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The Enchanted Rider Ch. 01

By: MartinFaust



The fire crackled and lit the sparse camp in flickers and sparks. Jameson sat on a stump he had drug near the fire, and turned a skinned quail and some tubers on the little spit he'd propped between two sticks. He looked to his horse, grazing on it's own, and smiled. He wasn't far from the town, but that particular horse was pretty mean tempered, so he wasn't worried about thieves. 

Absently he sipped on a wine flask, and poked at the fire as drips of fat flared brightly from time to time. The ride from Hashemore had been uneventful, albeit a touch boring. But boring was a good problem to have these days. 

The quail was bland, but good. The tubers, slightly sweet and hot, his wine slightly cool from the flask's design. He reached into the pouch on his hip. His arm disappearing an impossible length. From the depths of the bag, he plucked a wrapped candy and popped it into his mouth. It was a simple magic bag, but the ability to put anything into it that would fit the mouth and carry it without weight was very handy to riders such as he. 

The pot the pouch had provided bubbled with near boiling water, and having been dosed with some soap, smelled quite fragrant as he pulled it from near the fire. He let the water cool a touch as he removed his shirt and trousers. His bedroll was already set up, but he would be going into town early, so best to clean up now. A good impression made early is one that lasts all day.

He poured the soapy water into another bowl, then added more water from a large water-skin back to the pot and set it by the fire to warm up as he scrubbed. Being naked in the wilderness was always a touch odd, but being the only person for a day's ride or so was some comfort. He stood in his leather sandals and worked the rag into a lather, then applied it from one area to the next. Clean to dirty, his mom always said. Face, hands, belly, legs. Rinse. Lather, arm-pits. Rinse. Lather, unmentionables. Then rinse the rag in cold water. Then rinse the rag in the warm water, and then the rest of the body. 

The drying was the worst, but the linen towel from the bag helped things along, though it's scratchy cloth was a little unwelcome. He stood naked before the fire, muscles rippling in the moonlight. He was quite fit; war had a way of doing that to you, especially swinging sword and wearing armor. His strong body never had much trouble with the ladies, especially his quite significant equipment. It was their minds he never could really get over. 

He was a warrior with some land, sure. But matters of the court bored him to tears. He had very little dealings with the land he held, in all honesty, most of it being run by his trustee while he traveled from here to there lending his sword where needed. Monthly, he'd send word to his man, who would courier some gold to a town of Jameson's choosing. If he'd made monies, he'd send what he didn't need back with the man, otherwise he'd keep it. Every so often he'd stop back by home to rest and recover. The time was usually a good way to remind his man that he still ran things, but given the freedom the man had and Jameson's good nature there wasn't much reason for treason.

It was a good arrangement, overall. His experience at battle grew as the months went by, and soon he would return home, finally able to open a school of fighting, being a man of some notoriety. That would be his gift, his legacy to his land. Often he dreamt of a majestic teaching house, students in the courtyard, the clang of blacksmiths as they worked weapons and armor for his students. Soon. Soon he would return with the gold and notoriety he needed to make dream a reality.

He slipped off his slippers and worked through some training movements, battling imaginary opponents one after another. His weighty appendage swung oddly as he moved, but he was too absorbed in the movements to pay it any mind. 

His easy workout complete, he pulled a soft down pillow from the pouch and tossed them both up into the hammock he'd strung just above his head. He made sure the camp was tidied up, set out his alarm line, and climbed the knotted rope leading to the hammock. He pulled the rope up and coiled it at his feet. The undead couldn't climb trees, so this made the alarm rope unnecessary, but it was habit anymore.

The sound of crashing pans awoke him, but years of experience, kept him from startling awake. Slowly he looked down from the edge of his hammock, to the noise below. The last few flickering embers of fire revealed a sight he had not expected to see. There, among what was once his camp kitchen, was a thief. 

The thief was curiously positioned, face-down, stiff as a board with one foot in the pot, and the other sticking straight up, frozen mid stride. "Ahh..." He chuckled to himself. He lowered the rope, and gingerly climbed down. 

He brushed off his hands, and walked to the thief, "I'm pretty sure you weren't expecting that anymore that I was expecting thievery all the way out here." 

The thief let out a slight whimper. 

"Oh, what's that you say? You can't move? Ahh, well. I will admit that may be my doing." He pulled the stump to the side of the paralyzed burglar and sat upon his pillow. "You see, I dabble in magics. No spells really, just enchantments. I can't see it because I bet it's under you, but you have in your left hand a sword I would guess."

There was more whimpering.

"That sword was my first enchanted object. You see, I am warrior first so it's a very good sword, and the first thing I could think of to enchant as I learned. It has many on it actually, so had you actually been able to sell it it would be quite valuable. Ah, but there's the rub. By touching it, you activated my first enchantment. It paralyzes anyone not me who tries to wield it, though not perfectly; you can still wiggle a little, and breathe as well. But you know that already."

He stood and put his foot onto the leather jacket of the hooded thief. "Lets get a good look at you."

When he kicked the thief over it was like kicking a log, and as he made eye contact, those eyes weren't looking at his, they were looking between his legs. He looked down sheepishly, but then back to the thief. It suddenly struck him... his thief was a woman. A quite beautiful woman. Her blonde hair was up in a braid and her face was blacked with charcoal, but she was beautiful none the less. 

