Now a castle with a moat and a dungeon and a damsel in distress is hardly the kind of thing you would expect to find on the Hudson River, but I found it; I found all of them and eventually wished I had not. After a while I was surprised the strange place did not have a dragon.
I was in the process of trying to decide whether or not a military career was really what I wanted when I stumbled upon it late one chilly day. I did not realize it was a castle when I crossed a narrow, wooden bridge and banged on the thick door in the stone wall. I could see the ramparts rising above me, but the clouds were low and the rain was nasty so I really did not care.
The woman who finally answered my knocks was well-dressed, her gray hair pulled back and knotted in a complicated manner. She stood with the door open barely a hand-breadth, barring my way.
"I'm seeking shelter," I told her, putting on my best manner with my knee on the open door.
"Seek it elsewhere," she said.
I pushed my way in and stood with my back to the heavy door, admiring her rich clothes. "Please," I said, "just until it clears."
She ran, her skirts and elbow lace flapping and disappeared up a narrow, winding stairway. I followed, softly and carefully, dripping a trail of rainwater, until I heard a scream from somewhere far above. I sat my musket aside and ran the steps to a huge hall with a very high ceiling crossed by dusty beams and hung with banners, armor and weapons of all kinds. A smoldering fire burned at the far end and two people, one of them obviously a woman from her flowing hair and swirling gown, struggled there.
I ran to the pair, tossed the lean man aside and took the woman under one arm enjoying the feel of her. Her assailant scrambled to his feet, cursed me foully and ran for the stone steps at the side of the vast room.
The young woman trembled in my grasp, pulling her thin clothes over her lush and barely clothed body, her long, blonde hair everywhere. "Who are you?" she demanded in a throaty voice, a trembling voice. Her dark blue eyes were very frightened, pleading, and her nightdress still hung loosely away from one pale shoulder.
"A soldier," I said. "Who is he?"
"Rupert," the said, "the duke's son. He wants me to, to..." She buried her face in my chest. The clatter of feet descended the stairs. It was the thin young man I had tossed aside and two heavily armed men bearing pikes and wearing swords, chest plates and a livery of purple and green. I drew my big pistol from the back my belt, and they skidded to halt some ten paces off as I cocked it. The young man stepped between them wearing a sickly smile.
"That's my woman, the stupid bitch," he said very icily, hand on the hilt of his rapier.
"Is she?" I asked, my hand on her curving hip and feeling quite possessive, hoping my powder was dry. The girl gasped for breath, clamped tightly to me, arms about my waist, firm breast hard on my back.
"Indeed," he said, "she was bought and paid for. I have the paper if you'd like to see it."
"Don't," the girl said, clinging to me, her belly now against my thigh as she squirmed about, my hand on her bare back and rounded shoulder as her gown barely hung to her elbow and clung to one upright breast.
"I think she would rather be left alone," I said, enjoying the feel of her nearness as she rubbed her bulging mons on my leg, her breast on my ribs.
'Hah," the man cried. "Take him!"
The pikes came down and the guards growled and stepped forward quickly. I backed up, bringing the girl with me, checked my pan quickly, leveled the heavy pistol carefully and shot the braver of the two in the face. He screamed and fell back, letting his long weapon clatter to the stone floor. His fellow hesitated, and I tossed away my gun, pushed the young woman aside, grabbed the long pike from his hands, clubbed the helmet from his ears and then impaled him with the huge blade, pinning his body to the floor. He kicked his legs and waved his arm like a crushed bug, the spear rising like a quivering mast from his belly.
The velvet-dressed man in the wide-sleeved shirt had drawn his sword, assumed the classic dueling position and now came at me very bravely and confidently, a sneer on his face. I turned aside and let his first thrust pass under my shoulder, clamped his arm to my side, spun and elbowed him in the nose, kicked him in the groin, disarmed him and was about to skewer him with the thin blade when the girl screamed, "Please, don't do it. They have my mother."
I kicked him in the side of the head, grabbed her and headed for the nearest door, his sword in my hand. Wooden stairs led upward, and I ran, hauling her along. Halfway up the tower, she pulled me to a halt and led us through a side door. I followed her down a carpeted hall at a trot, her light gown and golden hair spreading wide behind her, and into a tiny room furnished with a bed and small table.
