TITLE    : The Bandit Knight Ch. 01
STORYID  : the-bandit-knight-ch-01
SUMMARY  : Sworn to protect her, he violates her instead.
AUTHOR   : averagereptile@lit
DATE     : 2021-09-17
CATEGORY : non-consent-stories
FLAGS    : h
TAGS     : |breeding|forced|warrior|bondage|control|slave|dominance|ravishment|medieval|


"I'm sorry, my lady. Your husband... fought bravely."

With those words, Lady Isabel's world turned upside down.

The small woman sunk slowly onto the bench behind her. Isabel stared straight ahead, not meeting the eyes of the large knight in front of her. She clasped her hands on her lap to stop them from trembling.

Sir Thomas shifted his weight, feeling mildly uncomfortably. The knight was a battle-hardened man, more comfortable in a war zone than delivering grim news like this. Thomas was used to war and death, but the late Lord Hugh had always been kind--a sensitive, quiet man who was not meant for battlefields.

Evidently, Hugh's young widow was built of the same cloth: delicate, and sentimental. Thomas watched the young widow blink rapidly. Her soft, full lips frowned away the tears that threatened to fall.

"When? How?" Isabel murmured at last.

"A month," Thomas said. "I do not think my lady would care to know how."

"A month," she repeated softly.

"It was a twenty-day journey back south," he informed her in his low, rumbling voice. "You could not have learned any faster."

Indeed, she was lucky that early winter had settled into the northern mountains, slowing the war to its annual standstill. Had Hugh died earlier--say, at midsummer--the news would have taken even longer to reach Isabel. At that time of year, no men could be spared.

Thomas didn't tell her this. It seemed unnecessary, and he doubted the grieving lady cared about the rhythms of war.

He watched as Isabel lifted a trembling hand to her mouth and closed her wide eyes. Her fingers were long and elegant. Thomas eyed the wedding band she wore, and sighed.

The lady was beautiful, even dressed like a proper wife. Isabel's high neckline and long sleeves could not disguise the sinfully fertile curves of her small body. If she were a whorehouse worker rather than a noblewoman, she'd make every man within a hundred miles broke. A few moments in her presence, and Thomas was already daydreaming about her round lips stretched wide by his fat cock, her large green eyes fixed up towards him as she choked and gagged.

Still. As much as he longed to tear her dress off of her body and use her thoroughly, even Thomas had his limits. He'd been raised in polite company, after all, even if he no longer kept to it. Hugh had been a friend, and the lady was fighting back tears at the news of her widowhood.

"I promised Hugh I would see you cared for," he admitted, clasping his calloused hands behind his back. He almost wished he hadn't promised; wished he was free to act on his desires. He'd just have to sate himself on someone else, never mind that the lady was perhaps the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"Please, I need a moment," she whispered, oblivious to his erotic thoughts.

Reluctantly, Thomas bowed his head and left the room.

~*~

Thomas enjoyed the next week. Isabel did not.

While she floated ghost-like between bed and her private garden, Thomas accepted an invitation from the steward to remain at Castle Gire. He had visited a few times in the past and knew the castle well. Of course, the lovely Isabel had not lived there then. Hugh had married her less than a year ago, scant few months before heading north to defend the border.

Hugh had been shy and blushing when he told Thomas about his wife's sweetness and gentle nature.

Thomas reminded himself of that memory constantly during the week. Isabel was a temptation anytime he spotted her in the hallway--soft, and sad, and weak; she'd be easy to seduce into anything.

But Hugh had been a friend, and Hugh was dead. Protect her, Hugh had asked with his dying breath. And Thomas had agreed to, like a fool.

So Thomas consoled himself with the village women instead, prowling out of the castle on early morning walks and returning, hours later, once his needs were sated.

~*~

Castle Gire had not been Isabel's home for very long. She'd been married to Hugh on a cold March morning. He a few years older than her, oddly inexperienced and fumbling for a nobleman in his twenties. The problem, she'd learned, was that Hugh was a romantic--not prone to mounting every woman he met. Nor was he handsome.

Still, he'd been kind. He'd treated her like she was something precious. He'd even waited three days into their marriage to take her virginity, and apologized twice for the pain.

Had Isabel loved him, though--? She sat in the garden with her head bowed and fiddled with the ring on her finger. No, she decided; but only because she had not had the chance to. He'd incited no passion, but love might have grown with time.

