Knight of Westmoorland: The Queen and the warrior

by Toboorg, M. S.

  He felt her body tense and she cried out, with a shudder. Her cry hung in the air as time froze, and then she relaxed against him and he felt her lips tenderly on his back.

  Triumph welled within him. Despite the cruel confines of the cage, he had pleasured the Queen. The Queen!

  The heat of her body against his back was suddenly gone, as she pulled on one of his shoulders. “Come this way. Come forward.” Her voice was urgent. She wasn’t done with him.

  He pulled away from the wall. Turning and stepping forward, he stumbled slightly over the chain of the shackles. He stopped, his breath uneven as his chest heaved.

  “The cage! Take off the cage!” His tone was both demanding and pleading. His hands locked behind him, unable to see, he twisted his torso around, searching for her. Searching for relief. “Your Highness, please! Take off the cage…”

  He felt her hand on his thigh as she murmured, “Be still and I will…”

  He stood still, his legs trembling. He felt her fingertips against the skin of his groin and then he was free. His cock leapt to its full length and began to weep fluid as relief flooded through him.

  Her hands were on his shoulders, pressing down. Disoriented, not knowing where he was in the chamber, he went down onto his knees. Then he felt something hard against his chest and knew…

  He was kneeling at one end of the table. He heard her climb on top of it and felt her legs on either side of his head as her fingers braided into his hair and pulled him into her.

  He inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent. With the cage gone, he could concentrate on what he was doing—wanted to concentrate on what he was doing, wanted to take his time.

  He slipped his tongue between the cheeks of her ass, played it in circles around her rosebud and then slowly drew it up, separating her lips. He paused to play his tongue along the folds, and then finished by flicking it across her swollen place.

  Queen Gracelyn moaned and writhed on the table, pulling herself closer to him. He felt her legs on his back, but was barely aware of the pain from the welts. She twisted her fingers tighter into his hair, holding his face between her spread legs.

  He flicked her clit again with the tip of his tongue and then sucked it into his mouth, tasting her. Pressing his lips around it, he sucked on it gently, flicking it repeatedly with his tongue. And then, he released it, backing away as much she would allow, making her wait for him.

  He knew he was not her first lover and didn’t imagine he would be her last, but…he would be the one she remembered, the one she compared all of the others to, and found them lacking.

  Her moaning grew louder, more insistent, and yet still he made her wait, resisting the pressure of her hands in his hair, resisting his own desire, until he could resist no longer.

  He rolled her clit under his tongue and her juices filled his mouth. He fought the instant drowning sensation and swallowed, drawing her into his mouth again, this time teasing it lightly with his teeth while he continued circling it with his tongue.

  He released her again, turning his head slightly and finding the fold of skin where her leg joined her body. Without giving her a chance to catch her breath, he latched onto this spot, pulling it into his mouth and sucking on it demandingly.

  She cried out and he felt her legs tremble as her body shook. Both of her hands were in his hair, one trying to pull him away, while the other held him in place. She began moaning again, no longer trying to pull him away, as she locked her ankles behind his neck.

  He released the skin, immediately thrusting his tongue back into her hole. She climaxed again, her nectar pouring out of her, into his mouth and down his chin. He kept his tongue moving constantly, going back to her rosebud and licking forward and then deeply inside her. Control was his and he pushed her ecstasy higher and higher, driving her to the feverish edge.

  He returned to her clit, flicking it with his tongue and sucking it into his mouth. And taking her over the edge.

  Clutching him, she climaxed seemingly without end, filling his mouth though he swallowed, and swallowed again.

  She loosed her fingers from his hair and fell back on the table, moaning. Her legs lay on his shoulders and through them, he could tell her whole body was trembling.

  He squirmed out from under her legs and sat back on his heels, satisfied.

  She would remember him.

  Her moans quieted. She was gasping, breathing deeply.

  And fear stirred in his gut.

  Was she sated now? Now, would her questions start anew? Would she raise the flogger to him again?

  Or something worse…

  Had she used her body—her sex—to break his spirit?

  His feeling of power deserted him and he realized his vulnerability. He rolled onto his side, pulling his knees towards his chest and waited, listening, to see what would happen next.

  Her breathing calmed and she left the table, moving in front of him. With her hands on his shoulder, she tried to push him onto his back. He resisted, holding his place, and then felt one hand in his hair as she slid the other under his cheek, raising his head.

  She kissed him full on the mouth, her tongue demanding entrance and her lips pressed hard against his.

  She wasn’t sated. She wanted more.

  He rolled onto his back, keeping his knees bent, and she straddled him, pressing his legs flat. She laid her body against his and he felt her nipples brushing his chest.

  And still, she kissed him.

  His heart pounding, he returned her kiss, meeting passion with passion, taking as much from her as she demanded from him.

  She began rubbing herself against him and he felt her folds separate as her juices mixed with his own. Her clit became hard again and she drew it up and down his shaft. A moan started at the back of her throat and he could feel its vibration in her tongue.

