the lake
guarded them from every side, with the stone causeway
that extended out over the waters to the lakes eastern
shore. The woods began on the western shore, extending
a canopy over the shining water, reaching the distant
hills of the valley surrounding Blakeshire manor as it
embraced the keep from north and south alike. 
 
An easy night breeze had her chemise fluttering around
her body, with that soft linen fabric lightly stroking
her nipples, and Angharad looked around to see whether
there was anybody else about. Men patrolled the lower
battlement walls, but way up here, high atop the manor
keep, she was alone. 
 
Blakeshire manor wasn't devoted entirely to war; there
were several benches of wood and stone, some even had
woven cushions, clustered round a low stone table near
the lakeside wall. Standing out of the stone table was
what she could only describe as a wooden framed patio
umbrella. It appeared anachronistic in this place, and
Angharad couldn't help but wonder if Syr Gabriella had
suggested it to Tyrus while she was here. 
 
Lying herself back upon a cushioned bench, the redhead
began idly stroking her hands up and down her body. An
easy tug pulled the hemlines of her chemise up around
her waist; she wore nothing beneath it. The warm night
carried a pleasant fragrance from the handful of fruit
trees growing within the courtyard outside the wooden
outbuilding that housed the manor kitchen; this sticky
sweet perfume soon mingling with a new scent. 
 
As the delicate fragrance of her arousal began to urge
her to new explorations, Angharad allowed her fingers
to wander down to the center of her desire. She softly
caressed her hairless slit, as always loving the silky
smooth feeling of her naked pussy lips. One fingertip
slipped into the crease between her thighs, finding an
expected damp warmth as the Irish lass began thrusting
one finger in and out of her wetness. 
 
Moaning softly, hoping that nobody could hear her, she
spread her legs apart as her finger probed deeper into
her feminine depths. Spasms of delight caused her body
to twitch as she added another finger into her velvety
tightness. Gently opening up the petals of her pouting
slit, the sexy redhead used her free hand to seek out
her throbbing clit, whimpering at the contact with her
stiffened little button. 
 
Exquisite pleasure radiated outward from her clit, and
her body began quivering with a delicious anticipation
as she kept playing with her slick pink pussy, but she
slowed down before it went to far. She wasn't ready to
cum quite yet. 
 
Looking about once again to be sure that she was still
alone upon the rooftop, Angharad took off her chemise
entirely, discarding it in a pile beside her. Reaching
up to squeeze her naked tits, her nipples hardening in
her palms, she lifted first one then the other towards
her sensuous lips. Gently suckling on her own nipples
always drove her crazy, and she felt rippling jolts of
lust shooting through her writhing body, straight into
her dripping slit. 
 
Her clit was begging for attention, and the sexy Irish
lass reached between her legs with both hands, gently
parting her pussy lips with one and going for her hard
little button with the other. Twinkles of technicolor
perfume began bursting through her body, and the fiery
scent of celestial fireworks filled her head. Although
she wanted to drag these sensations out for as long as
possible, fighting that last peak of ecstasy, Angharad
could tell that she was about to cum hard, whether she
was ready for it or not. 
 
"Oh my God... Yes, here it comes," she moaned, feeling
the last meager shreds of her control quickly slipping
away, "Oh yeah... Ungh, fuck... fuck... fuck!" 
 
Furiously working her clit, Angharad began to convulse
in delight, her wildly thrashing hips all but throwing
her off of the cushioned bench. Her heaving tits still
bore witness to her breathless delirium, and colorful
aftershocks fired randomly through her pussy until her
body had returned to normal. 
 
The sexy Irish lass basked in the afterglow for just a
few moments longer before getting back to her feet and
donning her chemise. As she settled the linen garment
about her slender shoulders, she saw movement from the
corner of her eye. Helga, leaning against the stairway
door, was just smoothing her own chemise back into its
rightful order. 
 
"You scared me half to death," Angharad told her, "How
long have you been standing there?" 
 
"Long enough, milady" Helga grinned, licking something
shiny and wet from her fingers. 
 
"Dear lord. Have you been watching me?" Angharad asked
her, blushing furiously. 
 
"Yes, milady," the peasant girl admitted, "I heard you
leave your chambers, and when you didn't return I came
to find you, thinking that you may have lost your way
in the dark of night. I am pleased to know that I need
not have been worried overmuch." 
 
"You," smiled Angharad, "Are a naughty, naughty girl." 
 
"I'll not deny that," Helga grinned back, "But might I
ask one question of you, milady?" 
 
Angharad nodded warily. 
 
"Well, I could not help but notice..." Helga stammered
rather shyly, blushing herself now that she was openly
asking, "That you don't seem to have any... That is to
say, that the... Um... hair isn't..." 
 
"I think I understand," Angharad said. She debated for
an instant, realized that the peasant girl had already
seen her naked anyway, and raised her chemise over her
thighs, displaying her hairless little pussy. "Is this
what you meant?" she asked. 
 
"Aye, milady," the blonde girl answered, "I have never
seen such a thing. It looks so very... smooth." 
 
"This is something of a fashion where Lord Lincoln and
myself are from," Angharad explained simply, "He likes
it this way. If you wish to learn how, mayhap we could
even teach you, he and I." 
 
"Say you so?" Helga asked eagerly, "Might we try to do
it soon?" 
 
"Helga," said the Irish redhead, "I believe this could
be the beginning of a beautiful friendship..." 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
... The next morning dawned fair and bright, and Helga
arrived with a chest full of fine clothing that Tyrus
had provided for them. After they had dressed and seen
to their morning ablutions, Helga escorted them to the
great hall, where the knight was waiting. Lord Lincoln
saw a look pass between Lady Angharad and the serving
girl, who then glanced at him with frank appraisal and
winked, and he wondered what tales his Irish lass had
been telling. In any case, a hearty breakfast was laid
out before them, and once it was finished, talk turned
to the adventures of the previous day. 
 
"These men that attacked you," Tyrus asked, "Wore they
livery bearing a winged rams head within a triangle of
gold, upon a field of white and green?" 
 
