The Emerald Knight

by Diana Sheridan

  Now he thrust his middle finger to Randour’s lips, and Randour greedily began to suck on it. Wynfarad laughed with delight and let Randour demonstrate his desire to suck something larger, and then he withdrew his now spit-wet finger and positioned it at the entrance to Randour’s channel. Entering his new lover with this primed finger, he began to finger-fuck him determinedly. While Randour fucked Wynfarad’s mouth with his dick, Wynfarad began to fuck Randour’s asshole with his finger.

  A shiver raced through Randour’s bulky frame as that finger entered him and began squirming its way inside and upward. Randour lifted his hips high in the air at the feeling, fucking upward so rapidly that Wynfarad lost his finger’s placement in Randour’s asshole and slipped out altogether. But a second later, that determined finger prodded again at Randour’s sphincter, a millimeter off-center but determined to find its way. Once again finding Randour’s wrinkled opening, Wynfarad insinuated his finger determinedly within the grip of Randour’s sphincter. As his finger sank to its full length and speared the quivering tunnel, Randour’s dick reacted by pulsing sharply.

  His hips took off under their own steam and began rapidly ramming his dick in and out of his new lover’s mouth. Randour crammed Wynfarad’s mouth full of his wild and eager dick, stuffing his throat, already eager to cream. He didn’t want this part of the encounter to end too abruptly, yet he wondered just how he was going to hold back the orgasm he was already teetering on the brink of. He wanted to enjoy the experience for as long as he could make it last. Yet with Wynfarad’s lips squeezing the jism right out of him, his sucking mouth suctioning the jism right up from Randour’s balls, he was virtually helpless to fight off the orgasm.

  He tried to think of something unsexy. Mortal combat. Fighting other knights. Slaying wild and ferocious beasts. Those were surely ardor-dampening thoughts. But he couldn’t keep his mind on such thoughts for long. Not with Wynfarad’s mouth insistently pulling the cum up from Randour’s balls. His breath was warm and moist. His lips were tight and loving. His suction was demanding. And he was making little encouraging noises in his throat as if he were urging Randour to give up his load now.

  It wouldn’t take much encouragement, that was for sure.

  Wynfarad looked up from his kneeling position, hovering over his mouthful of eager dick, looked Randour in the eyes, and grinned knowingly. Then his hand cupped Randour’s balls, hefted their weight, and slowly, gently squeezed. It was the final straw. The knight’s dick reared up in the sorcerer’s sucking mouth and fired off a volley of searing semen, and another, and another. The one orgasm seemed to last an impossibly long time, reverberating deep within Randour.

  When he relaxed onto the soft grass to luxuriate, spent, his dick was still as hard as ever. He felt wrung out, yet he was still seethingly erect. It was Wynfarad’s turn for satisfaction now, however.

  Wynfarad seemed to be deriving a certain degree of satisfaction from tasting the creamy load in his mouth. From the way his cheeks hollowed and his jaw moved, he seemed to be rolling the jism around in his mouth, as if delighting his taste buds. His eyes twinkled when he looked deeply into Randour’s eyes. Then he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his gullet received its treat. He licked his lips, apparently wanting to gather in any straggling drops of cum that had eluded being swallowed.

  Randour’s eyes dropped from Wynfarad’s mouth and down his supple, strong body to his towering erection, which seemed to call to Randour the way a magnet called to iron filings. He responded in the same way, drawn inexorably closer to his powerful hard-on. Wrapping his lips around Wynfarad’s dickhead, he compressed the spongy stalk with his mouth and began to eagerly work his way down the shaft. The feel of the warm flesh and the slightly sweat-salty taste of it sent shivers of excitement through Randour’s hefty gonads. He tightened his grip on the cylindrical treat that was Wynfarad’s dick, and his blood raced at the feel of the palpably ridgelike veins.

  By now the raging dick was leaking copious tears of pre-cum. It was halfway into Randour’s mouth, the dickhead hovering above the middle part of his tongue. He could taste the droplets of viscous fluid as they emanated from the weeping opening in the tip of his dick. Wynfarad jutted his hips another inch farther forward, then suddenly lurched deep into Randour’s gullet, causing him to gag. “Sorry!” Wynfarad apologized, withdrawing until only the bulbous crown remained in Randour’s suddenly empty mouth. “I got carried away. Your mouth is so warm and enticing.” Then he cautiously began feeding his dick back into Randour’s mouth, an inch at a time.