"Oh, this is just too good. What ever shall I do now? Do you owe me for trying to steal from me, or would that be dishonorable? Taking advantage of the desperate, even?" He laughed as he sat the thief up, pulling the hood from her head, and positioning her not unlike a giant doll. He closed her mouth, and noticed her eyes blink, albeit slowly. "Good, I didn't want you to dry out. Maybe we can use that to communicate, even." There as a whimper.

"One blink for yes, and two for no, if you please. Understand?" There was some question regarding weather she would understand. He was speaking in the trade tongue, common enough around most cities and sea ports that most folks knew at least some, but he didn't know where she hailed from, though even farming folks knew a bit of common. Besides, she being a thief made her more likely to interface with traders to fence her goods.

One slow blink.

He stood. "Excellent!" He paced back and forth. "So the real question now is what shall we do. See, I being a landed lord have certain rights, yes?" 

There was a slow blink. 

"You, most likely have no land?" 

Another blink. 

"I thought not." He continued as he paced the camp. "So by the kings orders... we are in the lands ruled by the Kings court by the way... his rules hold sway over what goes on here. Had you been a land owner, we could have had a duel with terms and settled it that way. But that is not the case." He looked at the fore for a few seconds before turning back to his captive. 

"Had you accosted me a day or two ago, we'd be in the free lands and this discussion would be much different. But since we are here, and you are in possession of stolen property that belongs to me, it's the king's rules. Two days ago, it would be the rules of the road, and it would have been my right as a traveler to do whatever I wished, including running you through with that sword there. Yet here we are. So as it is, I believe the punishment is either 3 years in the King's jail, or 6 years my servant? Does that sound right?"

Another blink, though this one took time to come.

"I can see you are a beautiful woman, under all that black. That will do you well, if you choose me, but almost certainly won't do you any favors in jail." He sat back down on the stump. "I'll be upfront. On my lands I have plenty of people for housekeeping, farming, tending the lands..." His voice trailed off as he thought. 

"Here on the road, I don't need attendants like that. Further, I have no wife and no engagements. I have no need really, and provided you are healthy, you could fulfill all my carnal needs just fine, provided that's your thing. You will be my courtesan. It would free me from the worry of finding quality companionship here on the road, and give me some much appreciated companionship." He looked at her. Almost as a second thought, he continued. "If you prefer women, something could be worked out of course as I do enjoy watching, but it would complicate things."

There was a little whimper.

"I could make the choice, it being my right and all. However, I feel it more humane to let you choose. Sure, you are paralyzed, and I am telling you that you will be a used for sex, or imprisoned, but you can ask my people, I am truly a just lord." He noticed her eyes falling to his sizable semi-erect sex and smiled. "Besides, there could be benefits for you under my sheets besides the gold allowance."

Her eyes went slowly wide at this.

There was a smile in his voice. "Ahh, a thief and her gold. Of course there will be an allowance. I can't have my courtesan following around in black leathers, though it is a good look for you. You'll be looked after. New clothes, some jewelry."

Her eyes closed. Then re opened, looking directly at his eyes. 

"So, what will it be, thief? Me, or the tower? Make it one blink for me, or two for the King's tower."

There was one blink. 

"Just the one?" he chided. "Excellent. It's settled then." Jameson stood and walked to the bag hanging from the hammock. Reaching in he produced a small book and flipped through it. After several moments he turned to the thief, pointed at her and said several phrases. Her hands and head moved a little more than before, and a soft voice spoke. 

"Thank you,lord."

"Ahh, she speaks." His grin was wide and genuine. "Well, don't thank me much just yet. That was supposed to free you, but the spell is old and has grown in power without use. You are the first person not me to touch the sword, you see, so it turns out my dear, you are stuck like that for at least the next few hours."

"At least I can thank you for sparing my life, lord."

Jameson put the book back into the pouch and closed it, turning to the woman. "So formal, now that you are in my service. What is your name?"

"Gaeil Brickmon, Lord" He walked back toward her, and stood in front of her.

"I like that. A good strong name. And please do away with the lord, bit. Soon, we will be too close for formalities."

She smiled and looked away. When she looked back, she was looking at his member, now becoming close to it's full, impressive size. He saw her looking and walked a step closer.

"I must admit, while not normally my thing, the idea of having you while you can't do anything about it is quite tantalizing, as you can see."

She looked up at him, a sultry smile that raised a corner of her mouth. "I of all people, hate being helpless. But I have a feeling that that thing will make it bearable." 

He stepped one last step closer and his engorged head slipped into her hot mouth when she leaned forward. Her jaw was a little uncomfortable at the large size, but not terribly so.

"Mmmm... It's been a while since that's had the attention of a woman."

Her skills on his member were impressive. She held him in her mouth, and while she did have the ability to move her head back and forth she did not, instead she ran her tongue back and forth on the sensitive underside of him. His hips bucked slowly, and he pushed her hood back, running his hand over her blonde hair. 

Skillfully she worked on him, and his thrusts became more and more urgent. She drug wonderful sounds from his mouth as she worked. 

Suddenly, his movements stopped and she sucked harder onto him, working her tongue furiously on his underside. "Good Gods!" he exclaimed. His come came in thick, powerful jets, puffing her cheeks out between swallows. 

