The Princess And The Traveller free porn video

For now, I am abandoning my autobiographical series of short stories (though rest assured I will return to them soon!) and present here a completely fictional rendering in the Medieval "Sword and Sorcery" genre. I'm doing this now partly because I had been working on my third autobiographical story for a couple of weeks now, and my computer just ate it. No backup! Augh! Anyway, until my frustration dies down and I begin writing the whole @#!* thing second time, I decided to whip this little item into shape and submit it. I originally wrote this story as a little piece of erotica for a very sweet young admirer named Robert, who happened to have a fetish for long nails (mine are VERY long, see my previous stories), light bondage, female domination and tickling; he also had a thing for chivalry and things medieval, and he often called me "Princess", while referring to himself often as "The Rogue", or "The Rascal" or occasionally "The Traveller". Hence, this story is built around the themes and ideas that I knew Robert would find exciting. Upon re-reading it a few weeks ago, I decided that it might make a fine first chapter in a longer "medieval romantic adventure" epic, so I spent the couple of days revising it. The story can still stand on its own, I think, but could also be the basis for a much longer work. Comments, anyone? The Princess And The Traveller Chapter One The Traveller hung shackled, spread-eagled, on the dungeon wall. The rags, which were all that was left of his clothing after the guards had finished with him, hung limply on his frame. In the dungeon's gloom he could make out little of his surroundings, but he could hear the quiet scurrying of a rat in the darkness, and recoiled as he felt its hairy form brush across his feet. He was thirsty, and wondered how long he'd been chained. He felt like he'd lost all track of time. That morning, he'd strode confidently through the main gates of town, his lute and his pack on his back, no uneasy premonition of disaster troubling his mind. A pair of guards lounging there, dressed in black tunics emblazoned with the king's coat of arms, eyed him suspiciously but made no move to stop him as he joined the teeming throng pushing forward through the shadowed opening. It was market day, and the road was thick with sweating farmers leading donkeys pulling carts laden with wares of every kind, vegetables, sides of meat surrounded by swarming flies, bladders of wine, huge rounds of cheese, pottery, crude wooden implements, broadcloth, crafts of every kind. Outland families with huge sacks on their backs and squalling children in tow mixed with knights on horseback, buskers of every kind, and wagons of ducks, geese, sheep, and goats, while rough looking characters with shifty eyes darted in and out of sight, no doubt on the lookout for unguarded purses to make their own. The morning was glorious. The chilly morning fog had burnt off the meadows and woodlands, and the sun shone hotly down on the crowds as they moved through the high street toward the centre of town. Once, as the cobbled road opened a little and the castle gates came into view, a magnificent carriage-and-four jogged by, its windowed curtained, a slim form barely visible through the cloth. Perhaps it could even have been... her... He moved with the crowd into the town square, and for a time wandered without intent, savouring the sights, sounds, and smells of the busy market. Merchants hawked their wares in hoarse voices, farm wives haggled with customers over the price of a head of cabbage, and magicians, jugglers and fire-eaters demonstrated their skills before open-mouthed peasants, while street urchins dodged among the crowds, gambolling and shouting, and stealing pieces of fruit from under the noses of enraged marketers. He purchased some bread and cheese and an apple for his breakfast, and ate it while watching a troupe of actors perform a ridiculous pantomime that apparently made much sport over the castle guards' inordinate fondness for the juice of the grape. Two of the objects of the crowd's mirth stood to one side and watched the proceedings with scowls on their faces, but made no interruption. He had been searching out lodgings for the night that would suit his purse, and was thus in a poorer section of town, when he was taken. The narrow, quiet street was suddenly loud with the clatter of hooves, and several black-clad guards rode in sight. They were well armed at all points, and one carried the banner of the king on a stout staff. They surrounded him and cried to one another in loud voices that here was perhaps the thief they sought. A small crowd of onlookers made no move to interfere as the guards spurred their horses to perilous agitations (no doubt to frighten him, which had the desired effect). He loudly proclaimed his innocence, but it was not heeded, and he was brutally dashed to the ground, his belongings scattered, and his lute smashed beneath unmindful hooves. They tied him beneath the belly of one of the horses, and in this ignominious position he made his agonizing way through the castle gates and into a dark alcove. They untied him and dragged him down a flight of stairs, whereupon they unceremoniously flung him into a