When Knighthood was in Flower and Maidens lost their Heads - Part 3

Part 3

A toe bone.

That's what you were wondering, right? What was I questing FOR? I mean, a quest has to have some objective or it isn't kosher. Knights don't just wander about seeing the sights and collecting women; they seek for great and portentous wonders of the world. In this case, a toe bone.

Not just ANY toe, you understand. This is the left great toe bone of the Holy Martyr Eustus. He carried the word to the Scyths of Asia and angered the king of that land. He was ordered to be smothered under the naked bodies of a hundred women from the King's harem in the mythical city of Carrhae nearly three hundred years ago. His body was said to have been burned along with the fourteen women who had also been killed in the melee, and the ashes mingled for all time so that Eustus could not appear before the throne unsullied.

But miraculously, his toe bone has been seen on four separate occasions here in the north. When stories of this marvel reached the court, The King did not hesitate to send his best knight on a quest to find the bone and deliver it to the capitol where it could be properly venerated. Surely, in view of my unstinting labors in this search, I will be vouchsafed the honor of finding this wonderful relic.

It really is quite an honor and all that to be so selected by the King, but it does make for a rather long and tedious task. I have had no sight of the bone, or of its reputed miracles, but I have the most reliable word of a visiting knight that he had spoken with the husband of a cousin of a girl who saw the bone. This girl is reputed to live not two weeks march from here, and I hope that she can provide the first real information to aid my quest.

Unfortunately, the excellent roads of the south do not exist in this wilderness. Tracks through the forest are the best one can expect, and must often be traversed on foot. Whatever shortcomings Melisande may have, she is an uncomplaining traveler and keeps up well. There are few villages or castles in this area, and few of the fords are guarded by trolls for lack of travelers. Not much point I suppose in setting traps where the game does not run.

And (of course) now that my slave is modestly covered, I have met no more knights errant to challenge me for her service. She could have remained naked for all the difference it would have made.

I have, of course, required her to remove the garment periodically for my pleasure. She is most comely wench, and I have had to stop and spank her soundly and enjoy her body rather frequently. Her skills in sexual matters are coming to match her enthusiasm, and the pleasures of her shapely body are delightful during coffee breaks. In the interest of getting anything accomplished on the quest, I keep her covered as much as I can.

Monty was kind enough to replenish my stores of salt and ground oats, but the bulk of our diet must still be met by hunting. There are deer and boar in this forest, but they are justly proud of their skill at concealment. Rabbit is our more common fare, and hardly a feast, but we have not starved.

Nights represent the worst dangers of the road. Every forest has a resident witch, and while she may have other things to attend to some of the time, she will almost certainly take the opportunity to plague a traveler some of his nights.

Witches are, I suppose, a necessary evil. They control the healing herbs, and dispense such medicine as is available to the peasantry. Their forests are proud of them, and protective under most circumstances. They do not represent the same sort of threat as a dragon; I have never heard of anyone being killed by a witch, for example, but they are pests worse than the stinging insects of the marsh.

Sleep can be well nigh impossible when a forest witch is determined to prevent it. Many a knight has emerged from a forest passage bleary eyed and exhausted, and often no match for the foes waiting at the forest's edge.

There isn't a lot that can be done about witches. No weapon of steel will harm them, although they can be killed by driving a stake of good green elm through their hearts. Unfortunately, one never seems to have a stake of good green elm when one needs it. Besides, killing a witch is a drastic solution and seldom advisable.

I noted that a witch's forest is protective of her. The knight who casually kills a witch had best plan to spend the remainder of his life in the towns. It is singularly unpleasant to have heavy branches of oak falling on you as you ride through the woods.

Witches can be bound with strands of ivy, but ropes will fall away, unknotted of their own accord. Usually it is best to simply drive a witch away with pepper. Assuming one has any pepper. It is a foolish traveler indeed who uses this efficacious substance to season food when he must ravel in the forest.

It is often difficult to know when one is in the presence of a witch. Superb shape changers, they may appear as a hind, or a bear, or even a small dragon, although they seldom take such shapes around knights for fear of being killed by accident. The forest can hardly complain of a witch's death if she appears to a questing knight as a dragon (or to a hungry one as a deer).

