The Darkest Knight Ch 05

There was a collective silence in the room. All gathered had expected the word 'Master' to erupt from the Princess' lips and it seemed all were to be disappointed. The slave in question gazed forward with a remarkably stoic look that amused even Lucius, so much so that he had to work to keep his face straight and his expression foreboding.

'So be it,' he said finally, shaking his head.

The crop in his hand reared back in a graceful arc and he let it fly. It connected with that soft, swollen nub of pleasure with a satisfying smack and Rosalind's eyes went wide. Then... all hell let loose.

Firstly Rosalind screamed the scream of screams.

This nearly floored every man in the room.

Byron had his fingers so far down his eardrums they were practically touching brain matter. Once again he'd had to retreat to his Island paradise, eyes tightly closed, letting the sun's rays seep warmth into his body. Whilst there, he decided to contemplate the joys of marrying a luscious, full bodied and deliciously ripe native girl. One who was preferably mute, he added as an afterthought.

The screaming finally stopped and Rosalind's jaw seemed to be making strange 'Oh Oh' shapes as her face twisted in spasms of pain, whilst tears of agony streamed down her cheeks. Choked little sobs of disbelief were the only sounds that could now be heard.

Gingerly, hands were prised away from ears as once more temporary sanity and hearing returned to the room.

'You!' came a very loud, rather angry voice from the floor at the front of the dais.

Byron recognised that voice. Alas the forthcoming nuptials would have to be put on hold as once again he was firmly catapulted back into the present day. Realising he was in a little bit of trouble, he began to slowly sink to the floor below as surreptitiously as possible.

'YOU LOST ME MY PRINCESS!' roared the by now very awake, sober and more than a touch grumpy merchant.

In response Byron hit the floor, crawling at the speed of light between numerous chairs littering the room, towards the exit.

'COME BACK HERE,' screamed the now apoplectic man. 'I challenge you to a duel, you conniving little thief.'

Byron made it to the exit door glad of his svelte frame for once and turned back to smile charmingly at the merchant, fingers already on the door latch.

'And I, The Great and Mighty sword fighter Byron,' said Byron pausing for dramatic effect whilst watching the merchant struggle to his feet, 'Challenge You.... TO CATCH ME FIRST!'

The door slammed quickly shut, letting in a puff of dust in its wake.

The merchant's jaw for a second went slack in disbelief and then, recovering himself went roaring off all swords blazing after the valet.

Quick as a flash the auction room's participants rushed to the door to watch the ensuing games. Let's face it, fighting was much more fun than Princesses any day of the week.

*

The altercation left a bemused Lucius pleasantly alone with a semi conscious, if somewhat disobedient slave. He caressed her cheek softly to bring her back to the land of the living.

'Oh God I hurt all over,' groaned Rosalind, shaking her head groggily as if to clear the pain filled void her mind had become.

'Oh God I hurt all over MASTER,' Lucius corrected, letting the crop touch her tortured, striped arse, dragging it along the backs of her thighs and once more stroking her swollen clitoris softly with it.

'Oh God I hurt all over Master,' Rosalind allowed.

Lucius looked back at her sharply with narrowed eyes.

'That was a bit too easy,' he murmured, face darkening slightly.

'Mmm,' Rosalind replied trying not to slip to and from consciousness. 'There's no-body watching me now,' she finished with a try at an impish smile directed at her tormentor.

Now why had he suspected as much? Without warning the crop once more flew to embed itself in the rather raw, decidedly red and deliciously sore backside of his new slave. This time he let her slip back into unconsciousness without any further interference from himself. The fact that her arms would strain tightly against the cuffs connected to the eyebolts high above would be punishment enough when she awoke.

*

Byron could not be found. It was perhaps more accurate to say that Byron didn't want to be found so much, that he had taken above average precautions to prevent the possibility.