In May, two months into their union, he had kissed her on the cheek and ridden north. It was early October now and growing cold again. The flowers in the garden had faded, and the tree leaves were turning vibrant with autumnal fire.

She could hardly picture Hugh's face. Soon Hugh's younger brother Roger would arrive and take possession of Castle Gire.

It was Isabel's right, as Hugh's widow, to stay on at the castle. But the more she came to terms with her new reality--nineteen, childless, and widowed already--the more she realized she could not possibly stay in Castle Gire. She had made only tentative friends at best. It was not home. She felt certain her older sister, who had married a Count, would take her in.

They lived in Castle Doren, only a four-day ride away. But while Isabel would be compensated financially for her loss of husband, the servants of Castle Gire were no longer hers. They were now her younger brother-in-law's. She had nobody to travel with her, and she certainly could not travel alone through the wilderness.

And so it was that at last, at the week's end, Isabel approached Sir Thomas.

~*~

"...You want me to escort you," Thomas repeated. There was a note of surprise in his low voice, but his face remained impassive.

Thomas was a large man, but war had left not an ounce of fat on him. His broad, muscular shoulders were cut with the precision of a statue; his jaw was a hard, strong line. He was built like a warhorse: big, strong, and glorious. His noble breeding shown through in his disdainful air, his cold tone, and his masculine posture.

He stood in the stable yard of Castle Gire, in the bright mid-morning light. Isabel had found him there.

"...if you're headed to Ceridan it'll only add a day to your journey," she reasoned in a trembling voice.

There had been no time to make new clothes for mourning, but there had been time to dye some of what she owned. Now she wore a simple linen day-dress, its bit of decorative embroidery dyed as flat black as the rest of it. It was not a dress that flattered. It draped over her curves rather than clinging to them.

Thomas frowned at the dress and forced his eyes back to her face.

It was good of her to cover her obscenely sexual figure, in Hugh's absence. But having seen how she looked in a tighter sheath, he could only hate the baggy covering.

If Isabel noticed that Thomas' shirt was crooked and his pantlegs stained with mud, she said nothing. He raked a large, rough hand through his shoulder-length black hair, and smiled crookedly.

"...Alone?" he asked.

Isabel fidgeted. It was not customary for an unmarried noblewoman to be alone with a man in the woods for four days, but then, she was desperate, and she was a widow.

"...Hugh... he spoke well of you," she mumbled quietly. "He said you were... a good man."

Thomas swallowed and clenched his teeth. Hugh had said that--about him. A good man. Then again, Hugh had known so little of Thomas' tendencies.

"Of course," Thomas agreed. "I'd be honored to escort you. My Lady."

"I can pay," she started.

"No need. I promised Hugh," Thomas said.

It would be wrong to fuck her. Hugh had been a friend, he reminded himself for the hundredth time. But being alone with her for four days was simply too good to pass up.

~*~

They left the next day.

Thomas mounted his massive black charger, a horse trained to fight savagely in war. Isabel rode sidesaddle on a dainty blue roan. Between them, on a lead, walked a large pony burdened with extra gear and Isabel's possessions.

At midafternoon, they left the rolling meadows of Gire and passed into the dark, tangled forests of the continent.

One moment, Thomas was glancing sidelong at Isabel, watching the sway of her ripe, perky breasts as she bounced on her horse's back. It was a distraction any hot-blooded man would've gotten lost in.

Thomas didn't even mind that she was used already. Hugh had been right; his young wife--widow now--was a rare beauty.

The next moment, a man dropped out of the tree in front of Thomas, brandishing two long knives.

Thomas cursed. It had been a long time since anybody had caught him unawares. Isabel's beauty had distracted him. Now bandits were swarming around them both, appearing from the shadows of the woods like mist on the plains.

Isabel shrieked, and clung to her horse's mane as it reared. If the bandits won, they'd butcher Thomas and drag her back to their camp, to be degraded and passed around.

The bandits were a mangy, scrawny bunch, eking out a pitiful living through crime. None of them were highly-trained warriors like Thomas.

Thomas thumbed a knife out of his boot and flicked it into the first bandit's neck. The man went down with a choked yell. In a smooth arc, Thomas freed his great sword from its sheath on his back.

Some fled; others were cut down. Isabel's horse reared again and tried to bolt; by sheer will the lady remained seated.

At the end of it Isabel was frozen in terror and stiff on her horse, her breathing shallow. The roan threw his head, mouthing at the bit with his eyes rolling wildly.

