One Night in Gormaz

This story is an historical fantasy based on an epoch in Spanish history. It's also an entry in Literotica's "One Night in XXX" event.

* * *

The Moorish Castle of Gormaz is a sprawling ruin now, but at the very beginning of the High Middle Ages it was the greatest fortress in Europe. From its vantage on a high ridge, the castle dominated the valley of the Rio Duero and the village below. For nearly a century, Moors and Christians battled over the fortress and the fertile lands it controlled.

* * *

The shadows were already long when sentries spotted the horsemen galloping up the Rio Duero to beat sunset to Gormaz. They gathered among the tile-roofed buildings in the empty village, and even in the fading light the sharp-eyed boys who watched from the castle towers could make out the crosses on their shields. The riders were Christian—at least they knew that much.

Men on the castle walls beat drums to call the last farmers from the fields while Falcona stood behind the parapet and watched the strangers mount the steep trail to the ridge-top castle's Moorish gates. "Let them in, Iago" she said. She touched the Galician's broad shoulder to turn him away. "There are nine. Greet them with twelve, and deliver their captain to me. The rest—give them dinner, get them drunk, and see what they have to say."

Falcona turned her back to the sunset and her companions followed close behind. They walked the long walk along the parapet toward the fortress's distant keep—just three small figures silhouetted against the darkening sky. The market was nearly empty, and the stables were growing quiet, but smoke rose from cooking fires in the soldier's crowded camp and from the families who gathered around makeshift shelters.

They stopped where children's voices from within the walls mixed with the clucks and bleats of the villagers' livestock, and when a few more steps would hide their view of the gate. Falcona watched as the strangers led their mounts into the courtyard, and she spoke to the women with her. "Their livery is Alfonso's," she said. "I might as safely have sheltered Almanzor."

Sister Madalena, the taller of the two women, stepped to Falcona's side and said, "You know Señora, that there is no reward without risk."

Knowledge would be Falcona's reward. Her interests were in the movement of armies, the plans of kings and emperors, and the needs of the people. She glanced at Madalena. "What reward would you like?" she asked, and then waved the woman aside. She already knew what Madalena wanted. She didn't need to say.

One man removed his helmet and separated himself from the others to face Iago. Falcona was too far from the gate to hear what they said, but she could see Iago push the captain ahead of him—more like a prisoner than a guest.

Sister Taresa—the second of Falcona's companions—watched and then turned to Falcona. "Shouldn't we be there before Iago delivers him?" she asked.

"We seem to have some time," Falcona said as she watched the men approaching. The stranger made his way through the crowd as slowly as Iago allowed. It wasn't the weight of his weapons and armor that slowed him. He took in as many details as he could, and Falcona read his every move and gesture. He estimated the size of the garrison and counted the guards; he counted the livestock and the villagers huddled within the enormous castle's walls.

Falcona had seen enough. She turned east again along the top of the wall while twilight engulfed the broad valley far below them. The three women crossed over the little chapel where old Brother Esteban prayed, and they stopped where the shadows crept up the west wall of the keep.

Falcona's standard had been her husband's; it was red and blazoned with a single gold cross, and it fluttered in the last sunlight above the highest point in the fortress—above tile roof of the keep. Before they reached it, the women descended stairs to the ground and wound their way through the defenses into the heart of the castle—into the darkened alcazar.

The women waited at the top of the stairs that lead into the keep, and stewards brought torches and stood beside them. It wasn't long before Iago pushed the captain into Falcona's presence. The stranger gawked up at the high walls and towers that rose around him on all sides and didn't notice her until Iago turned him to face the stairs, and then he caught his breath.

The Red Witch was as infamous for her powers as she was famous for her beauty. Falcona cultivated her fame because it drew allies to her, and she cultivated her infamy because it kept idle threats at bay.

"Mind your manners," Iago said. He pushed the captain down on one knee at the foot of the stairs, and the stranger bowed to the lady of the castle.

