You must be over the legal age of majority in your region or at least 18 to ENTER this site
Click on the image to hear or download my latest Pod Cast:
Click HERE to go to my podcast Archive
Mid Evil Knight
Fiction by Essemoh Teepee© (2006 -
In the bright moonlight it looked black; its dark crimson colour shading to a rich brown on its rippling underside in contact with the rough stone of the wall it was scaling. The watch guards in the overlooking towers did not see its climb. Fluid movements, smooth with no angular limbs to betray it to night sharp peripheral vision. Dead leaves and small twigs adhered to it, dulling the wet gleam of its slug like skin. Reaching a window, it poured itself over the cill and around the ill fitting wooden shutters, into the room beyond. It was the essence of an evil thought, a magikal construct; the embodiment of a base desire given form and set loose. It pooled under the window on the floor of the bedchamber. Pausing to seek out body warmth it then wormed towards the silk and fur covered sleeping platform.
The Lady Eleanora slept deeply and uncovered, having flung off the bed linens in the Indian summer warmth. In her restlessness her fine silk night gown had twisted up around her small breasts. Her pale ivory skin was in sharp contrast to her flowing raven mane and shadowed curls at her groin. The young woman was dreaming of knights; tall handsome knights with tousled hair, piercing grey eyes under thick black eyebrows and powerful bulging calves filling their hose. The Lady Eleanora's dream was of her cousin, brave chivalrous Lawrence who was Outremer, in the Holy Land for a year and a day.
On the day almost a year ago, before Lawrence left for the Crusade, Eleanora had watched him, spying secretly through a rent in the wall of his tent as he was getting ready for the last tourney of the autumn festival. His form had been magnificent; heavily muscled broad shoulders atop a solid torso, sculpted by years of combat and clad in matted wiry black hair. Eleanora had gazed at his iron hard belly disappearing into a tangle of glossy black curls between his massive thighs. She had devoured the sight of his maleness, thick and pendulous springing from his shadowed crotch above balls that were of a size to rival those possessed by her favourite wolfhound. Eleanora had become wet at the thought of lying with Lawrence, his heroic cock rampant within her. She had retreated as his squire and page had entered to prepare him in his armour but had returned quietly to watch her cousin dress for battle. As the page offered up his hose, she heard Lawrence speak gruffly.
'Here boy, I need to cool my heat before the joust.' grasping the lad by his hair he had dragged him to his knees in front of him. Eleanora understood why when Lawrence stroked himself to a magnificent purple stand and gripped the page's head with both his large hands. His upward curving phallus had brought to Eleanora's mind the stallions she had watched in her fathers' stables, when at stud they mounted the snorting stamping mares. She had gasped silently when Lawrence forced himself between the boy's lips once, twice, a third time and then with a deeper thrust, grunting and shuddering he had emptied himself into the page's overflowing mouth. She fancied there was a dark look in the squire's shadowed eyes as he watched. Eleanora would have given her most precious possession to have taken the place of the slim young page, drinking down her cousin's noble measure; she would not have let any precious drop escape her lips to be trampled in the sawdust.
The evil intent made flesh flowed up the trailing silks onto the pallet and across crumpled linen to the sleeping Eleanora's ankle, pausing as she moaned in her sleep at its first cool touch. It was not a random demonic visitation, it had a reason for being in that place. Demouze, the sorceress had called it forth from the dark realms to settle a score with Eleanora's father.
There had been commerce between the Duke and the witch; he desired advantage in negotiations with the King and was not above seeking magikal assistance with his object. Demouze had agreed to his proposals and did several secret things to aid the Duke that were fruitful in obtaining his ends. He had gone to her dwelling unexpectedly at sundown one day, to settle his debt of gold as they had agreed.
