Knight Moves
A Ravenous Romance™ Fantastica™ Original Publication
Jamaica Layne
A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication
www.ravenousromance.com
Knight Moves
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Jamaica Layne
Ravenous Romance™
100 Cummings Center
Suite 125G
Beverly, MA 01915
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.
ISBN: 978-1-60777-023-7
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
I just narrowly missed being decapitated by a flying rump roast.
Or perhaps it’s a badly misshapen chicken. It’s kind of hard to tell, since everything the corset-clad waitresses bring out looks like reconstituted mystery meat. And no sooner does said mystery meat land on anybody’s plate, it often ends up being lobbed across the room – usually at whoever just lost the jousting match going on in the center of the dining hall.
If you can even call it a dining hall, anyway. It’s more like a livestock corral surrounded by a bunch of folding tables. How does anyone actually dine here when the live entertainment features jousting and all that goes with it, including flying broken lances and, I’m told, the occasional dismembered limb?
How I let my best friend drag me out to an evening at restaurant-slash-bloody-swordfest Medieval Worlds: Dinner and Tournament for my birthday is beyond me. In the past ten minutes, I’ve not only had to dodge multiple attacks of flying mystery meat, I’ve gotten a lap full of something that smells a lot like horse manure.
Something tells me the ringside seats Nancy snagged at a discount are cheap for a reason.
Nancy knocks back her fifth goblet of something called “grog” – the Middle Ages’ answer to a kamikaze shot – and punches me in the shoulder. “Isn’t thish great, Louise?” she slurs, having to shout to be heard over the cheering crowd and obnoxious medieval trumpet fanfares. “Aren’tsh you glaaaad I broughtsht you here instead of thatsh stuffy Frenchsh restaurant you like? I reaaaaaally hatesh Frenchsh food, by the way. It’ssh too fattening.”
I stare down at my wooden (yes, wooden) plate and sigh. It’s not as if the deep-fried, reconstituted mystery meat we’ve been served is diet food. I know now that Nancy brought me here so she could enjoy herself, not because she wanted to stick to her diet. And it’s pretty clear from the way Nancy is now trying to make out with a roving jester who stopped by our table to juggle that she is having a good time indeed.
Unlike me. Frankly, I’d prefer having my gums scraped than eat overpriced mystery meat and watch a bunch of bad out-of-work stage actors get dressed up in ill-fitting polyester knight outfits and joust each other on horseback. I’m no good around livestock – the smell of horseshit makes me want to puke. And I think I’m allergic to horse fur. Or maybe hay. I’m sitting on a hay bale, Medieval Worlds’ version of chairs, and my ass is starting to itch.
I stand up and rub at the creeping allergy rash I can feel starting to grow on my ass cheeks. “Excuse me, Nancy,” I say to her squirming backside while she fondles the stunned jester, who clearly isn’t as attracted to her as she is to him. “I need to visit the ladies’ room.”
Nancy pulls away from the jester, who takes advantage of the opportunity to move swiftly on to the next table. “But the Green Knight is about to joust with the Mighty Black-and-White Champion!” she shouts, suddenly sober. “You’ll miss the feature battle of the evening!”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure I can catch it another time.”
Ha. Not bloody likely. I think maybe on the way back from the ladies’ room, I’ll head out for the lobby and ask the tunic-clad maitre’d to order me a taxi. I need to get the hell out of here. I know Nancy probably brought me here because she knows I love reading old Sir Walter Scott novels about knights and ladies and the thrill of medieval tournaments. But I was a history major in college, damn it. I’m a real stickler for the details. And when it comes to getting the details of an authentic medieval jousting tournament right, Medieval Worlds is pathetic. I’ve seen better knight costumes in a Saturday Night Live sketch.
And I seriously doubt that Diet Coke,one of the jousting ring’s major sponsors, was on any medieval drink menu.
Even if Nancy did bring me here for my birthday, I won’t feel too bad about ditching her this time around. She’s obviously having the time of her life all by herself. I’m sure I can have a much better thirtieth birthday party at home alone in my condo, eating Chunky Monkey and catching up on my Sex and the City DVDs. And the fact my Sex and the City DVD collection is the closest thing I have to a sex life right now won’t even depress me too much, considering the alternative is dodging mystery-meat missiles and getting doused with flying horse manure.