He slid his glistening member out from her smiling mouth slowly after a few seconds recovery, savoring every movement, hands on either side of her face. "You my dear, are amazing. I wish I could unfreeze you all the way. I have some particular skills you may enjoy." 

Still smiling, a small drop of his cum rolled down the corner of her mouth. "You moved me here, you can likely move me other ways. Prisoner or no, I'd love to feel that thing do it's work."

Tenderly her touched her face, "I think I can figure something out." He walked back to the pouch and reached in again. It took just a few seconds, but he drew out a large blanket from the small bag. Carefully he laid it down on the ground by the dying fire. As a second thought, he tossed a couple more branches on.

He walked back to Gaiel. With careful fingers he worked at the lacing of her leather jacket. "This is a nice jacket. Without touching it, you cannot see the ring armor underneath."

"I have rings all over." She smiled again, admiring how careful he was with his "Prisoner". 

He placed the jacket on the ground and admired all that it hid. Her breasts weren't as impressive as her thickly muscled arms, though both were hidden under a thin short sleeved tunic. As he slid the shirt off, her impressive physique was suddenly on display. The only things as hard as all her impressively hard muscles were her berry sized nipples, perfectly sized for her smallish, pert breasts and each adorned with small gold rings.

"You take good care of yourself, Gaiel." He ran an appreciative hand all over her hard body. 

A small, "Mmm," escaped her lips. "I run rather than fight, but sometimes, they corner the cat."

He knelt and covered one nipple with his mouth. Gingerly he rolled the hard nub of flesh around in his mouth, suckling and teasing it, and pulled on the ring with his lips. "These are are pretty," he said as he toyed with the gold ring of her right nipple. 

"My flesh hasn't seen the attention of a man in a while, either." Her eyes closed as she enjoyed the sensation.

He stood, lifting her and awkwardly positioning her, bent at the waist and leaning on the stump for balance. 

"This may be one of the nicer leather covered asses I have seen."

"Hurry with these pants and see it without." 

He smiled at that, and worked at the belt and laces, finally drawing them over her bubble butt and down her thickly muscled thighs. It took some work, but he finally stood before a bent over, very delicious ass, the puffy and wet folds of her sex beckoned to him. There was a small string of moisture dripping from her and he stood behind her.

"May I?"

"You damn well better."

He grabbed himself, and rubbed the swollen head over her moist opening. He thrust forward and he glided over her sex, traveling along her belly and coming to a stop near her belly button. 

"You, sir, will be a challenge I do accept."

He smiled, with one hand on her hip and the other guiding himself, he slid tortuously slow into her. Half way in, he stopped. "My god, is that all of it?" she asked with a ragged breath.

"Just half way, dear..."

"Oh gods..."

Smoothly, he pulled himself most of the way out and slid back in, this time not stopping until his thighs met her fine ass cheeks. She was quivering despite the spell, and making whimpering sounds. "Are you ok," he asked tenderly. His hands slowly caressing her back, hips, and thighs. 

"Oh Gods yes, but I need more..."

He gave her more. His thrusts started slow and long. The massive head touching parts of her that had never been touched by a man at the same time. Her breaths came in long moans and hisses through clenched teeth. Suddenly her pussy clamped down on him, causing him to slow his strokes, and her voice cracked, "GODS!! Ahh..." He did not stop. Instead his thrusts came faster, the strokes shorter, a steady clap, clap rhythm developing. "Ohhh...Ohh...Ohh..." she breathed with every thrust of his girth. Then again her loins clutched onto him, this time releasing a flood of moisture onto him and the ground below, accompanied by a long low moan.

"A squirter...," he said with a smile on his voice. "I have chosen... a good companion... for my bed..." His words coming in breathy bursts while he worked. His tempo again increased, the slaps coming staccato, the massive organ pounding her puffy flesh in longer faster strokes. The orgasm from her mouth, prolonging his constitution. Her moans were almost constant now, a steady stream of babble, screams or moans came from her lips. Suddenly his hips stopped, the thick shaft buried deep in her and he let out a sting of profanity. "Holy...Gods..Fuck...Coming...Ahhhahhh..."

She could feel deep within herself his organ pumping his fluid into her. This sent her over the edge, and again, fluids ran from her, mixing with his as he overfilled her. Suddenly, her legs gave out, and barely in time he grabbed her, letting her gently to the ground, his deflating organ popping free, pulling a gasp from her as it exited her strained sex. 

He eased her to the ground, and snuggled up beside her, pulling her to him, spoon fashion, and wrapped his arm over her, her head laying on his other. She turned her blackened face to him and smiled, reaching her hand to touch his face. Their kiss was sweet, tender and sensuous. All things that were in a way, unexpected given the apparent coercion of their agreement.

"I can think of worse ways to break a spell," she said, returning her head to his arm, staring back at the dwindling fire. They both laughed. She moved her face to his, and he kissed her on the tip of her nose.

The Enchanted Rider Ch. 02



Note: I kind of got caught up in the story in the middle, but I promise, there's good stuff at the end that's worth sticking around for. Let me know what you think in the comments... Thanks for reading.

*****

Sleeping in a hammock is tricky enough alone, but add a companion and things really get sketchy. Jameson was glad that this particular companion had experience with hammock sleeping. Her life as a thief lent it's self to the convenience of a hammock as they could be set up virtually anywhere up and out of the way. His reasoning for adopting the hammock was different than hers. On the road with a tent, it was easy for him to find somewhere to camp, but usually difficult to secure it from the roving undead. Taking to the trees was, for him, less about avoiding the hand of the law than it was keeping his skin out of the bellies of some zombie.