Falcona drew herself up straight and asked, "Your name?" He let his eyes travel up her body. She was clad entirely in red with a silver girdle and bands of silver on her sleeves, and he looked away when his eyes met her icy gaze.

"I am Gascon de Perés y Hernandez," he said. "We engaged Almanzor at Burgos. He scattered our forces and sacked the city. I seek food and shelter for my men. We are at your mercy."

"And what do you seek for yourself?" Falcona asked.

Gascon hadn't expected her question, but he mustered as much bravado as he could. "For myself," he said, "I ask only to bask in your beauty."

Falcona ignored Gascon's attempt at flattery. "Disarm him," she told Iago. "See to his men and their horses, and Madalena will deliver him to the hall for dinner."

Sister Taresa opened the door of the keep for Falcona, and followed her into the darkness. The smaller woman hurried to keep up with the witch's long strides, and caught up with her on the steep stairs. "What do you make of this Gascon?" she asked.

"He's a spy," Falcona said. "I'll find out why he's here, and then you and Madalena can use him as you like." She stopped only once she was in her room then turned on Taresa, "You want him too, don't you?" she asked, and when Taresa nodded her answer Falcona said, "Tell me what you like more. Is it when the man takes your virginity, or when I restore it?"

Taresa watched Falcona without smiling. "Señora, as long as you grant us our redemption those two things are one. They are halves of a cycle, and we are your servants."

Falcona turned away without acknowledging Taresa's answer. A full moon burned orange as it rose above the eastern horizon, and its light fell through the arrow slit in the east wall of her chamber. It was enough for them to see while Falcona wrapped herself in a red cloak from her wardrobe.

The chest at the foot of Falcona's bed held oils, salves and potions. She touched it and heard the lock inside click open. She slipped an alabaster vial from the chest into a hidden pocket in her cloak, and touched the chest again to lock it.

Taresa followed the witch into the great hall, where torches burned on the walls, and candles lit a dinner for two at one end of the long table. Madalena waited behind Gascon, the cook and her helpers labored around the fire pit, and stewards stood in the shadows waiting for a call.

Gascon had regained his confidence. He leaned over the table with his knees set wide apart, tore a handful of bread off a loaf and used it to scoop gravy from a bowl in the middle of the table. The captain sat back, grinned at Falcona, and belched his compliment. "The lamb is tender and well-salted," he said, and washed it down with wine. "I hope my men are as well-fed."

"I doubt they are," the witch said, "but the wine will make up for it." She took her seat across from Gascon as Taresa joined Madalena behind him. Both of the women watched with keen interest.

Falcona ate more slowly than Gascon, and she talked while she ate. "You said you engaged Almanzor at Burgos. Who were you fighting for? What came of you?"

"We fought for Gonzalez in the name of the Emperor—in the name of Alfonso—and for Jesus Cristo," he said. "The Moors split our forces, and we had to retreat to the forest while they took the city."

Falcona watched Gascon carefully. Shadows from the flickering firelight lined his face, but she could still read his expression. "What you describe happened two weeks ago," she said. "The Count's forces regrouped at San Esteban. Why aren't you with them?"

Gascon hadn't expected the woman to be informed, and he looked away to gather his thoughts before he answered. "We were a rear guard, and lost the main force before they reached San Esteban. We are trying to reach them now."

Falcona didn't believe his story. Neither Gascon nor his men looked like they'd been routed from battle and wandered in the forest. Their horses and their clothing were fresh.

"The Moors are retreating from Burgos as we speak," she said. "They're going south to stay ahead of winter. The army will have to cross the river, and the bridge by the village is their best route. I sheltered the villagers in the castle to keep them out of harms way, but are they really safe?" she asked.

Gascon didn't answer her question. "How is it that you know so much?" he asked, and sat forward in his chair again.

"News travels to those who pay for it," Falcona said. "And there are signal towers all around the valley. They sit on every hill. No-one moves within miles of the castle without us knowing about them."

"Is that how a woman controls the strongest fortress in all of Léon and Al-Andalus?" Gascon asked, and the Red Witch's laugh sent a chill up his spine.