I fight my way through the throngs of polyester-costumed waitresses, roving jugglers, jesters, and bleached-blond fair maidens who all help add to Medieval Worlds’ manufactured corporate version of the Middle Ages, and finally make it to the ladies’ room. Of course, the line is a mile long, snaking out the ladies’ room door and down the hallway, ending somewhere in the Medieval Worlds gift shop. And as usual, there’s no line for the men’s room at all. I’m really not in the mood to stand around staring at racks of overpriced stuffed knights and toy plastic jousting lances while I wait a half-hour to pee. So I take a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure nobody’s looking, and head straight for the men’s room.
I’ve never been in an actual men’s room before. Sure, I’ve encountered those unisex one-toilet jobbies in dive bars and such, but I don’t have any experience with urinals and all that goes with them. So I’m totally unprepared for the godawful stench of old pee, urinal cakes, and cheap disinfectant that hits me in the face like a thrown brick the second I open the men’s room door.
The other thing I’m totally unprepared for is the sight of the drop-dead gorgeous man standing at the first urinal.
He’s tall, six-foot-five if he’s a day, with wavy red hair that falls to his shoulders, deep green eyes, chiseled features. He’s wearing knight’s attire, but not the cheesy, ill-fitting polyester tunics the other out-of-work stage actors posing as knights back in the Medieval Worlds dining arena are. This man’s tunic and breeches are cut of the finest silk, trimmed in something that looks like real gold. It’s by far the most authentic medieval costume I’ve seen outside of a history book, and it’s decorating a physique right out of a hall of Greek gods. The sight of him is dazzling.
And the sight of the huge cock the knight is holding in his right hand as he shakes off the last few drops of pee is even more dazzling.
I haven’t seen a cock that big, thick and luscious in – well, never.
The knight turns his head to face me. My jaw must be dragging the floor by now, because after meeting my eyes, he smiles and says, “You might want to close those beautiful lips of yours, milady, before something putrid flies inside. This isn’t the most sanitary place in the realm, you see.”
The knight speaks with a foreign accent, though I can’t quite place from where. His voice is lilting, melodious, almost a combination of French, Scottish, and English accents. It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before. And it’s turning my crotch to cream. This mystery man is like every sexy Sir Knight I read about in Ivanhoe, and then some.
I don’t need to pee any more. Now I just need to get laid.
The knight gives me a knowing smile, and jiggles his giant cock in my direction. “You look like a fair maiden in need of a good visit from the codpiece,” he says.
Whoa, Nellie.
Not only is this man the sexy sir knight of my dreams, now he’s offering me his very substantial codpiece on a platter. How is this even possible? Am I hallucinating? Were the two bites of mystery meat I forced down back in the dining hall perhaps laced with PCP? Have I died from smelling too many urinal fumes and subsequently gone to heaven?
“Are you all right, milady?” Gorgeous Knight asks. “You seem a trifle ensconced.”
Ensconced? I don’t even know what that means. Maybe he means I look horny. Because I’m sure I do.
Gorgeous Knight smiles again. “What I mean to say, milady, is that you appear to be hiding from someone. Or something. Is that so?”
“You could say that.” It’s the truth, if not the whole truth. I’m not about to admit I ducked inside a stinking, filthy men’s room to escape the corny corporate version of the Middle Ages that Gorgeous Mystery Knight here obviously works for. If I’m going to get my hands around that codpiece of his, I can’t risk offending him.
“Say no more, milady.” Gorgeous Mystery Knight tucks his beautiful cock back inside his breeches. “I know a place where we both can hide from the world, and have a wonderful time together while we’re at it.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively and grabs at his crotch, rearranging his formidable equipment. “If you get my meaning.”
My own crotch goes volcanic. I can’t believe what is happening. One minute, I’m sitting on a hay bale in a cheesy concrete pseudo-arena, bored out of my gourd and contemplating going home so I can masturbate to the sight of Carrie Bradshaw and Mr. Big doing it on TV. Now I’ve got a drop-dead gorgeous mystery knight propositioning me in a public restroom.
Either I’m going completely insane, or today is the best day of my life.