That was the problem with the land in this era. The war between Melesius and Cavernon ravaged both so severely that the Cavernon Magi took to dark magics. Their intention was to create a gas that would paralyze their foes, turning the tide in the stalemated war. The gas did not work as intended. It killed. Friend or foe alike fell to it's purple haze and was indiscriminate in it's zeal. 

When the haze dissipated, the real hell began. Those that had fallen, awoke. Hungry for the flesh of the living. They had little use for animals, seeming to crave the life force of any sentient and were contagious, their dark curse shared to those they killed. This plague washed over the continent in weeks. Thousands upon thousands fell and rose, bolstering their numbers. Mundanes who fell awoke mindless, barely able to jog, and unable to climb, their higher functions like balance all but gone. Nothing on their simple minds other than their evil hunger. 

Magic users on the other hand lost their past, but retained most of their magic and facilities but shared the hunger of their more simple brothers. These, the Black Lich, lost but hungry became the generals in the new war. They found themselves able to control the mindless masses at a basic level. The more lives they or their minions killed, the more of the mindless they were able to control. Some were quite powerful, but those were rare, thankfully.

The infection had started in the middle of the continent of Hengar and spread to the points of the compass, even crossing the oceans on board ships. North, those in Cavernon were unprepared, their supply lines acting like a conduit for the undead, funneling them toward the main city. South, the people of Melesius fared little better, their more heavy forests doing little to slow down the advancing infection. 

Thispin, in the west and largely an observer and supplier to both sides in the war, was besieged but not destroyed since their spies were able to warn their generals to raise the gates to their walled city after observing the massacres in other towns. They found themselves under siege against an enemy they knew not how to fight. 

It was a Carvanon general who figured out that destroying the brain and burning the body permanently destroyed the undead. He sent riders out to all cities on Henegar and likely saved thousands of lives as armies in all the cities, most backed into defensive fortifications, sallied forth with the new tactic and cleansed their lands of the menace with swords and torches.

The next several years saw armies, State sponsored or Independent, ride the country side and destroy any undead they found. Most of the continent became cleansed, but there remained areas where people still fear to tread. Basements, caves, the occasional out of the way village all can hold the danger of the undead.

Jameson looked to his bed mate. Her taut muscles, now fully able to move after last night, rippled subtly under her tan skin as she moved in her sleep. Her mane of blonde hair spread over their pillow like the morning's sunrise over a farmer's field. Carefully, he moved a few strands away from her beautiful face. Ice blue eyes opened and fixed him with a gaze before half closing in a delicious smile. 

"Good morning, thief," He said, smiling.

"Good morning, my lord," she said, returning his smile. "It feels like you have work for me, this morning." Her hand, small but calloused from fighting and hard work, gripped most of his impressive member and absentmindedly stroked up and down.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the pleasure she was bringing him. "You may be onto something. Mmmmm." His breath caught for a second. "And just what were you dreaming about to get you so moist?" The slick sounds of his fingers tracing over her most delicate of flesh could be heard in the cool morning air. 

It was her turn for her eyes to close as she enjoyed the sensation. She adjusted herself in the hammock carefully, and guided his length to her opening. He rubbed his slick fingers over himself and positioned his hands on either side of her, raising up between her muscular thighs. The hammock swayed gently as he adjusted positions. 

"I dreamt that a foul lord captured me... Mmmmm... and made me his sex slave." A smile played on her lips, eyes still closed.

He moved his hips slightly, the large knob of him entering her briefly and retreating. It drew out a small mewing sound from her full lips. He re-entered again, just deeper this time and again retreated before gliding up and down her moist slit a few times.

"Foul?" He smiled, looking at her beauty, his glans resting on her throbbing clit. She could feel his heat on her, every movement sending little shocks to her nipples.

"A lord most foul." She opened her eyes, ice blue looking into dark blue.

He entered her again, and her eyes opened wide. He stopped only part way in, backed most of the way out and repeated. Never giving her everything. Her eyes closed at the delicious sensations his impressive member pulled from her. This would be a good fucking from most men, but he had some in reserve. She felt stretched and filled, and yet she knew there was more. He pulled nearly out, smiling and slid further in, then back. It took a few strokes, but soon he was giving her long, languid strokes. 

He stopped, his weighty balls resting where the two lovers met, cock buried deep in her center. 

"A foul lord is cruel, or thinks only of themselves, no?" He smiled down at her and she smiled back, nodding. He gave her a few fairly quick strokes and stopped again causing her to close her eyes at the wonderful feeling. Her eyes opened slowly when he stopped. He was again smiling, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. 

"I try to care for my people..." He worked himself in and out at a good pace, her eyes closed again, her breathing coming in gasps as her hands pulled at his back and her legs wrapped around his back. 

"Though I always get what I want... " He adjusted his position subtly and his cock stroked her clit with every stroke, and the thick glans massaged her insides as it moved. Her hips bucked and she bit her lip, trying not to make too much noise. Still, little 'Mmm Mmms' accompanied every stroke.

"And what I want is for you to come..." This last was whispered into her ear, a husky, breathy order as his hips slapped into her over and over, his shaft rubbing her clit with every stroke. The slap slap sound reached a crescendo as her muscles inside gripped him tightly increasing the friction for them both. 