Admittedly he was rather more fleet of foot than Mr I'm a bit too big for my boots, so the dash across the Castle courtyard to the servants quarter behind wasn't the hardest race he'd ever entered. Then there was the having to bribe a deliciously young and nubile chamber maid to take off her clothes, which was just too horrible to contemplate. The watching her strip part particularly vile as he made to don her clothes. In fact the only part which really bothered him, was having to pretend to lump up and down on some spotty servant boy, also bribed, when the merchants lackeys came looking for him.

At their entrance Byron was making good on his budding acting career. He was decked out in a long blond wig and had petticoats flying everywhere, whilst making high pitched feminine squeals of delight and giving a champion snog that left the poor stable boy speechless, but perhaps for all the wrong reasons. Thankfully the men moved on quickly. Byron was only a little put out that they hadn't stayed to watch.

Honestly, the things one had to do, to keep one's head attached to one's body, was simply astounding.

*

'ARRRGHH. LET ME DOWN DAMNIT!'

Rosalind's nap had been short and not in the remotest bit sweet. Her awakening to a fresh new world of sore limbs, swollen striped flesh and screaming muscles was not at all to her liking.

'Now you can repeat all of that, adding the word Master or it will amuse me greatly to watch you hang like that all day,' said Lucius arching an eyebrow.

'Oh and a word of advice: if you're a smart slave, you'll swap damnit for please.'

Rosalind, having a good inkling of when she was beaten, both literally and figuratively in this case, conceded to the Prince's wishes with a suitably meek voice. He may have won this battle, but she intended to resume the war, just as soon as her backside recovered. (Little did she know it would rarely, if perhaps ever).

For now, exhausted with today's excitement, Lucius decided to saddle up and set off for the nearest inn. It was obvious some training was in order before the Princess was fit to meet Mama.

To soften her up a little, he'd decided that she would ride naked. Not only would it add the most delicious hue of crimson to her pale cheeks as she saw all of her subjects witness her unusual departure, it would also leave his hands with plenty of things to explore on the journey.

She would also ride on his horse in front of himself, to prevent the possibility of her causing trouble.

With a decidedly wicked grin on his face, he prayed for a pleasantly bumpy ride with more than their fair share of potholes to grace the road ahead. That arse would be murder in short order and he intended to put that little detail to full use for the evening ahead.

Now, where was Byron?

*

Having given the stables area a cursory glance, which was where Byron should be, getting the horses ready for their departure, Lucius gave up.

He didn't particularly want to know how Byron was removing himself out of difficulty and could only pray he was spared the details. He might as well make arrangements to go on ahead.

Short work was made of saddling his fiery black stallion who was anxious to be on his way.

'I know the feeling,' muttered Lucius as he patted his flank and slipped a carrot into the way of a greedy mouth.

Trudging back indoors he was faced with the dilemma of how to remove a wildcat Princess from shackles and then get her to the stables. When he managed that the only problem was how to get her on his horse and make her remain there whilst he got on behind her. Good thing he loved a challenge.

The shackles part was easy enough; Rosalind was as anxious to be free of them as he was to get her out of them.

'Right slave,' said Lucius with a dark look, 'we're going to the stables and as I can't trust you to walk, your journey will be made over my shoulder. If you decide to bite me, remember that your backside is a rather wickedly raw piece of flesh at the moment and I have a free hand to play with it.'

Rosalind looked up and nodded. She was left with no illusions as to what 'play' meant.

A serving wench chose that moment to enter the auction room, which caused Lucius to narrow his eyes.

'I've been sent to help out, I have,' it said in a rather strangely high falsetto voice.

Lucius decided to call it 'it' because whilst it had long blond hair and a rather shapeless wool dress and voluminous petticoats, it also had boots, hairy legs and a remarkable resemblance to a certain valet he knew.

'Have you worked here long perchance?' enquired Lucius without the merest flicker of recognition.

'Years and years, deary,' came the reply.

'Excellent, you can lead this lass to the stables then my... lady.'

The wench considered this for a moment and tried to remember in which general direction the stables were. Hmmm. Hairy eyebrows went from left, to right, to left again without reaching a conclusive answer. It seemed the game was up.

'Tis me Byron,' came a whisper.

'Is it really?,' came the sardonic reply. 'You're much prettier than I remember,' remarked Lucius raising an eyebrow.

