Stuck In The Middle Of You

For enormous, winged, fire-breathing, scaled beasts, dragons are rather good at remaining undetected. At least, the ones still alive are. Sir Charles the Relentless pushed on, crashing his way through the forest while cursing dragonkind's love of remote locations. His armor did little to ease his passage, causing him to sink into the soft earth. The forest was also far thicker than he had anticipated, undergrowth and saplings slowing his pace to a crawl. A small part of him thought the other knights may have been right; maybe swords did have their uses anyway. He shook the thought away, gently caressing the haft of his halberd. Polearms are better than swords, after all.

He had been tracking his current mark, a proud red dragon, for three months now, the telltale signs of draconic intervention as good as spoor to him. He had isolated the beast's location to Dorfenburg, a small trading village just south of the mountains. The village made its wealth by outfitting travelers and traders who sought passage through the mountains. Great wealth flowed through the area, though little of it stayed. Even still, it was said to be a comfortable village during the off-season, and a veritable bazaar during the warmer months. Many well-marked paths lead to the village, an artifact of its part-time status as a trading hub. Charles avoided these paths outright, deeming them "too obvious". Likewise, he eschewed a bestial mount, the added responsibility of feeding another creature "too inconvenient and expensive" for a man on a mission. Sure, it took him three times as long to travel, but as far as he was concerned, it meant that his foes were three times as surprised by his arrival. This dragon was as good as dead.

Hours of schlepping passed uneventfully as the sun traced through the sky. Nearing nightfall, the weary paladin finally drew within spotting distance of the village, though the low light precluded any attempts at early reconnaissance. Not wanting to enter town at night, covered in mud, he chose to make camp where he stood. Sleeping outside of armor was how one got assassinated, so he simply wrapped himself in a thick blanket and laid back against a tree. Come morning, he would need to clean himself off and procure food and lodging, but that could wait. For now, he decided on sleep.

Morning came, as it is wont to do, and was accompanied by the sounds of a knight furiously buffing his armor. With a groan and a stretch, he righted himself, inspecting his handiwork. In particular, he admired his ability to polish the back of his armor while still wearing it, yet another skill that put him above the other knights. He bet they even took their armor off. It was barely past dawn, yet he strode merrily -- and loudly -- into the village center, appraising the citizens and buildings alike. As always, he found it difficult to interact with the peasants. Every time he went to explain his glorious mission to anyone cautiously appraising him -- obviously curious about his holy quest -- they would slink off as though avoiding some kind of madman. Even when he followed, attempting to set straight the bill, they paid him no heed, hurrying off with haste. Obviously, they were simply in a hurry to return to their chores. Such hard-working people, he mused, as he stepped into a tavern.

The slight dinginess about the tavern mixed nicely with the soft light of morning and alcohol-assisted silence, giving the establishment a bit of a "homey" feel. Being a trading village, Dorfenburg was filled with taverns of all sorts, yet the lack of exterior ornamentation and central location marked this as the tavern of choice for the year-round residents. A perfect place to start an investigation. He clanked loudly into the tavern, taking a seat in the best-lit corner of the room. He sat patiently, clinking softly as he adjusted in his seat. A slow rustle coming from a room at the far end of the tavern drew his attention, announcing the arrival of the barmaid. She staggered in, obviously both annoyed at having been woken up so early and surprised that a patron would appear at such an hour. Despite her weary appearance, Charles was immediately drawn in by her beauty. Long red hair framed a gorgeous, porcelain-colored face. Her modest dress struggled to tie down her heaving chest and barely covered the wide sway of her hips. Soft green eyes peered at him from between errant strands of hair.