Thomas and his charger were both unharmed and unbothered but covered in blood.

The pony with the supplies was missing. Thomas scoured the woods directly around them without luck. He did not want to leave Isabel to look further. As much as his pounding blood-rage demanded that he butcher every one of the bandits, he had to put her protection first.

He grabbed her horse's reins and led the way down the path, away from the gory battle scene.

~*~

"...You're covered in blood," she muttered, still ashen faced.

Thomas stared blankly at her. Then he blinked.

"Keep the fire going," he instructed as he stood.

They'd made camp--really, he'd made camp while Isabel sat in shock--on the border of a small pond. During summer it would be teeming with evening insects, but the October cold kept it quiet now.

Dusk gathered now, a grey darkness that settled over the land.

Thomas had gathered wood and sparked a fire, building it to a modest height. He looked down at his hands. The red, flickering flame showed him pale skin, dappled with dark stains of death. He'd known they were bloody. He wasn't in shock like Isabel; this was normal for him. If anything, the surprise was that she cared. The men in war camps never cared.

But of course she did. She was a gentle, soft creature. And he was alarming her for no reason. He had to remember he was not on a battlefield.

It had been a very long time since he had not been on a battlefield.

Thomas strode off towards the water as Isabel blinked at the fire.

She bit the inside of a round cheek and picked up one of the sticks Thomas had left. Tentatively, Isabel reached over and placed it at an angle on the fire. The air around the dancing flames burned so hot her graceful fingers could not linger there.

Isabel tried to remember if she'd ever built her own fire. She couldn't remember a time without a servant to wait on her. A few minutes passed. She could not hear splashing from the pond; Thomas moved with a lithe and dangerous grace. Isabel leaned forward and added another branch to the fire. Despite the smallness of the task, she was pleased to do something for herself.

Proof she could survive as a widow. She would make it through this.

When Thomas did return, she straightened with a gulp. The hulking knight strode out of the darkness in only his trousers, bloody shirt rinsed out and now bunched in his hand. Water coated his scarred, muscular chest and dripped down his long dark hair. Without his shirt, the flaccid bulge in his pants looked all the more prominent, hinting at his latent virility. She could not imagine how big he would be aroused.

Isabel had to remind herself to breathe. She had no interest in unwed lovemaking. She would not risk an illegitimate pregnancy, or her reputation. But it was undeniable that Sir Thomas was deliciously handsome, in a way that Lord Hugh simply had not been. He was the sort of man she'd sometimes imagined, with her eyes shut, during Hugh's awkward fumbling attempts. She felt guilty acknowledging that, but it was the truth nonetheless.

If she married again, perhaps she'd be able to do so for love and desire--not like her arranged match to the wealthy Hugh. She'd been beyond lucky to find such gentle kindness, but her body wanted more.

In Thomas, she thought, perhaps she could find both. Hugh had spoken fondly of his childhood friend. Since Hugh did not care for war, joining Thomas on the front had been the lord's sole consolation. If Hugh thought Thomas honorable, then surely it was so.

She watched the knight hunt through his saddlebags for a shirt. He and Isabel had both carried small saddle packs on their mounts, and Thomas had a bedroll looped

behind his saddle. Everything else was lost with the pony.

Thomas drew on the new shirt over his wet skin. He strode back to the small fire, carrying two bruised apples. He offered one to Isabel and raked his hungry eyes up and down her body.

"Thank you," she murmured. His gaze made her blush. But she was used to such looks and didn't mind. So long as he kept his hands to himself, she liked that he had an interest.

Perhaps he would court her once a suitable amount of time had passed.

"I'll hunt tomorrow," he informed her. "It's too late now."

It would have been better to make camp earlier and hunt sooner, but he'd wanted to get some distance between them and the bandit's corpses, and there had only been enough daylight for one or the other. They'd just have to go hungry for a night.

Isabel nodded. They ate the apples in silence. Isabel hungrily licked the sweet juice from her fingers when she finished. Thomas, watching her out of the corner of his eyes, stifled a groan and clenched his hands into fists to restrain himself. The firelight flickered over her round face and full lips, accentuating every generous curve of her body.

Soon after, Thomas's long dark hair finished drying by the fire's heat. He went back to the woods to gather more wood in the darkness and dumped a large armful by the blaze.

Then he rolled out the bedroll for Isabel, walked to the other side of the fire, and lay down. He closed his eyes as she crawled over to the bedroll and slipped inside.

