1 comments/ 14012 views/ 3 favorites The Darkest Knight By: ScarlettSlave Lucius rolled over in his very comfortable, room enough for 6 type monstrosity of a bed. It had been one hell of a night and his dreams were reminiscing it, every last succulent morsel. Even now, through the foggy, misty depths of never never land his cock was a rod of steel and he could feel his blood pulsing through it. Thankfully in his kingdom it was never, never never land but always, how can we please you, can we do this or that or perhaps please you this way land. The serving wenches last night were particularly lusty things too. Three of them, all buxom eye popping flesh everywhere and oh so anxious to please. He'd had one on her knees sucking diligently at his cock, his hands pulling her short, tumbling curly locks while watching the other two play nicely together. How sweetly they'd played; kissing and fondling each other, fingers dipping and gently probing in each other's cunny's to squeals of delight. They'd made a glorious sight romping around on his bed, screaming riotously as they came. 'MORNING SIRE,' yelled his valet in his usual unpleasantly jovial morning mood. Lucius awoke dribbling, to the painful light of the shutters thrown wide and the sight of his valet's eyes bulging. Damn, must have forgotten to get rid of the wenches. A soft giggle confirmed this. 'Out,' he roared, rolling over to push the nearest girl who gasped and spluttered when she landed unceremoniously on the floor. 'Out, out, out!' and as Lucius had a reputation in which his bite was a good deal worse than his bark... the girls scampered quickly, in a flurry of fluffy white underwear confetti which flew around the room in all directions. Byron, the valet, was too well trained to offer comment on anything before 9am. The Prince was not a morning person. Lucius rubbed a fist over his face and shook himself awake. 'What's on the cards today?' he asked. Thinking it would probably be some wretched tea party with Lord n Lady whatnot from Wherever. 'Not much Sire. Just need to find a Princess, marry her and produce many, MANY heirs.' Lucius looked back aghast for a second, then breathed. 'Ahhh, it must be that novel day in April where you're allowed have a little fun with me.' He smiled and began to relax once more. 'No, orders from the top Sire. King says get your lazy err... bottom out of bed, find princess, get married and preferably before next Month when the Queen's coming home. Elsewise, his Majesty says you'll be disinherited and thrown out on your... er... derriere. Sire. 'He said WHAT?' Lucius looked apoplectic. 'Yes, your Mama is back soon and she'll be... err... EXTREMEMLY disappointed if you're still single. Wedding is to be set on the day of the summer solstice. The Queen will attend said glorious event of her social calendar, toast the new happy couple and err... something about babies.' Byron ducked as a heavy wool slipper whizzed past his ear. 'So my bachelor days are over?' the Prince wore an expression of great and all consuming pain. 'That appeared to be the gist of it Sire. Well, either that or your pauper days are just beginning.' He ducked again as the remaining slipper flew his way. * 'I hate Princesses.' Byron rolled his eyes as that must have been the 10th comment along that vein he'd heard today. 'Right let's go back to life on the open road then Sire. I've always wanted to have a go at begging for my supper. We could camp in the great wide open, steal things from peasants or perhaps actually work for a living....' A voice of awe at that one. 'Very funny,' said Lucius. 'Whoever has the delightfully dubious pleasure of marrying me, is going to pay every single second of every single day they remain with their head still attached to their body. I swear the little upstart would be Queen will be praying for death before I'm done with her.' The look Lucius wore was so dark, that for once, the valet was lost for words. * Two days of riding at breakneck pace brought them to the neighbouring kindom of Richelieu. After a suitably long begging session with King Ragnor, Lucius and Byron were ushered forth for an audience with Princess Gabriella. 'First time lucky eh Sire?' whispered Byron encouragingly. A sharp nudge in the ribs was all he received for his troubles. Lucius found himself holding his breath as the first bout of bile caught in his throat. Being a Prince was damn hard work at times. Then he caught sight of the lovely Gabriella, so called by King Ragnor. 'Lovely my arse,' he muttered to his companion, accompanied by a glowering glare. Gabriella was to lovely as a wicked stepsister was to Cinderella. Byron was trying hard not to explode into raucous laughter. The Princess was perhaps a little bit on the plumpish side, her heavenly bosom straining every button of the rather unfortunately tight dress she wore. She'd make three of Lucius and if looks could kill he'd already be dead. Then there was the mop of unruly black hair, which looked like it hadn't seen a comb in a decade at least and could perhaps house a local population of mice. Her nose stuck out at quite an unattractive angle to say the least and the tiny, beady eyes did not help the general ensemble. That was not the worst of it however. When she spoke... ah God, Lucius wanted to cover his ears. Such a viciously nasal, booming voice that produced a shudder of all those in ear shot. When asked by her 'lovely highness' the purpose to which her audience had been sought, Lucius hurriedly spluttered something about 'making friends with the neighbours' and made fast his exit. Honest to God, he'd have rather been poor was the departing thought. * The next castle the two happened upon found Byron as the 'ambassador' of quality control. Lucius was refusing to enter the Castle grounds unless said terms were met: She must not look like a horse She must not be any bigger than a horse She must definitely not sound like a horse Complete with the new instructions, Byron trudged resolutely forth. * A very haggard looking figure appeared two hours later, a hopeful expression on his face. 'Two out of three?' he enquired. Lucius in response turned his stallion on its heel. Byron, with a rueful expression, hurried to catch up... having to spur his mount on somewhat. 'Oh and one other thing,' said Lucius when the two horses were once again galloping side by side, kicking up vast plumes of dust from the dirt track which stretched for miles in front of them. 'Yes Sire'? Byron spluttered and coughed as he inhaled the freshly raised muck residing in the air. 'She must be a virgin,' added the Prince, the beginnings of a smile forming at the corner of his lips. His companion nearly choked. 'Bloody hell, we'll be here till the turn of the CENTURY now,' came the groaning response. 'It'd be easier to find one with three horns. You'd like horns, come to think of it, I'm sure I could find a horned Princess somewhere.....' Byron's voice drifted off, choking ,muttering and much unheeded into the distance. * Three Days Hence. Looks: very unlike horse. Tick. Size: Much smaller than even small pony. Tick. Sounds like: No neighing in sight. Tick. Virgin: Tick. Cough. Byron looked mightily pleased with himself. Lucius less so, it'd been a few months now and life on the open road had less friendly female company than he'd hoped for. 'Right, I'm off for a viewing then,' said the Prince squaring his broad, stately shoulders. 'Oh and Byron?' he said with one final look back, 'if I find you've lied about ANY of the above, you and your head will be parting company shortly.' A rather loud gulp followed the hooves of the departing stallion. * What Byron had failed to mention was that Princess what's her name was being sold as a slave to the highest bidder at auction. Lucius' cohort hadn't even seen her, just read one of the numerous posters plastered to the Castle walls and ramparts. These read something along the lines of: Sale of the century: Much famed for her beauty, Princess Rosalind will take to the Auction Block tonight She is to be sold as chattel in an honourable attempt to save her kingdom from impending penury. Amongst her many and differing talents one lucky bidder will be... The Owner of an honest to God, pure as the driven snow 100% Genuine Virgin. Yes really. Now that had Lucius' interest. A Princess whom one could have not a little fun with. He let his thoughts run riot for a moment. Slaves could be whipped and abused at will, unlike whining, annoying, boring run of the mill Princesses. Slaves could also be chained or restrained, fucked on the tiniest whim and with no option to say 'No her highness has a nasty headache tonight, sorry darling, maybe next year.' They could also be rather wondrously fucked in every single hole they possessed with absolutely nothing they could say about it, other than a nice hearty scream or a nice shriek here and there. Then if he so wished, she could be gagged and he'd never have to hear another sound from her lips. Hell, he could even have her work in the depths of the Castle bowels as a scullery maid or a cook's apprentice if he so choosed. The possibilities were indeed endless and his mouth began to water at the prospect. With this is mind, she hardly even needed to be beautiful and if she was