Her slow stagger halted abruptly when her eyes met his...helmet. She snapped awake quickly, confusion dragging her from her stupor. For a while, she simply stood there, as though questioning why an armored man with a polearm would be in a tavern scant minutes after sunrise. With a sigh, she straightened up, walking briskly towards the knight before inquiring how she may be of service. He laid out his needs in great detail, indicating what times he would need a place to sleep and what sorts of food were required for him to best complete his mission. Her face scrunched as she tried to keep track of his...specific demands, though her sagging expression showed her reluctance to continue enabling his madness. Her expression reversed, however, when he abruptly stopped talking and withdrew a small pouch and emptied its contents onto the table. While Charles' first paying job had been dragon slaying, the bar maid had a much more practical understanding of money. Coming to a total on-par with the tavern's annual income, she knew a deal when she saw it, scooping the money before he could change his mind and agreeing to his requests. The knight thanked her, carefully studying her curvaceous form as she went off to see to her tasks.

For Charles' part, he remained seated, waiting for more patrons to arrive. When food came, he ate; when drink came, he drank, but he never moved. Even as customers began to arrive as the sun was setting, he remained in his seat, watching the crowd, listening for rumors about dragons or other strange goings-on. As the drinking carried on, the crowd grew louder, making it difficult for him to make out individual noises. He considered drawing in closer, but decided to remain where he was and wait.

Hours passed and the revelry broke up, some choosing to return home, while others claimed spots throughout the floor or in private rooms for the night. It was now that he chose to begin his search. With surprising grace, he crossed the room, careful to not trample the drunkards. He scanned the room, picking out the least-intoxicated patron, and made his way over to begin questioning. The patron in question sat alone against the wall, nursing what was left of his drink while staring off into space. I gentle prod on the shoulder broke him out of his trance, directing his attention towards the gleaming tower of metal standing beside him. The man cried out in surprise, recoiling in panic. The knight spoke calmly, wary of the man's fear, and clearly introduced himself before explaining that he was looking for a dragon to slay. A brief physical description of said dragon followed, though it did little to alleviate the look of confusion upon his face. The paladin stared down his visor at the man, hoping draw out a response with a bit of intimidation. Unfortunately, the man could only stutter, a common theme whenever Charles would question common men about dragons. Obviously, he was too afraid of the dragon's retribution to reveal any information. The knight was moved by pity, assuring the man of his safety before searching for the next-most-sober person. It was going to be a long night.

Charles was about to abandon his efforts for the night, having exhausted the tavern's supply of semi-lucid drunk people, when a soft voice called to him from the kitchen. The tavern maid beckoned him to follow before retreating around the corner. He followed, trading the loud snores of variously incapacitated patrons for the soft crackling of the fire, still burning strong after a long day of preparing meals. His armor gleamed in the firelight, casting odd specs of light about the room. He took a seat near the fire when bidden, relaxing almost immediately after a long night of browbeating drunkards. Being a paladin was a hard job.

For a time, they both sat near the fire, enjoying the relative calm after the bustle of the evening. The lady spoke first, identifying herself as Elizabeth, daughter of the tavern's late proprietor. She claimed to have inherited the tavern after his death, being unwed and also the man's only child. Her mother had died of the plague years before, leaving her alone. She did not make enough to hire any assistants, which explained her near-constant presence. He questioned why she would tell him so much about herself unbidden, choosing to return the favor by drowning her in tales of his own exploits. She seemed to eat up his tales, the gleam in her emerald eyes assuring him of her genuine interest. For the first time he could remember, Charles had found an audience that enjoyed his stories of adventure and combat. He talked for hours, recounting nearly every event of his years on the road as she listened intently.

When the knight finally exhausted his trove of tales, it was Elizabeth's turn to speak. She commented on the many stories she heard from travelers and traders, ranging from simple tales of bandit raids to unbelievable boasts of fighting an army of demons. She had a real knack for storytelling, nearly bringing the paladin to tears with tales of lost love right before they shared unrestrained laughter at a story about a thief who was caught while attempting to impersonate the guard he was trying to bluff his way past. Their conversation was eventually brought to a close by the sound of the village awakening with the first light of the new day. With a start, the barmaid jumped to her duties, cleaning the kitchen and bar before getting to work on preparing meals.

