TITLE    : The Bandit Knight Ch. 02
STORYID  : the-bandit-knight-ch-02
SUMMARY  : He awakens with a need.
AUTHOR   : averagereptile@lit
DATE     : 2021-09-24
CATEGORY : non-consent-stories
FLAGS    : h
TAGS     : |blindfold|bondage|knight|medieval|warrior|fantasy|size difference|outdoors|threats|breeding|


Thomas did not sleep well. First, he had a nightmare that he was on a battlefield, his army overwhelmed by the enemy. No matter how hard he fought, his comrades kept falling around him. He was surrounded, the enemy an endless barbarian horde that swept through his numbers.

All the dead soldiers were Hugh.

Thomas woke sweating, despite the cold, only to realize that Isabel had wormed out of his grasp. He pulled her back against him. She jerked awake, then slowly fell back into nightmares of her own. He did the same.

Last for Thomas was a sex dream. But it was unpleasant, odd. His cock kept growing until it was as long as his forearm and even thicker. He was trying to fuck Isabel from behind, but he couldn't get inside her, and when she turned around something was wrong about her. He didn't know what, but he knew it was.

The first pale rays of sun crept over the horizon, stirring Thomas awake.

Thomas had a hard cock and an empty stomach. He reached down between the two of them, his hand rubbing against Isabel's body, to touch himself. His erect dick was the normal size--huge but useable. Just a dream.

Isabel woke the moment Thomas did, her body jolting awake as her captor moved. She lay perfectly still, pretending to cling to unconsciousness. Like Thomas, she'd dreamed in nightmares. The knight had peeled her body inside out and begun to devour her, whispering sweet nothings all along.

Unlike Thomas, she'd woken not to comfort, but to the very source of her nightmare rubbing himself against her. A threat of a second rape.

The once-roaring fire was now just ash and charcoal. Late autumn squirrels rustled through the undergrowth as birds called overhead. Here and there deciduous trees grew scattered between the northern evergreens. October had turned their leaves into oranges and reds, painting a tapestry of a fire against the backdrop of the deep blue pines.

Thomas yawned. He couldn't decide whether to satisfy his physical hunger or his carnal one first.

His stomach growled demandingly. He knew that Isabel was hungry as well. She was a coddled sort, and her curves spoke of plentiful food. She'd probably never gone hungry before. He ought to take care of that. Hunting first; fucking later. It was his duty to provide for her.

But he couldn't resist humping his morning-wood cock gently against her. It was pleasant, more pleasant than the strange haunting images of sleep. The lady was warm while everything else was cold. He needed the comfort. Thomas hugged her curvy little body tight alongside him. His cock jutted against the soft swell of her ass.

She'd so clearly enjoyed the night before, cumming on his thick cock even as she modestly pretended to protest. Now that their mutual attraction was out in the open, Thomas had no desire to hide his lust.

He reached around to fondle her breasts. A few more moments of rest and peace before he got up to find them food.

She flinched back as he grabbed her bruised breast, pushing her body hard against his. He hadn't noticed she was awake.

He'd forgotten about hurting her the night before, but her startled movement reminded him. Thomas very considerately began to play with the other tit instead. He ran his tongue over the cut on his lower lip and chuckled silently to himself. A good night, certainly. Not one he'd forget anytime soon. She'd been a disobedient little brat, but he'd thoroughly enjoyed keeping her in line.

Isabel kept trying to shift away from him. He held her tight as he squeezed her good breast. She slumped back down onto her side, facing away from him with her eyes leaking tears. A soft sob escaped her lips.

Thomas noticed and sat up, looming over her. He tucked his shoulder-length hair behind one ear and frowned.

"You're crying? Again?" he said. "Why?" His voice was rough with sleep. He rubbed it from his eyes and studied her.

"You're worse than a bandit," she whispered back.

"A bandit?" he yawned. "Is that what you think of me?"

She was so laughably naïve.

"At least a bandit is honest with his intentions," Isabel muttered flatly, refusing to meet his gaze. "A bandit doesn't pretend to be an honorable man."

She was lucky he was too tired for this. With heavy eyelids and hunger panging his stomach, the large knight only raised an eyebrow.

"Believe me, 'bel. You'd prefer me to a bandit."

"No, I wouldn't." Her voice was scornful. She wrapped her hands over her chest.

"Bandits would have torn your clothes off," Thomas murmured. He slowly tugged apart the knot at the back of her dress. Isabel shivered as he picked the lacing loose. "Then they would have shared you around."

"Please, can't you stop touching me?"

"I can't help myself around you."

He worked the top of the dress down over her breasts. Then he tugged down the fabric cups of her breast band to free her tits. The crumpled band, still snug around her ribs, pushed her bare breasts up unnaturally high.