"They did," Lincoln confirmed, "What does that mean?" 
 
"They are members of the kings guard," Tyrus said with
a snarl, "And a plague upon my land they've been, this
last half score of years gone." 
 
"The kings men?" Angharad gasped, "Assaulting innocent
folk, and ravishing women? Are these lands not held in
the kings name? Surely he must punish his soldiers for
this sort of behavior in his own realm." 
 
"Aye, milady," the knight said sadly, "But the king no
longer rules these lands as once he did. He still sits
the royal throne, but the real power in this kingdom
lies in the hands of the accursed she-bitch upon which
you looked last eve. The royal army would no longer be
capable of defending this realm from any foe stronger
than a marauding herd of cattle. She dismissed each of
the real fighting men, those loyal to the king, and in
their places recruited an army of thugs that she could
bend to her will." 
 
"Did not those loyal to the king resist?" Lord Lincoln
asked incredulously. 
 
"She banished them to the last man," Sir Tyrus replied
quietly, "The duchess fell upon them without warning
with her band of knaves. Sent them from their lands in
chains with naught save the clothes on their back, and
stripped them of property and titles. They were given
no chance to resist; each man who refused to leave was
declared an outlaw and executed." 
 
"This is horrible," Angharad said, "Why in the name of
heaven have they not since revolted against her?" 
 
"How can they?" Tyrus inquired, "They have nothing. No
weapons with which they may arm themselves, no venison
nor bread to fill hungry bellies, nor even enough coin
to acquire those things which are lacking. We who have
held loyal to the king in secret have done our utmost
to keep our evicted fellows warm and fed, and smuggled
arms to them when we can, but Lucinda has implemented
such strict controls upon all the goods in the kingdom
that it is difficult to spare anything. More difficult
still to send what little can be spared to where there
is most need without her knowledge." 
 
"I am curious," pondered Lord Lincoln, "How is it that
the king has allowed these events to continue?" 
 
"Not by his choice, I fear," the knight stated, "There
was an illness that swept through the royal house some
time ago. His eldest son was the first to succumb, and
his queen followed soon thereafter, may God rest them
both. His youngest child is but a babe, and though the
king himself fought the malady, he has not since been
his rightful self. He is sorely weakened, and he burns
in fever. He spends most of his waking hours abed, and
has done so these last three years gone." 
 
"This has been going on for three entire years?" asked
the Lady Angharad, shocked. 
 
"Indeed," Tyrus said, "It is unnatural. God forgive me
for these words, but there's the devil at work in this
I'm certain, and it's the foul duchess who has invited
him in. A man unwell of natural causes would have long
since either yielded to the illness, and gone to meet
his maker, or else improved his condition and regained
some measure of his bearing." 
 
"Sir Tyrus," Angharad queried suspiciously, "Just what
are you suggesting?" 
 
"Only this," the king's knight explained, "It has been
suggested by those loyal to the king that she has cast
some unnameable thing into his food ere the servants
bear it forth, although I admit, there is little proof
of it." 
 
"Why then the suspicion?" Lincoln asked. 
 
"Not long before the queens passing," Tyrus replied in
a moment, "The king did appoint a foreign woman as his
royal chatelaine. This was long ere he bestowed title
upon her, but given such position she had unrestricted
access to the palace entire. She spent too many hours
in the kitchens, to 'supervise' the preparation of the
royal food and drink. His sickening occurred at around
the same time. Whether the deaths of the queen and the
kings heir were of natural causes or nay, when malady
struck His Majesty as well, after he had remained full
in good health while the queen was ill, there was talk
at court of the unusual timing." 
 
"These are horrible tidings," Angharad murmured. 
 
"Aye they are at that," Tyrus conceded, "More horrible
still, however, are these tidings which you yourselves
have borne hence of the duchess, damn her eyes." 
 
"Why do you say that, Sir Tyrus?" Lincoln asked, "Have
we said something concerning her that has bearing upon
these events?" 
 
"Indeed," Tyrus replied, "It is one thing for that hag
to send her lackeys to spy upon the lands of those who
she suspects of loyalty to the king, but it is quite
another for her to venture so far from the royal court
herself. For you to have seen her, right in Blakeshire
Wood, there must be some foul thing afoot." 
 
"So what are you suggesting?" Angharad asked again. 
 
"I have no doubt that the duchess is plotting some new
treachery," the knight answered pensively, "If only we
could know what sort of villainy she is planning." 
 
Lincoln and Angharad both glanced at one another, each
seeming to know what the other was thinking. 
 
"Milord," Lincoln began, "You spoke of those men, such
as yourself, who have still remained loyal to the king
in secret. Could it be that the ivory duchess somehow
have learned that you are supporting the folk who were
banished, sending them food and arms, and that she now
aims to strike against you?" 
 
"Aye," Tyrus admitted, "So ill a thing might have come
to pass in spite of our attempts at secrecy. Think you
then that the rogues who challenged you were advanced
scouts, out to determine the details of my patrols and
so forth and report them back to Lucinda?" 
 
"If such a thing be true, milord," Angharad said, "You
should perhaps expect her to take action sooner rather
than later. Else what would be the point in having her
men learn such details, should they be changed by time
she sets her plans in motion?" 
 
"This has the sound of wise council, coming as it does
from one with few years," Tyrus smiled, "Jacklyn must
be very proud of you. Indeed, of you both. Perhaps the
duchess has not reckoned upon your presence here, and
is unaware that she has been seen on my lands. I shall
rearrange my patrols at once, and mayhap we will catch
her by surprise yet." 
 
"With some luck," Lincoln agreed, "She'll never see it
coming..." 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
... Later that afternoon, Hannah was sent to a village
nearby to purchase supplies for the manor. Blakeshire
was primarily self sufficient, growing much of its own
food, augmented by Men of the Field who took meat from
the forest and fish from the lake, but certain things
were simply easier to find in the small village just a
league south of the Keep. Hannah reached it quickly so
she yet had time to visit with Goliath before starting
her chores, if she didn't dawdle overlong, and she did
want to see how he was doing. 
 