"Ohh Ohh Ohh..." Her legs pulled him to her and held him there. 

"Oh Gods, Gaiellll..." Me moaned in her ear, and they both came, himself to the hilt in her, filling her to overflowing. She could feel him pulsing in her, and it only prolonged her orgasm, the thickness of him stimulating her further, and she could feel their leaking fluids leaving her.

He held himself in her, shifting only slightly to lay beside her, still between her warm thighs. Their breathing was still labored as he planted kisses on her shoulder then laid his sweaty forehead against her hair. She used her strong arms to squeeze him tight, and he returned the affection. Theirs was a strange relationship, having started when she tried to steal his sword. Yet it is he, who had seemed to steal something from her.

Dressed and camp broken, they talked about their plans from there. 

"Until last night, I had planned to travel to Dromenshire. I'm to meet Cheeves and get some coin. Then it's off to Drafenel. I hear they are putting together a Company to go against a Black Lich that occupies the tower at Jamel's pass." He was sitting on his stump, his horse saddled and standing next to hers also with saddle. Most of her gear now resided in his small magic bag, so her horse looked barren to her, being that she was used to seeing it burdened with more than the saddle bags it now wore. 

"Until last night?" She poked at the cooling coals of what was their fire with a stick, and looked to him, a half smile on her lips. 

"My... focus... has changed." He turned his gaze to the ground for a second before looking again to her, and smiling. "I think I will take some time off from risking my life."

"I don't want to seem ungrateful, but..." she paused, looking at the ground. "You caught and bedded a thief. That's hardly a reason to put down roots."

She walked to him, and they grasped hands, him looking up at her. He patted his knee, and she sat.

"There is more to it than that, though, truth be told, I think I would be willing to see if a seed so strangely planted could grow into something magnificent."

She shifted her gaze from the ground to look into his eyes. 

"I'm not really used to that kind of thing, let alone the sentiment." Her voice was far away, vulnerable.

He pulled her close, his arm over her shoulder, pulling her in protectively. "Maybe you haven't met someone like me?"

Their kiss was beautiful. Soft. Tender. Their lips played with one another. Finally they pulled themselves apart.

"Why do you risk your life anyways? Aren't you a landed lord?" 

"I am. However, I need experience in battle so I can open my school with some recognition. I was young during the great war, so I fought in no battles. My parents saw to that." His face was hard, the last words bitter. His face softened. "Before he died my father was the King's best swordsman. He never wanted me in war, though he taught me much. I think that's why he had me educated in magics."

She had an arm wrapped under his and toyed with his ear lovingly. "How did they die? You speak like one with no family."

There was a long pause. "One of the first Lich encountered found my parent's country home. Father killed 80 undead. Mother... did I mention she was a mage? Anyway, she killed maybe another 30." His words grew quiet. Eyes closed, he continued. 

"When the guard came from the neighboring town, alerted of trouble by the smoke from my mother setting the damned undead on fire, there were 4 left and the Lich." There was another lengthy pause and she held him tight. "40 knights fell, but eventually so did the Lich and the remaining undead. The lands fell to me. At the time 17, and away at Cavernon, learning languages and magics." He patted her butt, encouraging her to stand.

They stood and he held her hands in his. "Now I travel and try to grow my name. Soon, I won't need to battle anymore and can do as my father did, teaching a new crop of warriors. That's a few years out yet, but I have found something else that I can concentrate on for a while." 

They kissed long and passionately, his hand running over her braided hair. Moments went by. Finally, they came up for air, resting their foreheads together, eyes closed. 

"It's been years since I have had feelings for a man, let alone feelings this strong or so sudden." Her words were quiet, a lonely tear fell down her cheek. She wiped it away, though he noticed anyway. 

"I know not why I feel for you like I do. I pray to the gods that you do not hurt me. My body can take pain, my heart not so well, so I usually keep it covered," she looked at him, suddenly very vulnerable. 

"Yet there was something about you..." Her words tapered off. He kissed her again and they embraced. 

Their heads were together, his face in her hair, the smell of her in his nostrils. "I vow to protect your heart." His words were quiet, genuine.

"I come to steal your sword, and you steal my heart." You could barely hear her words as the tears ran down her cheek. She was glad she couldn't see her face. A hard life lived insisted she keep a tough outside appearance.

They had decided to ride on to Dromenshire. The town was fairly large, and would do well as a stop. He'd never been there, but it was on the way. A good sized place to have a rest.

Both were seasoned travelers, so each wore their armor as they rode. His, modeled after the Lorica Segmentata with an armored Kilt like skirt, and hers was the curious concealed ring mail under leather. She rode with her hood up, her muscular build and straight posture usually taken as that of a man, something a traveling woman looked to cultivate. 

Riding with as impressive a man as Jameson looked in his armor gave her much comfort, and secretly a touch of lust. She had seen him work out, and was sure he could handle him self in a fight as well as he handled himself in bed. She smiled at herself as they rode, that thought in her head.

The ride was full of conversation and banter. She was quick witted and sharp, fast to make fun. He was smart and curious, always full of questions. They learned much about each other, their habits, likes, dislikes. They did not expect to be so alike, but in many ways, their traveling lives came from similar places even if they started so far apart.