Isabel grabbed for the blanket as Thomas began to drag it down too. Her hands scrabbled at the scratchy wool, but Thomas firmly tugged it away. It slipped from her fingers as she breathed a soft 'no.' Then Isabel had no choice but to reveal her pale, round tits to the frosty morning air. Thomas' breath was an exhale of fog as he watched the chill prickle along her skin.

Isabel lifted her delicate hands to cover herself. He pushed her arms away and kept looking, entranced.

Her rosy nipples hardened as he watched, jutting boldly from her. He'd noticed the dusting of freckles on her face, but he hadn't guessed that they traveled lower, like a constellation spanning her trembling chest. He drew a line with his finger, connecting the bolder spots. Some men might find the freckles an imperfection on her otherwise flawless skin, but he found he enjoyed them.

"It's cold," Isabel begged.

The breast he'd crushed the last night was lightly inflamed, spotted blue and black where his fingers had lain. For now the bruises made her less pretty, but she had certainly deserved the punishment.

And a small part of him liked to see his mark on her.

"Didn't you learn anything, 'bel?" Thomas asked, trailing a cold finger over the puffy, pained skin. "Ask me nicely."

"Please, Sir Thomas. It's too cold," she whispered. "Mercy."

"Hm." He bent over to wrap his mouth around her unharmed breast, closing his teeth gently around her hard nipple. He sucked, then let her pop back out of him. The cold air licked her wet skin. Then Thomas pulled the scratchy blankets up to Isabel's chin. He kept her dress down. It seemed a fair compromise for her comfort and his needs. The knight began to fondle the unmarked breast, his touch gentle but firm.

"Isabel, how'd you like to have three men in you at once?" He asked. He rubbed his thumb in circles around her nipple as they spoke.

"What?" her wide green eyes snapped to him. Her whole body recoiled, curving away from him. Her reaction was not simply one of dislike, but of horror and confusion. She was too innocent to understand how such a thing was even physically possible.

"You think I'm worse than a bandit. You know, they'd rape you within an inch of your life. Is that what you'd prefer to me? To get passed around a bandit camp, again and again, until they get bored, or you get fat with child?"

He dropped his hand for a moment, caressing her stomach as he himself pictured the condition.

Cum leaking out of every hole, her belly jutting from her and her tits swollen fat with milk...

His lips parted in a silent groan, and he kneaded her unharmed breast firmly, as if milking her.

She refused to answer, turning her head away from him. Her freckled cheeks burned red. He was pleased that she seemed to recognize what he was saying--recognize that being with Thomas was better than the woods' only alternative. But he didn't like her stubborn silence.

He pushed his hips against her, needing the friction on his straining cock.

"Truly, Isabel. You want me to leave you to the bandits?"

"Yes. Leave me alone," she whispered.

"Fine," Thomas said smoothly. With a chuckle he let go of her breast and got out of the bedroll. He drank all the icy water in his canteen.

Thomas stretched. He needed to piss, but his big dick was was still uncomfortably hard. He massaged himself for a moment, then convinced himself to wait on cumming. He'd fuck her later, once she'd learned her lesson.

The horses were hobbled on the edge of the camp, standing side by side with their heads lowered.

What remained of their gear, he'd set at a nearby tree. The bridles were hung over one of the lower branches. Saddles, saddle-bags, and his war-beaten shield leaned against the gnarled trunk.

It was the work of moments to remove the leather reins from the bridles. He wrapped the leather strips around his hand and went through the saddlebags.

Isabel's had money, a change of clothes, two handkerchiefs, a comb, and a hair tie. He borrowed that gratefully and knotted his hair back. Then he pulled out one of her spare stockings. It was made of thick fabric, and nearly as long as his arm. Perfect. He set it on the ground.

His own pack had a shaving knife, his signet ring, more money, his bloody shirt from yesterday, spare trousers, and a fishhook on a line.

He silently thanked himself for the fishing gear. Most everything had been lost with the pony, but he'd figured while packing that he might like to fish here or there without hunting through a half-dozen bags to find his things. With the pony gone, his convenience turned to a blessing. It was much better than trying to trap with such limited time, or hunt with a knife but no bow.

If they left by mid-morning, Thomas thought, they could reach the nearest town by nightfall. If he didn't have luck fishing before noon, they'd just have to start riding and deal with their discomfort. But Thomas was determined to catch something. He meant to provide for Isabel.

He paced around the exterior of the camp, hoping against hope that he could find one of the apple cores he'd chucked into the woods. Luck held and he triumphantly retrieved the withered, brown core.

Better than no bait. It was just too cold for worms.

By that point he was soft. He relieved himself at the base of a tree, tied his trousers tight at the hip, and sighed.

He stalked back to the camp, stocking in one hand and leather straps in the other. Thomas raked his eyes over Isabel. She was still just lying there, the blanket pulled up over her skin, her eyes staring dead at nothing like she was broken.