Goliath was the great hunting hound that Sir Tyrus had
entrusted to her father. He had served the knight well
enough, but he had been gored by a wild boar when last
he was in the field. Sir Tyrus, loath to be rid of so
beloved an animal, had instead placed the hound in the
capable care of her father. He had once been a steward
at the manor, and although he was retired now that he
had advanced in years, Sir Tyrus trusted no other with
the hounds care and well being. 
 
Tyrus had first thought to put the animal down, but it
had proven unnecessary. The dogs injury had eventually
healed, though he was not yet fully recovered. Though
he still limped if he walked any distance, Goliath was
keen to rejoin the hunt. She saw it in the way he hung
his head and whined every time a party of hunters rode
into the forest. 
 
As she opened the doors of the small barn owned by her
family, Goliath barked in greeting, sticking his nose
into the basket that she carted to see whether she had
brought a bone for him, or perhaps even a juicy cut of
meat. Hannah took a brush down from a shelf, and began
to work loose a few tangled knots, picking stray bits
of straw from the barn floor out of a coat as black as
a ravens wing. Goliath soon whuffed his approval as he
gnawed upon the great bone that he had found hiding in
the basket after all. 
 
The scent of the dog on so warm a day, and the feel of
Goliath's muscled shoulder under her hand, quickly had
an affect upon the young girl. Hannah was often found
around the barn whenever she was not working up at the
manor, as everybody knew, but there was something else
that they certainly did not know. Hannah had also kept
a secret, a naughty little secret just between her and
Goliath that none else were aware of. As she continued
grooming the hunting dog, the blonde fourteen year old
felt the gathering wetness between her thighs. 
 
Goliath could not join the hunt until he was recovered
fully, which she felt was unjustified, as he was still
the equal of a stag if not a boar, so Hannah would do
what she could to put things right until then. Finding
a new scent upon the air, Goliath dropped the bone he
gnawed upon and thrust his nose beneath Hannah's rough
homespun skirt. 
 
Gasping with the contact, the young girl felt the dogs
cold nose snuffling against her puffy little slit, and
sighed contentedly as the hulking animal began to lap
at the steamy moisture he found there. Laying down the
dogs brush, Hannah sat back on a wooden crate that had
been left lying nearby, raising up her homespun skirt
until it was bunched around her slender waist. Parting
her willowy thighs to allow the massive canine easier
access, she let her head fall back with a soft moan as
the dog eagerly licked her pussy. 
 
The last time she had come to visit, the burly hunting
dog had swiped a lick at her when she raised her skirt
to scratch at her leg. Despite the unexpected shock of
that incident, Hannah had decided immediately that she
liked it, but she was unable to explore the situation
any further as her father had been just outside of the
door. This time, though, she was all alone and she had
a little more time to play. 
 
Resting one ankle upon the back of Goliath's neck, she
untied the drawstring at the neck of her simple blouse
and delved inside, caressing her tender breast with a
gentle hand as the rough dog tongue slipped deeper and
deeper in her hot and dripping slit. Lord Blakeshire's
squire, a strong lad her own age called Lord Nathaniel
of Belascye, had once persuaded her to go for a tumble
with him in the hayloft, and he had done his utmost to
please her in this way as best he was able, but there
was no comparison. Goliath was hitting places with his
tongue that a human simply couldn't. 
 
The dogs grating tongue was slipping in and out of her
wet slit, hitting all of the right places, and Hannah
could feel the fast approach of something that she had
never experienced before. After her previous encounter
with Goliath, she had taken to touching herself there
whenever she had an opportunity. Each time she dressed
every morning, or used the garderobe, had become a new
experiment. What she had been doing had felt wonderful
indeed, but it was nothing like this. 
 
Gasping for breath, the young serving girl felt a kind
of tension coiling in her body, and she was surprised
to find that her hips had begun to rock back and forth
upon the gently creaking wooden crate. She didn't know
what was happening to her, but she guessed that it was
something incredible. 
 
Just at that moment, Goliath's tongue slipped a little
higher and ran along the little bump at the top of her
slit, suddenly leaving all of that tension in her body
with nowhere to go. 
 
"Oh yes," she whimpered, "Good boy, Goliath, ooh, good
boy. Keep doing just, ungh, just like that. Oh Goliath
what's... Mmmm, happening to me?" 
 
Just an instant later the slender young blonde started
to writhe on the wooden crate, her hips bucking wildly
as fragrant jolts of blazing color charged through her
body, simultaneously fading out her sight and lighting
up the inside of her head. 
 
"Ungh, ungh, ungh," she moaned, "I can't stop it... Oh
Goliath, I can't... Mmmm, Goliath, Ooooh!" 
 
Sliding bonelessly to the straw covered floor, the hot
young girl felt the dog follow her down, still licking
her dripping slit. Pushing him gently away, she got to
her knees. 
 
"Enough, greedy doggy," she giggled, convincing him at
least to leave off lapping at her wet pussy to set his
attentions on her nipples now that her loosened blouse
had fallen away from her chest. 
 
Glancing down, Hannah noticed the red tip of the black
dogs member poking out of its sheath, and felt another
moment of sympathy. 
 
"Poor baby," she murmured, "Being here instead of back
at the manor has kept you away from the hunt, but also
away from... Ooh... the bitches in milords kennels as
well. Seems hardly fair that such a lovely fine animal
as you has to do without the... Mmmm... company of the
lady dogs all for the sake of the foolish boar. Mayhap
Hannah can do something to help." 
 
Reaching down, the young serving girl took hold of the
sheath surrounding the dogs full hardness, and started
stroking back and forth. Goliath whuffed his approval
and continued licking Hannah's tits. Moments later the
thing in her hand had grown to its full size, and she
marveled at its length, wondering what to do with such
an unusual item. It was three handspans long, at least
by her hands, and it seemed to have a thicker swelling
down around its base. 
 
Inspired by her sister, Hannah came up with a wickedly
delightful idea. Unknown to her older sibling, the hot
young serving girl had occasionally spied on her while
she dallied with the manors men at arms, and there was
a thing that she had watched her sister do that those
men seemed to like, so she reasoned that Goliath would
like it too. 
 