indeed the much famed Virgin they claimed, breaking in every single last hole she had would be too delicious to contemplate. Lucius was almost rubbing his hands in glee as he made his way along the spotless cobbled floor to the well sign posted auction room, deep inside the Castle Vaults. He was followed by not a few Princes, Dukes, Marquises, Barons, Earls and so forth. News had obviously spread fast. The only problem he could think of was how much did he think his dear father would be prepared to pay for his son's future happiness? One thing was for certain. This was going to be interesting. The Darkest Knight Ch. 02 It was an interminable wait. He understood all about building anticipation to an event such as this but even so, people were starting to fidget. Beer tankards were slammed and rattled against the wall, whilst impatient jeers were called out. Everyone had some degree of interest in setting eyes on the Princess, the one whose life would shortly be beholden to another. The Prince's eyes scoured the room looking for likely candidates with whom he would have to contend, should the female in question be a suitable match. For the most part many were there for the sheer entertainment, a few for the unique experience of just seeing a slave auction, which left a very few who actually had the money to accomplish a prize such as this. Lucius had decided it was a battle purely between himself and one other, on careful consideration of the room. The adversary he'd spotted was a merchant, but one whose coffers were quite full judging by the gold brocade, sweeping velvet robes and the amount of retainers he had doting on him. If anyone had a pretty penny to spare for a Princess, it would be him. The Prince's eyes narrowed in thought. Finally, admist much fanfare, was announced the much anticipated arrival of Her Highness Princess Rosalind. Spitting, clawing wildcat would have been a more apt description. She had her wrists and ankles fastened in thick steel manacles, connected to steel link chains and was dragged forth bodily, kicking and screaming by two burly slave traders. In all fairness to her, she was giving them a hard time. They were big, hardened fellows draped in steel plate and wearing vicious looking swords at their sides. They were there for the safety of all concerned; to make sure the slave was sold and that the audience was happy. Who looked after their safety, was anybody's guess, thought Lucius. The Princess was shrouded in a heavily brocaded white silk hood and cape, and her face was mostly hidden for the moment. The rest of her body was determined to try and do as much damage as possible to anyone who happened to get in her path. Both men had taken nasty gashes from her long fingernails and were holding her at arms length. Thankfully she couldn't move fast, the hobble chain between her ankles was not even a foot long. 'I see she's anxious to help Daddy out,' Lucius murmured to Byron dryly. 'Errr not exactly. How about we go back and you marry Gabriella?' Byron asked. 'You must be joking. How about we go back and you marry Gabriella?' Lucius replied. 'Done,' Byron muttered and made to leave. 'Hold your horses,' the Prince placed his hand on the valet's to stop him. 'I like them feisty. She'll be eating out of my hand in a week.' 'She might EAT your hand in a week. Actually if you asked her nicely, she'd probably devour it in a couple of hours,' said Byron, with a knowing glance. The slavers wasted little time in dragging the silk covering off her highness, anxious for her torment to begin and theirs to end. There was a collective gasp, followed by utter silence on her unveiling. The Princess was indeed something to behold. A slight slip of a girl, not yet eighteen years of age. Innocent azure blue eyes, although currently breathing fire, framed by dark sweeping lashes and perfect, full carmine-coloured lips. Her pale blond hair was swept into an elegant chignon behind her, the thickness of which hinted at tresses which would touch the base of her spine; all in all, quite enthralling. Lucius was not the only man in the room to be enraptured by the sheer beauty of the picture she presented. Some of the men in fact, such as Byron, were slack-jawed with awe. 'Stop dribbling,' said the Prince, rolling his eyes. Slowly Byron's jaw worked itself shut, but his gaze never wavered. 'Let's see her naked,' said a strident voice from the back. It took a few seconds for that one to sink into the crowd before all began jeering in agreement. 'Naked, naked, naked,' came the boisterous chants as fists began to rise in the air. The Princess' struggles stopped for a minute as her fiery look swiftly vanished and her cheeks in that perfect English rose complexion paled to alabaster. A slight tremble shook her body. 'Oh dear Lord,' muttered Lucius to himself, 'she has no idea what Daddy's got herself into. How perfectly marvellous.' It was getting better and better. The slave traders stepped forward, keeping their prize in a grip of steel. One withdrew a dirk from his belted waist and moved in front of the Princess. His voice could clearly be heard over the crowd as he growled into her ear. 'You will stay still, M'lady, or firstly I'll cut that delicate, soft skin of yours and secondly I'll thrash you for the disobedience. Understood?' He finished his sentence with a lecherous leer and bits of warm spittle flew upon her cheek. Rosalind swallowed hard and tried to stop her shudders. How had she gotten herself into this mess? What had she done to deserve this? Yes she was strong willed, sometimes defiant, but to be sold as a SLAVE? She would be without rights, all rank stripped away and her life would be at an owner's mercy. How could her Father do this to her? Give her away to the highest bidder... some mean, merciless man who cared not a whit for her. Powerless with rage she SCREAMED and thrashed once more helplessly against the men who held her, knowing the chains would not give, but needing to give vent to her fury. The slaver had the knife poised at the tip of her breasts and had just begun to sever the fabric to disrobe her when she began to thrash uncontrollably. The glistening blade sank into her flesh. 'BASTARD,' Rosalind shrieked as the blade punctured her flesh, blood welling up in a thin trickle, staining her white bodice slowly crimson. 'Right, enough's enough,' growled the man holding her and with a nod to his accomplice proceeded to drag the princess to the back of the dais. Without much ado her wrists were fastened high above her to thick iron eye bolts protruding from the castle walls and similarly her feet were secured to the stone floor. The slaver stood in front of her and let his hand fly across her face. The vicious backhander rang out sharply and echoed around the stone walls. It cracked across her face and sent it flying. All thrashing ceased instantly and her body dissolved into a trembling mess. No speech was now forthcoming. A few seconds later fierce heat flooded her as a red handprint bloomed upon her cheek. This was the first time in her life anybody had dared to raise a hand against her. Emotions were rushing through her body, many of which she couldn't understand. There was anger, fear, shock, horror and yet something else which she could not explain. Something which sent a fluttering heaviness to spiral through her body, causing her to squirm and without being able to quieten it, a hard moan burst through her lips. 'I think she likes it and she's too shy to ask for more,' rang out a voice in the crowd. Bawdy laughter followed. Attempt two of removing the princess's clothes went much more smoothly. The slaver simply took the two ends of the ripped fabric and rent them apart with powerful jerks of his arms. The long silk robe tore easily, virtually straight down the middle and landed in a pool on the floor. Rosalind was left with nothing more than her thin, white under garments. A whisper could be heard from her lips. 'Please, no, don't leave me here naked,' she begged on a sob. Her predicament was finally beginning to sink in and she realised that she had no control over what was about to happen. No-one was coming to her rescue and these cold, leering people in front of her wanted nothing more than see her brought low and snivelling before them. 'Your pleas are useless here, Princess, save your breath,' replied the slaver. His dirk once more appeared and this time he easily sliced through the silk chemise to leave her standing in rags and being devoured by a hundred pairs of greedy eyes. Oh God, how her arms strained at the manacles holding wrists and ankles imprisoned. What she would have given to cover herself at that moment was anybody's guess, but it would have been all of what she owned and then some. If it were possible, her cheeks stained an even greater shade of red and her body began to tremble harder. The room was once again silent. Eyes nearly popped out of heads to take in soft, creamy flesh... exquisite as the finest, most translucent porcelain and unblemished by a single mark. On display were perfect breasts with plump and rosy aureoles, which trembled as the Princess breathed. Then a softly contoured stomach, leading down to long, firm legs inside which nestled a tiny fluff of pale blond pubic hair. The white tatters that remained of her chemise only served to enhance the sheer perfection of such a body. A titter of excitement went round the auction room. Lucius was rather disgusted to find himself drooling over her highness along with every other bastard there. For some unknown reason, she brought out something feral, something raw and instinctively primal within him. There was a building need to have that body under him, to lose himself completely and to plant a desperate need for him inside her. He could already taste the scent of her on his tongue, feel that satin ivory flesh sliding with such sweet friction against his, as he breathed in her very essence. 