She was probably used to sleeping in. Thomas set down his supplies in easy reach of the bedroll. Then he bent, grabbed the blanket, and pulled it swiftly off her.

Isabel yelped and grabbed for it. Too late. He immediately noticed that she'd pulled her dress bodice back up over her tits. Well, it wouldn't last long.

Thomas knelt over her and began to tug her skirts up. Isabel struggled as he worked, wiggling like a fish to keep a shred of modesty in place. She didn't speak, but indignant, panicked little gasps kept escaping her full lips.

Thomas lifted the skirt higher. Now it was over her hips; now higher. She wrestled to hold onto the dress as he dragged it all the way off of her body.

She clawed at him, lightly scraping Thomas' skin. Now she was just in her underthings: stockings and drawers and breast band.

He caught hold of her struggling body with detached amusement and tossed her dress out of reach.

"Have you ever done a day's work in your life?" Thomas asked with a chuckle. She didn't say anything, but he knew the answer. She was pitifully weak and entirely soft.

Even an old man could have held her down and raped her. That was troubling. Thomas liked how easy she was to fuck, but he'd have to keep a close eye on her around others.

Still, her weakness was utterly captivating and he didn't wish to change it. How many years had it been since he'd taken someone like her to bed? Years, and none of those he'd mounted had been quite to his exacting taste, either. Someone so soft, and lovely, and coddled. Someone so utterly fuckable, all tits and ass and cunt and mouth. Freckles and green eyes--good god, he was lost in wanting her.

She was meant for breeding, and meant for him. How he longed to pin her down and fill her. But he'd have to wait until she'd learned her lesson. He wouldn't tolerate her nonsense about bandits. He was a decorated blue-blooded knight, and here she was comparing him to some piss-ass criminal with missing teeth and a diseased dick.

Funny, how different a woman's and a man's worlds were. They were both the younger offspring of proud and haughty families, but Isabel had become this pitifully weak crying beauty in his arms, while he'd become...

This, whatever this was, Thomas thought, as he pinned down her thighs and worked her underpants off over her ankles.

"Please," Isabel begged. He ignored her and carried on with her undressing. There was no stopping him now.

He unlaced her breast band and pulled her tits free, handling the bruised one gently. In a moment of kindness, he decided to leave her stockings on her. She was cold, and they didn't hide the parts of her that he particularly wanted to stare at. Unlike her dyed black mourning dress, the silk stockings were a lovely blue. In fact, none of her underthings looked like those of a woman in mourning.

He took a moment to massage his cock through his trousers. He was hard again, of course. It was impossible not to be at the sight of her whorish flesh.

"Your begging annoys me," he chided her, voice thick with lust. "I asked if you'd prefer bandits, 'bel. You couldn't answer. I presume that meant yes, you would like to be fucked by a bandit."

He sat up and observed Isabel's fully nude body in the early morning sun. Her nose was red with cold; the rest of her body pale and goose-bumped. Her stomach was a soft swell; her waistline narrow before flaring into broad hips and thick thighs. There were fewer freckles on her stomach and thighs, but here or there was a little pinprick of darkness against her pale flesh.

A tangle of dirty-blonde hair between her legs hid her delicious cunt from view. He liked the way her tits lay when she was flat on her back. There was a bit of dirt on her arm; he brushed it off.

Thomas reached for one of the leather reins, and Isabel redoubled her efforts to escape.

"What are you doing?" she cried.

He pushed her down, then shifted forward and rested a knee on her neck. He applied no weight; the threat was enough.

"Stop struggling," he said flatly.

She obeyed, going limp and breathing rapidly in panic. Thomas deftly tied her wrists together over her head.

Next was the stocking. He moved off her and lifted her head up from the ground, carefully wrapping it over her eyes and tying it tight as well. Isabel sobbed.

Did she ever stop crying? At some point she had to run out of tears, didn't she?

He found her shoes and went to put them on her. She kicked at him. Fine; she didn't need shoes if she was going to be a brat. He tweaked her nipple to reprimand her.

Her lips looked miserable, screwed up in a silent sob. Tears leaked from beneath the stocking he'd tied over her eyes. But if he didn't look at her face, she was as heart-wrenchingly beautiful as ever, her body alert with the cold. The faint tremble running through her made her breasts practically vibrate. He groaned.

He counseled himself to patience, hauled her up by the arm, and grabbed the rest of his supplies.

He turned Isabel around and pushed her in the direction of the pond.

"Please," she begged, stumbling forward as he prodded her. "Let me go, Sir. Please, you don't have to do this. Whatever you want--"

"I thought you wanted to be fucked by bandits, 'bel," he said, his voice husky.

"No, please..."

"Stop talking if you know what's good for you." He grabbed her by the hip and nipped at her earlobe. His hard cock against her was as much threat as promise.