Bowing her head beneath the dogs belly, she hesitantly
opened her mouth and let the animals stiff member slip
between her lips, cautiously testing to see whether it
had an unpleasant taste. Finding nothing disagreeable
at all, Hannah took Goliath's massive cock ever deeper
into her mouth, savoring the feel of him as he slipped
it in over her tongue. 
 
Goliath gave a happy growl as she rolled him over onto
his back and began to bob her head above him, letting
the sensitive shaft of his cock slip in and out of her
mouth. As she fell into a rhythmic movement, she began
to anticipate the flooding of Goliaths seed that would
soon be her reward. 
 
Remembering that sometimes the men with whom Helga had
dallied made rather a mess as they spilled their seed
on her face or clothes, Hannah took the dogs shaft out
of her mouth for a moment to doff her garments. As she
did this, though, the hem of her skirt managed to hook
the edge her market basket, overturning it and sending
things rolling through the straw on the floor. 
 
Brushing through the straw to locate those items which
had been scattered hither and yon, Hannah bent over to
recover them, but failed to anticipate the predictable
results. As her fingers swept back and forth over the
packed earth floor, Goliath couldn't help but discover
her sweetly upturned young ass. 
 
Having just grasped the last of the lost items, Hannah
was shocked to feel the weight of the dog dropping on
her back, and she likewise felt something hard nudging
between her thighs. She knew instantly what was likely
about to happen and began to struggle. 
 
"No, bad dog," she said, "Get down." 
 
It was no use. Goliath was not listening, and was much
too heavy for her to dislodge by strength alone. There
was a moment of fear as the tip of the big dogs rigid
shaft settled against her virgin little slit, and with
one sudden shove Goliath slid the full three handspans
of his length up into her fourteen year old pussy, and
Hannah was virgin no more. 
 
"Aaaaah!" she wailed as the big dogs massive cock tore
into her tender body, sending shocks of burning agony
shooting from her head to her toes. She struggled, but
there was no relief. 
 
Getting now into a rhythm of his own, Goliath began to
pound his hard member into Hannah's wet slit, seeming
to get even deeper with his every thrust. His forepaws
were tight around her waist, and his low hips battered
against her own faster than a blacksmiths hammer. 
 
"Stop it," she wailed, but there had come to be rather
less resistance in her struggles. After the moment of
initial pain had receded, she had begun to realize the
lack of discomfort in the dogs actions, in fact, quite
the opposite. 
 
Goliath hunched over her ass, quickly stroking his big
shaft in and out of her dripping pussy, growling with
animal triumph as he marked this young serving girl as
his bitch. Hannah moaned as his hard cock shoved into
her tight wetness, jolting her body against the chilly
earthen floor. His violently hard thrusts felt amazing
as the big hunting dog rammed himself ever faster into
her delicate wet slit. 
 
Once more she recognized the approach of the wonderful
feeling that the dogs tongue had caused earlier, as it
crested she could hold on no longer. 
 
"Oh, Goliath," she moaned, "Ungh... just like that." 
 
Again the tension built inside, her body convulsing as
it overtook her, sending waves of honey scented lights
rushing from her sexy young pussy to her orgasm fogged
brain. Blazing tremors of fragrant delight burst with
rainbow hues before her eyes, and fiery spasms wracked
her slender body. 
 
"Oh yes," she wailed, "Ungh, ungh, ungh... Aaaaah!" 
 
The rippling contractions of her wet pussy soon proved
to be more than Goliath could endure, and Hannah cried
out anew as the big dog gave one final powerful shove
and buried his fist sized knot in her quivering little
slit. Gasping with delight, she felt the scalding jets
of his seed spurting inside her, not one drop escaping
the bulging knot that was stuck fast within her. 
 
It took almost half a turn of the glass before the dog
could pull his dwindling shaft from her body, letting
her get up to gather her clothes. The markets would be
closed shortly, and she still hadn't gotten the manors
supplies. She had to be quick, or she would never hear
the end of it, from either Sir Tyrus or her sister. 
 
"You wait right here," she said, when Goliath took one
last lick at her still tingling pussy. She put on her
clothes, and Goliath barked a farewell as she scurried
away, "I shall bring you back a few leftover pieces of
roast beef if I am able." 
 
'It would only be fair,' she thought to herself with a
wicked smirk, 'He shared his meat with me...' 
 
- x - x - x - 
 
... Lincoln was beckoned by a commotion in the hallway
outside his chamber. He and Angharad had gone in there
to discuss privately what, if anything, they might do
to aid Sir Tyrus in this business concerning the Ivory
Duchess. They were both experienced fighters, at least
in the imitation combat of the KMA, but would such as
that translate into any actual skill during a life and
death struggle with naked steel? 
 
"It might do so," Lincoln was saying, "I handled those
two ruffians in Blakeshire Wood ably enough." 
 
"You handled but one, as I recall," Angharad said with
a smile, "Though you did handle him well." 
 
She had said this with a smile, and thus had taken the
sting out of the words, but Lincoln knew she was right
in any case. 
 
He smiled at her too. Though it bedeviled him to admit
it, Angharad was in all truth the more capable fighter
between them. She had been squired to Syr Gabriella in
fact for a few of years before Lincoln had donned his
own red belt and sworn fealty to the Contessa, and she
had learned her lessons well. She shared not his skill
with a bow, and he matched her in singles combat, but
she could outperform him in the press of a melee as he
did not keep a keen eye to the whole of the field, as
she did rather than only what was standing right there
in front of him. 
 
"Well, in any event," Lincoln went on, "If the Duchess
should attempt to attack here in any force, Sir Tyrus
and his men will need every able hand they can get, be
they skilled or no. Mayhap we should see about getting
some proper weapons for ourselves, and some armor that
will fit you as well, be there such available." 
 
Before Lady Angharad could reply, there came a rushing
of feet and murmurs from the hallway outside. Looking
at one another in concern, they both got to their feet
and went out to learn what had happened. Those outside
turned out to be a small group of the manors servants
scurrying into a nearby stairwell. Raised voices could
be heard echoing from the great hall below. 
 