If she weren't Hugh's widow... if she were some village girl, or the widow of a man he hated... she would not be lying peacefully untouched on the other side of the fire. Indeed, she was lucky he had a conscience; lucky that the scourge of war had left him with a battered scrap of decency. Thomas focused on keeping his breathing even, trying to banish the thoughts of her body from his head.

"Aren't you cold?" Isabel asked suddenly. Her voice was a soft counterpart to the fire's crackle. Thomas blinked up at the coils of rising smoke, then rolled over onto his elbow and peered across the flames.

"Yes," he informed her evenly. It was a crisp night and cooling rapidly. The fire warmed the side of him closest to it, but the ground felt like ice. Still, he'd first gone to war at fourteen. He was twenty-eight now and used to sleeping in far worse conditions than this.

"Hugh was right. You are a good man," she whispered. Isabel clutched the blanket to her and sat up, shoulders bowed. She took a deep breath and made a decision. "Sir Thomas, it's foolish for you to freeze, and I'm cold too."

"What are you saying, Isabel?" Thomas purred.

"Just... if you stay fully clothed, you can share the blankets."

He chuckled, a low and dangerous sound, and made his way to where she lay. He could not resist an open invitation.

In a gentlemanly gesture, Thomas took the side of the bedroll further from the fire. The large man peeled up the blankets and slid in beside the small, curvaceous woman. The blankets were made for one, not for two, giving him a perfect excuse to lie close to her.

He inched his body closer to hers, until his chest pressed against her side.

"You're so cold," Isolde said, but she didn't sound shocked; rather, she giggled.

"You're so warm," he growled. The erotic pleasure of pressing against her soft body was heightened by the welcome warmth of her flesh, felt even through her clothes. Thomas reached out and stroked a hand along her hip. Then he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against him, crushing her pert breasts on his chest. He exhaled, memorizing the way she fit against him.

"What are you doing?" Isabel protested, squirming away from him.

He overcame her resistance easily, holding her firmly to him. Warmth from her small, soft figure coursed through Thomas. His cock answered with an eager throb. Bit by bit, his resolve to leave her untouched was failing.

"Just getting warm," he groaned. Thomas stroked her back and buried his face against the top of her head, cradling her against his chest. He could smell her, like flowers and smoke.

For a few minutes, Thomas did nothing else. Gradually Isabel relaxed into him. Her body softened against him, her shoulders slumping. She was comfortable, nestled between the large warrior and the crackling fire. Yes, he had a terrifying and violent power, but he made her feel safe. He'd been a perfect gentleman, and her protector. She was widowed, and not ready to move on, but she felt she could rely on Thomas.

Meanwhile, Thomas' delight in holding her slowly turned to annoyance. He was frustrated. She'd been arousing him since he set eyes on her a week ago. Did she think he was just going to hold her all night and get nothing for it? Fuck; he was escorting her for free, going out of his way to help her.

He deserved to get some pleasure from it; to get his cock wet. It was a cold night. It'd be warmer with his throbbing, angry erection buried deep in her cunt.

She had no right to say no. If she didn't want him to fuck her, she shouldn't have asked him to take her alone into the woods. Shouldn't have asked him to join her beneath the blankets. Yes, she'd struggled when he went to hold her, but that was just an act, to be ladylike.

She might even resist further. He'd fuck her anyways. It was what women like her were meant for, with those whoreish breasts and wide hips. She was built to take a cock. She had no right to refuse his.

His excitement grew. With each pulse of his heart, blood pumped into his big cock. Bit by bit he stiffened and grew.

The hand stroking her back paused. Thomas licked his lips and ran his hand lower, to the small of her back and the swell of her plump rear. He ran his hand back up, then down her side, tracing the dip of her hourglass figure. He was gentle, almost lazy, in these first testing touches.

His cock kept stiffening, straining against the confines of his trousers. At last he smoothed his hand around to her plump ass.

"Thomas, stop--" He squeezed her bottom, holding her in place.

Then Thomas shifted, pressing his groin firmly against Isabel's body. He pulled her against him, squeezing her buttocks as he slowly humped his erection against her.

"Is that--are you..." she whispered with a gulp. He felt her entire body tense up.

"Yes," Thomas groaned, rubbing himself against her.

"You... you shouldn't...."
<hr pg="2" />"Can't be helped," he whispered in her ear. His hand slipped lower, teasing up and down her thigh. He hitched up her skirt so he could get a hand underneath it. He returned his grip to her full ass, tracing the line where her underclothes met her smooth, soft skin.