Realizing that the poor woman would need to work without sleep because of him, Charles volunteered to assist her. At first she refused, but he quickly showed her how he had earned the moniker "the relentless". He may have few skill outside of slaying things, but he figured that pushing a broom around could not be that hard. Plus, it was an opportunity to work undercover. For the first time in days, he removed his armor, trading it for a simple tunic he carried with him for just an occasion. Elizabeth seemed completely taken aback at his metamorphosis, his gentle, youthful face standing at odds with his powerful build and the wall of iron he usually hid behind. She appraised him with a smile, silently approving his unique blend of raw masculinity and gentle charm. Her expression soured, however, when she caught him staring at her breasts. When one wears an all-encompassing helmet all day, it is easy to forget that without out it, others can see where you are looking. It was a mistake that he would go on to repeat several more times throughout the day, yet each time it seemed to bother her less and less. It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn that she was trying to draw his eyes to her cleavage when they served dinner.

Surprisingly, the knight's attempts at interviewing the customers was met with mild success. Apparently, the village folk around here opened up a bit more to a bartender than to a paladin. Rumors were scarce, but consistent-enough to validate his claim that a dragon was in the area, possibly very close. Despite his excitement, he began to wear down as the day drew to a close, meeting up with Elizabeth only after the patrons began to file out. They sat down again in the kitchen, talking idly as they wound down from a day of work. Charles wondered how she managed to do all the work herself and still wake up in time to do it all again the next day. She had a strong work ethic, that much was certain. Still, she looked exhausted as she slumped in the chair, barely registering his presence. He went to excuse himself, but she cut him off, rising quickly from her chair to thank him for his help.

Charles found himself pressed into his chair, the barmaid now straddling his lap and leaning in close. The slight grime on her face and bags under her eyes did little to detract from her beauty. In fact, the paladin thought they suited her well, signs of a hard life well-lived. She rested her arms about his neck and drew in, closing her eyes before making contact. They kissed slowly but deeply, their tongues tentatively exploring each other as they relaxed in their embrace. His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her in deeper until she had to pull back, panting heavily as she caught her breath. A thin line of saliva connected them even after they broke their kiss, glinting with the light of the fire. He pulled her back in, yet as their eyes closed, she turned her head towards his shoulder. He waited, expecting to feel her mouth on his neck or chest, but it never came. He opened his eyes to see hers still closed, her face pressed softly into his pectoral, sound asleep. He could not bring himself to wake her, tired as she was, so he settled for stroking her hair softly as she breathed softly into his tunic. When she started snoring, he figured that little he could do would wake her, so he lifted her off his lap and carried her to her bed before tucking her in. He though he heard her say something as he left, though he was too tired to wait and see, returning quickly to his own room for a night of well-deserved sleep.

Charles slept soundly, and far longer than intended. It was nearly afternoon before he awoke to find all of the morning chores completed and Elizabeth starting to serve the first meal of the day to waiting customers. He would really have to find out how she always woke up on time like that. He tried to pitch in as best he could, but he only seemed to get in her way, unused to joining any task in progress. He tried again to obtain more information, though he found he was able to discover little more than he already had. After watching his attempts for two full days, Elizabeth approached him after they had cleaned up from dinner, inquiring as to what information he wanted so badly. When he told her, a knowing smile shot across her face, though it did seem as though it was twisted briefly by a hint of mischief. She told him that she had information to share, but she could not tell him in public. He would have to meet her in her room after they had closed down, about an hour or so after they had retired. Content that her information would put him on the right track, he went back to helping her with the various jobs that comprised a day of running a tavern. After tonight, the waiting would finally be worth it.

Charles sneaked out of his room at the appointed time, not fifty-nine minutes after he realized just how boring watching an hourglass was. He made his way silently through the tavern, knocking gently on her door, her response inviting him in. He opened the door, prepared to negotiate for information with the barmaid, hoping he would finally be able to pin down the dragon's location. However, the sight that awaited him was something else entirely. Elizabeth lay nude, face-down upon the bed, her feet tied to the posts and her arms manacled behind her. A small pile of blankets sat under her hips, driving her rear slightly into the air. Her slit dripped with her excitement, a clear trail of wetness traveling down the cushion and onto the bed. She turned to him with a look of ravenous hunger, rocking her hips. The knight may have had little experience with the fairer sex, but he knew an open invitation when he saw one. The moment he grasped the situation, he hardened almost instantly. In record time, he shed his clothing, climbing onto her bed. It groaned with his weight as she did with anticipation, her eyes fixated upon his turbid member. He was grateful she was so wet, doubting his ability to hold back for very long with the display she was making. He rubbed his head along the length of her sex as she whimpered, grinding her hips back into him as much as her bindings would allow. He could feel the heat pouring out of her as he parted her lips, sliding in slowly as she squirmed underneath him.