tiny, fetid cell and slammed the door. The room was damp, smelly and unlit, save for a tiny slit high in one wall. The moss- covered stonewalls seeped moisture, the floor wet. He walked to one end of the cell. It was scarcely long enough to accommodate his body were he to lie out full length. Upon turning, he realized with a start that he was not the only occupant. Huddled in an opposite corner was a thin, vaguely human form. As the Traveller came closer, the form suddenly stirred, and revealed itself to be an old man. His body was skeletal, his skin clung to his bones like sack- cloth, his thin white hair and straggling beard framed a skull-like visage that now gazed with shocked amazement into his own. While the Traveller stared back, struggling to contain his own shock, the old man suddenly lurched to his feet and flung his arms toward the ceiling. "Praise be to God!" he cried, "The angel of my deliverance is come!" "Good sir," the Traveller began, "I am no angel, but a prisoner here like yourself..." But the man, who appeared no taller than a child, had flung himself at the Traveller's feet and was muttering, "Praise God," over and over. "But I am not an angel!" protested the traveller, "I am sincerely sorry, but I cannot gain your release!" The man broke off and turned his pale, watery eyes upward, "But why, my Lord? Have I not kept my faith lo these many years? Have I not been enough devout to thee? Have I displeased thee in some way?" The Traveller had decided by now that the man was insane, or not far from it, and he gave up on this tack. In a voice that he hoped sounded semi-divine, he said softly, "My child, thy prayers have shown your devotion. You have not displeased me, and by my faith you shall gain your release." He then whispered to himself, "If I can gain mine own!" "Tell me, my child," he continued aloud, "How long have you been in this place?" "My Lord does not know?" the man said, puzzled, "In faith, my lord, is has been a long time, but the count of years I know not." "What is the last news you remember?" the Traveller asked. "In faith my lord, I am not sure," the man replied, shaking his head from side to side, like an ox at the plow, "I remember that the queen had given birth to a son..." The Traveller thought on this. The king had no heir but his daughter, the princess. He vaguely remembered some tale of a male child born still, but that must have been before the princess, and she was... my God, he thought, this man must have been prisoner here for nigh on nineteen or twenty years, perhaps more! "Were you kept any place else save this cell?" he asked. "Nay, my Lord, in faith this has been my hearth and home for this time." "And how came ye here?" asked the Traveller, "Are you a criminal of some kind?" "Oh NO! My Lord! Of my crime I know not." "Then how come ye in this awful place?" he asked again, "You must have done something to displease the guard, no?" While at the same moment he thought, but then, what did I do to displease them? That is a matter for some debate as well! "My Lord, as the holy mother of God is my witness," his voice trembled, "I have never committed crime of deed, word, or thought. My last memory of freedom is that of holding the tiny infant in my arms..." "Infant?" the Traveller interrupted. "Why, my Lord, of course... the king's heir of which I spake..." "The KING'S heir!" the Traveller exclaimed incredulously, "In faith, are ye mad?" The man had now struggled to his feet and was clutching at the Traveller's tunic. He himself was naked save for a thin, tattered loincloth, black with mildew and rot. "My Lord!" He exclaimed, "My Lord! In faith, I am ready for my deliverance!" "Patience, my son, patience..." murmured the Traveller, abandoning an apparently fruitless line of inquiry and reassuming his "angelic" demeanour. He thought, but how can I gain any release, when I am but a prisoner myself? They were silent for a time, then the cell door was abruptly flung open, and two guards entered. They seized the Traveller and dragged him out into the corridor and down a narrow flight of stairs, whereupon they flung him into another, much larger cell. Larger it was, but no extra room was apparent. The cell was hot, stinking and noisy, for it was full to the walls with all manner of prisoners. Petty thieves and pickpockets fought for room with murderers and highwaymen, lunatics, men and women possessed by demons. He struggled his way to a small space on the far wall and squatted down with his back to it. Several dangerous looking men obviously still possessed weapons, even though they were captive like the others. Some of them even seemed to be on friendly terms with the guards, for they exchanged good-natured taunts whenever any of the black-clad men would appear, and wheedled scraps of food through the tiny door-slit. The noise and the stink were intolerable. The Traveller felt his gorge rise as he realized suddenly that the pallet on which three inmates sat and played cards was in fact a swollen, fly-blown corpse. A vile liquid seeped down the stones and pooled on the dirt floor beneath him, but no other space was in evidence. Several fights broke out within a short time, to no apparent cause, and some ended in bloodshed. The Traveller sank further down against