"Please..."

"You invited me into your bed."

"No, I..." she wriggled back away from him, trying to distance their bodies.

That wouldn't do. He sighed. Didn't she understand that he wasn't going to sleep cold and dissatisfied, with his cock untended to and his balls still full of cum? Not with her in his arms, just begging to be filled.

He was pretty certain it was all an act on her part. But even if it wasn't, even if she truly wanted to be left alone, struggling wasn't going to help. The smart thing would have been to spread her legs and help him get it over with. But ladies, Thomas thought, were often irrational.

Thomas circled both his arms around her and held her tightly against him. He was so much stronger than her that it took no effort to hold her in place. He could feel her fluttering heart in her chest. Bending down, he pressed his lips to the top of her head. Her hair was so soft.

Isabel lay still, trembling. She knew now she was a fool for inviting the knight to lie right next to her, but she'd truly thought he was honorable.

"Please, sir, I'm recently widowed," she whispered. "Have mercy."

"A month," he rebutted smoothly. "And you have only yourself to blame for tempting me. Relax, Isabel. I won't take long; I just want to cum."

She bent her head against his chest, breathing fast but saying nothing. Thomas rocked his hips against her, pushing his covered, angry cock against her clothed stomach.

"Can't you use your hands?" she offered softly.

"Not with a hot little cunt available," he whispered back.

With a groan he rolled on top of her, pinning her to the hard ground with his weight. He kissed her mouth hard, sliding his tongue inside her and claiming her body as his own to use.

Isabel tried to turn her head away with a gasp.

"Come now," he said, pulling back. There was a note of annoyance in his low, smooth voice. "You're no virgin, Isabel. Give in. I won't think less of you for liking it."

Wounded from her widowhood and from the fearful bandit scare, she had no fire in her. All she could do was struggle limply.

That was not enough to dissuade Thomas from his prize, not by far.

He pushed her thighs apart and palmed her mound over the fabric of the dress. Isabel yelped. Thomas grabbed her wrists and dragged them up, then pinned them above her head with one hand. She kicked; he pinned her down with a grin. He was so much larger than her that his weight alone was enough to trap her firmly against the ground. Her breath was shallow; even her lungs felt crushed under his oppressive power.

"Please stop struggling," Thomas murmured in her ear. His breath was hot against her clammy skin. "I'd hate to hurt you." He bit her earlobe delicately as Isabel's breath caught in her throat.

He teased his lips down her neck and up her chin. She didn't move.

"Good girl," the huge knight praised. She was learning.

His free hand tugged her skirts further up, yank by yank, until only her smallclothes remained. He reached for the thin fabric to pull the underclothes aside and paused. Thomas exhaled hard. His full lips curled up in a delighted smirk.

"You're wet," he said slowly. The fabric was soaked through with her pooled arousal.

So she did want his cock. She was just resisting to look like a lady. He liked that. It was annoying, but a sign of her good breeding. And it seemed they could both enjoy themselves. He'd pump his seed into her; she'd get a good fucking. God bless Hugh, but Thomas doubted his shy friend had ever mounted her like Thomas was about to.

Isabel turned her head away from him again. Her breath still came quickly, but she ground her teeth together and tried her hardest to keep from crying. To hold on to whatever dignity she could manage. It was not her fault that this was the first time a man had touched her since Lord Hugh left for war. It was not her fault that the knight was gloriously handsome and powerful.

She didn't want him like this, but had he approached it differently she might have given in for him. Now the idea was as horrible as it was arousing.

"You invited me into this bedroll hoping I'd fuck you," he accused quietly, a note of eagerness underlying his voice.

"I didn't," she whispered. "I was trying to be kind. I do not... I do not want this."

"Don't lie, little temptress. You're drenched from wanting me." His breathing was rough and heavy now.

"Please, I..."

He tugged aside the fabric and stroked the ripe line of her opening. Thomas groaned. Her lips were so ripe and ready. Isabel bit back a whimper as his calloused, thick finger traced the wet and swollen lips of her center.

It was very hard for Thomas to restrain himself at all. He wanted to turn her over and fuck her hard, animalistically, like she was a girl being passed around a war camp.

But this was Hugh's widow. Sir Thomas was going to have her, one way or the other, but surely she deserved what little restraint he could manage. She was a noble-bred woman from a family almost as old as his was.