  Cautiously, Wynfarad began shuttling in and out of Randour’s mouth, never driving too deep but still giving him the satisfaction of feeling that spongy shaft in his mouth, taking possession of his oral cavern. Randour felt Wynfarad’s raw strength, the power of his engorged maleness, the excitement that surged through his veins, and the need he was trying to rein in for Randour’s sake so he wouldn’t gag him again.

  Inspired, Randour took a deep breath and gobbled down an additional inch of Wynfarad’s cock. He was knocking at the door of Randour’s gullet now, although his dick was thick enough that Randour couldn’t quite manage to get him down there without triggering his gag reflex. Still, Randour did tighten his mouth’s grip on Wynfarad, as well as his lip-lock, until he had the tightest possible hold on his rampaging organ. Then Wynfarad began moving in and out faster.

  For a few minutes, they settled into a regular rhythm of Randour sucking steadily on Wynfarad like that. Wynfarad clearly had better staying power than did Randour. He lasted. He lasted. He lasted even longer, mouth-fucking the knight without ever reaching climax or even seeming on the verge of doing so. He fucked his mouth easily, not feeding Randour any more of his considerable length and thickness than he could take. Randour worked his way up and down the spongy stalk of Wynfarad’s dick, and he hefted his balls and squeezed them rhythmically. For some reason, though, he hesitated to invade Wynfarad’s asshole with his finger yet.

  At that point, Randour became a little more creative. He fluttered his tongue against the underside of Wynfarad’s fleshy cylinder. He varied the degree of suction, sucking hard and relaxing, then hard again, rhythmically taunting his dick even as he continued to slide his lips up and down that delicious shaft.

  He could have happily gone on and on, and he was rejoicing in the thought of getting a creamy mouthful of Wynfarad’s spending, but the sorcerer put a stop to his sucking, saying, “I don’t know if I can get hard a second time, and I want to make sure I have a chance to plow your ass.”

  Randour let go his lip-lock on Wynfarad’s rod with mixed emotions. On the one hand, he didn’t want to stop sucking. On the other hand, he yearned to feel Wynfarad’s dick plow up into his nether reaches and fuck the all out of his ass. When Wynfarad presented three fingers to Randour’s mouth, Randour knew what the young sorcerer wanted. Slathering those fingers with as much spit as he could muster, he got them ready to prime his asshole and, in turn, get it ready for the invasion of Wynfarad’s rampaging cock.

  One finger probed inside him, tickling the inside of his anal sphincter, tantalizing a few nerves that had never been discovered before, nerves Randour hadn’t even known he had. That finger was soon joined by the other two that Randour had licked and deposited his saliva on, and now Wynfarad was finger-fucking his ass with all three digits, stretching his anal sphincter wide, tantalizing every nerve ending he could find.

  This made Randour that much more itchy to feel Wynfarad within him, itchy to get him to scratch the tickling feeling he had gotten going. Pure excitement raged through Randour at the prospect of being heartily fucked by this avid young man. He urged him in by wiggling his butt cheeks at him. “Stuff me,” he growled in a voice that quivered with more raw excitement than Randour had thought he was capable of.

  “I had better go slow,” Wynfarad answered in a voice that was trembling with controlled excitement of his own. “I’m just as eager as you. I’m desperately desirous of fucking you. You inflame
me more than anyone I’ve lain with before, but I’m going to do it right. I don’t want this to be painful for you.”

  Randour didn’t fear pain. He was a brave knight. Yet he didn’t seek it out, either, and he knew that if sex wasn’t performed cautiously, it could be a less than happy experience. Still, when he felt Wynfarad’s swollen dick poking at his spit-slicked asshole, he threw caution to the wind. And then, as if his ass had a mind of its own, it was backing up against the invading dickhead.