the wall and kept his peace. Then he was moved yet again. He was dragged from the crowded cell and beaten perfunctorily, then he found himself here, obviously in the castle dungeon, chained and alone. But why? A movement in the half-light caught his eye and he turned. A vision in white was descending the long, curving staircase that lead to his cell. She entered, her shining satin gown seeming to glow of it own accord in the gloom, its hems trailing in the dust and filth of the dungeon floor. In the dimness, he could see her royal jewels gleaming at her throat and wrists, and sparkling at her ears amidst the cascade of her curls. He could make out her face, a visage of regal beauty, and he could discern the curve of her breasts beneath the d?colletage of her gown. She wore no crown or tiara. She circled the cell examining the walls and floor, as if judging its suitability as a lodging for her royal prisoners. As she moved, he caught flashes from her royal hands... Surely this is the Princess, he thought in amazement, visiting ME, here in the royal dungeon! He gazed at her with awe and wonder anew. Then she turned to face him. He felt her presence intensely, as her mesmerizing eyes bore into his with a steadiness that unnerved him. Suddenly aware of his near- nakedness, he sought to hide his shame, but bound as he was he could scarcely move. "Who are you?" she demanded abruptly, breaking a silence that was almost tangible in the close dankness of the cell's fetid air. "I am but a man, your highness," the Traveller replied, lowering his eyes respectfully, "I am called The Traveller by some. I wander from place to place, as time and tide would carry me, ever seeking unto strange adventures, offering my skill and my help where ere it is needed." "You are well spoken," said the Princess, for Princess she was indeed, "It seems you are well borne and well bred. How came you to be this 'Traveller'?" "I have forsaken my home and my lands to take up the pack and staff of a rover, your majesty," he replied, "for the open road has beckoned to me since my earliest years." "You may address me as your highness," she corrected, "But not as 'your majesty'. I shall not be addressed thus until I assume the throne, when my father the King relinquishes it, God save the King." She paused and then continued, "So, Traveller, how find you food and lodging in your journeys? Are you a common beggar, with a bowl and a sly tongue?" "Oh no, your highness!" he protested, "I have some small skill with ballad and lute, and will sing and play where ere my tales and songs are desired, for a few coins. Likewise I will willingly fall to whatever labour I am put, so to earn food and lodging for but a night or two. In truth, yes, I am a rogue, your highness. There are some who call me The Rascal. But, I am an honest man, and in truth, I beg for nothing, and I am beholden to no man." "I see," said the Princess, "You speak as a man of some honour, in faith. So, Sir Rascal! Tell me now! Why come you to this town?" "In truth, your highness, while in a nearby town I heard rumours of a royal Princess of surpassing beauty that dwells herein. The tales told of her fair visage, her loveliness and grace, and of her great kindness. They speak no less of her long, glorious nails, wherein reside mystic powers of great import. I merely came hither to see if the tales be troth." In spite of herself, the Princess smiled, and she turned away to hide it from The Traveller. As they spoke, her heart had much softened toward him, and she struggled to maintain her stately demeanour. She moved close and stood before him, gazing steadily into his eyes. "So, good Sir Rascal, in truth I am the Princess of which these tales do speak. What think you now?" "My Princess," he said, "I think that the tales do you a grave injustice. Your beauty is a hundred-fold that which is spoken of in tale and rumour!" "You are indeed a silver tongued rascal!" she responded, allowing a faint smile to play at the corners of her full, red lips. She held her hands toward him, palms toward the floor, "And of my nails?" She asked. He gazed upon them with a sharp intake of breath, for they were even more beautiful than he could have imagined; long, slender talons they were, longer even than the first two joints of his index finger, with the slightest, graceful curve. Immaculate, they gleamed as the pale light danced upon them, so they seemed to shine of their own internal glow. "Your highness, of their surpassing beauty and power, I have not the words to speak," he said simply, "They cast a spell over me, and I am enchanted. I give myself over willingly to their mystic arts." She allowed a smile to again caress her lips. "You DO speak well, O Traveller," she said, "And in truth I am tempted to set you free and send you on your way. Nonetheless, I know not of your heart of hearts. Perhaps you are indeed a scoundrel, intent upon deceit. Perhaps you think you can gain the Princesses favour through some sorcery of false speech. You speak as of noble born, but this may be lies and artifice. Therefore, I so deem that you must submit to a test." "What is this test that you speak of?" The Traveller asked, puzzled and a little apprehensive. "It is a test that shall determine your true mettle, and