He slicked his fingers up and down her lips. Thomas lifted a finger to his tongue and tasted her arousal. It was a clean, sharp tang of femininity that he longed to devour.

Thomas plunged his finger swiftly inside her, then pulled out and did it again. She was so wet it was easy to violate her; her pussy was tight but ready to be fucked. Isabel cried out lightly both times, in a pleasure she wished she didn't feel. Her mouth came in soft pants.

He removed his finger from her hole and began to tease her clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in soft, swift circles.

"Please stop," she moaned, as her whole body tensed and softened against his touches.

"You asked me to escort you so you could have my cock all to yourself, is that it?" he said huskily. "Without the supplies we'll take longer to get there, 'bel. You'll have your fill of me, just like you want." Fuck, she was squirming beneath him. She wanted this so fucking bad. She was begging for his cock.

"No, I don't--" she started to say, but he released her wrists to clamp his hand tightly over her mouth. He was breathing hard now, panting and staring down at her with a crazed lust in his eyes. He tightened his palm against her mouth as she shrieked against it, muffling the sound.

"Shh," Thomas said. He balanced on his knees and one elbow, deftly untying his trousers and shoving them down. His massive, veined cock sprung free. He gave it a hungry stroke and lined it up with her small, swollen opening.

"So ready for me," Thomas praised. He ran the head of his cock up and down her lips, whetting the tip and prodding against her clit.

She began to cry in earnest. It didn't really bother Thomas that she was upset enough to cry; in Thomas' experience, women were always like that. Noblewomen were the worst; they were so coddled that all they knew how to do was embroider, dance, and cry. He knew she wanted--needed--his cock, from the wetness of her body. She was no virgin, and if she was a good wife she'd gone un-fucked for months. She was probably desperate for a man to use her.

Thomas figured that she was just as conflicted about Hugh as he was. Probably she felt guilt for the whoreish, slutty thoughts that Thomas just knew she was having about him. Yes; that was the only reason she was crying now.

Still, the tears were an annoyance. And if her nose started to run too, she'd be a good deal less pretty. He deserved to enjoy this, even if she was going to be hysteric about it.

"Stop crying," he commanded. He reached up and wiped the tears away. They were messing up the view of her big, pleading eyes, turning her skin blotchy.

"Hugh is dead; just relax."

She shook her head against his palm, still crying. Thomas began to feel annoyed as he watched more tears leak out of her. It wasn't as if he was hurting her; did she have to make it so unpleasant? Of all the moments for a widowly display of grief, did she have to lose it when he was about to put his dick in her tight little cunt?

She needed to be put in place, that was it. Women responded to strong men. She had to forget about Hugh and focus on the warrior mounting her.

He grabbed her breast with his free hand, the other still clamped over her mouth. He squeezed the soft mound hard, crushing her as she writhed. She mouthed another scream against his hand, but this was one of pain rather than fear.

She'd bruise there terribly, he was sure. He was a very strong man. But it wouldn't wound her, not permanently. It was a fitting lesson. An encouragement to focus on pleasure, unless she wanted to wallow in pain.

"Stop crying or I'll do it again," he commanded. Thomas released the handful and returned his palm to his rigid shaft.

She was still beneath him now, at least. Not writhing or struggling. She sniffled. Another tear leaked out of her eye, silently. It was as good as he was going to get.

Lining himself up, he began to push inside of her.

Isabel squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of anything other than the monstrously large cock forcing its way inside of her tight body. Her breast still burned with pain from Thomas' abuse.

"There's a good girl, Isabel," he groaned. Thomas eased the head of his thick cock just past her lips. He paused for a half second.

Then he swiftly thrust his massive shaft all the way inside her. Isabel felt a momentary shock of pain as her tight, tense body was forced to part around him. She yelped, back arching.

And then Thomas cursed, pressing his forehead against hers with a groan. He held still a moment as she stretched around his size.

"God, that's heaven," he moaned. He pressed himself harder against her, grinding his cock deeper and crushing her body against the earth. His shaft was buried in her, filling her entirely. Her walls gripped him tightly.

As he pressed himself harder into her, he rubbed against her clit. A traitorous moan escaped Isabel.

"Eager little slut, aren't you?" he growled with a smirk.

She started to shake her head. He reached up and grabbed her hair in a painful fist, holding her head firmly in place.