  Wynfarad eased forward, but he met with some fierce resistance from Randour’s tight sphincter. While no virgin, at twenty-four, Randour had not led a wild and riotous sex life, either. He pushed backward against the welcome invader again, but his asshole couldn’t seem to swallow Wynfarad’s swollen dome. Wynfarad pushed inward again. There was a fiery flash of a burning sensation, but it quickly subsided, and now Wynfarad’s dickhead was lodged inside Randour.

  With the momentary flash of burning gone, Randour found himself yearning to feel more of Wynfarad’s thick dick crammed up inside him. He found himself backing up so his asshole could swallow more of Wynfarad’s eagerly plunging dick.

  Sensing he was ready for more, Wynfarad fed a couple more inches of his dick up Randour’s rear entrance. Randour backed up to get more, and Wynfarad slammed it in to the hilt. He jammed deep into Randour, who suddenly found himself stuffed full of thick, throbbing dick. He tightened his sphincter’s grip on Wynfarad’s impressively huge dick.

  Wynfarad speeded up his pace as he fucked Randour. Driving his dick deep up Randour’s anal channel, he fucked so far inside him that Randour thought he felt Wynfarad burrowing deep into his belly. Then he surprised Randour by suddenly reaching around and tweaking his nipples. When he did that, Randour experienced a spontaneous orgasm. Suddenly and without warning, his dick spewed a respectable load of thick jism all over the grass below him.

  Wynfarad drove deeper than ever up into Randour’s canal. “I’m about to come any second,” he warned Randour in a choked voice, his breathing labored as he neared his peak. He started barging in and out of Randour at a furious pace. He jammed deep inside him one more time, another, one last time... Then he was digging his fingernails into Randour’s shoulder as he spewed his cream deep up in Randour’s channel.

  As they lay side by side, glowing in the aftermath, Wynfarad paid real attention to Randour’s emerald amulet for the first time. “It really is set into your skin!” he said in a voice tinged with awe and amazement. “Yet your skin never grew over it, it seems?” His voice went up, questioningly.

  “No, never,” Randour confirmed. “It grew around it and drew it down into my flesh somehow. I really don’t understand the workings of the human body. But the skin never grew over the amulet.

  The amulet flashed in time with Randour’s heartbeats, which were still rapid as he had not yet fully come down from his orgasm. The amulet emitted a faint yet audible thudding sound, too, in time with the beating of his heart. As his pulse rate and heartbeats slowed, post-orgasmically, the amulet’s flashes and thuds became more spaced out. Wynfarad stared at it in amazement. Hesitantly, he put a finger to the stone, touching it almost reluctantly. Then, apparently growing more comfortable, he ran his finger across the irregularly cut surface of the gem. “Fascinating!” he exclaimed in a near-whisper.

  “And you have no idea as to what its powers might be?” Randour asked.

  “No idea at all.”

  “There is no way you can divine its powers, determine what they are? No tests you can do to try out its capacities? No way of finding out what magic it possesses?”

  “I am truly baffled. But remember, I am still learning. That is why I am seeking out Merlin, as I told you.”

  “Ah well, more experienced sorcerers than you have been unable to answer the puzzle either.” Randour lay back on the grass, his fingertips idly tracing patterns on Wynfarad’s skin. They trailed across his chest, his belly, up his side, onto his shoulder, down his arm, and back up to his neck. The sunlight, reaching them in patterns through the leafy trees above, dappled their bodies and warmed them. Randour noticed that the sun was no longer straight up in the sky. “I think we had best get dressed and continue making our way to Camelot Castle,” he suggested, reluctantly hoisting himself to an upright position. “The day grows later. We don’t know quite how far we have to go yet, and we do want to arrive before nightfall.”

  “Maybe if Malachi were to see your amulet…” Wynfarad let the thought hang there as he got up and got dressed. With less to put on, he was ready to travel again before Randour was.

  “Malachi? Who would that be?”

  “My former mentor. While I am sure that Merlin knows much more than he does—that is the purpose of my traveling to the castle in the first place, after all—he still might know something about your amulet. Ah well, you will see Merlin before you ever might have the opportunity to meet Malachi, and Merlin is the most knowledgeable of them all.”

  “I hope you are right and he will be able to help me. But for now, come, my friend. Let us mount our horses and resume our journey. This interlude has been pleasant, but we must make haste to the castle.”