'Earth to His Highness. Danger. Princes of the realm must not be seen looking either: a) dreamy or b) romantic. It's bad for the image.' Byron sighed heartily. 'Ahhh well, there goes our street cred.' Despite the sigh, a big smirk remained on the valet's face. The comment served to snap Lucius out of his reverie, though, and find things in the auction room had been moving apace. The high Priestess was being summoned. 'What do we need a Priestess for?' asked Byron curiously. 'Is she going to bless the slave with wishes for a long and hard life of servitude or give her God's commiserations for having such a spendthrift father?' 'She will be checking that the hymen is intact, you idiot,' muttered Lucius, shaking his head. Byron looked none the wiser. The Prince threw up his hands. 'Fine, let's try it again and I'll be sure to use small words so you understand. She is the VIRGIN checker.' 'Ahhhhh,' said Byron, light finally dawning. 'I'd have thought you of all people would have had a vested interest in the outcome.' Lucius looked thoughtful. 'Still, on the upside – if she's not, your head will look damned fetching on a 12ft pike outside my bedroom window.' Byron found himself swallowing rather convulsively, eyes glued to the stage as the Priestess began 'her checks.' * Rosalind watched as the old lady approached. She knew how this worked, that being the marvel of castle gossip and regular slave auctions. A few incantations from the leathery old crone, a couple of braziers lit and the unsheathing of the ceremonial dagger. There was no escape for now. This was her fate and all she could do for the moment was brace herself for the pain and humiliation which would inevitably come next. * The high Priestess took her time picking up the dagger. The ancient, jewel-encrusted steel knife had a dull blade and it was by this she picked it up, upside down. It was the hilt that was to be the centre of attention, glistening with precious stones such as rubies, amethyst, turquoise and emeralds, the depth of the rise into the Princess's sex would determine her virginity and alter her value dramatically. Rosalind watched as her lips began to move, the incantations soft and undulating at first. The dagger in her hands moved slowly, to rest underneath her tight nestle of curls, lightly teasing back and forth at the entrance of her sex. Try as she might, Rosalind couldn't stop her body from squirming. The moan she wanted to utter was clamped down with gritted teeth, but her hips swung forward helplessly. The crowd roared. She was giving them the show they wanted. Back and forth the cold steel of the dagger tormented her swiftly heating flesh, causing a sensation that Rosalind had never felt before. She looked to the crowd, eyes pleading for help as her hips once again bucked lewdly back and forth, face and body filling with heat and her sex throbbing. The Priestess's chants only become louder and more shrill as they pierced the roaring silence of the room, almost cackling as her victim writhed beneath her, legs spread wide as the dagger began to twist upwards. 'God, noooo,' Rosalind wailed to the delight of the crowd; feeling the thick hilt, rough with stones, begin to penetrate. It stretched her tight flesh unbearably, cold and unforgiving as it moved inexorably forward. She thrashed crazily once more, banging and rattling at the bonds that held her fast, but the Priestess's grip never wavered and the dagger began to slowly rise inside her. The hilt's stones scratched her previously untouched flesh and the sensation which as yet she could not describe made her arch her neck and whimper out loudly. The Princess didn't care what the crowd thought now, embarrassment had left her for the briefest of moments, to be replaced by a yearning, a want, eyes glazing with need as her pupils dilated to little round orbs of darkness. Those eyes sought the crowd, played to them, spoke to them in volumes as they flitted from one likely owner to the next. Her nipples hardened to ripe, little red peaks and ached horribly. The dagger managed to fulfil its journey a quarter of the way in before painful resistance was met. Rosalind howled as it tried to push higher, eyes now searching for a rescuer... resting on Lucius' for a brief moment in time. Lucius held his breath as she looked at him, felt the connection between them and the way his pulse rocketed as a surge of adrenalin shot through his body. He noticed the way her body strained and lifted up on tip toes as the dagger speared her upwards, saw the look of pain shimmering in her eyes and almost, almost felt sorry for her. 'A Virgin,' the Priestess cackled and bowed to the crowd, before a frenzied roar of delight rang around the auction room. She left the hilt buried halfway inside the Princess to prove how tight that little sex was, before moving off shuffling to check her braziers of hot coals. Lucius turned to Byron. 'You must have been born under a lucky star, I swear,' he muttered darkly, voice only slightly unsteady. Byron only rubbed his neck affectionately in response. His breathing was also unsteady, but not for the same reason. * Rosalind felt the dagger lodged inside her, pointing out obscenely, and shuddered. She felt her body clench around it, over and over; trying to expel the thick, heavy object and failing. So be it. Other more pressing things were hers to worry about. As far as breathing went, hers had all but vanished as she watched the Priestess sink the long, thin, iron rod with the 'S' brand on its tip into the centre of the brazier, waiting for it to light up and turn a fiery molten orange. This wasn't happening. It was some awful nightmare that was gripping and winding itself tightly around her. But it wasn't. The only reason she knew for certain that it wasn't... was because she was either about to vomit or faint and her dreams weren't that life-like. The Darkest Knight Ch. 03 'A Cunning Plan' The fierce heat could be felt in waves on the Princess' skin as the branding iron came towards her, but fear had rendered her mute. The 'S' brand glowed a mesmerising bright white now and made the prettiest patterns as it travelled forth in the Priestess' hands. Rosalind's eyes followed its slow progress almost in a trance. The air around them felt hot and humid, causing beads of sweat to trickle down her neck. One last try was attempted to howl, to scream; to SHRIEK, but all that emitted from frozen lips was an unfamiliar gurgling sound as her tongue lolled on the back of her throat. Without warning one of the slave traders stuck a firm piece of wood between her stiff lips. 'Bite,' he ordered, 'or risk biting your tongue off.' There was no energy left inside to spit it out, to disobey. Her body shook in uncontrollable tremors as she hung there, unsupported from her slack wrists high above. Due to the fact the Princess was highborn, her brand would be embedded on the inner thigh; unlike the common slaves who wore their 'S' mark on the wrist, visible for all to see. In so far as the privileges of rank went, that meant a degree of privacy and a whole world of pain. The Priestess arm shot forward to end the suspense, amidst her now loud, wailing chants and the iron struck home. For a mere second, utter silence reigned in the spell bound room. Then Rosalind found her voice. The high pitched screaming sound that ricocheted of the walls set nearly every man's teeth on edge and fingers could be seen everywhere gripping into tight fists. Lucius was one of the few who remained unscathed by the vicious screeching noise. 'She's got a remarkably fine pair of lungs on her,' he commented, to no-one in particular as a glance at Byron found him with his eyes tightly closed and his hands over his ears. 'Honestly, you're worse than a girl,' Lucius muttered to himself. His dark eyes once more found themselves on the Princess. 'I give you five seconds,' he thought, counting back softly in his head. Rosalind could hear screaming, but wasn't at all sure where it was coming from. Then there was sizzling, burning flesh; the stench of which filled her nostrils and nearly made her choke. There was also pain, her whole body was alight with the awful grip of blinding agony and finally... there was a blissful appearance of dizzying blackness. '3, 2, 1. Bingo.' Lucius smiled to himself, as the Princess' unconcious head rolled forward. 