Eventually they could make out the town gates in the distance. The town's palisade looked well taken care of. In places it was being converted to stone, suggesting the wall had been there some time and the town had money. There were a couple archers on watch in high towers at the wall corners. Overall a good idea, though Jameson thought they would be better served if they were in covered buildings so the enemy couldn't tell number or get a shot on them. Maybe he'd make a suggestion to the watch commander when he saw him.

They rode along the dirt lane to the gates, farmer's fields on each side being busily worked by groups of men and some children. Dromenshire had made a remarkable recovery in the years since the war, though Jameson had to remind himself that this was quite West of most of the heavy fighting, so they may not have had such a hard time of it.

"You ever been here, Gaiel?" Jameson looked around at the new looking farmhouses and outbuildings.

"Once three years ago, passing through. It was at night. I stayed in a farmer's loft, and left at sunrise." She looked around more. "It was actually that way," pointing to the outskirts of town. "The farmer was poor, and I was flush with coin on my way to the Sea, but I didn't want to stay in town, so I traded gold for a meal and a hay bed."

"Ahh the life of a thief," he joked.

"It's served me well so far." Her smile was wide and beautiful.

When they were several hundred yards from the Gates, the massive wooden things closed, and two guards moved to the middle of the hard packed lane, two more on either side of the gate.

The guards were dressed in Hauberks with a red and black Tabard. A skull adorned the black side at chest level, and a Sun the red side.

"Curious tabards," Jameson said quietly as they approached the guards. They stopped maybe ten yards from the two guardsmen.

"Hello travelers," said the larger of the two. He wasn't fat, just thick everywhere with a booming voice. His companion was shorter, but not by much. They both wore long-swords at their hips, and curious helmets with pointed tops and mail cowls protecting the neck area.

"Hoi!" Jameson, raised his right hand in greeting. They were using the trade language, and he answered intentionally in his native Thispin.

"A Thispinite," the large one said with a smile, still speaking Trade. Jameson cashed in on his heritage mainly because something about this town made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and Thispin was as close to neutral as any country on the continent and one flush with cash. Most towns don't close their gates to travelers during the day. "What brings you this far inland, friend?"

He switched to common, "I have a modest holding in Thispin and I had my man courier some papers here." Jameson wasn't lying, but wasn't exactly telling the truth either. "Has he arrived?"

The smaller man spoke this time. "He has. Arrived two days hence." His Thispin was perfect. "Just where is your land?" His smile was wide, but unconvincing. He was being tested.

"Do you know Halfecht?" The man nodded. "It's just east of that. Killvarrel Estates. It's a small vineyard, but we wish to grow." The facts were mostly true. He did own it, but through a company. His family lands were well known, so he'd purchased the vineyard as a way to make money for his travels with some anonymity. 

"I don't know of that, but that area is known for their wines, so you will do fine, I'd wager." 

The larger man cleared his throat, his left hand resting absently on his sword hilt. "How long will you be staying?"

"Oh, I'd say no more than one night. Our mounts willn't need much, we're just out of Wallovia, and just need a quick rest before we continue onto Breanberg. That's where we hope to make our deal."

The two guards exchanged looks, and the small one continued. "Your man awaits you at the Bent Oak, near the town square. However, I must insist you leave your blades with us until you leave. Daggers are OK, but your sword and crossbow must stay."

Gaiel looked to Jameson who smiled wide, clearly false, but genuine looking enough. "Nothing better than staying in a safe town." 

He handed his sword over, Gaiel noticed that it wasn't the one she had tried to grab the other night. Gaiel handed down her crossbow, but kept her two daggers. There were three they couldn't see, but they didn't need to know that, and gods knew what Jameson hid in that amazing little bag.

The gates creaked open as the guards secured the weapons in a locked shed by the gate.

"What's yours will be available as you leave. Mind urchin street, those beggars will steal you blind." There was a half smile on the big man's face as he said that. "Enjoy your stay."

Inside Dromenshire was not as beautiful as the outside. Two and three story buildings with thatched roofs stood shoulder to shoulder. Main streets were one cart wide and alley ways careened off wildly in odd directions barely wide enough for one person. Most of the windows were shuttered, despite the day's heat.

They rode along the main street, rough stone cobbled, though in fine repair. The town was larger than Gaiel had remembered, and she mentioned it to Jameson. 

"It was maybe half this large. And I don't remember this many tall buildings." She looked around, a little feeling of claustrophobia creeping in on her. "Normally, large buildings means large pockets, so I would have noticed."

He nodded. "These are new, too. They just look utilitarian. No shop faces in the bottoms, just places for folks to live, or storage maybe."

Ahead the square opened to a massive brick paved area, a fountain dominated the open space. In the fountain, a marble statue of a woman stood over other kneeling marble statues. Her hands outstretched, water pouring from her and onto the kneeling ones from her hands and naked breasts, upturned faces open mouthed.

"That's not symbolism, or anything..." Gaiel said to Jameson as they approached. 

"I can't wait to meet her." He looked at her grinning.

"I'm not sure that will be all that fun." She said, shaking her head.

They found the Bent Oak easy enough. It was the one place in the square with a sign out front.




The Enchanted Rider Ch. 02



A teenage boy approached, raising from a stool by the massive front double doors. "'Ello, trav'lers. 'Re ya staying tonoight?" He spoke in worker's accented Trade.