But before I can give my current predicament any more thought, Gorgeous Mystery Knight grabs my arm and whisks me to the far end of the restroom. “Follow me, milady,” he says, opening the stall door to the men’s room’s lone sit-down toilet. It’s filthy, just like everything else in here. I’m not sure a filthy men’s room stall is a very nice place to take a ride on a knight’s codpiece. Still, beggars can’t be choosers …
“You hesitate, milady,” Gorgeous Knight says. “This, I can understand. After all, a privy is no place for love. But I think perhaps if you look again, you’ll see something a trifle different.” He opens the stall door a bit wider, and motions for me to move closer.
Against my better judgment, I do. And I see something that takes my breath away.
Chapter Two
What the hell just happened?
One minute, I’m in a men’s room about to get laid by a gorgeous man in a knight costume. The next, I’m in a castle. And not a fake castle made out of steel and concrete where they sell toy plastic swords and overpriced Salisbury steak. A real castle. With a moat. And a drawbridge. And a bunch of very smelly people who look like henchmen. And …
Oh. My. God.
I think I’ve just been teleported back in time.
Either that, or that toilet stall back in the Medieval Worlds’
men’s room was the back door into their first-class dining
room. You know, the one where the knights aren’t all bad
out-of-work stage actors and the waitresses aren’t wearing
ill-fitting polyester fairy-princess gowns. This place actually
looks authentic.
A little too authentic.
Gorgeous Mystery Knight puts an arm around my waist. “Welcome to Bellwether Castle, milady,” he says. “Welcome to my home.”
I do a double take. “Your home?”
“Yes, milady. My home. I’ve lived here since birth.” Gorgeous Knight stops short, tightens his grip around my waist. “That is, I’ve mostly lived here since birth. The time I’ve spent in your own century excepted, of course. Among a few other centuries.”
Okay, so now I do a triple take. “What do you mean, my own century?”
Now Gorgeous Mystery Knight wraps both arms around my waist, and pulls me up against his lean, hard body. I can feel just how excited his codpiece is to see me, too. That might as well be a jousting lance in his crotch. “Milady, I’ll be happy to explain everything once you and I have had a chance to get better acquainted.” His hands stray from the small of my back to my buttocks. “I think perhaps a visit to my quarters is in order,” he whispers in my ear. “We need to find you some appropriate attire for my century. And I think we can best start with just the beautiful suit of clothes God gave you on the day of your birth.”
As in, me. Naked.
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, pushing hard against his rock-hard crotch. “Show me the way.”
Gorgeous Mystery Knight pulls a rusty iron lever mounted on the stone turret wall just behind us. A huge metal door slowly creaks open, revealing a set of narrow limestone stairs. “This way, milady. My quarters are at the top of Bellwether Castle’s highest watchtower. As head knight of the garrison, I get choicest quarters. We’ll have the best view in the village during our lovemaking. I like to take my lovers from behind while they watch out my turret window.” With that, my fantasy knight scoops me up in a threshold carry and hauls me up the stairs.
Well, the man certainly is sure of himself. He obviously wants to fuck my brains out. And that’s perfectly fine with me, thank you very much. The only question is, why? I’m not exactly the catch of the century.
Any century.
I don’t even know what century I’m in right now. And I don’t care. All I care about is getting Gorgeous Mystery Knight’s giant codpiece up my twat in a hurry. The rest can just work itself out on its own time.
After what seems like an eternity, we finally arrive at Gorgeous Mystery Knight’s – I still have no idea what the man’s name is – quarters. It’s one large stone room, equipped with a rough-hewn wooden table and a single chair, piles of scattered armor and weaponry, and a huge four-poster bed that sits so high off the ground there’s a set of steps leading up to it. But my sexy sir knight doesn’t seem too intent on fucking me in the bed. Instead he guides me over to the far wall, just in front of the expansive room’s only window. There’s a low wooden bench there, which he sets me down upon. Then he starts pulling my clothes off.