'We'll have to work on that pain tolerance,' he added as an afterthought. There was a collective sigh of relief around the room as the screaming ceased. Lucius gave his valet a nudge in the ribs to wake him, then another much sharper one when that didn't work. Byron, groaning, tentatively opened his eyes and pried a careful finger from his ear. He sighed in appreciation as the room was once again relatively quiet (as quiet as lecherously growling, beer swilling buyers of naked Princesses ever got anyhow). The Priestess was just then making her exit as one of the traders stepped forward, clapping his hands for attention. 'Gentlemen,' he began, 'due to our new slave's unconscious state, the thrashing you've all been waiting for will, unfortunately, have to be cancelled.' This was met with collective roar of discontent and much groaning from all parties concerned. 'Damn thoughtless, these goody two shoes Princesses' remarked Lucius. Byron grinned as he replied, 'Yes, and I'll bet she was looking forward to a damn good whipping too.' The trader continued, virtually yelling amongst the chorus of unhappy protests. 'MAY THE BIDDING BEGIN!' Then all hell let loose. '10 Gold pieces,' was heard from the back. '20,' sounded from the large merchant at the front. '30,' a wealthy noble. '60,' had it back with the merchant again. And so it swung back and forth. The room Vs the velvet robed man with far too much money it seemed. Lucius turned to Byron, his eyes narrowing. 'You're going to have to get rid of him for me,' he drawled, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Byron's face was a picture of undignified horror. 'What... KILL him Sire?' he said, eyes nearly popping out of his head. Then the stammering started. 'B..b..but think of all t...t...these witnesses. They'll hang me,' he cried out in protest. 'Always remember hanging is a far preferable fate to being hung, drawn and quartered by me,' Lucius raised an eyebrow and continued 'and no, not kill him you idiot; just remove him from this room and find him another for the foreseeable future.' 'How?' came the plaintive response. 'I don't know or care how!' said Lucius, positioning his booted foot to hook the underneath of Byron's chair, swiftly yanking it forward to watch the spluttering valet make a rather swift, if most undignified exit. * Not five minutes later found Byron nervously pacing up and down the stone corridor outside the auction room, trying to decide between several quickly formulated 'cunning plans.' These were those: Cunning Plan number 1: Trip over annoying fat arsed merchant and then be forced to challenge him to a duel outside. Upside: Would probably work. Downside: If he wasn't initially flattened and killed by the humungous man falling on top of him, he would be in the duel. The sword was strictly for show. Plan 1 wasn't going to be brilliant. Cunning Plan number 2: Pretend large bottomed merchant's wife had come to town and required immediate attention in some form or another. No-one likes to be caught buying a virgin Princess for a slave when one's wife is about. Upside: Utterly ingenious. Downside: Don't know merchant's name. Don't know merchant's wife's name. Actually don't even know if merchant has a wife. No-one was in the immediate vicinity to bribe and find out. Plan 2 definitely had its draw backs. Cunning Plan number 3: There was no cunning plan number 3. 'Arse, damn, bugger, shite,' in the midst of this tirade of swearing (which had many more new and inventive words yet to be added) he nearly tripped over a servant scurrying forth with some lotion, potion or other. 'Dreadfully sorry,' he apologised, watching the steaming liquid slop all over the shining silver serving platter. 'Damnit,' moaned the harried servant, looking at the mess on his tray. 'Now I'll have to go fetch another sleeping draught for His Majesty. I can't take this one now,' he muttered as a long suffering sigh accompanied his lugubrious look. 'Bingo,' thought Byron. There was now a cunning plan number 3 and bedashed if it wasn't exceptionally cunning. * Lucius meanwhile, was back in a unfortunate bidding war that showed no signs of abating any time soon. '400 Gold pieces.' '450 here.' '500.' His temper was starting to fray slightly at the edges, with just himself and the lecherous merchant as duelling partners. Where was his manservant and more to the point, what the hell was he doing? The question it seemed was soon to be answered as Byron chose that moment to stagger into the room singing 'Henry the VIII I am, I am.' Lucius' face darkened. While Byron might not be Henry VIII, he may well get to share a good deal in common with one of his wives shortly. Tripping over his own feet, the sozzled valet stumbled into the otherwise occupied merchant and nearly knocked the poor man's tankard of ale over. 'I's apologise,' slurred Byron heavily and virtually crawled back over the aisle to sit behind his Master. The bidding continued, the auctioneer used to such things and unperturbed. 'YOU'VE BEEN DRINKING,' bit Lucius out of the corner of his mouth, whilst bidding '550' in his next breath. 'If only,' came the unslurred whisper in reply, but his body was still swaying happily from side to side. Honestly, thought Byron, this was one of his better performances and if Oscars had been invented he certainly deserved one. '650,' continued Lucius to the auctioneer, whilst directing, 'and you sound remarkably coherent for a drunk,' towards Byron. '700 h..e...r..e,' came the reply from the merchant, although somewhat slurred. He looked strangely at the tankard of ale in hand, taking a moment to wonder just where this beer had come from. It packed quite a punch. 'Seems he's caught whatever you had,' said Lucius thoughtfully and then, '750.' The merchant made to answer, opened his mouth in a wide 'O' and then crashed to the floor, taking several rather shocked attendants with him in the process. One poor soul fell right under him, waggling arms and legs in a furious upturned ladybug style, as his face went beet red in attempt to draw in air. 'Can't t..t..take his beeeeer,' slurred Byron, adding a hiccup for good measure and the room erupted in guffaws of laughter. Good job he hadn't tried plan number 1, Byron thought thankfully. The auctioneer looked around for any last bids, thinking that the Princess in question was a bit of a bargain, but after a dutiful 10 seconds pause banged his hammer resolutely down. 'SOLD to Prince Lucius.' Applause sounded as the Prince made his way forward to put quill to paper and claim his prize. He was faced with the awkward dilemma of how best to wake the Princess up from her unusual midday slumber. The best course of action was always a kiss, right? Lucius slid a hand around the back of her neck, holding her lolling head upright; his fingers entangling themselves in the long pale locks as he stroked her gently. Lips gently teased at hers, sucking softly whilst his free hand went to work on the dagger still embedded inside her. Slowly, very slowly he gently thrust it back and forth. Up and down, up and down went the handle... beginning to coat itself in her sticky juices, as his lips pressed firmly against hers. A soft moan was his reward as Rosalind's lips began to respond against his unthinking. The crowd jeered in encouragement. Still her eyes wouldn't open and he needed to see them. A stray finger worked itself up to the juncture of the Princess' thighs where the still warm brand adorned her. He pressed his finger cruelly against it. Eyes flew open, shot through with pain and she tore her head away. 'Bastard!' Rosalind shrieked, rattling wrists and ankles furiously, almost gurgling with pain as blood rushed back into tortured limbs. What a splended picture she made there like that, spread eagled; gloriously naked with such delicious fire shooting sparks from those eyes. Her training was sure to be a challenging and a hugely pleasurable undertaking by anyone's standards. 'You will address me as 'Master' henceforth,' Lucius drawled as his fingers tightened around her slim neck, making the point clearly with his eyes which darkened to wide orbs of black onyx. Rosalind mumbled in reply as her eyes widened. 'I am waiting,' Lucius said as his fingers gripped ever tighter, restricting her airflow, not allowing her to breathe. Still no response as her eyes set determinedly. 'Let him strangle me,' Rosalind thought feeling her thigh throb and pulse in agony. Damned if she would give him the satisfaction of grovelling at his feet. 'Gentlemen,' said Lucius turning to face the crowd, 'seeing as how my new slave is a little on the disobedient side, how would you all like to see that thrashing you thought you'd missed?' The last few words were drowned out as the sound of tankards slamming and foot stomping deafened him. Rosalind's eyes flew wide and her body shook with turbulent rage. How DARE he? When her horrible tormentor turned to face her once more, she spat at him. Lucius only laughed in response, wiping the slowly dripping spittle on his face casually away with his sleeve. 'I can see I am going to have my work cut out for me, slave,' he said, returning one very dark gaze towards her before returning to the crowd in front of him. 'Anyone by chance, have a sturdy crop handy?' he enquired. The Darkest Knight Ch. 04 The scrabble to come up with a suitable implement for thrashing the Princess was fast and furious. Trousers could have been falling down everywhere as belts were removed; some of leather, others of rope and servants were sent scurrying for much more 'rigid' devices. A broadsword was offered up to an amused Lucius who politely refused and then a pitchfork, which had him howling with mirth. 