your true bearing," she said. "And if I refuse?" "That of course is your right, prisoner; you may indeed refuse. If you do, you shall be taken from here to a nearby castle, there to become an indentured slave for the rest of your life. You shall become the slave of my half brother, Cedric, who is not known for his mercy upon slaves. Indeed, he has been known to kill them on the merest whim, and have them tortured for all manner of real and imagined slights. It is also rumoured that from time to time he is wont to use his male slaves as he would a woman." The Traveller's heart trembled at the thought. "If I pass?" he asked. "If you pass, then for the worship of my father, the king, I shall gain your release. I give you my word that the royal favour shall be upon you, and you shall pass your time here at the castle in comfort and ease. Further, I warrant upon the faith of my body that thou shalt have the favour of the Princess herself." "And if I fail this test?" She paused, then fixed him with a stern gaze. "If you fail? Why then of course, you shall be given over to the tender mercies of the King's Lord High Executioner, your rotting corpse to hang upon the castle walls as a warning to other such Rascals who come to this place with presumptions above their station!" The Traveller's heart flipped within his chest, his pulse pounded in his ears so loudly he feared the Princess would hear it. Nonetheless, when he answered her, his gaze and his voice were steady. "Your highness, I choose the test." The Princess came forward, without a word. With a single flick of her silver taloned forefinger, she severed the meagre rags that covered his shame, so that he hung, naked, before her. "You, who are to endure this trial," she said formally, as if addressing the court, "You must maintain your complete silence until the test is complete. One word, the merest utterance, and you shall be handed over forthwith to the Lord High Executioner. And you will not like the bed HE has prepared for you, for it is on the castle wall." He simply nodded, afraid that perhaps the test had already begun. She raised her hands and stroked with feather touch down his neck and throat with the tips of her gleaming silver nails. She trailed them down his chest, circling through the curls of hair that concealed his teats. He clenched his teeth and held his breath, for the touch was almost unendurable. The cords in his neck began to stand out. She continued, stroking harder, softer, then harder again, as her skilled hands sought out and caressed every sensitive spot on his body. They ran over and under his feet, along his calves and knees, and along his thighs. She fluttered her fingers over his stomach as one playing a lively tune upon the lute, then across his chest once again, to rest beneath his chin for a few seconds, before finding a new and yet more sensitive spot. And still the test went on. The shaft of his manhood struck straight out from his body, hard as the sword of Arthur. This did not escape the notice of the Princess, for it seemed so that she trailed her nails to come ever closer to its steely presence. They coursed up the innermost part of his thighs, to rest at the base of his manly shaft, and circled through the curly thatch that dwelt there, before moving to yet more secret places of his body. They tickled with fervour at the manly spheres that dangled between his legs, and caressed the very nexus of their joining to his body. Once, as she ran her nails boldly along his very shaft to it's uttermost tip, a gasp of air burst from his lips, and she glanced sharply up at him. His body quivered, his manhood quivered, and glistening drops of his seed formed at its tip. His mind reeled, and he thought of the choices that faced him this moment.... The favour of the Princess, or the favour of the executioner's chamber. He feared his strength and his resolve would fail him before the test was done. And yet it went on and on, her nails trailing ever more often to the shaft of his delight and agony, till it shivered and shook as a tall aspen before the storm. Then, when at last he feared that he might utter the fatal cry in an agony of ecstasy and grief, she stopped, and stood before him. "That was well played, Sir Rascal," she said, gazing into his eyes, "For that was the longest test I have ever administered. You are indeed a man of honour, and courage, and passing bravery." The Traveller was gasping for air; nonetheless, he spoke with steady voice and steady gaze, "My Princess, I would endure the test yet again, for your sake." --- The Traveller luxuriated in the softest bed he'd known for many a year. The room was dark and very warm. A fire flickered in the grate, and he'd thrown off the fur bedspread to lie naked on the clean linen sheets. The bed was surrounded by candles, and in their soft light he gazed idly, eyes half shut, at the beautiful canopy and its gauzy curtains above his head. It was covered in fine samite, worked through with gold and silver. A fearsome dragon with gleaming silver claws was embroidered upon it. Startlingly, the dragon sported a saucy shaft, stiff and proudly jutting from its nether regions. To his right, past the foot of the bed, was a huge bay window; beyond, it was dark, and he could see