It is more often the case that a witch will steal a knight's thoughts, and appear to him as some woman of his past, sabotaging his rest by engaging him in lengthy conversations, or whatever. Especially whatever. It is distressing to find one's self addressed at night by a former paramour. One is obliged to respond, as it is remotely possible that she is what she claims to be.

It is fortunate that witches do not usually converse well. Lacking the skill to engage in learned discourse, they often ruin their disguise by resorting to sexual advances. Ladies of the court do not ordinarily lift their skirts and offer to fuck one's eyes out. When this occurs, it is almost always indicative that one is dealing with a witch.

It is particularly dangerous to allow one's self to be drawn into sexual relations with a witch. They are not easily satisfied, and the knight who disappoints one is likely to find his shorts cursed with a growth of tickle weed. Exceedingly distracting in battle, that.

On the other hand, of course, the knight who can make a witch admit her satiation is in tall flax. He can demand boons, and may even receive a talisman which will protect him from many dangers.

This next passage of forest worried me, as my supply of pepper was being slowly depleted, and Monty had been unable to offer any supplement. If I could not replenish this stock, my nights might well become most unpleasant.

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It was not long before I was proven an accurate prophet. Less than a week after leaving Sir Montmorency's castle, I awoke one mid night to sounds of a struggle. Rising quickly, sword in hand, I discovered Melisande rolling quite naked in the grasp of a comparably unclothed forest witch. The latter was assuming all manner of foul and threatening shapes, but my slave, a girl of the forest herself, ignored these and continued to grapple with her foe.

Realizing that my sword was quite useless, I replaced it in its scabbard, and seeing no reason to waste any of my precious pepper, resolved to enjoy the sight of the two women's nudity as they fought. For a while I assumed that my slave must be overcome, but to my surprise, she seemed to be prevailing. Then I saw the reason. She had had the foresight to arm herself with several bands of fresh ivy, and with these she was slowly entangling the witch's limbs and restricting her motion.

Eventually, the panting witch was quite helpless, and Melisande arose triumphant from the struggle. There is considerable enmity between witches and girls of the villages, as the latter blame the former for subverting and seducing village boys whose duties take them into the forests. Quite right, too. A boy who has known the sexual favors of a witch may not be easily satisfied. He is likely to expect the village girls to perform in a similar manner, and that's a tough act to follow.

With her eyes shining (and other parts glistening with sweat), my slave told me how the witch had been trying to get her to disturb my sleep again. Having learned her lesson in that regard, she had tried to be silent, but as I was obviously awake, she offered me a stake of elm, and urged me to kill the witch and be rid of her once and for all.

I tried to explain why such a bloodthirsty conclusion to the struggle was inappropriate, but Melisande was plainly not to be persuaded. Seeing my determination in the matter, she suggested that, at the very least, the witch should be thrashed as she had been for disturbing my sleep.

Well now, that was a more reasonable notion, and one worthy of pursuing. I could see no reason why witches should not be subject to discipline. They were by definition mischievous creatures, and surely the forest could have no objection to a reasonable application of chastisement.

Addressing myself to the captive witch, I informed her of her fate. She refused to cooperate, insisting that she had not been bested by me, but rather by the girl. Arrant nonsense, of course, as the girl was my slave, and whatever she acquired was automatically mine. When the witch heard Melisande confirm her status, she sighed and agreed that she must capitulate to my wishes. She asked how I wished to pursue this matter?

I thought a moment, then required her to assume the shape of Anne, the young knight's bride at Sir Montmorency's. I remembered with some heat her submission to me so recently. The witch trembled a bit at this, reading the use to which I intended putting her, but with a small flickering of light, she complied. I found myself once more facing the nude and shapely young woman who had been so eager to encourage my efforts with the birch.

I set Melisande to constructing one of these implements, and lifted the witch to her feet. The young "Anne" seemed most compliant, as she had before, turning in my grasp to arch her excellent breasts to my touch. She moaned in very well simulated ecstasy, and urged me to loose her bonds that she might please me.

I don't think so.

Loose the ivy and the witch would be gone into the forest without so much as a farewell. Instead, I lifted her bound wrists and fastened them well over her head to a projecting bough. With more ivy, I fastened each of her slender ankles to opposite ends of the stake with which Melisande had intended her death. This perforce spread her legs widely apart. She was then quite helpless and well displayed for my purposes, thighs widely parted and breasts arched forward.