'Why ever do you keep that in here?' he asked, eyes sparkling. 'To remove louts like 'im Sire,' came the response, as he pointed at Mr velvety flat out and snoring on the floor. 'Ahh,' nothing wrong with a friendly poke at closing time, Lucius surmised. Byron having made a run to the stables for his Master's crop re-entered the auction room flushed and panting. The door slammed behind him and he pushed the latch firmly to. Lucius raised one eye slowly up towards him from the dais. 'Oh Bloody Hell,' he cursed under his breath, having just realised what the 'look' meant. He'd forgotten he was supposed to be rather heavily into his cups. Byron dropped to his hands and knees and made an ostensible drunken crawl down the aisle, receiving a few 'helpful' kicks of jeering encouragement along the way, knocking him black and blue. Why was there always a downside to cunning plans? Finally reaching the edge of the stage, very relieved no-one's foot had found any of his more delicate appendages he handed the crop forward to Lucius with a glare and an award winning slurred speech: 'Taaaa Daaaaa.' Lucius couldn't help a grin as he took the wicked looking, slim leather crop into his keeping. 'Thank you dear boy,' the Prince said, his eyes already returning to Rosalind's pale flesh, 'you have my permission to pass out at your leisure.' 'Yes Siiiirre,' slurred Byron whilst thinking darkly 'what and miss all the action? You must be flipping joking.' A great performance then ensued of the valet, half stumbling, half crawling back to his chair in which he proceeded to obediently collapse into. Shutting his eyes, Byron would have started snoring loudly, if he didn't already know he'd get a clout for it later. * * * Lucius meanwhile was fully occupied on the task at hand. 'As our slave Princess is a novice,' he addressed the crowd, 'we'll just thrash her arse today.' He undid both of the eye bolts above the Princess' head, releasing her arms. Immediately she tried to blindside him with a manacled wrist. Lucius, having expected it, twisted both wrists behind her and pushed them up high, causing her to howl in pain. 'Make that back AND arse.' He yelled menacingly in her ear to much applause. 'You can't do this!' wailed Rosalind, now completely immobilised with her face being pressed hard into the cold stone wall as Lucius turned her around. She could feel the soft skin of her cheek grinding against the abrasive surface, her arms protesting violently as she was resecured but this time with back towards the audience. 'Made that BACK, ARSE AND THIGHS,' Lucius roared in her ear. 'Feel free to keep going, the more body parts the merrier I say.' As it happened Rosalind's face was pressed that tightly into the wall, Lucius leaning his weight against her to secure the eye bolts, all she could do was moan weakly in response. The Prince stood back to admire the ivory expanse of soft, unblemished and delicate satin flesh before him. What bliss it was, to be the first to mark it. Firstly, as a test stroke for his audience, but in reality to see whether his new slave would wince or not, he let the crop whistle through the air. Rosalind's face snapped back over her shoulder and then, curiously, stayed there as if goading him to start. Her eyes sparked pure fury and fire, flames leaping from them trying their best to scorch him. Lucius had never had a slave before who wanted to watch as the whip came down upon them and as his dark eyes connected with her tempestuous ones, he felt a sharp stab of desire slice through him. Damn, he was REALLY going to enjoy this. With no further ado, the crow flew. SMACK. Rosalind had to bite down hard on the howl she wasn't prepared to share with an audience. Lucius watched her intently. Her eyes spoke volumes, both of pain and murderous intent. Alas she'd have to wait in line, there was a big queue of people wanting to kill him. He smiled at the satisfying bright red welt springing up against such a pale relief -- the after image of pain. * * * Byron cracked one eye open from his slumped position on the chair, jolting nearly as much as the Princess when the next blow came down. Thank the Gods she wasn't screaming. He had a feeling that ear plugs may well become a necessity if those two got married. Thinking about it, ear plugs wouldn't cut it either... he'd probably be forced to look for other career opportunities in a Castle far, far away - at least 500 leagues away. Oh Good Lord, what if he couldn't find a job and faced unemployment at a mere 29 years of age? Things could get very stressful. He started a deep breathing, I'm on my island in the sun type meditation mantra to try and calm himself down. * * * Rosalind was trying hard not to let a whisper leave her lips. Her teeth embedded themselves in her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood and resolutely she held herself stiffly upright. If only she realised now, that barely a day would go by without that backside of hers being tanned red and raw, she may well have given in to howling inanely. Her new owner was nothing, if not a diligent Sadist. 'I want to hear that word 'Master' slave.' Lucius was now alternating strokes, diagonally across both back and arse; delighting in the way her body jumped and her arse cheeks quivered with each stroke. 'Feel free to beg for mercy at any time,' he drawled softly in her ear. 'CURSE YOU,' Rosalind managed to choke back at him, through the pain which was becoming unbearable as her back and arse were now covered in thick, red swelling lacerations. 'Oh you will be frequently, except when I choose to gag you,' came the retort.' A titter of amusement went through the crowd. * * * The other of Byron's eyes flicked open. Now gagging had possibilities. Quick as a flash the stress of being homeless and jobless had disappeared and his mini vacation to a nice Caribbean island ended abruptly without a whisper of sunburn. He could breathe again. The Gods WERE merciful. * * * 'I will never let you NEAR me,' came the roar from the Princess. 'If you're a good girl I might let you NEAR me,' Lucius replied, his lip curling upwards, but then added as an afterthought, 'perhaps even if you're bad actually AND that's an extra 10 lashes for talking back slave. I have never heard a Princess show such disregard for her superiors!' 'SUPERIOR, you must be out of your...' Rosalind's retort was cut rather short as the crop once again found its mark and she needed every ounce of concentration to quell the screaming that was fighting to break free of her. At no time did the Prince's strokes falter upon their intended target. Always precise, measured and with the same amount of unerring force they found their target again and again. Letting the pain build, making sure the blistering heat of his strokes would eventually be her undoing. Lucius wanted her a sobbing, pitiful wreck of a slave -- always make the initial lessons the hardest and you'll enjoy an easy life, was his motto. To her credit, she was putting up a damnably good fight; but there was no way she could win. Over and over the blows rained down and finally, all fight lost, Rosalind began to sob. 'Let me hear Master slave, or I promise you won't sit down for a week.' Even through the intolerable red mist of pain consuming her, the Princess shook her head in defiance. 'Lucius had to admire her spirit, he'd not seen any slave take as much as she for their first thrashing, men and women alike. Royalty were such a pain in the arse. His lip quirked at his own joke. Fine, it was time for the finale then. He started with a series of brutally hard whacks, leaving only enough time for him to swing the crop back before the next was delivered. Back, arse, thighs... everywhere was red, skin engorged with blood and so raw that at last she was screaming. The room collectively winced once more at the horrendous noise those lungs could produce. It was a blessing though, because his arm was starting to hurt. Damn, he was going to need to work out in order to keep this one in check. It spurred Lucius on; more upon more blows were heaped upon her until her head rocked dizzily on her shoulders. The pain was so blinding now, she could barely see straight. His fingers started to slip in and out of her, testing for telltale moisture. Confusing the signals her body was sending, he could see her eyes in their struggle to decipher between pleasure and pain. He was rewarded with slick heat and a rocking of her hips in response. Even better, the lass hardly knew what she was about, lips parting on a sigh before it was choked back hastily. His thumb began rubbing her clit in gentle circles, arousing her horribly as the nub swelled instantly under its touch. Again and again he caressed that little bud, watching her eyes glaze and her lashes flutter hopelessly in response. Satisfied she was as aroused as she could be, Lucius placed the crop between her legs and rubbed gently, dark eyes boring into hers.... 'You have 3 seconds to say Master, or this will be the worst pain you have ever encountered slave' 'Three,' he yelled and the crowd helped him by joining their voices. 