Upon their arrival, they saw a young girl, Hannah, but
meek as any church mouse with her eyes locked upon the
floor, being chastised by an older man in the red and
black quartered livery of Sir Tyrus's house. There was
a group of other servants, peering in through doorways
and around corners by twos and threes; trying like all
servants to be nearby whenever there was something of
interest going on, yet without being near enough to be
caught in it. Those that had preceded the two down the
staircase quietly shuffled their feet and tried not to
look guilty upon realizing that the Lords noble guests
had followed them. 
 
"Who is that man?" asked Lincoln, wondering whether it
would prove necessary to go to the girls defense. 
 
"That be Jeffrey Steward, if it please milord," one of
the braver servants replied, "The Chamberlain for Lord
Blakeshire's estate." 
 
"And what has this girl done to earn his wrath?" asked
Angharad quietly. 
 
"She was sent to market this afternoon for supplies of
the Manors requirement," the same fellow answered them
again, "But she has only just now returned, hours late
and without even the supplies." 
 
Steward had removed his wide leather belt, and reached
for the for the girl, when a new voice stayed his hand
before the blow could fall. 
 
"Mercy, milord, mercy." 
 
Lincoln looked up in surprise to see Helga pushing her
way through the other servants. 
 
"The fault is mine, milord," she pleaded, "I sent this
girl to the market on the orders of Sir Tyrus, but too
long I waited to tell her. The markets were closed by
the time she arrived, milord, by no fault of hers, and
surely she must have feared to return in knowing there
would be a lashing in it for her, although the mistake
was my own. If someone is to be punished, then by your
leave, let it be me in her stead." 
 
The chamberlain didn't hesitate, he roughly grabbed at
Helga's arm, and forced her to bend over the table. An
effortless flick swept her long skirts over her waist
and wrenched her bloomers down to her thighs, exposing
her upturned ass. Angharad gasped as she saw the mans
leather belt rise and fall, once, twice, thrice with a
resounding THWACK that left angry red welts across the
young girls bottom, but Steward wasn't done. 
 
A dozen times or more the belt fell, and a dozen times
Helga cringed in dread and yelped at the contact. When
he was full finished, Steward hitched his belt around
his waist once more and walked away, leaving the blond
serving girl trembling in pain on the table, making no
move to cover her naked bottom. 
 
The minute the belt had begun to fall, the rest of the
servants had darted away, like the rats who abandoned
sinking ships, leaving only Lincoln, Angharad and poor
Hannah to witness the Chamberlains justice. No sooner
had he walked off than Angharad had rushed over to the
servant girls side, helping her stand, and wiping away
her tears. 
 
"He gave me no time to explain," Hannah sobbed, "I did
have the supplies, milady, I swear I did, but he would
not listen." 
 
For the first time, Lincoln noticed that their younger
friend had scrapes on her hands and her skirt was torn
and muddy, as though she had fallen. 
 
"What happened, Hannah?" he asked, "You can tell us." 
 
"I was on my way back here," the girl explained, "With
the supplies, when suddenly I heard noises off of the
path. There were men, look you, just over a rise where
they would not be seen from the battlements above. The
men were all unkempt looking ruffians, but each one of
them armed. I had to hide for a long time, lest those
rogues discover me, and that is why I am late returned
from market. Those supplies were heavy, milord; would
that I were stronger, but the weight slowed my feet so
much, and I knew I must bring word to Sir Tyrus ere it
was too late." 
 
"Armed men? Upon Blakeshire lands?" Lincoln asked with
shock, "How many were there?" 
 
"Tis the truth, I swear," Hannah said, "But the manors
supplies are not lost, though, I hid them by the river
and I can go back to get them now if it pleases milord
and his chamberlain." 
 
"Oh Hannah, you mustn't," Helga exclaimed, speaking up
for the first time since Steward had departed, "You'll
be killed." 
 
"How many men?" Lincoln repeated. 
 
"Five score, at least, milord," Hannah finally replied
with wide eyes. 
 
"Five score?" he whispered to Angharad, "A hundred men
at least, armed and roaming through Blakeshire estates
with ill intent. That can't be good." 
 
"Mayhap even more," she went on, "I shall try to count
them properly when I go back to find the supplies that
I left behind." 
 
"You shall do nothing of the sort," Angharad spat, "Go
with Lincoln to find Sir Tyrus, Hannah, tell him what
you have just told us. Damn the supplies, and damn the
bloody chamberlain as well if he has aught else to say
on the matter." 
 
"But where are you going?" Lincoln asked. 
 
"I will take Helga upstairs," Angharad replied, "Worry
not, lass, I'll take care of her." 
 
Tears of gratitude gleaming in her eyes, Hannah darted
up the stairs with Lincoln in tow, leaving her sister
to the capable hands of Lady Angharad. Heading towards
a different staircase, she led Helga weeping up to the
floor above and into her chamber. The moment that she
had closed the door, though, the servant girls weeping
stopped abruptly, and she brazenly considered Angharad
with a mischievous glint in her eye. 
 
"So what's the meaning of all this?" Angharad demanded
suspiciously. 
 
"Whatever do you mean?" Helga asked with a grin. 
 
"You were just belt whipped," replied Angharad, "I saw
the marks myself." 
 
"What, these tiny things?" the servant girl pronounced
negligibly, raising her skirt to reveal the angry red
welts, "I have oft taken worse lashings than this, and
sometimes I even enjoy them." 
 
"Enjoy them? What did you..." Angharad began, flushing
brightly red once she caught on, "Fine, I withdraw the
question, not my concern." 
 
"Oh come now, milady," Helga murmured, brushing a hand
up and down Lady Angharad's bare arm, "After all that
was spoken together this night past, surely we needn't
be shy now. Here now, you tremble like a kitten in the
cold. Come and let me warm you." 
 
Utterly terrified, while at the same time curious, the
Lady Angharad timidly allowed herself to be led toward
the bed... 
 