Jameson hopped from his horse and handed the boy his reins. "As a matter of fact we are." He thrust his hand to the boy who looked shocked, but took it, giving it a strong shake. Turning, Jameson raised his hands to Gaiel who dropped her hood and swung her leg over her horse before jumping into Jameson's grasp.

The boy looked surprised as he noticed Gaiel's beauty, and she noticed. "Where's the women folk? We saw some girls in the fields, but none in town, women or girls."

The boy gulped, visibly, a smile still plastered on his lips. "Oh, they're 'round. We're a 'ard, lot o' workers here, so they keep inside and tend 't the babes and keep da house while da men folk run da fields with da chillins."

It seemed like a strange answer, but plausible enough.

"Lady Calaleigh's ladies awaits inside. they'll make your stay..." He paused as he took Gaiel's reins, still obviously smitten. "Quite enjoyable."

To say the Bent Oak was a whore house would be disrespectful. It was an opulent whore house. Mahogany, brass, and velvet must have been in scarce supply for miles after the place was built. Inside the main doors the hostess greeted them from behind a magnificent desk. She was barely dressed in a sheer gown, her dark hair teased and beautiful, her feet in thin strapped sandals.

"Hello, travelers. Welcome to the Bent Oak. How long are you here to stay?" Her voice was pleasant, her pale skin perfect.

Jameson smiled at the beautiful woman. "I am Lord Jameson Kilvarrel and this is my lady, Gaiel. We are just here for the night. In fact, we are to meet a Mr. Cheeves. I'm told he arrived yesterday."

She nodded, without looking at the impressive ledger in front of her. "Mr Cheeves is on the third floor, room A. He's currently entertaining a guest, but I'll send word that you are looking for him. Will this be one room, or two?"

Jameson looked to a smiling Gaiel, and turned back to the girl. "One please. Something nice."

The woman scribbled something using an impressive quill pen onto the ledger. She dusted it with powder, and blew it to the side. Satisfied she looked to the travelers.

"Excellent. We can put you up in the top floor room. It's our best, and comes with some perks our other rooms don't."

Gaiel chimed in for the first time, "Sounds lovely."

The woman continued, focusing all her attention on Jameson. "Our porter will bring your things up shortly. Please follow Meadow up stairs." Jameson hadn't noticed, but a lovely redhead had appeared at their right, and gently grasped Gaiel by the arm and turned for the beautiful staircase.

"Your attendants will be Meaghan and Persophone." Together they climbed the stairs, paintings of the woman from the fountain adorned many of the walls, life size and in gold frames. She was almost always naked and usually shown with people, pouring some liquid into their mouths from chalices or her hands.

"Beautiful art. Is this woman still alive?" Gaiel had a career of sounding interested in one thing when actually thinking something other, and she sounded genuinely curious.

The redhead beamed. "They are, aren't they? They are of Lady Calaleigh. She is our lord, mayor, and protector. Her magics are what helped us rebuild after..." her voice trailed, her thoughts reflecting fleetingly on the past. "I was young, but we survived, and now we thrive."

"You have made something special here." Jameson was being genuine, however, his definition of special was not what she thought it was here.

They arrived at the top of the stairs, and were greeted by two beautiful women, dressed as the other women had been. One had tropical blood, her long dark hair and tanned skin a marked contrast from the other woman's short brown hair and pale skin.

The tropical woman spoke first. "I'm Persophone, and this is Meaghan. We will be your attendants tonight. In the interest of full disclosure, we can help you with any need you may have, but..." She paused and smiled wide. "Intimacy has a cost."

"The finer things always cost. I pray this will cover some time with you both." Gaiel smiled and pressed a small bag of gold into her hand. 

The woman returned her smile, weighed the bag in her hand. "I like how you think, miss. Depending on your desires, you may even get some gold back, provided we can't talk you into another night."

The boy appeared from a side door with their belongings. Meaghan opened the door and Jameson and Gaiel entered, followed by the boy who walked straight to the massive oak table in the sitting room and sat their saddle bags upon it. He turned smartly and scampered back out the door before anything could be said.

The rest of the opulence budget must have been spent on this room, and Gaiel marveled at the massive expense of it all.

"Meaghan drew hot baths when we heard you would be staying, and I prepared a tray of edibles. Dinner can be served in room, or in the dining room, though Mr Cheeves has been taking dinner in the dining room. Can we seat you next to him tonight, or will you meet him another time?" The women stood stiffly, chests presented out, legs slightly spread, and hands behind their backs.

Jameson was too busy looking at the expensive tapestries to answer immediately. "Oh, uh, yeah. Sit us with Cheeves."

Gaiel turned to the beautiful women and smiled. "If you would ladies, I'd like some time with my man before dinner. We have traverer's dust to wash, and I'd like to taste his wares before I share."

The two women smiled. "Of course, my lady, it was Meaghan who spoke. "Until this evening then. If you need anything, we will be just outside." 

Smoothly, the women retreated from the room and closed the heavy door after themselves. 

Gaiel watched them leave then walked to the armor rack and unburdened herself of the heavy armor coat and pants. Feeling silly in leggings and no armor, she tossed them onto a stool along with her socks, and enjoyed the feeling of the expensive carpet on her bare feet.

Eyes fixed on her muscular legs, Jameson walked to her. She looked at him, hunger in his eyes. "This place gives me the creeps, but I have other things more pressing on my mind."