'Two,' an almighty roar now. 'ONE,' and all eyes looked to the sobbing, dribbling, shuddering Princess hanging before them and wondered what would be forthcoming. The Darkest Knight Ch. 05 There was a collective silence in the room. All gathered had expected the word 'Master' to erupt from the Princess' lips and it seemed all were to be disappointed. The slave in question gazed forward with a remarkably stoic look that amused even Lucius, so much so that he had to work to keep his face straight and his expression foreboding. 'So be it,' he said finally, shaking his head. The crop in his hand reared back in a graceful arc and he let it fly. It connected with that soft, swollen nub of pleasure with a satisfying smack and Rosalind's eyes went wide. Then... all hell let loose. Firstly Rosalind screamed the scream of screams. This nearly floored every man in the room. Byron had his fingers so far down his eardrums they were practically touching brain matter. Once again he'd had to retreat to his Island paradise, eyes tightly closed, letting the sun's rays seep warmth into his body. Whilst there, he decided to contemplate the joys of marrying a luscious, full bodied and deliciously ripe native girl. One who was preferably mute, he added as an afterthought. The screaming finally stopped and Rosalind's jaw seemed to be making strange 'Oh Oh' shapes as her face twisted in spasms of pain, whilst tears of agony streamed down her cheeks. Choked little sobs of disbelief were the only sounds that could now be heard. Gingerly, hands were prised away from ears as once more temporary sanity and hearing returned to the room. 'You!' came a very loud, rather angry voice from the floor at the front of the dais. Byron recognised that voice. Alas the forthcoming nuptials would have to be put on hold as once again he was firmly catapulted back into the present day. Realising he was in a little bit of trouble, he began to slowly sink to the floor below as surreptitiously as possible. 'YOU LOST ME MY PRINCESS!' roared the by now very awake, sober and more than a touch grumpy merchant. In response Byron hit the floor, crawling at the speed of light between numerous chairs littering the room, towards the exit. 'COME BACK HERE,' screamed the now apoplectic man. 'I challenge you to a duel, you conniving little thief.' Byron made it to the exit door glad of his svelte frame for once and turned back to smile charmingly at the merchant, fingers already on the door latch. 'And I, The Great and Mighty sword fighter Byron,' said Byron pausing for dramatic effect whilst watching the merchant struggle to his feet, 'Challenge You.... TO CATCH ME FIRST!' The door slammed quickly shut, letting in a puff of dust in its wake. The merchant's jaw for a second went slack in disbelief and then, recovering himself went roaring off all swords blazing after the valet. Quick as a flash the auction room's participants rushed to the door to watch the ensuing games. Let's face it, fighting was much more fun than Princesses any day of the week. * The altercation left a bemused Lucius pleasantly alone with a semi conscious, if somewhat disobedient slave. He caressed her cheek softly to bring her back to the land of the living. 'Oh God I hurt all over,' groaned Rosalind, shaking her head groggily as if to clear the pain filled void her mind had become. 'Oh God I hurt all over MASTER,' Lucius corrected, letting the crop touch her tortured, striped arse, dragging it along the backs of her thighs and once more stroking her swollen clitoris softly with it. 'Oh God I hurt all over Master,' Rosalind allowed. Lucius looked back at her sharply with narrowed eyes. 'That was a bit too easy,' he murmured, face darkening slightly. 'Mmm,' Rosalind replied trying not to slip to and from consciousness. 'There's no-body watching me now,' she finished with a try at an impish smile directed at her tormentor. Now why had he suspected as much? Without warning the crop once more flew to embed itself in the rather raw, decidedly red and deliciously sore backside of his new slave. This time he let her slip back into unconsciousness without any further interference from himself. The fact that her arms would strain tightly against the cuffs connected to the eyebolts high above would be punishment enough when she awoke. * Byron could not be found. It was perhaps more accurate to say that Byron didn't want to be found so much, that he had taken above average precautions to prevent the possibility. Admittedly he was rather more fleet of foot than Mr I'm a bit too big for my boots, so the dash across the Castle courtyard to the servants quarter behind wasn't the hardest race he'd ever entered. Then there was the having to bribe a deliciously young and nubile chamber maid to take off her clothes, which was just too horrible to contemplate. The watching her strip part particularly vile as he made to don her clothes. In fact the only part which really bothered him, was having to pretend to lump up and down on some spotty servant boy, also bribed, when the merchants lackeys came looking for him. At their entrance Byron was making good on his budding acting career. He was decked out in a long blond wig and had petticoats flying everywhere, whilst making high pitched feminine squeals of delight and giving a champion snog that left the poor stable boy speechless, but perhaps for all the wrong reasons. Thankfully the men moved on quickly. Byron was only a little put out that they hadn't stayed to watch. Honestly, the things one had to do, to keep one's head attached to one's body, was simply astounding. * 'ARRRGHH. LET ME DOWN DAMNIT!' Rosalind's nap had been short and not in the remotest bit sweet. Her awakening to a fresh new world of sore limbs, swollen striped flesh and screaming muscles was not at all to her liking. 'Now you can repeat all of that, adding the word Master or it will amuse me greatly to watch you hang like that all day,' said Lucius arching an eyebrow. 'Oh and a word of advice: if you're a smart slave, you'll swap damnit for please.' Rosalind, having a good inkling of when she was beaten, both literally and figuratively in this case, conceded to the Prince's wishes with a suitably meek voice. He may have won this battle, but she intended to resume the war, just as soon as her backside recovered. (Little did she know it would rarely, if perhaps ever). For now, exhausted with today's excitement, Lucius decided to saddle up and set off for the nearest inn. It was obvious some training was in order before the Princess was fit to meet Mama. To soften her up a little, he'd decided that she would ride naked. Not only would it add the most delicious hue of crimson to her pale cheeks as she saw all of her subjects witness her unusual departure, it would also leave his hands with plenty of things to explore on the journey. She would also ride on his horse in front of himself, to prevent the possibility of her causing trouble. With a decidedly wicked grin on his face, he prayed for a pleasantly bumpy ride with more than their fair share of potholes to grace the road ahead. That arse would be murder in short order and he intended to put that little detail to full use for the evening ahead. Now, where was Byron? * Having given the stables area a cursory glance, which was where Byron should be, getting the horses ready for their departure, Lucius gave up. He didn't particularly want to know how Byron was removing himself out of difficulty and could only pray he was spared the details. He might as well make arrangements to go on ahead. Short work was made of saddling his fiery black stallion who was anxious to be on his way. 'I know the feeling,' muttered Lucius as he patted his flank and slipped a carrot into the way of a greedy mouth. Trudging back indoors he was faced with the dilemma of how to remove a wildcat Princess from shackles and then get her to the stables. When he managed that the only problem was how to get her on his horse and make her remain there whilst he got on behind her. Good thing he loved a challenge. The shackles part was easy enough; Rosalind was as anxious to be free of them as he was to get her out of them. 'Right slave,' said Lucius with a dark look, 'we're going to the stables and as I can't trust you to walk, your journey will be made over my shoulder. If you decide to bite me, remember that your backside is a rather wickedly raw piece of flesh at the moment and I have a free hand to play with it.' Rosalind looked up and nodded. She was left with no illusions as to what 'play' meant. A serving wench chose that moment to enter the auction room, which caused Lucius to narrow his eyes. 'I've been sent to help out, I have,' it said in a rather strangely high falsetto voice. Lucius decided to call it 'it' because whilst it had long blond hair and a rather shapeless wool dress and voluminous petticoats, it also had boots, hairy legs and a remarkable resemblance to a certain valet he knew. 'Have you worked here long perchance?' enquired Lucius without the merest flicker of recognition. 'Years and years, deary,' came the reply. 'Excellent, you can lead this lass to the stables then my... lady.' The wench considered this for a moment and tried to remember in which general direction the stables were. Hmmm. Hairy eyebrows went from left, to right, to left again without reaching a conclusive answer. It seemed the game was up. 