the lights of the village glittering below. He breathed a sigh of contentment and closed his eyes, savouring the memory of the hot bath he'd taken an hour before, his first in many months. He'd lain, almost rapt, in a huge stone tub, immersed to his neck in steaming, scented water. A far cry it was from the icy lakes and streams that had been his bath for lo these many years on the road! As he lay, a pretty chambermaid stood by quietly in the shadows, ready to pour more hot water into the tub, or scrub his back. He remembered his embarrassment as, once, while he'd lain thinking of the Princess, he'd warmed suddenly, and the tip of his shaft emerged from the soapy water, like the head some mythic beast of the lochs. Later, as the chambermaid dried him with thick, hot towels, he'd warmed again, and she had looked discreetly past him, although he could not but notice the twinkle in her eye, and the sly smile that played about the corners of her mouth. Perhaps, he thought contentedly, perhaps it would be worth seeking out that little chambermaid... but not now. Not while he lay in the most well appointed room in the castle, in this bed. He stretched. "Whose IS this room?" he wondered aloud. "It is the Princess's bedchamber," said a voice from the shadows. As he turned suddenly, she emerged into the light. Her hair had been loosed, and fell in gleaming waves about her shoulders and down her back. She wore a gown of white satin and lace, through which the light of the candles caressed her smooth ivory skin. "And you lie in the Princess's bed," she added. "My Princess!" he protested, "Had I known, I would never have taken my leave in this manner. Please! Let me sleep on a cot..." "Peace, good sir Traveller," she said softly, coming close to him and pressing one silvery nailed forefinger to his lips, "I said you would have the Princess's favour, and so you have. Rest." He lay back, and as he did so, she held out her hands to him, so that they came almost under his nose. He gazed upon her hands, her slender fingers, and the long, lovely nails that graced them. They looked to him even longer than they had before, and glistened in the soft light; by some craft beyond his ken, they had been lacquered in the most delicate translucent silver. "Now sir Traveller," she said to him, smiling, "You have once felt the power of these nails. What think you now?" "I think that they are the most beautiful things I have ever seen, no less the fingers, hands, arms and womanly form to which they affix." "Good," she said, gazing into his eyes, "For now shall you feel the more of their power, and this time it shall be their power of pleasure." She bent forward and kissed him on the lips, then stood up. She removed her gown, and underneath she wore a nightdress of the merest gossamer and lace, and through this he could see plainly the curves of her body. He caressed her with his eyes, her cascading curls, her dark, penetrating eyes, her full red lips, her slender neck and shoulders... his gaze wandered lower as she parted the front of her gown for him... the perfect, milky globes of her breasts, with their delicate pink rosebuds at the centres, her slim waist and full hips, her... He gasped and started. For there, at the apex of her long, slender legs, was the rapidly stiffening sword of a man! "Your highness!" he blurted, "You are a..." "I am an androgyne," she said simply, fixing him with her hypnotic gaze, "On the day of my getting, my mother the Queen fell under the spell of an enchantress that lived deep in the woods beyond the north gate of the town. By strength of this enchantment, my embryo, and that of my twin brother, were mixed in the womb to become one, and I am the issue of that matter. Long before, the King's soothsayer had prophesised that the Queen would birth a noble Princess, and many other prophesies he made also of the great deeds that should be hers. It was a matter of great import to the kingdom that the prophecy be fulfilled; for the seer went on to proclaim many calamities that may befall our fair realm should this prophesy fail. But at my birthing, I was the issue, apparently a normal, healthy male child. There was much outcry in the birthing chamber! My mother died in labour, and oh! there were some on that day who made great dole and cried out that the child should be killed, that the King should remarry, and bear a daughter in my stead! But the seer, who was present also at my birth, did cry out over loud, 'NO! The child must live! For it is on her a great destiny, and many extraordinary deeds shall be hers.' Yes, he said 'her!' He went on to say, 'She shall rule this kingdom in her turn with a grace and wisdom the Earth has not yet seen. She must not be killed! For THIS is the child of prophesy, and must be treated as such from this day forward!' This soothsayer went on to exclaim that if I were to be killed, great misfortune would befall our kingdom. The skies would darken, the crops would wither in the fields, the very Earth would open up and belch forth fire and brimstone, and the town would be buried to the rooftops. So, I was spared. "And therefore, I was raised as a girl, given teaching in the womanly arts, and all did their best to ignore the passing strangeness of my body. I was given myriad