... Treading wearily down the stairs a quarter turn of
a glass later, Lord Lincoln quietly pondered the night
that likely lay ahead. Sir Tyrus had doubled the guard
on the walls, and had them pile bundles of oil soaked
branches out near the edges of the cleared spaces that
surrounding Blakeshire Keep as soon as he got news of
the armed men within the wood, but he reasoned that no
attack would come until just ere dawn. Then would come
the time when most in the keep would be sleeping, and
even the guards would be weary, having spent the night
at watch upon the walls. 
 
Tyrus had given an order, however, that come the hours
before dawn the men on watch be relieved, replaced by
other men who were freshly rested. The guards had been
told to exchange places by twos and threes, so that it
would not be noticed that the guard was being changed
as it might be if done all at once. Aside from the men
of the guard, Lincoln had noted that the manor itself
had been built to be easily defended. The north, south
and west walls fell sheer to the water of the lake, so
that an attacker could bring no siege tower or scaling
ladders to bear against them. Even the stone causeway
which joined the manor to the shore was guarded by the
barbican, upon the smaller island that sat between the
keep and the shore. 
 
Before any force of invaders could even make it to the
causeway, though, archers stood ready to loft flaming
arrows towards the piles of oiled branches outside the
wall, turning them into blazing bonfires to light the
surrounding fields, denying the attackers the cover of
darkness. Caught out in the open, on the cleared slope
of the bordering valley, attackers would be exposed to
deadly arrows from the archers on the walls. Only then
would they even reach the causeway. 
 
The causeway was built so that it approached the gates
parallel to the keeps front so that the invader could
march no more than two or three abreast, all the while
straight across the field of fire of the garrisons of
archers shooting at the attackers right flank from the
ramparts, with the invaders all holding their shields
on the wrong side. The outer point of the causeway was
the barbican, which would serve the men at arms as the
first line of defense against the attackers. 
 
Even if an attacker survived the hail of arrows during
the charge of the causeway, somehow made it across the
first drawbridge and breached the defenses within the
barbican, they would still have to storm the bridge to
the gatehouse proper just to make it through the outer
wall and into the courtyard with the keep itself still
standing untouched before them. 
 
Lincoln just shook his head. It hardly seemed worth it
to him. He knocked softly upon the door to Angharad's
bedchamber and opened it without bothering to wait for
an answer. He wanted to see how Helga was doing before
he told them about the knights plans... 
 
... Angharad sighed as Helga lightly traced the tip of
her tongue around her earlobe and down the side of her
neck. Pulling her closer so that the feverish heat of
the others body could be felt through her clothing, an
overwhelming whirlwind of lust causing her to do these
things that she'd never done before, the sexy redhead
was molded under Helga's touch, their soft tits gently
heaving as they panted for breath. 
 
Too uncertain to take the next step herself, the Irish
lass waited for Helga to untie the laces of her green
twill bodice, then shrugged her shoulders do the skirt
and bodice together puddled upon the floor around her
feet. Following the young servant girls lead, Angharad
reached for the tied laces of Helga's own bodice with
trembling fingers, slipping loose the light knots that
held it. Standing only in an embroidered chemise, with
the cool air in her chamber causing her aching nipples
to harden beneath the soft linen, Lady Angharad looked
at the servant girl, licking her lips with expectation
when Helga began tugging upon the hemline. 
 
Lifting the chemise over the redhead's hips, the blond
haired servant paused for a moment to crouch down and
teasingly trace her tongue around Angharad's sensitive
navel, eliciting a shiver of delight. Planting a trail
of moist hot kisses up over her belly as she went, the
servant girl lingered as she tugged the linen chemise
still higher, eventually sliding it up over Angharad's
head and discarding it upon the floor. 
 
The Irish lass gasped in delight as Helga molded moist
lips around her own, delving her tongue slowly in and
out of her mouth while she cupped a heated palm around
the sexy redhead's heaving tits, soft and yet firm all
at once. Angharad reached around to gently cup her own
hands under Helga's sexy little ass, moaning into her
mouth as she held her closer, grinding their lean hips
together... Just as Lincoln opened the door. 
 
The braw Scotsman stood mute for just a moment, unsure
whether he should even believe what his eyes were now
telling him, then a wicked grin spread across his face
as he closed the door behind him. 
 
"Angharad, you naughty, naughty girl," he smirked, "We
send you up here to tend only to this poor girls aches
and pains, and what do you do? Why just as soon as our
backs are turned, you immediately take full advantage
of the girls helpless condition. Whatever are we to do
with you?" 
 
"Mmmm," Angharad moaned, as Helga turned the attention
of her lips to the redhead's aching nipples, "If she's
helpless, I'm a church mouse. Mayhap a better question
to ask would be, 'whatever are we to do with her?'" 
 
"A fine question," Helga agreed, beckoning for Lincoln
to join them, "Might I humbly advise, milady, that the
two of you work together to find an answer to it?" 
 
"Oh I'm sure we will find a way to untie things," said
Lincoln as he reached up for a knotted drawstring that
held Helga's chemise. 
 
Loosening the drawstring, Lincoln gently tugged at the
chemise and slipped it down over her shoulders, baring
her soft supple tits to Angharad's touch. Helga moaned
quietly as she leaned back against his chest, her head
lolling sideways when the redhead fastened her lips to
the blond girls nipples. Nodding towards her bed, the
Lady Angharad stepped backward as Lord Lincoln reached
down and swept the serving girl off her feet, carrying
her to the bed that was easily large enough for three
people, as long as neither of them minded snuggling up
a little closer. 
 
Setting her down alongside the bed, Lincoln stepped to
one side while Lady Angharad tugged the unlaced bodice
up over her head. Her cumbersome overskirts were next
to go, leaving the blond serving girl clad in her worn
homespun chemise. With the drawstring loosened at the
neck, the long garment was already bunched down around
her slender waist, and she lifted her hips as Angharad
now slipped it away as well. The only thing that still
stood between their sensual scrutiny and her nakedness
was the gossamer fabric of her linen bloomers. 
 
Laying back upon the bed, Helga lifted her bottom that
she might better remove this herself, then parted her
slender legs slightly, thus displaying a golden thatch
crowning the juncture of her thighs. She cast a subtle
glance towards Angharad's waist, then looked up at the
redhead expectantly. 
 