She began to beg for mercy, promising all manner of witchly favors. Displeased, I insisted that she assume the manner of Anne as well as her appearance. There was a gasp, then a well remembered voice began to encourage me to whip her well. Melisande produced an admirable birch, long and stout. "Anne," squirming in her bonds, softly urged me to be quite strict.

With my left hand, I explored the witch's projecting buttocks and found them rigid with muscle and covered with skin the thickness of an ox.

Nice try, but no cigar.

I told her that the woman in question was rather more fully rounded, and MUCH softer in the nether region. And exquisitely tender. She was certainly not to forget that in her impersonation.

The witch made a small moaning sound of consternation, but I felt her buttocks swell and soften under my fingers. Much better. I reminded her again that she was to be quite sensitive behind, so that the birch would be especially effective. I received a small sob of agreement, nodded, and stepped back to begin her thrashing.

I discovered something that evening. Witches do enjoy being thrashed. However, when required to feign enjoyment of such treatment, they do so rather well. My "Anne" gasped and moaned as the birch striped her rump, but she gave every evidence of rising passion as she endured the cuts. Moreover, knowing that the real Anne would have done so, she encouraged me to even greater effort.

I accepted this invitation, of course, both by way of discouraging further interruptions of my sleep, and because it was a rather pleasurable chore. The witch would, I think, find something better to do at night in the future.

I had somewhat restrained myself in the real Anne's company, being unwilling to inflict any serious damage on the young woman. In the present case, there was no reason for such restraint. Witches are quite as competent at healing wounds as they are at changing shapes, so I lashed the birch across her shapely rump with a will. She was rather obviously in some distress, but she was not allowed to admit it, and could only beg for more.

And when I finally threw away the well worn birch, she almost choked on the request she was required to make. She asked, as had the real Anne, to have me up her backside. Her body arched back to the usage, and her tethered position placed her at an excellent height for such things. I set aside my trousers, and fully rampant, gripped her well switched hips.

I spread her widely and sought entrance. She was admirably tight and warm, and squirmed in distress as I forced my entry. Well buried, I enjoy the clenching caress of her bowel. She had faithfully copied the response of young Anne, to my delight, and as I began to pleasure myself, she moaned in good imitation of answering passion.

I felt her body first tremble, then shake with rapture, even as Anne's had done, and thought this an excellent imitation. Then I began to realize that the voice urging me to greater effort was no longer that of the knight's wife, but that the witch herself was being aroused by my efforts.

I was largely recovered from the depletion of my stay at Monty's castle, and enjoying this thoroughly now. As I impaled her welcoming rump, I heard her grow rather incoherent in her speech, but her response was undeniable. She thrust herself against me, seeking ever deeper intrusion of my lance, and gasped at the force of my jousting.

Like all good things, this ended, climaxed actually, with a burst of pleasure on both our parts. Withdrawing, I heard her sigh in a manner which could only be interpreted as approval of my efforts.

That was certainly gratifying. I had no wish to be counted among those whose service was found inadequate. Having achieved this distinction, I decided to press my advantage. I reminded her of my holy quest and its objective, and required her assistance. To my great disappointment, she knew nothing of the holy toe bone, nor had she encountered any other who had seen it.

The best she could do on my behalf was to offer me her talisman, which as I have noted, is no small favor. I accepted with gratitude, and released her from the ivy bonds. She no longer had a reason to flee, and assumed once more her natural shape. Well, one assumes it was her natural shape, but with a witch, one never knows for sure. She extracted from her discarded gown a rather obscenely shaped root which she offered me, explaining (quite unnecessarily) its powers.

It would be a poorly educated knight who did not know the many functions of a witch's talisman. It guaranteed me passage across any fords guarded by trolls. It was a most excellent cure for any number of ailments. But probably most important, considering the way this quest seemed to be shaping up, the talisman was an aphrodisiac unparalleled in potency.

Now ordinarily, such a device is used to encourage one's female partners to eager participation in one's fantasies. But to date, That had been the LEAST of my problems. Indeed, I had found eagerness to be so common a commodity that I had no intention whatever of generating any more.

No, I suspected that my need for an aphrodisiac would be the result of too many opportunities, not too few.

The End

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