graybeards:

A Knight’s Duty

The hour was late when I received his summons. I bid Wilkin, my squire, to fetch me a cup of wine. I guzzled down the warm, sanguine liquid, steeling myself for the night as he hurried to slip on my armor. I couldn’t say out loud what Baron Cawthorne wanted from me, but I could imagine well enough. It was a pleasant thought.

I finished the cup as Wilkin bashfully struggled with my codpiece. With a bark, I interrupted him and slung my sword at my side before stomping down the hall with heavy boots. The wine made me flush and I was glad of the room in my trousers when eager blood began to pump through my veins.

A pair of guards outside the Baron’s door barely acknowledged me but they allowed my entry. I let the heavy wooden door slam behind me, and a shape in the four-poster bed shifted at the sound. A young man rose up onto his elbows, his smooth, bare chest glowing softly in the candlelight. Baron Cawthorne grinned lasciviously at me.

“You called for me, my Lord?” I stood straight, maintaining the pretense even as the youthful Baron rose and revealed his rawness. Even in the dim light, the protruding rod in my pants must have been obvious for his eyes were drawn to it. I stayed still as he approached and gently squeezed the bulge in both hands without a word. He beamed up at me, running his fingers over the cold steel of my breastplate, shaped generously around an ample gut I’d growing in the softness of castle life.

“My dutiful knight,” Baron Cawthorne purred as he grazed his fingertips along my square jaw. “How many times must I tell you to use my name in here?”

“At least once more, my Lord,” I replied with a stifled smirk.

He lifted himself onto his toes, steadying with a hand on my chest, and pressed his lips to mine. Warmth blossomed between us as my mouth parted. My tongue readily filled the gap between us and slid inside the soft, sweet man. I shuddered as his fingers stroked my manhood, struggling to keep my hands folded behind my back.

He leaned his head back and grinned with our lips barely parted. I always knew when he was toying with a question I wouldn’t like, and this one was expected. He whispered, “Not even once? In all those years?”

“No, my Lord,” I answered firmly.

“It’s a grave offense to lie to your liege lord,” Baron Cawthorne teased. “In all those years together, on those long campaigns without a woman to warm your beds, you never so much as kissed him?”

“Not once, my Lord,” I repeated.

He let himself fall back onto his heels, dragging me forward by my cock until I stood over him as he lay back on the bed. “He never commanded you to let him play with that enormous prick of yours?”

My breaths came heavy as I stared down at the ass bared before me as he lifted his legs back over his shoulders. “You’re the first Cawthorne I’ve been with, my Lord,” I insisted as I opened my trousers to loose my manhood through the gap in my armor.

The Baron moaned, like a wolf howling to the moon, when my gushing mushroom teased against his hole. He was greased and ready for me. “My father didn’t know what he was missing then,” he said with a grin. He grabbed my hips and pulled me forward, breaching his tightness like a battering ram splitting a cracked door. He cried out, gasping for breath, but I plunged deeper, relentless as he liked it.

I squeezed his slender thighs in my plated gauntlets as I came down atop him. My armored belly pinned the young man to the bed and his body stretched open for my enormous cock. He panted and ran his trembling fingers over my scruffy face, pulling me down to kiss him. I engulfed him with my mass; I devoured his lips and pummeled his insides.

His delirious wailing surely pierced doors and echoed through hallways. I always wondered what the guards outside were thinking in these moments. Were they whispering condemnations of the reprehensible sins happening just out of view? Or were they closing their eyes and imagining how it would feel to stick it to the young lord themselves? Likely both, I guessed.

There was an intoxicating power to dominating the man who possessed my allegiance. When my armored fist clenched around his slight wrist, pinning it over his head as I thrust myself deep in his warm, wet body, I felt like a lord for once in my life. I was proof even a butcher’s boy could rise far in this world on account of skill with his swords, both literal and figurative.

That feeling of supremacy pushed me to the edge. My heavy, brimming balls slapped tightly against Baron Cawthorne’s cheeks with every pump of my hips. I bore down on him, dwarfing the smaller and younger man as I flooded him with my seed. I shoved my tongue deep into his mouth to muffle his cries of ecstasy and held his convulsing body still in my strong grasp.

As I stared down into them, I saw his mother’s cool blue eyes, and I felt his father’s warm hole. It was a lie, that he was the first of his family to satisfy my lusts, but the late baron had sworn me to secrecy upon his deathbed. He had looked so withered and small splayed across the expansive bed, one I’d shared with he and his wife, and then just him, for so many years with few the wiser.

I recalled the worry when his mother’s belly first swelled with the young baron. Sweat dripping from my brow, I panted as I stared down at the man who might have been my son. But he was his father’s seed, soft and sensitive with gentle fingers that could drive a man wild. I slid from him, spent and slick, and stuffed myself back in my trousers as Baron Cawthorne let out a satisfied sigh.

“I’m to wed soon,” he began, pausing to compose himself, “though I wish it weren’t so. If only I could be wed to you, my valorous protector. I long to cast of this petty discretion and spent every of my nights buried against your chest.”

“It would not be wise, my lord,” I said solemnly. “Duke Edmund has done you a great service by granting you the hand of his daughter. Failing to father an heir would be a poor way to thank him.”

“Do you think her beautiful?” He asked and I nodded. “More beautiful than me?” He grinned and arched his body along the length of the bed, letting shadows line the curves of his seductive shape.

“Comparisons do little justice to beauty, my lord,” I replied. “Is the moon more beautiful than the stars? Both brighten the sky and delight me.”

“I would give you the moon and the stars and more,” Baron Cawthorne purred. “What a sight it would be to see you atop my bride, giving her all the pleasures you’ve brought to my bed.”

“I am at your service, my Lord, and of course at the service of your Lady wife,” I said plainly to mask my glee. To be sure, I felt a primal thrill at the thought of plundering both husband and wife, but more than that I relished this second chance. I would plant my seed in the Cawthorne garden and let it grow. The young baron looked at me delighted as my enthusiasm made me rise again to the occasion.