With sudden mischievous insight, the Irish lass caught
her meaning and went over to Lincoln, reaching a hand
into his sporran, rummaging around within it until she
found what she wanted. Of the many things that Lincoln
usually carried in the versatile leather pouch one was
an old fashioned, bone handled straight razor, carved
with Celtic knotwork. Straight razors weren't strictly
accurate pieces of kit, historically speaking, though
they were better than those cheap disposable ones that
most guys used during events. 
 
The light of understanding dawned in Lincoln's eyes as
he saw what the redheaded Irish lass had gotten out of
the sporran, and he looked at Helga with his eyebrows
raised in question. As the servant girl nodded eagerly
he opened the door to shout for a servant. One arrived
a moment later, but he was startled to see that it was
Helga's little sister Hannah. Unsure of what to say at
that moment, he could only stammer, forgetting what he
had meant to ask for. 
 
"Run to the serving room," he finally said, "Fill up a
basin with hot water. Find us a towel as well, and get
both things up here straight away." 
 
"I will," Hannah replied, "But, milord, does my sister
still rest up here with you? I had not seen her return
to her duties and I worried for her." 
 
"Um, yes Hannah," Lincoln replied, "We thought it best
that your sister stay here with us awhile. In fact, it
is she who has need of these things. So go on down and
fetch them like a good lass." 
 
"At once, milord," Hannah said, then scurried down the
stairs towards the manors kitchen. 
 
Upon her return, Angharad answered the soft scratching
at the door and opened it, taking in both the basin of
water and the towel as Hannah passed them in. Suddenly
remembering that she was entirely naked, she tried to
quickly close the door, as a scandalized flush stained
her face. 
 
"Bed her well, milady," Hannah giggled as the door was
closed, "She has well earned it." 
 
"Have you ever done this before?" Lincoln asked as the
redhead sheepishly set the water down upon the bedside
table next to the servant girl. 
 
"Nay, milord," Helga replied, "Nor had I ever seen any
other who had until this night past. I would have mine
look just like milady's." 
 
"Oh Angharad, you ARE a naughty girl," Lincoln said as
he raised an eyebrow, "What have you been up to?" 
 
Making no further comment, the sexy young redhead took
the straight razor from his hand, splashing gently hot
water through the flaxen thatch lying between Helga's
slender thighs. The servant girl groaned softly as the
Irish lass ran her fingertips through it, beginning to
make delicate swipes with the razor. Occasional sighs
of pleasure were the only sounds to break the rhythmic
voice of the razors keen edge while Angharad moved it
back and forth between Helga's body to the water basin
next to the bed. The razor cut effortlessly, and in no
time at all she had the servant girls trembling little
pussy slick and baby smooth. 
 
Using the towel, Lincoln swept away the remains of the
water with the shaven curls, and Angharad looked up at
him with a saucy smirk. 
 
"You're right, milord," she said, running soft fingers
over the servant girls now naked slit, "It really does
look sexier this way, doesn't it?" 
 
"Say you so?" Helga smiled, propping herself up on her
elbows the better to see herself, then nervously, "Has
it not made me seem a child, not yet grown?" 
 
"No way," Lincoln assured her, noticing Angharad still
sliding her fingertips up and down between the servant
girls parted thighs, and biting her lip with a hungry
gleam in her eye, "None could look at you and say that
you are anything but all woman, just ask Lady Angharad
how she likes it." 
 
Angharad looked up with a guiltily smirk, face flushed
at having been caught idly playing with Helga's sweet
little pussy. She mock glared at Lincoln and stuck her
tongue out at him. 
 
"What a pretty tongue she has," she grinned at Lincoln
with a mischievous wink, "Think you that milady should
determine a better use for it?" 
 
Taking her cue willingly, the Lady Angharad hesitantly
dipped her head between Helga's knees, starting to lay
a trail of heated kisses along the inside of her thigh
as she made her way closer to the blond girls waiting
wetness. The sensual handmaid beckoned Lord Lincoln to
approach the bed, then reached up to unfasten the belt
of red leather holding his great kilt. Practiced hands
grabbed the tartan fabric as the belted plaid slipped
to the floor, and grasping his hips, the young servant
girl took his rigid shaft into her mouth. 
 
Finally reaching her expectant goal, Lady Angharad let
her tongue slip uncertainly into Helga's waiting pussy
to find her already dripping wet. The sexy blonde was
hovering upon the verge of orgasm from the Irish girls
feathery touches as she shaved her aching slit, and it
would not take a great deal more to push her over the
final edge altogether. Gently separating her wet pussy
lips to reveal her throbbing clit, Angharad circled it
teasingly before sucking it the way the willowy young
servant girl wanted. Helga now shifted her body, along
with the redheaded Irish girls, so that she was lying
underneath the other, and abruptly within reach of the
russet haired girls sexy wet pussy. 
 
Angharad gasped at the unexpected contact, feeling the
blond haired servant sliding her tongue in and out of
her own wetness, each of them vainly trying to outlast
the other. Lincoln moved back a little, watching this
pair of smoking girls writhing together upon the silky
soft furs as each of them fought to make the other cum
first. Never before had he seen such a sight, save for
the magazines in his own time, and as he ran his hands
gently over both of the thrashing bodies he could feel
the servant girl reaching for his rigid cock. 
 
Leading him around behind Angharad's hips, Lincoln was
surprised to see the servant girl positioning the head
of his cock not at the redheads wet pussy, but rather
against the tight opening of her firm little ass. Here
was uncharted territory, and the brown haired Scot had
no idea if the Irish lass would approve. 
 
As if sensing his dilemma, Lady Angharad took her lips
away from the wetness of the handmaidens hot pussy for
just long enough to throw one smouldering glance over
her shoulder, sweeping her hair up out of the way, and
surprised him yet again. 
 
"Give it to me," she whispered. 
 