  They found their horses where they had left them tied, Bolt impatiently stomping the ground and flaring his nostrils, eager to end his idleness. By contrast, Wynfarad’s mount, Emma, the dappled gray mare, was placidly nibbling at grass and awaiting her master. The two men unfastened the reins from the trees they had tied them to, mounted their horses, and set off down the road again.

  “I hope Camelot is not too far off,” Randour said, eyeing the sky warily. Not only was the sun a bit lower in the sky than he would have liked, but now there were dark clouds scudding toward the sun from the west. Rain seemed possible and was not a pleasant prospect.

  Wynfarad’s eyes followed Randour’s gaze as he, too, took note of the sky. “Let us urge our horses to move a bit faster,” he suggested. “I do not wish to wear them out with undue speed, but clearly this is no time for lollygagging.”

  Both men urged their mounts to pick up the pace, and soon they were again underway, moving with deliberate haste toward the castle. Randour was filled with hope that his wishes, and his new friend’s wishes, too, might finally be fulfilled.

  Chapter 2

  Fortunately, the rain never materialized, though that left the dry roadway dusty. Bolt and Emma kicked up clouds of dust as they stepped smartly toward the castle, carrying their road-weary masters onward. Though the horses seemed none the more tired for their long journey, Randour’s energy was definitely flagging, and Wynfarad, too, was slumped a bit in his saddle.

  At last, though, Wynfarad called out, “Look up ahead!” and Randour, straining his eyes, could just about make out the spires of what had to be the castle. The thought that they were nearing the end of their journey perked him up and gave him renewed energy.

  They traveled farther, and now they could see not just the spires and turrets but the castle itself, gray and majestic, looming up ahead. “We have arrived!” exulted Wynfarad.

  “And still well before nightfall,” Randour added, excitement causing his heart to beat faster at the thought that at last he might get an answer to what the magical properties were of the emerald amulet, not to mention gaining the opportunity to join the Round Table and serve under King Arthur himself. As his heartbeat quickened, he could hear the quiet but now discernible thud thud thud thud of the amulet, beating along with his heart, faster and louder now that his heart rate had speeded up.

  At the raised drawbridge, two soldiers stopped them and challenged, “State your names and business.”

  “I am Sir Randour.”

  “And I am Wynfarad.”

  “I was knighted by King Harald, but I come here to see if I may serve King Arthur and join his Knights of the Round Table. I also wish to see Merlin. I have a question for him.”

  “I am here to see Merlin myself. I am a sorcerer, but one of limited skills. I have been educated in sorcery by my
mentor, Malachi, to the extent that he could help me, but I wish to learn more at the feet of the greatest sorcerer of all.”

  The guards let down the drawbridge and bade the pair enter. As the horses trotted smartly across the bridge that spanned the moat, Randour looked around in awe and wonder. Camelot Castle was far, far grander than King Harald’s castle in the capital of Westover. Could I really become a part of all this?

  Past the moat, the duo found themselves in a courtyard. Men and women of many descriptions bustled about, some carrying foodstuffs, others at other business. The pair crossed the wide courtyard and approached the gate to the castle itself. Again they were requested to state their names and business, though this guard asked them in a less challenging way. After all, they had satisfied the guards at the drawbridge. They must be acceptable. The question this time was more of a request for information. Randour and Wynfarad gave the same answers as before.

  “You will have an easier time seeing Arthur than Merlin,” said one guard with a discouraging shake of his head.

  “And why is that?” questioned Wynfarad.

  “He is trying to figure out any means he can devise to deal with the beast. He has tried potions and lotions, powders and incantations, but all to no avail.”

  “The beast?” asked Randour, but the guard did not answer him, and he thought it best not to ask again. Still, he wondered. The beast?

  “You have come a far distance?” the guard asked.

  “Yes. Both of us. I have come all the way from Westover.”

  “And while I come from within the kingdom of Camelot, I have journeyed quite a distance, spending five days on the road to get here.”

  “Then I take it you have no lodgings nearby?”

  “That we have not, for certain,” answered Randour.

  “Very well. There are guest lodgings in the north wing. We will find rooms for you both, and we will stable your horses as well.”