That shut her up. He herded her forward, watching her ass as she stumbled naked away from camp. Usually his prisoners were fully-armored men, not beautiful naked women.

She tripped over a root; he lunged forward to grab her. And what a beautiful, weak, helpless woman she was.

"I need to pee," she informed him, her voice trembling.

"Now?"

"....yes."

"Fine," he grumbled. He freed her from the blindfold, not caring to help her more than necessary for this task. When she was done he bound her vision again.

Then he kept her moving.

Once she was in sight of the waterline, where he could keep an eye on her, he found a good tree. With the remaining leather rein, Thomas hitched her wrists to a tree limb above her reach. Now she stood with her arms secured above her head. The pose drew her full, high tits boldly up. She was just plump enough that he couldn't see her ribs individually, but the pose made her ribcage emerge. He rubbed his thumb along its lower edge.

Her breathing was shallow and frantic. She tugged against the knots, but they all held firm.

Thomas pressed two fingers against her neck and felt her frenzied pulse.

He smiled. Fear was a good way to learn.

He reached around and squeezed her ass, then bent down to kiss her on the mouth. He delicately wiped the tears away from her cheeks, smoothing his big rough hands over her soft flesh.

"If the bandits come, 'bel, scream. We'll see whether I can make it back in time."

She gaped blindly towards the sound of his voice. He tuned out the sound of her crying and settled on the shore, just far enough that she couldn't hear him if he kept quiet.

He'd always liked fishing. Thomas smiled to himself and cut the apple core up with his boot knife. It was the worst time of day for the season's catch, the pond not yet warmed by the sun, but he was feeling optimistic. It had been a good two days.

~*~

Isabel sent a silent, pained apology to Hugh's memory. She couldn't imagine that her homely, tender husband had wanted this for her. No, Thomas was a demon, and he'd hidden it; she was sure of that.

I don't mean to be so unfaithful, she thought to Hugh with a shudder. But I can't fight him off, and I can't.... I can't help what he does to me. I don't mean to be naked in front of him. I didn't mean to be raped.

She didn't know how to make it through the next few minutes. It was impossible. Her body reacted by shutting her out, until her mind was a distant thing floating above her, watching her predicament with grim indifference.

So: she was tied and blindfolded in the woods. Bandits would rape her, or Thomas would. Her life as she knew it was over.

She accepted this. It was a fact.

She had saved herself so carefully for marriage; she'd flirted but never so much as kissed a man before Hugh. She'd accepted her father's choice of husband without complaint, even though Hugh looked nothing like the men she'd craved.

And then she had guarded herself so carefully during his absence, averting her gaze from the more handsome members of the castle's staff.

She'd followed the rules, but they had not kept her safe. Was this her punishment for the secret, private lust in her heart? Was this what she deserved?

Thomas had stalked out of a nightmare, a handsome devil to deliver her earth-shattering news. And she, like some fool, had trusted his good name and ridden into the woods, for--what?

To be raped and strung up naked on a tree.

Yes, it was her own fault for going off into the woods with him. Even if he kept her with him and brought her to civilization, nobody would side with her. He would never face punishment because she would never be believed. A virgin's only compensation was to marry the man who'd ruined her. She didn't know what a widow's was.

Probably nothing.

If he was willing to release her, she'd still have to pretend like it had never happened. Elsewise, she'd be irrevocably ruined. No man worth wedding would agree to take her knowing that she'd been used out of wedlock, even if she could convince Hugh's brother Roger--the new Lord of Castle Gire--to consent.
<hr pg="2" />Since Isabel had produced no heir, she'd need Roger's permission to remarry during the first six months following Hugh's death. It was an obscure law known by few, applying only to the childless widows of those holding land and titles, meant to ensure that if Hugh had planted an heir in her belly his line would not be denied.

There was no chance she carried Hugh's child; she hadn't laid eyes on her late husband in nearing half a year. Then again, Lord Roger might still deny permission if he took insult that she wished to remarry so soon.

And she would have no choice but to ask, if Thomas ever let her go. If she ever made it back to safety. The knight had pumped his seed inside her yesterday. She had little doubt that he would again. If a child took inside her and she had no husband, she'd birth a bastard. She would be disowned, sent to a convent if she were lucky and a whorehouse if she were not.

She clenched her fingers, trying to keep them from going numb in the cold. Her mind shifted, blandly remembering how he'd fucked her the night before.

Did cumming harder than she ever had before meant that she wanted this, somehow? Wanted him? Like some immoral strumpet? That wasn't possible. She hated him and feared him.

But she strangely wanted it to be her fault. If she'd seduced him, then he hadn't raped her. She would tell herself anything to believe that she hadn't been raped.

That didn't work. She couldn't lie to herself, even if she wanted to.