  As her moan erupted, she pulled her mouth from his and he felt her breath hot on his neck as she panted. He turned his head, his lips searching for and finding her throat, and then her ear lobe.

  She continued rubbing herself against him. Each time she brushed the head of his cock, he felt a small shock of pleasure. Her clit was hard and her wetness was streaming down onto his stomach.

  His searching lips found her bosom and he sucked the nipple into his mouth, feeling its hardness as he circled it with his tongue and grazed it lightly with his teeth.

  She moaned again, louder, and he could feel her legs trembling against his sides.

  He released her nipple and turned to her cleavage, pulling skin into his mouth, latching onto it, his passion intense.

  He wanted to mark her. Not for the world to see, but for her to see, to know that, no matter how brief the time had been, she had been his.

  She didn’t resist. He didn’t know whether she didn’t mind, or didn’t realize what he was doing. He didn’t care. He was doing it.

  Her hands were in his hair and she clutched him to her, still rubbing herself against him, still trembling. And then, suddenly, she was gone. Her bosom gone from his mouth, the heat from her body gone from his skin. But he could tell she was still astraddle him, her legs still pressed against his sides.

  He moaned and braced his hands on the dirt floor, raising his torso, searching for her, wanting her…

  And felt her, her hand on him as she guided him in.

  He gasped. He was so close to losing control. He took a deep breath, restraining himself, lowering his heartbeat, his heat, by just a fraction. Just enough to make it last.

  The warmth of her body returned but not her weight, as she supported herself on her knees, her hands on the dirt floor. He felt her stretch to take him in, felt her wetness, her own heat, encompass him. She took him in, just an inch or so and then stopped, backing off until the tip barely parted her lips.


  And then in again.

  Cherry fucking him.

  Dominating him, controlling his sensations as he had controlled hers before.

  His heart raced and his whole body tingled. Intensity gripped his stomach like a vise.

  She continued to cherry fuck him and his moaning grew louder. He tossed his head from side to side. He wanted in her, but this felt so wonderful, he didn’t want it to stop.

  She relaxed against him, putting more of her weight on him. Her breath was hot on his neck and he could feel her heart pounding. Every nerve in his body was alive. He felt the dirt floor under his shoulders and hands, his ass and the backs of his thighs. He felt her nipples pressed against his skin.

  As wonderful as it felt, the urge to be deeply inside her was growing, becoming a need. He thrust his hips upwards, trying to satisfy his need.

  He slipped out of her and groaned loudly. She sat up, bracing herself with her hands on his chest and moved. The heat from her legs disappeared. It took him just a moment to realize…

  She was squatting over him, her feet flat upon the floor.

  He trembled, panting with anticipation, waiting…

  In one swift movement, she impaled herself upon him, coming down hard.

  He gasped, feeling her wet heat envelope him. Euphoria coursed through his veins like a drug. Their joined bodies became his sole focus; all else ceased to exist.

  He could feel his tip pressing against her; feel her lips on his stomach and the top of his balls. For just an instant, he didn’t move, savoring the moment, the sensations and the realization of where he was…

  His cock in the womb of the Queen.

  Then he braced his hands against the floor and flexed himself, raising his hips and driving even deeper inside her.

  She gasped and then moaned. Her hands pressed harder on his chest as she ground herself against him, circling her hips, rocking and driving him deeper still.

  She lifted herself up and he felt the folds of her lips hug his shaft. And then she thrust herself down on him again, and then again.

  He struggled to keep from coming. He wasn’t ready for it to be over, didn’t want it to ever end.

  She continued to fuck him, her juices streaming down his shaft and onto his balls, between his thighs and down the crack of his ass. He braced himself, rising up to meet her each time. Someone was moaning loudly and he wasn’t sure if it was himself, or her…or them both.

  He felt the pressure building and knew he couldn’t hold it back much longer. He fought to rise higher each time, driving deeper each time. His groin contracted, and he felt the force move from the head of his cock down to his balls and back up again, the sperm-filled semen swelling his already engorged member. His stomach tightened and his toes curled from the intensity.

  As his juices passed through him, it took his breath. As it passed out of his body, the image of it flooding the Queen’s womb flashed through his mind. He raised his hips even higher, drove into her deeper and faster, feeling his essence, his total being, pass from himself into her.

  She collapsed, falling on top of him, gasping for breath. Their chests pressed together; their hearts beat as one.

  He felt her lips soft on his, kissing him gently. He returned her kiss, his energy gone. He felt himself slipping into oblivion.

  When she rose off him, his mind registered the sudden lack of her warmth but then she spread the blanket over him. Her fingers were in his hair, brushing it off his forehead as she murmured in his ear.

  “Rest, my warrior. I’ll have more food brought down later.”

  He rolled onto his side, taking his weight off his hands and let himself slip away.

  “Wake up, Knight of Westmoorland. Wake up and eat.”

  Her hand was on his shoulder, gently shaking him. He roused and opened his eyes, struggling to focus. He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but it wasn’t long enough.