He starts with my shoes, which he slips off and tosses into a corner. “You won’t be needing those any more, milady,” he coos. “I’ll find you some fine satin slippers worthy of a fair maiden of Bellwether Castle just as soon as we’re finished here.” He then sets to work unbuttoning the fly of my jeans. “Milady, with all due respect, I’ve no idea why ladies in your century insist upon wearing breeches. It makes things so much more difficult in the bedchamber.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” I say as I help him with my fly button and zipper. Once they’re finally loose, my knight has those jeans off in two seconds flat, along with my undies. He tosses everything into the corner along with my shoes. “I’ll have you know, milady, that I desire all my fair maidens to keep things uncovered underneath their skirts. One never knows when the urge for courtly love will strike.”
Another couple flicks of my knight’s supple wrists, and I find myself naked and thrown headfirst over the wooden bench, my ass sticking straight up in the air. Gorgeous Knight, fully clothed, spreads my butt cheeks wide, whips his giant cock out of his breeches, and takes me from behind.
I’ve never done it doggy-style in a castle with a time-traveling knight before. Let alone a time-traveling knight with a cock big enough to joust with.
Carrie Bradshaw, eat your heart out. They don’t have any time-traveling knights with cocks the size of Nebraska in Manhattan. At least, not the last time I checked.
My knight’s cock is a good ten inches, and it fills me up so full and so deep I can practically feel its tip banging up against the roof of my mouth with every jaw-shattering thrust he makes into my cunt. My cervix throbs and vibrates each time the tip of my knight’s cock crashes into it, while my clit swells and tingles under his expert touch – he rubs and rolls it between his rough, calloused fingertips, keeping in perfect rhythm with his thrusting hips. My clit melts into its first orgasm only a few thrusts into the fuck.
They might not know many things back in the Dark Ages, but one thing’s for sure – they do know how to fuck.
We continue to fuck doggy-style over the bench for several minutes. By my second orgasm, I have the urge to turn the tables on my knight in shining armor and ride that enormous dick of his. I buck up against him hard mid-thrust, tipping him off balance. Once he’s lost his footing, I pull myself off his cock – my cunt makes a disappointed queeb sound as we separate – but in a split second, I’ve got him sitting upright on the bench, and I lower myself back down onto his huge cock, carefully measuring how far and how fast I take him inside me. I move slowly up and down at first, riding my gorgeous knight at a slow and steady canter. I keep my face close to his at first, peppering it with tiny kisses as I relish the sheepish grin that has taken over his stubbled cheeks while I ride him like we twenty-first-century ladies like to do. Once I have my knight lulled into submission by my gentle, steady pace, I brace my feet against the bottom of the bench and take it from a steady canter to a rollicking gallop.
Gorgeous Mystery Knight’s deep green eyes pop wide open, then roll far back into his head while I ride him like a bull in heat. He’s too lost in his own ecstasy now to focus any attention on my clit, but that’s fine by me. I’m taking him so deep and hard now that his cock is pushing itself right into my G-spot on the way in, and making lots of delectable friction on my clit and hood on the way out. I come two more times when I spin myself around and around on his cock like a top, and take the last few strokes down from the rear. His climax follows soon after, and his seed pumps into me so hard I can almost taste it in my mouth. The salty, musky scent of come, sweat, and wood smoke from the fireplace all mingle and fill the room. I sink my face into the crook of my knight’s shoulder, and breathe in his manly, woodsy smell while the last spasms of pleasure evaporate from my body.
I’ve never felt so satisfied in my entire life.
I’ve also never been so confused. Once the afterglow has settled, I look up and meet my knight’s eyes. “Where am I, really? And why did you bring me here?” I swallow hard before I ask the question that’s been on my mind ever since I first walked in the men’s room back in my own century. “And why do you find me so attractive that you’re willing to cart me off to another century just to fuck me? I’m not the prettiest flower in the bunch – never have been.”
Gorgeous Mystery Knight gives me a slight grin and wipes the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. But he says nothing.
“How do I know if you’re even real?” I sputter. “How do I know this whole thing isn’t just some weird hallucination brought on by food poisoning or something?”
“Everything you see and feel is real, milady,” my knight says, caressing my bare back with his hands. “That, I promise you. If you desire proof, you only need consider the three very real climaxes you just had in your lady-softness.”
My eyes fly wide. “How did you know I came three times?”
He grins wider. “Your lady-softness told me herself when she was wrapped round my codpiece.”
I love the way this man talks. Absolutely love it. He even makes genitalia sound pretty.