She knew what he had done.

She'd been overpowered, bruised, raped, and now, strung up naked in the woods. Facts; undeniable facts.

The shame of being dumped off at Doren, to scramble for a new husband in case he'd planted a babe inside of her, sounded like heaven compared to the alternative:

To be claimed, a well-bred doll to please his monstrous appetite.

~*~

Thomas pinned the small fish's wriggling body and sliced open its neck and nerves with his boot knife. When it stopped flopping he tossed on the bank, far enough back that any final death throes wouldn't bring it back to the water.

He rinsed his fingers and glanced up at Isabel.

She was perfectly demure, shivering naked with her hands above her head. One of her stockings had slipped, bunching below the knee. The sight made him smile. She made a pretty captive.

Thomas baited the hook and threw it back into the water. As he fished, he was busy considering the future.

The only real certainty was that he could not let her go. She was far too breathtaking; he hadn't even begun to have his fill of her. And he knew that if he abandoned Hugh's widow to the whims of the world, he'd never forgive himself.

That was simple enough.

More complicated was his father.

The Duke of Carvaelon would disapprove of Thomas deciding this for himself. He'd find plenty of reasons to refuse Thomas' desires. He might say that his son should wed some homely merchant's daughter with a dowry, since none of Thomas' children would ever inherit anyways.

Thomas felt a pull on the line. He reeled it hand over hand. A moment of resistance, and then it flew out of the water with the hook empty. He frowned, baited it again, and threw.

As a used woman, Isabel would never land another young eligible heir. She might still snag some impotent old lord, or at least a wealthy baron. Either would be more useful to her family than a man, no matter how closely related to the King, who would never inherit or carry a title beyond 'Sir.' A man who had a wealthy family, but no fortune set aside for himself. Whose talents were revealed in battlefields instead of court politics. Some younger sons could make a name for themselves as court officials, but Thomas had long lost the manners necessary for such a position. No; he was good only for war.

And the Duke of Carvaelon would spend no money on a bride price, nor risk incurring the anger of Isabel's family, over the lusts of a younger son with no real importance to the family line.

Thomas turned away from the water and studied Isabel's curves. She was wriggling her fingers again to keep them warm. Her head sank; her chin rested against her collar as her hair formed a tangled curtain around her face.

It was simple. Since he knew he wanted to keep Isabel, he'd marry her on the way to his father's castle. Then it wouldn't matter what either family thought. It would be done, and irrevocably so, sealed by the law and the church.

Unfortunately for Thomas, he did not know the Law of Widows. He only smiled to himself, content with his decision.

She would be his no matter what, until one of them died. He'd deal with whatever consequences came his way.

~*~

Only when Thomas had caught and gutted two fish, carried them to the camp, built a new fire, and thoroughly scrubbed his hands at the pond--only then did he approach Isabel. He walked as silently as he could, careful not to disturb the forest floor. He wore the canteen slung over his shoulder. Thomas had warmed it lightly over the fire, careful not to damage it.

At last he was in front of her.

Thomas frowned as he looked her over. Her body trembled lightly. Her fingers, nose, and ears were bright red. Her head hung limply, her eyes still bound by her spare stocking. The fine golden hair on her arms stood up at attention, as did her nipples.

Her teeth chattered for a moment, then stopped. He watched her rub her fingers together again, then let them go limp.

Thomas reached forward and brushed his hand up the inside of her thigh.

Isabel screamed and threw herself back, kicking out at him. Her hands snapped against the leather reins, holding her weight as the ties scraped against her wrists.

"Easy, 'bel," Thomas said. He gathered her forward, reaching up to release her hands from the tree. He kept her wrists bound to each other as she fell forward against him, shivering.

He could feel her heart, a slow and sluggish beat despite her panic. Her skin felt like ice. He'd let her get too cold.

He rubbed her back with one arm and pulled down her blindfold with the other. She blinked against his chest. He could feel her weight pressing against him. If he weren't supporting her, she'd collapse down onto the ground.

"Relieved its me?" he asked softly.

She hesitated, then nodded against him. She didn't look up to meet his eyes.

"Then shall I fuck you beside the fire, Isabel, or shall I string you back up to the tree and leave you?"

"Please," she whispered. "Don't leave me here."

"Remember that, next time you think about fighting me." He grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze up to him. "Another man would be worse to you, Isabel. The world is not full of men like Hugh."

He rubbed both hands up and down her chilly back, then unstopped the canteen and held it to her lips. She gulped greedily. Some of it missed her mouth, dribbling down her chin and her cold tits.

Thomas stopped the canteen and lifted her into his arms. Then he carried her back towards the camp.

He sat her on the bedroll. She climbed shivering inside it as he build the fire up higher. Her wrists were still tied together.

"Come back out, 'bel. I want to look at you while I fuck you."