'Tis me Byron,' came a whisper. 'Is it really?,' came the sardonic reply. 'You're much prettier than I remember,' remarked Lucius raising an eyebrow. Byron smiled at this. He knew he was good with disguises, but compliments were always welcome. 'It's the hair isn't it?' he said, twirling a thick lock of the honeyed blond wig around on his finger. 'No, I think the dress actually,' said Lucius, having given Byron an assessing look up and down. 'What this old thing?' said Byron aghast. * For some unknown reason his servant was in a mighty hurry to begone from the Castle grounds and adjusted tack, sorted saddlebags, virtually threw Rosalind atop Lucius' stallion and fastened her hands behind her back without drawing breath. Also odd was the fact that his manservant chose to stay in female attire, whilst straddling his own horse with more alacrity than Lucius had seen from him in quite some time. To each their own he supposed. The result was that he had a naked slave Princess in front of him on his horse in record time. That was indeed a good thing. 'Byron if you even think of letting your horse go before mine, I will personally behead you and I'll use a spoon to do it, which has the added bonus of taking an exceptionally long time. Byron managed to check his horse with a hard yank on the reins in just the nick of time. 'Thought never crossed my mind Sire,' he replied, waiting a good 30 seconds before following his Prince out of the Castle grounds. * There was a decided chill in the air. Lucius knew this because his fingers had given Rosalind's right breast a little pinch, only to discover her nipple was already standing to attention in the most pert way possible. He checked the left breast just to be sure. Mmmm. He growled appreciatively. 'Could I have a cloak please,' whispered Rosalind, not turning her head to look at him. 'Could I have a cloak please, MASTER,' replied Lucius in a rather amused voice. Rosalind repeated the phrase making sure to emphasise the word 'Master' and still managed not to look at him. 'No, you may not have a cloak slave,' Lucius replied evilly. He turned her face towards him slowly, with an elegantly manicured finger. 'I want all of your subjects to see their Princess' notable charms as a leaving present from me. Besides the fact that clothes will rarely if ever be allowed on my slave and if I allow them, be sure you'd rather be naked than wear what I'll make you wear,' Lucius smiled as he watched her face colour up crimson. 'But I'm cold Master,' she replied peevishly. 'Now that I can help with,' he replied, trying his hardest not to smile. Lucius took his horse from a sedate walk to a slow trot which he knew would warm those tender buttocks up rather smartly. Then with one hand he began to fondle her nether lips, lightly nipping, rubbing and stroking. The other hand, still just about managing to hold on to the reigns was alternating between one breast and the next, pinching and fondling gently. Rosalind tried to buck away from him in horror and in her attempts nearly succeeded in falling off the horse, had it not been for Lucius' quick reflexes. 'I wouldn't try that if I were you,' he drawled in her ear. 'Falling off a horse with your hands tied behind your back is not going to be particularly pleasant, not to mention the fact that flesh of yours is in rather a sorry state already.' He smiled when he felt her shudder and knew it was not because of the cold. When they approached the Castle portcullis, it was clear that virtually the whole Kingdom had come out to witness their Princess' grand departure. Rosalind couldn't contain a groan of horror that all her subjects wanted to see her thus. She needed her hands desperately in order to cover herself up and was feeling them all too keenly fastened securely behind her. No amount of tugging at the rope was going to help her. What a picture she must present! Naked breasts and buttocks bouncing up and down as she rode, nipples erect and a dark rose colour from Lucius' attentions. Then her swelling pussy lips, also darkening in colour both from the effects of nimble fingers and having had a good bounce up and down as they rode. If you'd said her face was scarlet it would have been the understatement of the century. Puce would have been more accurate. This was hideous. It was all she could do to hold back tears, but that wasn't the worst of it by far. Oh no. The worst of it was that she could feel moist heat trickling from between her legs and dribbling slowly upon their saddle so she almost squelched as she rode; her whole body thrumming and vibrating as if something big and pleasurable was gathering to break free. She knew Lucius would be able to feel the slippery wetness beneath him. What on earth was happening to her? Please dear God tell her that she wasn't going to enjoy this torment. It was all too much to bear. The Darkest Knight Ch. 06 The inn keeper looked slightly askance at the party before him. It was not that he didn't appreciate seeing a beautifully naked young woman or even that he didn't often deal with Royalty; for he immediately recognised a Prince of the Realm when he saw one. But a man dressed as a woman? That you didn't see every day. Gods be thanked, if this specimen was anything to go by. 'Good evening Sire, how may I be of service?' he enquired, trying not to stare at the man...lady... whatever. 'We'll be requiring two rooms good Sir,' replied Lucius, 'And I hope for your sake that you don't sleep anywhere near them.' The inn keeper, schooling his puzzled glance fairly quickly, ran to sort out the arrangements. The Prince didn't seem like a man who liked to be kept waiting. * Rosalind looked down at herself. She was stiff, sore, frustrated and filthy dirty. As soon as they'd left the Castle gates, Lucius' fingers had become much softer and delicately teasing in their ministrations. They'd left not an inch of her untouched and it had set her whole body on fire. A delicious heat she hadn't known existed had poured itself through her blood like molten lava, but instead of exploding, she'd been left to simmer gently. AARRGHHHH. It hadn't been enough to even remotely satisfy her and when she'd tried to bounce at a heavier pace, rubbing herself along the saddle, he'd held her immobile and laughed. The Bastard had laughed. She gritted her teeth tightly. Ah dear God she needed hot water and if she had to beg for it she would. Bedamned if she would beg him for an orgasm. She'd rather join a nunnery. 'Please, Master, may I have a bath?' she whispered tightly. She knew she stank, with clumps of mud or worse manure flaking from her skin and bits of hay stuck in her hair. 'Yes, you may,'replied Lucius. Rosalind breathed a sigh of relief. 'Byron you can help the slave bath,' said Lucius. Byron sighed and took Rosalind's hand. He started to move towards the welcoming heat of the inn door. 'Where are you going Byron?' asked Lucius. 'To get your slave a hot bath,' said Byron, thinking that was a very stupid question. Royalty weren't always as sharp as they appeared. 'No, dear boy, the river will do quite well. Slaves have to earn privileges, such as hot baths, with much sucking, begging and generally pleasing behaviour. But mostly sucking,' said Lucius as an afterthought, nodding to himself. Rosalind stiffened horribly. As well she might, because Byron knew it wasn't much more than 10 degrees outside. Brrr. 'She's not to come inside until she's clean either and nothing but a good swim will do. I entrust your head firmly in her care, if you know what I mean, so don't lose her,' said Lucius just before disappearing inside the very warm and comfortable looking inn. Bloody hell! Byron had been looking forward to putting his feet up with a nice pint of ale, whilst perusing the latest employment vacancies of Servants Wanted Weekly. * Unfastening the Princess' hands from behind her back, Byron tied one of her wrists with his. She was not going out of his sight as he quite liked his head firmly attached to his neck. Thankfully the river was only 200 yards behind the inn, so it wasn't going to be a long walk and soon enough they were perched on the edge of it. Rosalind looked at her reflection in the pristine water and shuddered; what she wouldn't do to that Prince if a sharp implement was ever put in her reach. 'Right, bath time,' said Byron in a cheerful type of tone, 'sooner you get this over with the better eh?' He made encouraging noises and started to untie his hand from hers. The Princess stared back at Byron with a somewhat unfriendly expression. She dipped a toe in tentatively and screeched, hopping madly. 'God almighty, it's bloody FREEZING,' she yelled hopping backwards in such a rush, she unbalanced Byron and sent him flying. Unfortunately he went flying the wrong way. Even more unfortunately, Rosalind found he hadn't quite managed to free her hand from his. * She joined Byron, who looked much like an upside down mushroom with petticoats floating everywhere, desperately trying to free his arms in order to enable himself to swim. It took some time before the bedraggled pair made it back to the edge of the river bed. 