“I don’t even know your name,” I stammer. “And you don’t know mine, either.” I feel my face go red. I’ve never fucked a man without knowing his name before. Suddenly I feel a little dirty. In a good way.
“I am the Lord Verdigris, Green Knight of Bellwether Castle, Master of the Hourglass, and Champion of the Twelve Directions,” he says, his voice taking on an almost royal quality. “But you can just call me Lord Verdigris, milady.”
“My name’s Louise,” I say. “Louise Jackson.”
Lord Verdigris gently lifts me off his cock, tucks it into his breeches, and stands so he can give me a knightly bow. He picks up a large black satin comforter from the bed and tenderly wraps it around my naked body, which has already begin to shiver from the cold draughts coming in from the turret’s only window. “A great honor to make your acquaintance, milady Louise Jackson. May I ask which province from which you hail? And what noble titles you might possess? I always wish to know my ladies’ origins.”
“I’m, umm, from New Jersey. I don’t have any other fancy titles.” I say. “But I umm, I do work for the New Jersey Department of Transportation. I’m a toll collection supervisor on the New Jersey Turnpike.” I’m already intimidated. In addition to being the best fuck on planet Earth, Lord Verdigris is obviously a very powerful and important guy in his century. Whatever century that is, anyway.
I wonder what he sees in me.
Lord Verdigris bows deeply again. “Louise Jackson of New Jersey, I welcome you to Bellwether Castle. It is my sincere hope ye and I shall spend many days and nights abed in the glorious act of love during your stay. And given the splendiferous wonderments which ye just showed me here on yonder bench, I believe ye shall be by far the most popular courtesan in my Hall of Harlots.”
Courtesan? Hall of Harlots?
I gasp. “What?”
Lord Verdigris places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be alarmed, milady. You shall be well cared for, and reside in luxury for all time. You see, milady Louise, we knights in the twelfth century are most enamored of the lustful appetites of ladies from other exotic epochs. When I became Master of the Hourglass, the first thing I wanted to learn on my travels through the ages was where to find the most lusty and satisfying ladies of the night. I tasted the pleasures of harlots and courtesans from every age in the Known World’s history, from ancient Greece and Rome to the Renaissance to the far-flung future. But it is your century that has proved the most fruitful. I therefore have made it my business to find useful employment in your time as a champion jouster so that I may capture as many lustful, willing and knowledgeable fair maidens from your time to return with me to Bellwether Castle and serve as pleasure courtesans in my Hall of Harlots. And ye are by far the most alluring temptress to join the Hall of Harlots in quite some time. I believe ye and I and the other knights of the garrison shall enjoy your charms for many years to come.”
I feel all the blood drain from my face. The room is starting to spin. Here I was, thinking I’ve found the knightly man of my dreams, the best fuck of the past thousand years and in reality, I’ve been kidnapped. Tricked. Held prisoner.
I’ve been lured across centuries to serve as a medieval hooker!
And unless Lord Verdigris changes his mind about keeping me here as his own personal medieval booty-call for all eternity, it looks like I’ll be trapped in the Dark Ages for the rest of my life.
Then again, I suppose things could be worse. At least I won’t have to worry about where my next fuck is coming from any more.
But before I can take much solace in that, I faint dead away.
Chapter Three
I wake up in a strange place. I’m dressed in a thin white linen chemise and tucked in a billowy, soft featherbed with cream-colored satin sheets and a red velvet coverlet. The heady scent of cloves fills my nostrils.
I gaze up and see a plump, redheaded woman standing over me. She holds a copper censer full of incense, which she’s holding in front of my nose. “There’s a good lass,” she says in a Scottish accent so thick I have trouble understanding her at first. “I was beginnin’ to be worried ye’uld nivver wake. Lucky I had me smellin’ vapors in me pouch.”
“Wh-where am I?” I stammer.
“Ye are in the House of Harlots,” the woman replies, slipping a cool, wet cloth onto my forehead. “Lord Verdigris’ guards brought ye here ’bout four hours past. I’m Bridget MacDonough, yer lady-in-waiting.” She pauses and gives me a small bow. “It shall be a pleasure to serve ye, Lady Louisa.”