potions and unguents, that I should take on the aspect of the feminine, and the royal nurses were instructed in the art of my keeping. And now, I am Princess, in line to the throne, and I shall rule this kingdom in my turn as BOTH King and Queen. I shall rule with the grace, gentleness and kindness of a Queen, the strength, courage and wisdom of a King. For such is my destiny." "But," protested the Traveller, "surely you shall wear the Queenly crown! For thou art far too beautiful and far too much a woman to forsake the gowns and jewels of a Queen for the harsh robes and crown of a King!" "Thy words are over-bold!" said the Princess sharply, then softened, "Nonetheless, I discern your heart is in the right place, therefore I shall grant you answer. Yes, I shall live as Queen, and don the gowns and jewels thereof. For I have felt in my heart from my earliest days that I was a woman, and ever so shall be one. I shall sit upon the throne as queen, and someday I shall marry a noble prince, who shall sit at my right hand. And, by the grace of God, I shall bear him many sons, that the royal line should continue... though," she finished, looking at him with a wry smile, "In faith I know not yet how such a thing will come to pass... But, such is my destiny, for so it is written, and so it must be. "But, gentle Traveller," she smiled, coming close to him again, "Let us speak no more of such things, for the night stretches before us, and I have much to show you..." She bent over him and kissed him, and as she did so her robe fell open, and he gazed again with awe at the perfect, delicately veined globes of her heavenly breasts. "But first," she said abruptly, "You must be bound..." "Bound?" The Traveller cried, confused, "But..." The Princess moved quickly. In a thrice, silken ropes appeared at the corners of her bed, and he found himself spread-eagled, tied hand and foot and unable to move but a few hand's-breadths either way. "My Lady!" he protested. His shaft, which had been warmed by her presence, withered and lay limp. "Peace, gentle Traveller," she soothed, stroking his hair, "These bonds are not those of the royal dungeon. They are for your pleasure." She began running her nails lightly across his chest in broad circles, swirling them through the silky hair that covered it, thence down his sides. The Traveller tensed, and held his breath. She smiled. "Nay, my Rascal," she whispered, "This is not The Test. You may give utterance as your heart desires." He let his breath out in a burst. "Thank you, your highness. I feared... my bonds... your nails..." "Nay," she said, smiling. He moaned and breathed heavily. His manhood once again began to rise. She climbed upon the bed and straddled his thighs, gazing deep into his eyes, as if watching his every response. She continued her ministrations, her nails dancing nimbly over his body, seeking its most sensitive places. Propped on the bed's lush pillows, he could watch as her hands played over him. He saw that her gown had fallen open; beneath it, her own spear was steeled and glistening. She leaned forward and kissed him with passion, her nails never leaving his body. He returned her kiss with a passion that rose, unstoppable, within him. The Princess moaned and kissed him with renewed fire. "Yes, good sir Rascal," she whispered into his ear, "Tonight you shall be the Princess's Rascal, and you shall see that she shares a little of the passions of a rogue herself!" She kissed his chest, his neck, his shoulders, and down his arms. Her nails followed wherever her lips did go, so that the Traveller felt a double kiss upon every nook and cranny of his body. He was transfixed, and he moaned more loudly and squirmed beneath her touch. She sat back on his thighs and her stroking followed his form lower and lower. She teased the inside of his thighs with a touch as light as a dove's wing, bent to kiss the softness therein, then caressed to the very apex of his legs, stroking through the wiry bush from which trembled his now-steely sword. She stroked his sword from its hilt to its very tip. He saw her smile of approval as it jumped and twitched under her touch. She kissed its tip, then rapidly up his belly and chest to his teats, nestled in their own hairy thatch. His breath came and went in fiery gasps, and he wondered how long he could contain his seed. His very body heaved and convulsed under the touch of her lips and nails. "Oh, my Lady," he sighed, "Thy touch is surely magical, for I am roused to a passion I have never felt! Would that I could be released from these bonds, that I might delight you a tenth as much as you delight me!" "Peace," She said, "This night, the rapture shall be yours. I shall care for my own passion in my own way. Do not concern yourself, but lay back, and know the powers of my nails in your own heart and body." He did so, and gave himself over fully to the spell she wove. Moving further down his legs, she leaned toward him and again kissed the tip of his sword. Her lips lingered there, while her nails gambolled and cavorted amongst the bushes of his most secret place. Her merest touch, be it of lips or tongue or nails, aroused him to a fever unlike any he had known. He cried out, unable to contain it. His eyes watered. His lips were drawn