'Sorr,' tried Byron before he was cut off quite abruptly. 'Don't talk to me. DO NOT talk to meeeee,' said Rosalind, most annoyed at how her teeth chattered on that last word. * Two very soggy people greeted Lucius at his door. He raised an eyebrow at Byron. 'Now am I that desirable you thought you'd better have a bath too?' said Lucius, having to bite his cheek to prevent laughter escaping. Byron scowled, but was rather forced to answer thus: 'Oh God yes Sire, I couldn't contain myself,' although the enthusiasm wasn't as bubbly as it could have been. Lucius nodded. 'And I do so love a swim at this time of year. It's incredibly refreshing,' said Byron, forcing a smile. 'Well my thanks for getting the job done, good man. You may now retire to your room.' Byron gave a long sigh of relief. 'Oh and Byron before you go, whilst the dress and the hair are all very attractive and I'm flattered at the attention, I'm afraid you're really not my type. Male attire tomorrow please.' 'Duly noted Sire,' he replied, swiftly followed by a much softer 'Princesses should be shot,' as he turned in a very wet puddle and made to squelch his way back to his room. 'But not ones that cost 750 Gold pieces,' added Lucius, having too keen an ear for comfort. 'Obviously not those ones,' came the reply, which was somewhat lacking in conviction. * Lucius closed the door with a firm tug and locked it, pocketing the key. 'Right first things first,' he began, 'when in your Master's room you will always crawl in his presence, unless informed otherwise.' Rosalind stood there shivering madly, whilst desperately trying to stop her teeth chattering and just looked at him. 'There is just you in this room right?' she questioned. 'Just me,' agreed Lucius. 'Unfortunately, you will need a very large army if you wish to see my elbows and knees in contact with your floor,' said the princess sweetly. 'So much for the nice approach,' said Lucius shaking his head. 'If you need me I'll be in the bathroom enjoying a steaming hot, clean bath with fluffy warm towels to await me when I get out.' He strode towards the tub. 'Wait,' said Rosalind almost stamping her foot in her hurry to get his attention, knowing there was perhaps nothing else in the world bar a hot bath which would have served to sway her opinion. 'It just so happens I might be moved to crawl after all,' she managed to stammer. Lucius thought carefully for a moment. 'Now you see, Princess, I really quite like you but I'm sensing your enthusiasm for crawling is somewhat lacking. I take that rather personally at this stage in the game. There's nothing for it but to free you I suppose.' Lucius took hold of Rosalind's arm and began to lead her purposely towards the door, where he picked the key up out of his pocket and slowly opened it. 'I Prince Lucius, hereby release you of your contract to serve me and you are now free to leave my presence.' This was all said with great aplomb, whilst Lucius practically threw her out of his bedroom door to land on the decidedly unsavoury carpet. Then the door closed and she heard the snick of the key in the lock once more. Free to go? How absolutely wonderful, thought Rosalind. It did seem a little bit too easy, but who was she to argue with the gift of the fates. She shook her head dazedly. What to do next? She'd need a horse and... oh lord. She looked down at herself. Clothes. Why had it just struck her that she was naked; naked and very wet. That really had to be her first priority, find some clothes and then a horse. With what though? She hadn't any money and no jewellery to sell. This situation was going to require some thought. Picking herself up she leaned over the staircase banister to survey the scene underneath her. A loud bellow sounded from below as several men tried to decide if they'd seen what they actually thought they'd seen or whether the ale tonight was more potent than usual. 'SSSShhhhhugar.' Rosalind nearly dropped to the floor in her haste to get away from the view of the staircase but it was already too late. A stampede of footsteps on the stairs told her in no uncertain terms that she was in trouble, between a veritable rock and a VERY hard place. She'd counted four men below but didn't think that this meant much as she could currently hear several bar stools being scraped back hurriedly in order to see what the commotion was all about. This left her with few options. She didn't particularly want to be in any close proximity to drunken bar louts, but unless there was a room left unlocked upstairs, which was highly unlikely -- the only escape would be to knock on Lucius' door and beg his forgiveness. Elation to desperation had taken no more than 45 seconds. Footsteps began thudding up the stairs in all earnest. Rosalind tried the two doors on either side of Lucius' to find both locked. The footsteps seemed to double in number, whilst getting considerably louder. 'Ahh Master,' Rosalind called, 'I think I might like to have a go at crawling after all.' There was no response from Lucius' room. 'Master, can I please crawl for you?' Rosalind asked with considerably more volume this time. A muffled response came from behind the closed door. 'I've set you free, off you go Princess. Those that I allow to crawl for me do so with great enthusiasm and I found yours somewhat wanting. Off with you.' That had her rocking back on her heels. Damn it. Life wasn't supposed to be this difficult. Although considering she was still a slave, perhaps it was. No, no, wait she wasn't a slave she'd just been relieved of duty. Her head was a whir of thoughts and now she could hear voices dangerously close to the balcony where was sitting in all her naked glory. 'What are you going to do with 'er, Butch? Can we watch? Hang on, maybe we could try two at once or even three at once -- I think that'd be possible. Wouldn't it Butch?' The voice was rough, gravelly and uncultured to say the least. Rosalind shuddered and took a deep breath. 'MASTER, I REALLY, REALLY, REALLLLLY, WANT TO CRAWL FOR YOU. RIGHT NOW. RIGHT THIS VERY INSTANT. PLEEEEEEEASE LET ME CRAWL GOOD SIR,' she screamed. Was that an order or a request?' said an amused voice from behind the door. Rosalind was quick to reply, her face sideways against his door as she screamed aloud. 'MASTER, I REALLY, REALLY, REALLLLLLLLLY WANT TO CRAWL FOR YOU, SO BADLY I MIGHT SUFFER A PAINFUL AND GRUESOME FATE IF YOU DECIDE TO NOT TO LET YOUR ADORING SLAVE SCAMPER AROUND YOUR BEDROOM ON ALL FOURS. PLEAAAAASE.' She watched in horror as five men appeared on the top of the staircase and began moving towards her with purposeful intent. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. Just then the door opened unexpectedly and Rosalind found her head banging against the floor with some force. She barely gave the pain a thought, so quick was she to get inside that door, whilst making the quickest run/crawl ever for the other side of Lucius' bed. Rosalind remained there cowering slightly, whilst Lucius saw fit to close the door promptly. A cacophony of unhappy voices could be heard on the other side, their complaints of the not overly polite persuasion. 'Well let's see some crawling then,' said Lucius and thanked the Gods he was a seasoned professional at keeping his face straight. His slave to her credit, began crawling immediately, doing laps around the bathroom and bed for his viewing pleasure. She was an enticing little thing, it had to be said. Supple, glistening wet flesh; two delicate peaches of arse cheeks bouncing up and down and very plump breasts that swayed prettily as she moved back and forth. He found himself musing over whether he would ever get bored of such a sweet specimen of slavery. Time would tell. 'Right that's enough crawling for now pet,' he said and beckoned for her to come to him. His slave obediently came up to him, seated on the bed as he was and rested between his legs. 'Tonight my darling, we are to start Lesson 1 which is all about sucking. It might seem arduous at first, but always remember that nice warm bath and fluffy towels which will await you if I am well pleased.' He smiled. 'What would you like me to suck Master?' Rosalind enquired, thinking that this lesson probably wouldn't be too bad. She could suck candy, toffee apples and peppermints with no trouble whatsoever, so this would probably be easy. She watched Lucius quietly while he began removing his pants, curious as to what he might have in there that required sucking. Why on earth would he hide it down there for heaven's sake? Those thoughts were left unanswered because a heavy hand came behind her neck to take a firm grip of her long, wet flaxen hair and he pulled her towards him. A long and silky, but rather thick shaft of flesh took advantage of her lips opened in surprise as it slid forward deeply. Rosalind tried to scream but found that it was rather pointless with her mouth filled full to bursting as it was. A muffled gurgle was all that ensued. She tried to swallow around the unfamiliar thick length, pulling her head away automatically in panic, but Lucius was ready for her; his fingers tightly wound in her hair and pushing her head forwards. Rosalind gagged madly and did the only thing she could think of as tears streamed from her eyes. She bit down hard.