"I'm so cold," she said, her voice shaking. "Please, Sir Thomas...at least give me this."

He took a deep breath and added another log to the fire. Crouching, Thomas studied her face. She looked back at him, wide-eyed and earnest, bare shoulders just peeking up from beneath the blanket. The stocking-blindfold was still around her neck, where he'd lowered it after freeing her.

Her teeth chattered. Her extremities were bright red; the rest of her was pale. Her eyes looked red, too, puffy and exhausted from crying.

"Alright," he said slowly. "But if we do it your way, I at least want you to beg."

"Please... under the blanket?" she asked softly.

"Not for that," he said with a chuckle. He straightened up and walked over to her, standing at her feet and staring down at her. "Beg me to fuck you, 'bel."

"But I..." her gaze shifted to where he'd dropped the other leather rein. He breath caught. He watched her swallow, and close her eyes. "Will you... please... do it?"

"How?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she said softly.

"You seemed so fond of bandits." He crawled beneath the blankets and settled on top of her, holding himself up on his elbows. Cold still radiated from her. He noticed how she softened against him now, desperate for his body heat. "Perhaps you'd like to be fucked like they'd fuck you, 'bel."

He looped her bound hands over his neck, making her cling to him.

"Don't... do what they do," she begged, trembling.

Thomas kissed her sweetly, then pulled back and smiled.

"Ask me properly. Shall I fuck your face, and your cunt, and then pump my seed deep in your asshole?" He slid a hand down her hip and squeezed her cold ass cheek for emphasis.

"No, please, please don't," she begged, practically convulsing under him. She involuntarily dragged her hands back towards her, pulling Thomas in without meaning to. He laughed and kissed her deeply, dipping his tongue into her mouth.

"Then where should I use instead? Tell me," he breathed into her. He ground his full cock against Isabel, dry humping her naked body as he taunted her.

She hesitated, wanting to tell him off. He watched as her resolve crumbled. At last she pointed with her eyes, glancing awkwardly between them and towards her cunt.

"Come now, Isabel. You were a married woman. Such shyness is beneath you." Thomas pushed her thighs wider apart. "I want to hear you say it."

"My womanhood," she said with a shudder.

"Beg, sweetheart. Like you mean it."

"Please, please... use...my womanhood."

That was good enough for him. For today.

"Shame. I'd have enjoyed filling your mouth. You have such pretty lips," Thomas teased, rubbing his thumb over her mouth. "So red." But he obediently bent his gaze lower. He trailed his hand down between her breasts, across her stomach, and towards the tangle of blonde hair between her legs.

Thomas explored her cunt. He was disappointed to find her lips barely glazed with desire, but he found more when he pushed inside her; a wet response steadily preparing her body for the use she knew was coming. Thomas teased at her clit for a moment with his fingers, then tasted his way down her body, disappearing under the blankets.

"What are you doing?" Isabel said, lifting her head to give him a wide-eyed and startled glance. "That's not what we agreed--"

"Relax," Thomas said. "Fuck, you're tightly wound."

He parted her folds with his fingers, brushing back the delicate golden hairs and wrapping his mouth around her hooded clit. Thomas massaged her with his lips, lightly sucking at her body.

He wanted a response from her. She lay still beneath him. He was been about to try something else when she finally softened slightly against him, then tilted her hips oh-so-barely to find a better angle.

Thomas smiled as he kept going. He slowly urged a finger inside her hole, crooking it to stroke her.

Before long she was grinding her little pussy more firmly against him. Under the smoky cloak of the blanket, the ripe scent of her arousal became thick and overpowering. Thomas moaned into her cunt as her scent intoxicated him.

Her lips were swollen and needy. Now desire dripped from her. His finger was coated wet up to the knuckle, and her juice was even smeared along his sharp jaw and his cheek. She tightened for a moment with a whimper; he could feel her sweet pussy wrapping around his finger.

He wanted her so badly that his cock ached; demanded release. With one hand still plunging into her, his other hand snaked beneath his hips to jerk himself.

He was going to fuck her now; she was ready for him. But then the most delightful thing happened instead.

Isabel reached down and wrapped her bound hands into his hair.

One of her legs fell to the side; a moan snaked out of her mouth.

Eagerly he strummed his tongue against her clit. She moaned again, loudly. She pushed her hips up against him, riding his mouth.

Thomas gave her what she wanted. His fingers, tongue, and lips turned fully to her pleasure. Her arousal flooded from her, dampening the blanket on the ground and making him growl with restrained need.

And then, Isabel came.

Her back arched up off the ground as she parted her mouth silently. Her cheeks were flushed, her forehead slicked with sweat despite the chill.

Thomas smiled and pulled his finger out of her. As he crawled back over her, he felt the exact shape of her wetness on him. The cold air prickled the damp spots of his skin.