Thomas drew out and eased back in with a groan. Then he did it again. He slid his hand off of her mouth, pressing his lips to her instead. He kissed her passionately as he began to thrust his hot, straining cock faster into her slick hole. Fuck; even covered by her dress, her body was everything a woman's ought to be. He wanted to strip her entirely and play with her tits. But perhaps he'd leave that for tomorrow. It was late; better just to use her hole and get some sleep.

He'd have plenty more chances to explore her. Now he just wanted to unload his cum and get some rest.

For a moment Isabel was too panicked to think. Every thrust of the knight's thick shaft sent a reluctant thread of pleasure through her, each one stronger than the last. She didn't want to feel good, but as his body smacked against her clit and his cock impaled her center, she moaned. Her pussy fluttered around him, gripping him with each pulse of pleasure.

That excited Thomas greatly. Still tangling her hair in a fist, he hunched his back and began to pound her with a steady, punishing rhythm. His huge, hardened body smacked loudly against her small soft one. He felt himself building closer to an orgasm. A few more minutes and he'd fill her little hole with his cum.

Isabel found her courage. As his lips caressed against hers, she took the chance to bite his lower lip--hard.

Hard enough to bleed.

It was a desperate fool's mistake.

Thomas' head jerked back and a frustrated growl escaped his mouth.

Isabel filled instantly with fear. Her green eyes widened as her heart pounded. She'd felt so trapped, she'd needed to fight back, to struggle--but what had she done? How had she possibly thought it was a good idea to anger the massive, violent knight pinning her to the earth and impaling her with his huge cock?

Before he could think, Thomas smacked her face hard, sending her cheek flat into the ground. Her face stung, burning hot where he'd hit her.

Thomas held her head down, cheek to the ground, as he towered over her. His shoulder-length hair was a black curtain around them. He licked a drop of blood from his lips, the taste salty and metallic.

He breathed. Tried to calm himself. His instincts were not to be gentle. His instinct was to beat or kill anyone who raised a hand to him.

He got past that desire, but fury still coursed through him. Fuck being gentle. Fuck treating her like a lady. She was acting like a goddamned whore, and ought to be used like one.

With one hand still pinning her cheek against the earth, Thomas lifted one of her knees with his other arm. Thomas' angry movements became frantic and cruel. His muscular body slammed powerfully into her, roughly violating Isabel. The angle scraped his shaft against a sensitive point within her body, and she writhed beneath him, mink stuttering through shocks of pleasure and fear.

A drop of blood left his lip and fell on her neck.

"Fucking whore," Thomas spat. "Want to play rough, is it?"

He pulled out of her and flipped her swiftly onto her stomach, then hauled her up by the hips. He pushed her skirts up over her ass and forced her smallclothes down to her knees. Isabel struggled to crawl away, but he held her too tight.

Digging one hand into her soft flesh, he fumbled at her clit with the other until she began to pant and cry out. Soon she was trembling beneath him, her whole body shuddering as her tight little pussy dripped.

The little minx wasn't meant for a man like Hugh. She was meant for a man like Thomas. She needed to be dominated, and he was going to mount her and prove that he could.

He plunged himself roughly back inside her. Her knees were held together by the undergarment, making her body hug his big cock all the tighter. It felt impossibly blissful to Thomas. Even Isabel gaped, mouth parted and eyes fluttering, as he rammed his member into her depths.

"How's that, slut?" he growled.

The blankets had fallen off them now, exposing them to the cold night air. The fire was smoldering; it needed tending to, but it was not about to get it.

Thomas fisted his hand into Isabel's hair, pulling her face back. She moaned and scrambled to her hands, trying to alleviate the pain at her roots. He held on and slammed into her, again and again, from behind.

"I asked a question," he raged.

Isabel only moaned in answer, panting and squealing as he tightened the hand in her hair.

His other hand began to knead her perfectly round ass cheeks. Thomas marveled at the way she jiggled when he pounded into her. One thing he liked about noblewomen was that they often had more fat on them than the village girls. The way she moved was so mesmerizing it began to cut through his anger.

But he didn't slow down. His hammering motions felt too good, and his fat cock was moments from erupting inside her.

His balls swung forward with every thrust to smack against her clit, sending electric jolts through Isabel. From behind he felt even bigger, like he was filling all over, every inch of her body. There was no space for her; she was putty in his hands. She'd been conquered.

She could no longer think straight or remember why she was struggling. All she could do was take him. And he did feel good, so good. She didn't want to enjoy it; it made no sense to enjoy it. But she could not help herself.