  As though reading his thoughts, she said softly, “Eat now. Then, you can sleep until morning.”

  The aroma of freshly cooked food filled him. He labored to sit up, leaning against the wall.

  The Queen sat on the blanket in front of him, wearing a different dress than earlier. Beside her, on the floor, sat a large plate, overflowing with food, a varietal banquet of meats and potatoes. His eyes grew wide.

  “Is all of that for me?” His voice was deep, speech slurred from weariness.

  She smiled. “All of this and more. Until your stomach is full.”

  She offered a bite of meat, again waiting until his mouth closed around it before withdrawing her fingers.

  He tried not to smile. “Your maidservant was well pleased?”

  The slightest tinge of color rose to her cheeks. Dropping her eyes, she selected a piece of potato. “It was…” She paused to clear her throat. “Better than she’d ever imagined it could be.”

  The warrior stared at her. Was she speaking the truth? He knew that Queen Gracelyn and King William had been lovers. Did she mean he was better than the king was?

  Accepting the food from her, he closed his lips firmly, pressing his tongue around her fingers as she pulled them out of his mouth.

  The color on her cheeks deepened.

  She lowered her eyes to the plate, choosing a piece of ham. He lowered his, as well, but he wasn’t looking at the food. The V-neck of her bodice hid her cleavage, but as she leaned toward him, offering the meat, it fell open far enough.

  Quickly, he raised his eyes to hers, fighting a grin as she fed him the bite.

  She was marked. It wasn’t big, or very dark, but she bore the mark of his passion.

  “King William prohibits you from marrying. But he can’t keep you from taking a lover.” She held his gaze. “So have you taken one?”

  Shaking his head, he responded softly, “No.”

  “Ah, so you have not one, but several, then…” She broke eye contact, a strange tone in her voice.

  Is she jealous? He wondered. Or was it wishful thinking, because of his own jealousy?

  After meeting Queen Gracelyn, he had forsaken the other maidens, his heart yearning for her. He immersed himself in his training, seldom yielding to the seduction of other women and then only to retain his sanity. He moved quickly up the ranks as a soldier, earning his knighthood in less than three years.

  In Westmoorland, the knights resided in a wing of the castle and had the freedom to move through the castle halls. After he’d moved into the castle, late on the first night of the Queen’s next visit, he’d been in the shadows and observed King William enter the guest chamber of the Queen. He’d emerged, thirty minutes later, yawning and his shirt on inside out.

  Knowing he had no right, the young Knight still felt crushed and angered. He’d gone out to a tavern, where he found another knight. He’d gotten drunk, waking in the morning in a strange bed.

  The King’s visit to Queen Gracelyn’s chamber repeated every night of her stay. He soon learned this was standard, not just with Queen Gracelyn but also with any young woman who stayed in the castle.

  After that, the warrior became very popular with the women in town. And he always went out when Queen Gracelyn visited, unable to stand the thought of her with King William.

  And then a year later, returning to his room after such a night out, he passed by her chamber. He had just seen the King leave and knew she was alone.

  And he heard her crying.

  He stood in the hall, unsteady on his feet from the ale in his system, and listened to her sobs. He’d pondered on that for quite a while.

  The women in town ceased to hold his attention. Soon, he stopped going out, except when his sanity demanded a release.

  All of this crossed his mind while the Queen continued to feed him.

  “No,” he repeated.
“Not several. Not one. But, what of you?” he asked, swallowing a chunk of veal. “No one prohibits you from taking a husband and yet…you’ve never wed.” He knew it was not his place to question her, but his heart demanded he do so, anyway. He waited, without drawing breath, for her answer.

  Queen Gracelyn frowned thoughtfully, picking through the remaining food on the plate. “When I marry, I would like it to be for love. If that cannot be, then…” She tore a roll apart and offered him a piece of it, finally raising her eyes to his. “I will only marry if it advances the lives of my people.” Placing the bread in his mouth, she withdrew her fingers more quickly this time.

  “T’was a time, some in Westmoorland thought you would be her Queen.” This was truth, though the warrior had been secretly relieved when it didn’t happen.

  “I suppose. But William chose to wed Jenna, instead.”

  He searched her face, looking for traces of anger or jealousy that were absent in her impassive tone. He found none.

  He frowned, remembering…

  King William had claimed that Queen Gracelyn was jealous and angered by his matrimony to Lady Jenna. He’d insisted that, for revenge, she had done something to cause the streams in northern Westmoorland to dry up.

  The warrior had never understood the king’s reasoning, but his training since boyhood was not to question the Sovereign’s reasons. He had tried to convince himself that it was his heart, his own feelings for the Queen, that made her seem incapable of such a spiteful act.

  And now, gazing upon her, he still didn’t know if it was his heart or his intellect, but he couldn’t believe she would stoop so low, causing the suffering of poor families. Not she, who cared so much about her people.

  King William, he knew, could do so without a second thought, if it furthered his own agenda.

  The warrior yawned widely and the Queen smiled. The plate was empty, save for a few pieces of potato and a half a roll.