He wanted to tease her, to make some comment.

Blind, lusty hunger kept Thomas mute instead. He ripped his shirt over his head and kicked off his boots and trousers. Isabel was still and obedient as he lined his weeping cock up with her lips.

He pushed in, sinking inside her to chase the same pleasure she'd just taken. She was so warm and tight.

He'd been holding back for so long--a whole morning of watching her naked, stretched-out body. No sooner had he pushed his way into the depth of her pussy than he began to ride her, hard and fast.

Her body lay open beneath his, docile and dazed. Thomas pulled her hands back over his head, to cling to his neck. Then he wrapped his own hands beneath her and pulled her tight against him as he pounded into her.

Thomas' hips moved swiftly, punching his big, hard dick inside her body. Isabel began to pant, and Thomas grunted in response.

He turned his mouth against her neck and began to kiss her there. The stocking he'd blindfolded her with grazed his chin. Thomas rose higher, mouthing hungrily at her sealed lips and forcing her to yield. Her mouth parted. He grazed his teeth along her lower lip as his big cock squelched deeper inside her with a smack.

She was his. His to fuck.

Thomas brought one of his legs up a little, digging into the ground for purchase so he could better mount her. He gritted his teeth, breathing hard as he fought to hold off on cumming. She had such a good cunt that she would be worth using even if she weren't so beautiful. He wasn't ready to leave her grip.

Isabel gave a strangled moan as his angle shifted. Thomas chuckled, the sound low and rough.

"Is that why you fought so hard, 'bel?" he panted, his muscular ass clenching as he thrust his big slick cock inside her. "So I wouldn't find out you were such a fucking wet-cunt slut?"

He slowed, lengthening his thrusts. Thomas savored each moment; how his cock pushed through her opening and slid down her tight grip; how his balls smacked audibly against her.

When he felt himself tip over the edge of his orgasm, Thomas pulled his cock out of her.

He pressed his glistening length flat against her pale, soft stomach. Ribbons of white cum pumped out of him, pooling across her smooth flesh; it dripped into her bellybutton. He groaned low as the last bit left him.

It wasn't concern over pregnancy that made him cum on her instead of in her. He'd just wanted to see her flesh coated in his seed. He peeled the blankets away and stared at the white puddle he'd left on her. It slid towards the edge of her body.

Feeling relaxed, Thomas dragged a finger through his cum to keep it from falling. He held it to Isabel's unwilling lips.

"Since you were so interested in bandits," he told her as he pressed his finger inside her mouth. "You have to learn to be grateful for me, Isabel. I can't have you running off and getting captured. Understood?"

He pulled the cleaned finger from her trembling lips.

She nodded, eyes closed and cheeks red with shame.

"Out loud," he said.

"Yes. Okay," she whispered.

"Good girl. I know the idea of all those men filling you must excite a sweet little whore like you, 'bel, but think what your family would say. Be good, and I'll keep you full with mine."

The cum was slipping off her again. He ran his finger back through it.

Thomas smirked and pressed the finger into her sopping wet cunt. Isabel caught her breath in a short inhale. Thomas chuckled and drew his finger out, wiping it off on her hip. She probably wanted him to fuck her with his hands until he got hard again, but she'd have to wait until they reached town.

He deftly untied her wrists. She hissed in pain as the leather bonds slackened. Then Thomas stood and strode naked to the supplies. He put on his spare trousers. He tossed his blood-stained shirt towards her.

"Wipe that off," Thomas instructed. He carried her spare clothes over to her, dropping the garments at the foot of the bedroll.

Thomas impaled the fish he'd caught on sticks and began to roast them.

Isabel slowly cleaned his sticky seed from her stomach. She stumbled to her clean dress and drew it over her shivering, goose-bumped body. Like the last one, it was dyed black for mourning. Though the fabric was thick to keep her warm, he was pleased to see how closely the cut followed the line of her waist.

"You look cold. Get closer to the fire," Thomas instructed with a frown.

She shifted to obey him, stretching her fingers out as she warmed her numb hands. She carefully sat on the opposite side of the flames from him.

She stared blankly at the flames, her face utterly expressionless. The cold and hunger had gotten to her, Thomas thought. He set the fish aside for a moment and walked to her.

Picking up the blankets, he wrapped them around her shoulders and smoothed his hands down her sides.

He didn't like how silent she was being. Once she had a chance to warm up and eat something, she'd be back to herself. He was certain.

She'd finally started being so good. He wasn't ready for that to end.

~*~

She took the charred fish he offered and stared down at it. Thomas sat beside her, refusing to giver her distance, and took a bite of his own.

"Eat," he chided her. "You need strength."

"Did you kill Hugh?" she asked after a long moment.

"What?" his gaze snapped to her, eyebrows furrowed. She was staring not at the fish in her hands, but at the ring on her finger.