Byron smiled at this. He knew he was good with disguises, but compliments were always welcome.

'It's the hair isn't it?' he said, twirling a thick lock of the honeyed blond wig around on his finger.

'No, I think the dress actually,' said Lucius, having given Byron an assessing look up and down.

'What this old thing?' said Byron aghast.

*

For some unknown reason his servant was in a mighty hurry to begone from the Castle grounds and adjusted tack, sorted saddlebags, virtually threw Rosalind atop Lucius' stallion and fastened her hands behind her back without drawing breath.

Also odd was the fact that his manservant chose to stay in female attire, whilst straddling his own horse with more alacrity than Lucius had seen from him in quite some time. To each their own he supposed. The result was that he had a naked slave Princess in front of him on his horse in record time. That was indeed a good thing.

'Byron if you even think of letting your horse go before mine, I will personally behead you and I'll use a spoon to do it, which has the added bonus of taking an exceptionally long time.

Byron managed to check his horse with a hard yank on the reins in just the nick of time.

'Thought never crossed my mind Sire,' he replied, waiting a good 30 seconds before following his Prince out of the Castle grounds.

*

There was a decided chill in the air. Lucius knew this because his fingers had given Rosalind's right breast a little pinch, only to discover her nipple was already standing to attention in the most pert way possible. He checked the left breast just to be sure. Mmmm. He growled appreciatively.

'Could I have a cloak please,' whispered Rosalind, not turning her head to look at him.

'Could I have a cloak please, MASTER,' replied Lucius in a rather amused voice.

Rosalind repeated the phrase making sure to emphasise the word 'Master' and still managed not to look at him.

'No, you may not have a cloak slave,' Lucius replied evilly.

He turned her face towards him slowly, with an elegantly manicured finger.

'I want all of your subjects to see their Princess' notable charms as a leaving present from me. Besides the fact that clothes will rarely if ever be allowed on my slave and if I allow them, be sure you'd rather be naked than wear what I'll make you wear,' Lucius smiled as he watched her face colour up crimson.

'But I'm cold Master,' she replied peevishly.

'Now that I can help with,' he replied, trying his hardest not to smile.

Lucius took his horse from a sedate walk to a slow trot which he knew would warm those tender buttocks up rather smartly. Then with one hand he began to fondle her nether lips, lightly nipping, rubbing and stroking. The other hand, still just about managing to hold on to the reigns was alternating between one breast and the next, pinching and fondling gently.

Rosalind tried to buck away from him in horror and in her attempts nearly succeeded in falling off the horse, had it not been for Lucius' quick reflexes.

'I wouldn't try that if I were you,' he drawled in her ear. 'Falling off a horse with your hands tied behind your back is not going to be particularly pleasant, not to mention the fact that flesh of yours is in rather a sorry state already.' He smiled when he felt her shudder and knew it was not because of the cold.

When they approached the Castle portcullis, it was clear that virtually the whole Kingdom had come out to witness their Princess' grand departure. Rosalind couldn't contain a groan of horror that all her subjects wanted to see her thus.

She needed her hands desperately in order to cover herself up and was feeling them all too keenly fastened securely behind her. No amount of tugging at the rope was going to help her. What a picture she must present!

Naked breasts and buttocks bouncing up and down as she rode, nipples erect and a dark rose colour from Lucius' attentions. Then her swelling pussy lips, also darkening in colour both from the effects of nimble fingers and having had a good bounce up and down as they rode. If you'd said her face was scarlet it would have been the understatement of the century. Puce would have been more accurate. This was hideous. It was all she could do to hold back tears, but that wasn't the worst of it by far. Oh no.

The worst of it was that she could feel moist heat trickling from between her legs and dribbling slowly upon their saddle so she almost squelched as she rode; her whole body thrumming and vibrating as if something big and pleasurable was gathering to break free. She knew Lucius would be able to feel the slippery wetness beneath him. What on earth was happening to her?

Please dear God tell her that she wasn't going to enjoy this torment. It was all too much to bear.