He surprised Demouze in her garden of sorcery, engaged in foul congress with her familiar. The sight of her tossing her flame red hair and her lithe white body, writhing on all fours beneath the twisted form as it mounted her, had in equal measure disgusted and inflamed him. He had watched a while as the pair coupled, touching himself as he listened to the woman moan and cry out in depraved ecstasy. It became too much for his composure as he became harder in his hand; in a self righteous rage he had kicked the rutting creature from the witch and taken its place. Burying himself within her, he thrust deeply but briefly, grunting as would a beast and filled her with his thick semen at a time when she was fertile and intentionally receptive. His rape, while possibly welcome at another time, had ruined the witch's object and prevented her from receiving the inhuman seed she needed in a spell casting long in the preparation. Demouze had to wait nearly three raging months to expel his bastard foetus from her womb before she could begin the working again; her patron in this matter, another noble had not been pleased at the delay.
The Duke, accustomed to behaving as he willed, quickly forgot the incident; he had paid the slut in good gold after all, thrown it at her as he left, wiping his slimed member on a scrap torn from her filmy gown and then discarded nearby. He had taken his leave saying,
'Be glad, whore witch that you have had a Duke fill your belly instead of some stinking Goblin.' He took no account of her dark look of hatred and anger as she had glared up at him.
Demouze did not forget his insult to her craft or his arrogant use of her person. The result of their union even now floated, preserved in a jar in her dark cupboard, waiting a future time for its use in a working. The elemental in the Lady Eleanora's bed was of Demouze's creation, she had sent it to take something precious from the Duke in retribution for his abuse.
Eleanora dreamt she was with cousin Lawrence, the squire and page were there too, holding her wrists and ankles wide as her powerful cousin did things to her that she had imagined a man would, and some she had not. His hands moved over her and his fingers explored her every crevice and secret. She felt his cool wet tongue lick along her leg until he reached her inner thigh and paused. In her dream and in her sleep she spread herself for her lover, clenching her buttocks to raise her hips towards his devouring mouth and fire tipped tongue.
The elemental was wrapped around Eleanora’s abdomen and hips; pulsating and throbbing it filled the valley of her thighs engulfing her. Parting her soft flesh with pressing extrusions it seeped between and on into her wet warmth. Gleaming tendrils stretched from the main mass to pinion the young woman’s limbs.
In a trance, secure in her hall Demouze sighed with satisfaction at the impending penetration; then grunted with surprise, the bitch was not a virgin, she was already broached. The Sorceress cursed with disappointment, she had sent her emissary to deflower Eleanora. Now that her revenge and had been frustrated the witch considered what might satisfy her object.
Eleanora moaned with the sensations in her groin as the throbbing contact with her whole sex sent shudders through her body. She dreamt that Lawrence was lying atop her, his hips moving against her in circles between her legs and his strong buttocks tensed, ready to drive his full length deep into her. She whimpered in wet anticipation, writhing and twisting, seeking to encompass him, suck his hardness within her. Many times she had dreamt of her cousin in this way but until recently she had not the experience of being entered, stretched, and penetrated to her core by a lover.
It had been an August night and she had lain atop her covers, skin gleaming in the moonlight, slick and beaded with perspiration. The night was hot but her sweat was from her many arching, writhing orgasms. Her thoughts heated by remembered images of the estate workers bodies, bronzed and sweating, heaving hay into stacks for the winter. She had reined in her horse to watch them from a distance and had seen a couple, hidden by a finished stack. They were standing very near to each other and in intense conversation. She had dismounted and crept up on foot to spy, reaching them as the grizzled field master lifted the kitchen maid's skirts and slid his callused hand between her soft young thighs. Eleanora strained to listen to them.
'Make not a sound and your Jack will leave this field unharmed; cry out and he will feel my pitchfork in his vitals, pierced through.' The heavy man had spoken roughly in the maid’s ear while his hand cupped her body. His coarse fingers were moving in her, causing the fresh young girl to start and tremble. She whimpered as his wrist flexed, fingers deeply probing her soft warmth, becoming wet from her reaction despite her fear of him.