I sit bold upright, knocking my damp forehead cloth into my lap. “Wait a minute. Who’s Lady Louisa?”
Bridget purses her lips. “Why ye are, milady. Ye are Lady Louisa of the Crossroads, the great princess of the unknown lands to our kingdom’s north and west. I must say, milady, methinks ye must ’ave taken quite a blow to the noggin if ye can’t remember yer own name!”
I shove my way past Bridget and jump out of the bed. My eyes survey the luxurious bedchamber, which is filled with heavy, carved teak furniture and hung with gorgeous tapestries. A dining table is set for a sumptuous meal to my left – roast venison, pheasant, and harvest fruits and vegetables upon shimmering gold- and silver-plated dishes. A sleek young greyhound sleeps faithfully at the foot of the velvet-hung bed. The bed is made up with satin and velvet bedclothes, and hung with red damask curtains.
I’ve never seen such a beautiful room in my life. “Is this my room?” I ask in wonderment.
Bridget smoothes her apron and stands. “Aye, milady. Is it satisfactory to ye? We ain’t had such a high-born noble maiden like yerself among us here in the Hall of Harlots in a long while. ‘Tis our best available room we’ve given ye by far.”
“It’s lovely,” I say, still dazed. “But what am I doing here, exactly?”
Bridget’s expression softens as she guides me over to a velvet settee and has me sit down. “Ye are here as the prisoner of Lord Verdigris,” she says softly.
Bridget’s clearly used to being the bearer of bad news.
“’Tis me understanding that ’e captured ye from your faraway land and was so taken with ye that ’e ’as made ye ’is most preferred courtesan in the whole Hall of Harlots,” Bridget goes on. She takes my hand and squeezes it. “I know ’tis no pleasure to be a slave, milady. I’m a slave here meself. But I ain’t as pretty an’ lovely as ye no more in me old age, so that’s why I’m just a servant now an’ not a harlot no longer. But I know meself what ’tis like to be a harlot in these chambers, so I make it me business to keep all the harlots under me watch in comfort an’ care. To ease their burden a ways.”
I’m too stunned to speak. The memories of what happened with Lord Verdigris and me in his quarters come flooding back: the physical ones pleasant, the mental ones horrifying. I recall with a shudder that I’ve often secretly wished to be someone’s sex slave, especially during my too-recent two-year dry spell of no sex outside of what I watch on Sex and the City DVDs and get out of my vibrator collection, just before Lord Verdigris found me in a twenty-first-century restroom. So in some ways, my secret sexual fantasies have been fulfilled. But to be a sex slave trapped in another century and in an unknown land with no way home – that’s something else entirely.
Still, I might as well make the best of a bad situation. At least I won’t have to worry about getting laid. And I won’t have any bills to pay or any housework to do, either.
“Is there more to the Hall of Harlots than this room?” I ask. “As lovely as it is, I don’t want to be shut up in here all the time.”
Bridget stood up and clapped her hands. “Aye, milady. The Hall of Harlots takes up an entire wing of Bellwether Castle. I’d love to show ye round. And ye can meet some of t’other harlots too. ’Tis important to know where ye stand among all the harlots,” Bridget went on. “For if ye don’t attract enough gentleman customers, milady, Lord Verdigris’ll put ye out.”
Put me out? Put me out where? The moat? Or maybe the dungeon? Or worse? I better check out what else the Hall of Harlots has to offer – My life probably depends on it. “All right then, let’s go.”
Bridget claps her hand over her mouth. “Oh no, milady. Ye must be properly dressed afore ye go out into the Hall. Lord Verdigris don’t let none o’ his harlots to wander round in their chemises. This is a nobleman’s castle, after all ’tain’t a common wench tavern.”
I sigh. This new time and place will take some getting used to. “Fine. Help me find something to wear, Bridget.” I have the sudden urge to pee. “And by the way, where’s the toilet?”
Bridget gives me a blank look. “The what, milady?”
I make a motion towards my crotch. “You know, where people go to pee.”
Bridget smiles and nods. “Of course, milady.” She retreats into a corner and returns with a small copper pot. “Here’s yer chamber pot. I’ll clean it meself when ye finish. An’ here’s somethin’ fer yer personal wipin’, lass.”