Not needing to be told again, he gave a slight push in
against the tightness of her sweet ass, and heard her
moaning into Helga's pussy as he slipped inside. There
was a moment of stillness while she had time to adjust
to the fullness of his cock, then she rocked her hips
back, urging him deeper. She turned her attention back
to Helga's pussy, and the servant to hers, groaning at
the double sensation of Lincoln's rigid shaft sliding
in and out of her ass and the servant girls hot tongue
dancing around her clit. 
 
Wanting to share some of the feeling, the sexy redhead
crept a hand under Helga's bottom and gently slid one
finger up into the servants ass as her tongue attacked
the blond girls pussy with a renewed vigor. Neither of
them would be able to endure much more, but it was the
sexy servant girl who succumbed first to the blissful
onslaught. She groaned as a delicious spark of crimson
hot lightning sizzled through her, shattering the last
of her resolve. 
 
"Mmmm," she groaned into the redheads wet slit. Spasms
of delirious ecstasy rocked her sexy physique while an
eruption of hot juices flooded Angharad's face, their
bodies joined as the redhead followed the servant girl
into her seething convulsions. The sensual thrashings
of the blond girl beneath her was all it took to throw
the Irish lass into deliciously sparkling tailspins of
boiling euphoria, the explosion of bright multicolored
fireworks slowly receding but building ever higher yet
again as Lincoln pumped her ass harder and harder with
his every pounding stroke. 
 
"Oh yeah, fuck my ass," she moaned, "You're gonna make
me cum again, baby. Ungh, ungh, ungh... Aaaaah!" 
 
Lady Angharad's cries resounding in his brain, Lincoln
gave one last powerful thrust, burying his rigid cock
to the hilt as he spilled jet after jet of his hot cum
into her upturned ass. The Lady Angharad felt his seed
wetly spurting inside her as her hot pussy dripped all
over the serving girls face, leaving sticky wet treats
for the sexy blond. 
 
Letting Lincoln slip his throbbing hardness out of the
redheads hot little ass, Helga breathlessly collapsed
on the bed, her pretty face pleasantly flushed from an
amazing mind bending climax. 
 
"Lincoln," Angharad stated, with a grin, "I do believe
that we've killed the poor girl." 
 
"There is life in me yet, milady," Helga replied, "You
have left me most uncertain, though, that never before
have you done such a thing with a woman. If tis so you
are right truly to be commended." 
 
"Silence, wench," Angharad grinned, playfully slapping
the serving girls ass, "But that was not to be my only
first this day." 
 
"Say you so?" 
 
"Indeed, tis truth," the sexy redhead answered, "Never
ere today have I allowed any man to... to do what Lord
Lincoln did." 
 
"Milady, forgive me," the servant cried, "It had never
occurred to me that you had not." 
 
"Peace, Helga, peace," Angharad replied. As her wicked
grin came over her face, the russet haired girl leaned
her head on Lincoln's shoulder, "I liked it." 
 
"As do I," the blonde serving girl agreed, "Mayhap you
could do as well to me, milord?" 
 
"Angharad," Lincoln grinned as Helga gazed at him with
a hopeful look, "I think we've created a monster, else
we have unleashed one at any rate..." 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
... Standing upon the upper battlements, Lady Angharad
watched a chestnut mare as it thundered wildly across
the causeway that spanned between manor and shore, her
hooves nigh striking sparks off the stone. She glanced
up at Lord Lincoln poised next to her but he shrugged
his shoulders. There was about an hour of sunlight ere
dusk fell, and he could see that the rider was wearing
the red and black livery of House Blakeshire, but the
arms they bore showed a red wolf upon a field of white
and black, this beneath the label of cadency declaring
a firstborn son. 
 
As the rider passed through the outer barbican then up
the road that coiled round the first island, they both
left the battlements and went downstairs. They arrived
in the lower courtyard just as the rider was crossing
the upper bridge, and he reigned to a halt, dismounted
and fell on bended knee in front of Sir Tyrus. 
 
"Milord, milady," the knight stated, "Allow me to make
known to you Lord Nathaniel of Belascye, eldest son of
my good friend, the Baron Phillip of Belascye. He was
squired to my house after I lost... after Lady Jacklyn
disappeared. He is just now returned from a mission of
great importance." 
 
"Indeed, milord?" Angharad asked, "If by your grace it
is not impolite to ask, what mission is that?" 
 
"Not at all," Tyrus replied, "As soon as you both came
with word that the Ivory Duchess was about, I sent him
to learn what he could of her whereabouts and also her
plans against us. So, Nathaniel, what news?" 
 
"It is worse than we feared, milord," the young squire
said, "The Ivory Duchess has not the five score at her
command that we have been told, but mayhap much closer
to twenty five. As you predicted, milord, they plan to
launch their attack at dawn." 
 
Lincoln was stunned. Twenty five score would have five
hundred enemies hiding in the dark, but Sir Tyrus just
smiled wickedly. He did not seem distressed, but they
had no more than twenty or twenty five men at arms all
told by Lincoln's count, and but a dozen archers. Even
if every man, woman and child in the keep took up arms
in its defense against the Ivory Duchess, there would
still be less than sixty people versus five hundred of
the enemy, men trained to war. Still, Tyrus would know
his keep and its people better than anyone else. 
 
His report now given, and his knight having no further
orders for him, Nathaniel stood and went into the keep
in search of a servant with some food. The squire had
been overnight in the forests, and had eaten naught of
substance since dawn. 
 
"Let them come," Tyrus was saying, "The bitch and they
who follow her will learn that we shall not be easily
thrown aside. We are no herd of sheep, to be scattered
by the mere approach of her band of rabble, we are the
House of Blakeshire!" 
 
This last was delivered at a roar that was answered in
kind, as every guard and fighting man in the courtyard
thrust his weapon skyward in a howl of challenge that
seemed to rock the very stones beneath their feet. The
sound set Lincoln's heart hammering, and even the Lady
Angharad felt shivers of pride running up her spine as
the roar echoed around the curtain wall. Sir Tyrus was
right, let the duchess come... 
 
 - X - X - X - 

Continued in Chapter Three 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
Story by: MOON DRAGON 
by my hand 
and beneath my seal 
 
 - X - X - X -