'He'll not miss a slice from his cut loaf, I will have you now or they will say, "what a terrible accident, poor Jack". Turn around now and hold the stack.' He commanded her and pulled her skirts over her back as she faced the haystack. Eleanora crept closer to see more clearly as the field master fumbled at his waist and dropped his sackcloth breeches to his knees. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp as she saw his bent member spring towards the maid’s rounded rump, it was deformed, thicker in the middle than at the tip, big and purple, like an old bruise. She watched as he bent and scooped a hand full of warm butter from a stone jar in the maid's basket to spread along her cleft and over his eager erection.
‘Be silent now, have no worry, where I will plough there will be no bastard harvest.’ Eleanora had heard him say without knowing his meaning.
Fascinated, she saw him clamp the slim girl's mouth with a bear like hand and kick her legs wide as he pushed his twisted form between her plump cheeks and into her puckered flesh. Eleanora saw the girl wriggle at the first stretching touch and then buck like a startled colt as his thick organ breached her inner barrier and slid deep into her entrails, his corded thigh muscles bunching with each powerful thrust. The serving girl’s sobbing gasps matched the rhythm of his clenching buttocks and wrinkled scrotum as it slapped against her thighs.
Remembering the events in her bed that summer night, suddenly her fingers were not enough and she had taken up a chamber candle, thick as a church light, smeared it with her juices and eased it within herself. The brief tearing pain of loosing her virgin's sign was lost in the sensual agony of the slick waxy shaft working in her untried body. Her orgasm was immediate and her pumping wrists brought her many more until she lay exhausted and spent on her soaking bed, what little blood there had been, diluted and washed away by her freely flowing pleasure.
The creature crawling on the unconscious girl mounded into a trembling hump over her groin, convulsed and appeared to shrink within itself, quivering and twitching as it forced its bulk within the ready girl in the form of a monstrous phallus. Eleanora screamed in agony and sensual pain as it repeatedly withdrew and pushed into her ever harder with each spasm. Her breathing was ragged as she panted in a rhythm with the amorphous entity’s pounding insertions, crying out as its vibrating substance beat against her every sensitive nerve ending. Eleanora gasped and sobbed with overwhelming orgasms as the thing inside her repeatedly found every nerve and sensitivity that caused her intense pleasure. In her dreams she saw Lawrence above her, his eyes closed in passion and head thrown back as his hard plunging body drew her towards yet more ecstasy.
With each penetrating cycle more and more of the elemental’s substance entered the girl until almost nothing remained outside, its concentrated matter probed and pulsated, internally stretching her tissues, squeezing through the tight muscle ringed entrance to her womb. Eleanora lay stiff and quivering, every long muscle of her body in dynamic tension; her orgasms merging into one long silent howl of agonizing ecstasy. Demouze with a fresh purpose, directed the pulsating creature to divide and penetrate her innermost passages and engulf her newly mature ovaries. As the girl writhed and twisted, arching her back and grinding her hips against her dream lover, the Sorceress had her avatar strip Eleanora’s body of the egg cells that would have given the Duke many a grand child. Every mature and immature seed was absorbed by the dark emissary until what had been plump and full in that young body became dry and shrivelled.
Demouze recalled her unnatural creation, its task done; it flowed from within the trembling, exhausted girl like water from a spring, carrying with it her youthful fertility. Never would Eleanora know child bearing or birth, she would remain barren to her grave. This was the price the sorceress demanded for the insult done to her by the Duke. A new jar was soon secure in her secret cupboard as the witch slept in the moonlight, satisfied with her revenge and the reward for her efforts. Many twisted and bent creatures would issue forth over the years as she worked her Magik on the stolen eggs and traded them with dark beings in other realms.
Eleanora awoke from a nightmare in the early dawn to the noise of horses’ hooves in the courtyard beneath her bedchamber. She sprang naked to the window, throwing open the shutters; it would be Lawrence returned. The night sweat cooled on her breasts and thighs, her heart chilled in her chest, the already deep ache of loss grew in her belly; three horses but only one rider she saw.
The page boy looked up at her window, his dull gaze unseeing of the forlorn young women within. The blood of the jealous squire still caked on his dagger, grabbed up in the dark of the night to avenge the slit throat and bubbling death of his master, his lover.
[Comments and contributions welcome: in the Feedback page or to firstname.lastname@example.org]