"Did you kill Hugh so you could carry me off?" she asked.

He stared at her, flexing one hand in and out of a fist. His jaw was a tight, furious line.

"You presume too much," Thomas at last said, voice like ice. "Hugh treated me better than my own blood. He showed me kindness."

"Kindness you didn't deserve," she muttered under her breath. "He was kind to everyone."

"I didn't kill him," Thomas said. His voice was rising. "And I had never laid eyes on you--why the fuck would I kill him for you? You think I'd rather be balls-deep in his widow than have my fucking friend alive?"

"I was just asking," she said flatly, her tone low. She still stared at her hand. "Just say 'no.'"

"No, I didn't kill him," Thomas snarled. "I watched a cock-sucking barbarian gut him like the fish you're holding, and by the time I made it to him his killer was gone."

Isabel's hands trembled. She slowly started to set down the food.

"Eat," Thomas said. "Unless you want me to ram it down your throat, Isabel, swear to fucking god, eat your food."

"You didn't have to get so mad," she whispered, lifting a piece of fish to her mouth with trembling fingers. She placed it on her tongue slowly and forced herself to swallow as she stared straight into the flames.

Thomas ate the remainder of his food savagely. He threw the remains into the fire, got up, and stalked to the horses. They were nervous under his hands, shifting and nickering as he prepared them for riding.

He tried to calm himself, taking deep and even breaths. He fastened the reins back to the bridles and checked their hooves for stones.

He had not killed Hugh, but it was his fault Hugh was dead. He'd promised to stay close by Hugh's side, knowing the man was useless with a sword.
<hr pg="3" />Thomas lay his face against his warhorse's neck and curled his fingers into the stallion's black mane. Vanquish nickered lightly, wrapping his thick neck around to lip at his master.

Thomas took a deep shuddering breath, and another. Death was not supposed to affect him like this. He hadn't mourned a friend so keenly since his first year on the front, when losing a comrade was still something new to him.

It made him unspeakably furious that she thought he would have raised a finger against a man like Hugh.

And unspeakably guilty that he had been unable to save the man. It was his fault she was a widow.

He tried to imagine things from Isabel's perspective.

She'd been Hugh's wife. Hugh would have been as tender to her as he'd been to his friends. More, because one look at her body and any man would be in love. She wasn't used to being treated the way Thomas treated women. She'd probably only ever known Hugh.

Thomas had told her the news, and then he'd used her tight little cunt. Was she right to question his intentions? He had to admit that she was.

But still. She'd asked for it all, hadn't she? She wanted to be used.

She'd invited Thomas alone into the woods, and cum for him twice barely a week after learning of Hugh's death. Not that he minded getting to use a pretty little thing like her, but she was a bit of a slut. She had near as much reason to feel ashamed as Thomas did, the knight thought.

A month after Hugh's passing and here he was, fucking Hugh's widow and...

...tying her naked to trees. Thomas chuckled. Alright. Perhaps he was the worse of the two of them. The lady couldn't help but crave his cock, but he'd done more than crave her.

Thomas began to laugh, his face buried in his horse's mane across the camp.

Isabel looked up in alarm at the sound. Good god, she thought. He's gone mad.

Thomas shook his head at his own thoughts and finished tacking the horses. He led them towards the fire and met Isabel's still-horrified gaze.

"Do you want to keep the blanket on? We need to go," he said. "It's a long ride if we want to sleep in a bed tonight, my lady."

She only nodded, ashen-faced.

Thomas frowned and made a fist, digging his nails into his palm.

"I didn't mean to get mad," he said, voice strained. "His death is... a difficult thing."

She blinked, taken aback. The last thing she'd expected from him was an apology.

Thomas put his blood-and-cum stained shirt into one of his saddle packs after moving all his supplies to the other. He spread and scuffed out the fire. Isabel stood and put on her shoes; he rolled the sleeping mat and strapped it behind Vanquish's saddle. He strapped his shield over that. Though dented from many blows, the design remained clear. The black Carvaelon boar stood rampant on its hind legs, mighty tusks blood-red. None who saw the shield would mistake Thomas as being from any lesser family.

Thomas tucked away the flint he'd used to start the fire, and swept over their camp with his eyes to make sure nothing was missed. He adjusted his sword bandolier. The weapon's familiar weight across his back was a comfort. These days he felt naked without it.

At last he was prepared to go. Isabel approached her horse.

"Ready?" Thomas put his hands on Isabel's waist.

She nodded, looking down at the ground. He lifted her into the saddle and guided her feet into the stirrup cups. Thomas squeezed her calf as Isabel resettled the blanket around her shoulders. She was as glad to have a covering that hid her body from view as she was for the warmth.

Thomas swung into his saddle and gathered Vanquish's reins. Then, the Knight and the Lady took back to the road.