An oil lamp gleamed by the water pitcher. She smiled at me, panting, and then turned her back. The crease of her spine showed clearly as her gown hung loosely from her lithe body. She stepped to her bed.
The young woman turned to face me, loosened the ribbon and let her limp nightdress cascade to the floor. It was like a dream, her incredible body, and I wondered if I were truly awake. I tossed the sword aside, barred the door, tore off my boots and britches and quickly faced her, fully erect, trembling from the fights below, my stalk long and spear-like.
Her eyes widened as I pulled my shirt over my head, took her hands and drew her to me, letting my blood-hot member slide off beside her slim waist. She was only about five feet tall and perhaps seven stone. She was young but certainly nubile, full-breasted and round hipped. The triangle of hair between her heavy thighs was a knot of golden curls and her nipples rose like flower buds.
Her young body was all curves and softness, and her mouth was wet and yielding, her buttocks firm and round. She kicked her feet as I lifted her to my height and kissed her soundly. My burrowing hand discovered that she was wetly ready for penetration, and I could not wait.
"He wasn't lying," she sighed when she pulled her lips from mine, eyes damp and wide open under heavy lashes, nipples hard against my ribs with my prod mashed between us. "He owns me."
I got one of her legs above my hip and, with some difficulty and some battering and poking, slid my rigid lance into her puckered slit. Once the head had popped in, it got much easier. She cried out and leaned back as pulled her other leg up and drove deeper into her tiny pink crevice, my hands full of her hard butt. I watched my shaft slowly disappear into her, seemingly turning her lips inside out. Then she hooked her ankles behind me, and with a grunt, I sank my long rod all the way up into her tight and viscous channel.
"'Sblood," she cried, wriggling on the swollen spike and leaning back until her head touched the bed, "that's awful, awful. M'lord, I can't believe it. You're tearing me apart, ripping me open."
She spasmed within, and my eager root sank even deeper, jumping like a mad thing, devouring her vagina, tearing at its sides, ramming at her spongy cervix as I thrust and rocked from side to side, screwing it into her while her body flailed wildly, speared, impaled, riven. Her cunny was very tight and very much alive, pulsing, and contracting wildly.
I swung her around and sat back on the bed with the lush girl wrapped about me, legs bent, and my rampant root throbbing away deeply inside her. She leaned back until her curls touched the floor and then flexed up to enfold me and kiss me. She spasmed and gasped, contracting her groin muscles, massaging my eager ram.
"Slow, slow," she moaned, moving her hips up and back in time with my efforts, "Please, please, slowly." She humped steadily, breasts and belly bouncing. I sucked each jutting tit in turn until her nipples stuck out like finger tips, and she sighed loudly, eyes closed tightly.
I lay back and let her set the pace. Her firm dugs hung in my face as she swived me faster and faster, mouth agape, eyes closed until she came, shuddering and mewling and arched above me.
I rolled her over and finished my work on her, my hands outstretched beside her lovely face, pumping out my pleasure into her limp body atop the cool quilts. She stayed grappled to me, and her head swung back and forth, raking her long, silken hair across her face.
"Ah, ah, ah," she sighed, gathering her strength although still solidly impaled. "I've never done that. Never. I don't believe it, what we did." She trembled on my sodden lance. "But there is no escape from this place, no escape. Do some more." She heaved at me again, wanting more.
"I got in," I told her, caressing her and hoping for much more, letting my randy prod leap within her, striking bone and finding new areas to probe as I rocked from side to side, rotating my pelvis as I extended my arms and bent my back. "We can get out."
"No, no," she said, thrashing beneath me, tears in her dark eyes as her hips began to respond, "the wolves. You don't understand." She pushed on my chest with both hands.
I kissed her, drew my aching prod from her and pulled a quilt over us. "Start at the beginning," I said, getting our bodies together spoon fashion, her rump in my groin and my hands cupping her luscious breasts with no sense of time or place. My lance probed, jumping for joy between her legs. Wolves, something whispered my mind. Hurry said another part of my brain.
.... There is more of this story ...