She had to tiptoe to meet his mouth as they kissed. His hands rested on her hips as they kissed, one slowly traced up her sweaty chest under her white linen shirt, massaged each breast for a few seconds, and withdrew. 

Abruptly he turned and walked to the door. With a practiced hand, he drew complicated designs on the dark oak finish in her sweat. "Come love, I need more paint." 

She walked to him, smiling. He smiled again, her shirt now off, and held in one hand. "And just what is my breast sweat supposed to do for us?"

He drew shapes on her, tracing dry lines on her skin, chasing rivulets of sweat down her taught and muscular belly.

"I'm an enchanter, love. This will prevent those who mean us ill from entering. If they have much power, it will explode, slowing them at best." His drawing complete, he moved to the windows, happy that they were few and used his feminine inkwell a few more times. "One day in Kriegshault I ran out of salt, a necessary ingredient of salt water. It was a hot day, and well, I improvised. Turns out that some of the life force of the donor infuses more power into it." He teased a nipple with a finger tip.

"Are you done?" her eyes were closed, her lip bitten between her teeth. "Because I have other uses for those hands in mind, as magical as they are and all." 

"Oh, I've been done a while. I just love playing with these." His hands filled with her slight breasts, their long nipples being tormented by his fingers and thumbs rolling them back and forth.

"Gods, I love that..." She moaned, eyes still closed. "Lets just say that most of my lovers have preferred those with more... ample assets."

"Oh, I can't say that I don't like a bigger set," he teased as he continued to massage her. "But these have two things going for them. They belong to a body that is designed for fighting, and that's something I find fucking sexy." 

His lips found her right breast, and for a few seconds he suckled and rolled her nipple in his mouth. He then worked to fit as much into his mouth as he could, and suckled more. He pried his mouth from her breast and continued. "And they belong to you. Someone whom I feel very strongly for. So They are perfect for me." He blew softly on her left nipple, causing it and her small aureola to pucker and get rough.

She moved her hands to his for a few seconds, stopping his movements, but keeping them in contact with her. "That's a good answer." Her hand found his chin and brought it up to her mouth. They kissed, then parted as she pushed at his chest slightly. 

She knelt, naked save for a pair of slight white panties, on the deep red carpet. Her strong hands separated the armored segments of his kilted armor, freeing his erect member from it's hiding place. It was awkward, holding the armor like that, but she liked the feeling of having so much power over such an impressively armored warrior as she took him into her mouth. 

Her lips encircled his glans, her tongue rubbing the underside, like only she could. He moaned loud, his hands coming to rest on either side of her braid. She held him like that, before moving up and down his length with her hot mouth. Sucking and slurping sounds escaped her mouth as she pulled more pleasure from him. He thrust his hips slowly at the ecstasy her mouth was bringing to him. She looked up at his face and pulled him out from her mouth, a string of drool clung to them, connecting them in space.

Strong hands pulled her up, and they kissed again. Roughly he turned her around, pushed her the few steps to the dining room, and against the nearby table. She braced herself with her hands, bent at the waist and thrust her ass to him. He tugged the panties from his goal with one hand. He moved behind her, each hand grasping one side of his armored kilt opening. 

His length protruded towards her, a divining rod, aimed for her center. He leaned forward, his pink head brushing up against her hot slit, and she jumped. He smeared it's moisture for just a few seconds, and entered her, her saliva helping lubricate his entry. "Ohh yess... " she hissed.

He gave her just a few inches at first, wanting her to get accustomed to him, then quickly gave her more and more, finally, his balls slapped against her with every thrust. 

She pushed back hard as he thrust. Her knight taking her hard, her eyes closed in bliss at the thought and feelings. Moans and screams came from both of them at various times as he fucked her. He stretched her and filled her, the thick head caressing her insides bringing her so much pleasure.

Suddenly her screams reached a crescendo and her pussy clamped down on him, and fluids leaked from her as she came, pooling at her feet on the hardwood. Her weak knees nearly failed her but for being impaled on him. 

He managed to hold off, something she realized as she leaned hard on the table. Recovering, chest heaving. He pulled out from her, and she turned to him, sighing at the loss. This time it was her turn to push. She backed him up to the rug, and knelt again. He still held the armor in check, and she took advantage, grabbing the offered member with her hands and placed it in her mouth while she stroked what she couldn't get into her mouth with her hands.

Immediately his hips began to move, and she increased her pace. Her left hand stoking him, and her mouth working on him with lips and tongue. Her right hand curled back under his armor like it was grabbing his scrotum, but instead her slender, saliva covered index finger found his pucker, and teased it for a few strokes before entering a couple knuckles deep. 

He jerked, reflexively and moaned, but she moved the finger with the rest of the carnal orchestra and it amplified the pleasure. Suddenly, he moaned a long "Ahhhhhghh..." hips thrust forward, and she jerked him from her mouth, her left hand working furiously along his length, and he jetted all over her naked breasts, spurt after spurt. 

When he was done, he jerked one last time, as she withdrew the intruder. She let his member go with her other hand and stood, sexy as hell; all muscles and smiles. Semen and sweat ran down her well muscled chest and abs. 

"I don't want to get our fluids on that beautiful armor. Come meet me in the bath when you get out of that stuff." With that she turned and waked to the bath, her taut ass and back the best kind of encouragement to unarmor as fast as possible.