Her mind blanked out. And then she came with a moan, her body tensing all at once before softening.

He released his grip on her hair and her front half sunk, her face pressing against the earth. Isabel was gone, mindless, unable to process the ongoing torment.

Her hips remained up, her ass high and her thighs smeared with her own juices. His thick cock slid inside her body again and again. At last Thomas had his fill. She was finally being as sweet and submissive as she ought to; she wasn't crying anymore.

"Ahh, Isabel," Thomas groaned. He smacked himself deeply in her twice more, then stayed buried. He pulled himself tight against her hips and doubled over her, holding her firmly against him as his throbbing cock spilled pulses of hot seed deep inside her womb.

He stayed buried in her, breathing hard. His fingers lazily strummed over her clit as Isabel moaned a protest. Thomas smiled gently, his soul soothed and comfortable.

"Should I tie you up tonight, or are you done biting?" he murmured, pressing her entire body flat onto the ground. He lay on top of her, his dominant cock still plugging her tight little pussy.

Thomas ran his lips over her ear and tucked back a strand of her hair. His lower lip throbbed from where she'd bit him, but the wound was closing already and Thomas was no stranger to pain. It was a reminder that she'd acted wrongly, but that was the only thing that bothered him about the injury.

"Please..." Isabel said. Her cheek was flat against the ground; she stared straight into the darkness of the forest. She shivered as Thomas traced his lips along the side of her face, kissing her soft skin. One of his hands found hers, and he laced their fingers together. Her hands were so long and graceful. He wondered if she was good at holding a cock.

"I wasn't expecting you to bite," he said, with a soft smile. "I shouldn't like for you to kill me with my own sword in my sleep."

She said nothing. He sighed. He'd clearly fucked her into a trance.

"If you start acting like a two-penny whore, I'll have to treat you like one." He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and slowly shifted his softening cock out of her. His cum slid with it, dripping out of her well-used hole to seep into the blanket.

His weight pinned her flat to the ground, holding her firmly captive. The breast he'd squeezed throbbed terribly as his weight crushed it flat on the hard earth. A soft, wordless noise left Isabel's mouth.

Thomas took it for eager agreement. He rolled off of her, then helped her to stand up. Like a gentleman, he escorted her to relieve herself in the woods. She was trembling, head bowed--cold and exhausted, he thought. Gently he returned her to the bed, and lingered in the cold to build up the fire. When it was a roaring blaze, he joined her beneath the blankets again.

Thomas wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her back against him. Sir Thomas pressed his soft bulge against the curve of her ass and sighed. Isabel was quiet; probably already half-asleep.

For a moment he pictured Hugh's face. Thomas banished the guilty image as quickly as he could. He'd done nothing wrong. Hugh was dead; Thomas wanted Isabel; Isabel wanted Thomas. It was simple.

She really was freakishly beautiful. He wondered if he ought to bring her to her family at Castle Doren at all, or take her straight to his own home.

True, she was prone to crying, but what noble woman wasn't? Just because he was the younger son of a Duke and not due to inherit lands or titles, the knight still had to think about breeding.

She had good blood lines and wide hips. Besides, she was easy to throw around and had just enough fire to keep things lively without being a complete pain in his backside. She'd clearly liked his cock; hell, she'd cum for him.

Once she got over Hugh's death and accepted Thomas as her master, he was certain she'd be as sweet and gentle with Thomas as Hugh had described her to be. Hunting down village girls was work, and good brothels were expensive, and while he didn't intend to quit either entirely... well, the idea of a fertile little minx in his bed every night, just begging him to fill her needy little cunt, was lovely. Sometimes a man didn't want to work. Sometimes he just wanted a warm, wet hole to use.
<hr pg="3" />And really, he'd be doing Hugh a favor, looking after her like that. He'd keep her safe from the rest of the world. He'd promised Hugh to protect her. He couldn't keep his promise without keeping Isabel tightly by his side. And women were weak creatures, prone to temptation. Without a firm hand, Isabel's needy little body might really turn her into a whore. Just think, she'd invited Thomas into her bedroll on the first night of their journey.

Hugh's memory deserved better than that. He deserved to have his widow kept in line. Thomas was glad to help.

Thomas bent his head against Isabel and breathed her smell in deep. The remnants of their sex were pungent and arousing.

Wholly content, Sir Thomas pressed a kiss against her head and drifted peacefully to sleep.