back in a rictus of the agony of his pleasure. Her tongue ran from base to tip, then swirled around its tip like birds circling the high towers of the castle. His juices flowed and flowed, and she drank fully of them. Then the Traveller saw that with one hand she had reached down and was caressing her own shaft, from which her own juices flowed almost as water from a spring. She moaned aloud; now she had taken his sword full into her moist, warm mouth. She pumped him, as a calf would suckle at the teats of its mother. Juices flowed and mingled. Time seemed to stop for the Traveller. All he knew was her touch upon him, and the passions that roiled in his loins. A minute, an hour, a day, he knew not. Her nails flashed. She milked him. And ever she stroked the iron shaft that nestled between her own legs. Then, just when it seemed certain that the world would explode into shards and his soul would depart forever, he felt the unstoppable begin deep within him, and grow, and grow, and ascend toward the surface like some beast of the deeps, rising to the surface to spawn and die. He convulsed. His loins heaved, and he cried out as one possessed. His rapture exploded. He cried out again, and again. At the same instant, the Princess gave voice to her own passion, and they cried out together. Surely the villagers below would hear them! The first cascade of his seed erupted from him! Then again, and again, and again, and yet again... He felt a touch of hot on his thigh, and opened his eyes to see that the Princess's own juice was gushing forth from her. And yet she kept her mouth on him, milking him, swallowing every drop of his seed as one who has not supped in a year and a day! Then, inevitably, his passion subsided, and his convulsions gentled, as did hers. He closed his eyes and allowed a last, soft cry to escape his lips. She collapsed forward onto him, her own eyes closed, her hands now loose at his sides. She sighed. There they lay, silent, for a time. Then she roused and climbed up to him. She loosed the bonds of his hands, and snuggled against his side. He put his arms around her and held her tight, her warm, smooth skin soft against his. They lay in silence for a while, then she smiled up at him and kissed him gently on his lips. "Good sir Traveller, what think you now of the Princess's powers?" "Of that matter, I have no words to speak," he replied, "Should the spirits themselves possess such powers, we should live in a paradise of delights, and want for nothing!" He continued, "Your highness, I should compose a ballad in your honour, that thy fame and grace shall be sung far and wide, and your name will live long in the histories of this land. But alas, my lute was smashed when I was taken by the royal guards, and I have no other." "Then, by my word, I shall command the royal craftsmen to make you another, of such surpassing beauty and voice that all who hear it shall weep openly. Then you shall compose your ballad, and sing it in all places where your song is welcome." "I thank you, your highness," he replied, "For my lute is my livelihood, and I fear the worst without it." She sighed and snuggled against him again. "So then, tomorrow, sir Traveller, I shall offer you another choice." He looked at her, surprised. "That being?" he inquired. "If you so choose, I will see to it that you are given a fine fresh horse, food from the royal kitchens to last you many days, and a fine bow and quiver of arrows. You shall have the safety of a royal escort to the far side of these woods, wherein dwell many robbers. Thereby shalt thou take your leave of this place, and resume your life as a wanderer, with the King's favour." "And the other choice?" "Then you shall dwell here in the castle for a time, and bask in the Princess's favour. You shall be consort to me for as long as your heart desires. You shall be knighted, and given a small tract of land in the fertile lands south of the town wall, and peasants enough to work it, that you can pay the King's tithe and enjoy good fortune besides. You have, of course, proven yourself a worthy swordsman!" And so saying she reached down to cup his sword playfully in her hand. "You shall have free access to the castle as your heart wants. I cannot marry you of course, for I am destined to marry a nobleman of high lineage, that he might rule this kingdom at my side. But you shall nonetheless find many favours herein, if you so choose!" They lay again in silence for a time, and the Traveller smiled to himself. Perhaps, he thought, it was time for him to forsake the open road, and return to the castle of his birthright, there to resume his title and position, as the fourteen Earl of Blackwood and an honoured knight already, the firstborn son of King Taran of the Westerlands, and brother to Sir Kallen. Surely a noble position! He thought happily. She gazed at him again. "What is thy true name, Traveller?" "I am called Robert," he said. "Robert," she repeated, her voice drowsy with sleep almost upon her, "That is a name of noble bearing." She held him tighter and closed her eyes. He did not reply, but smiled again to himself. Tonight, he would rest, and think on the future. Tomorrow, he would give his answer to the Princess. He already knew what it would be. To Be Continued?