He lay down atop her as he penetrated her, making sure to maximize skin contact without crushing her under his weight. Her skin felt inhumanly hot, making him sweat as he lay atop her back. He kissed down her back, biting softly as he bottomed-out inside her. He rolled forward slightly, pushing himself in just a little deeper before pulling out. Before long, he had built a steady rhythm as she bucked to meet his thrusts, a small moan escaping her lips every time his head slipped over her most sensitive spot. He leaned onto one arm, slipping it underneath her to grab her breast while the other found its way under her hips to play with her pearl. He fumbled awkwardly with her nipple, restricted as he was by the size of her bust and their pressure against the bed. She shook as he pinched down on her clit at the nadir of a stroke, groaning with pleasure. She bit down into the sheet, stifling her moans as he drove relentlessly into her slowly, determined to savor the moment.

Elizabeth started to grind into his hand as he stroked her clit, desperate to tease out just a little more pleasure. He saw her face flush as she tightened around him, her first climax approaching rapidly. "Fuck...me," she managed to stammer, repeating it more frantically as his pace built. She forced her face into the bed, her muffled cries all the more enticing. He was tempted to plunge into her with reckless abandon, but knew that if he kept his current pace, he could outlast her and hopefully keep going. She shook with need as he kept pace, her moaning growing more and more desperate with every thrust. He watched as her orgasm approached, like a wave approaching as slowly as nature would allow, the anticipation almost as powerful as the wave itself. Her climax was long and soft, marked only by her gasping and the sudden tightening of her passage. He was forced out of her briefly as her fluids poured out, only to push back inside her still-convulsing sex. She cried out as he re-entered her, still sensitive from her orgasm, yet completely unwilling to let it end.

His thrusts were much faster now, and much shallower, too. His head barely passed over her g-spot at the bottom of each stroke, driving Elizabeth quickly towards a much more powerful orgasm. She was whimpering in pleasure, begging him to pound her, to make her his. He released her clit and grabbed up a handful of her hair, pulling back on it as he thrust in. His mouth found hers and he forced his way inside, tasting and teasing at every bit of her mouth he could reach. She tried to match him, but her tongue refused to respond, her entire body going limp as he pounded her. Slapping sounds joined her moans as he tore in and out of her as quickly as his body allowed. She was his now, unable to even kiss him back as he ravaged her. She tightened around him again as he broke the one-sided kiss, focusing instead on continuing to fuck her as she came. She screamed as her orgasm washed over her, a hand rising quickly to her mouth, lest she wake the entire tavern. He was relentless as he fucked her, her spasms not sufficient to even slow his tempo. He grunted as he held on, hoping to ride through another of her orgasms. Even while she came, she turned to him, looking him in the eyes as she spoke through gritted teeth "inside...please".

Any hope for another round vanished immediately, her words finishing what her tightness could not. He drove in to the hilt as he came, grinding all of himself against her sex, stimulating it both inside and out as they orgasmed together. He exploded into her, painting her insides with his cum while she watched, her eyes never leaving his as they gasped and ground against each other. With a final grunt, the torrent of seed ended and the knight collapsed upon his lover, kissing tenderly across the back of her neck as he ran his hand through her hair. They laid there for some time, basking in the afterglow and the heat of another body pressed against theirs. Charles' exhaustion caught up with him, but not before he untied her, careful to not accidentally leave her bound before he drifted off. He lay down beside her, pulling her in tight, too caught in the moment to care about the deep stain of mixed juices they lay in, content with her warmth in his arms as they both drifted off to sleep.