"My husband took the fortress from the Moors," she said, "but he died from his wounds, and Gormaz fell to me. No man since has been able to take it from me, and no man will.

"Knowledge is a more powerful defense than the castle's walls. You and your men are valuable to me only because of what you might be able to tell me. So tell me, Perés y Hernandez, who is it that I have to defend my castle from this time? Is it the Moors, or is it your Emperor?" Falcona watched Gascon set his jaw, and decided that she'd played his game long enough.

Gascon saw the change in Falcona without knowing what it was, and he took the opportunity to ask a question of his own. He reached back without looking and pulled Madalena forward by the skirt of her tunic. She lurched ahead to stand beside him. "You're wealthy and powerful," he said. "Why are your handmaiden's dressed no better than peasants?"

Falcona watched Gascon slide his hand up under Madalena's cape and pat her butt through her tunic. Madalena flinched and started to step away, but she stopped with a distracted expression and let Gascon's rough hand roam her thighs.

Taresa and Madalena

were

clothed like peasants. Each of them wore a brown tunic tied at the waist with a brown sash, a brown cape pinned around their shoulders, and a plain white headscarf to cover their head.

"Taresa and Madalena aren't my handmaiden's" Falcona said. "They're religiosas. Taresa was hardly old enough to walk, and Madalena was only a little older, when the hand of God delivered them to the shrine by the village. At least that's what people believed. They grew up under Brother Esteban's tutelage, and they've taken vows of servitude."

She smiled at the sudden change in Gascon's expression. "Taresa and Madalena serve God by serving the villagers, and they serve me as well, but be careful where you put your hand, Perés y Hernandez. You know that castration is the penalty for violating a consecrated virgin."

Gascon, shifted in his chair, pulled his hand from between Madalena's legs, and rested his elbows on the table. "How can you believe you're safe like this?" he asked, and gestured around the hall. "Without that big Galician or guards to protect you, I could have my way with you—as could any man worth his salt."

Falcona stepped away from the table to warm herself by the fire pit. She motioned to a steward and told him, "Bring us more wine." When she turned back to face Gascon, she said, "Don't think I'm naive. Even without Iago or his men here, you and your like are no threat to me."

Gascon's brow furrowed with anger, and he stood from his chair. He reached for Falcona to prove what he meant, and the Red Witch extended her hand toward him. It was a simple gesture, as if to tell him to sit, but a crushing blow forced Gascon back into the chair. He struggled to move, and he struggled to breathe until the witch released him, and then he gasped for air.

Falcona took the chalice offered by the steward, and sipped the wine while he refilled Gascon's. "You see, Perés y Hernandez?" she asked. "Whoever sent you here did you no favor. I'm not satisfied with the answers you've given me, and I

will

be satisfied." She looked up to Madalena and Taresa waiting behind Gascon and said, "Take his clothes. Cut them off if you need to."

The nuns took to their task with gusto. They laughed while they worked. Taresa opened the clasps that held Gascon's tunic and slipped her hands down over his bare chest while Madalena knelt in front of him to take his shoes and his hose. She reached under his tunic to stroke his muscular thighs with both hands, and she tugged at his breech cloth.

Gascon was confused when he looked up at Falcona. "What do you want?" he asked. He pushed Taresa's hand away and then Madalena's before the witch gestured again and pressed him back into the chair.

"I want the truth," Falcona said. "I saw the way you took stock of my forces, my supplies, and my people. You've lied and dodged my questions as if you planned to be part of my next problem. I won't be dodged again."

"I'm a soldier," Gascon said, and tried to sit up again. "It is my nature to watch those things. I'm not a spy!" But Falcona stepped back without a word while the nuns worked. Gascon slouched naked in front of her when the nuns finished their job and stood beside him.

Falcona set her chalice on the table, slipped the alabaster vial from the hidden pocket of her cloak, and knelt between Gascon's knees. "When I ask my questions again," she said, "you're going to tell me the truth."

Gascon covered his groin with both hands and tried to pull his legs together, but a flip of the witch's finger was all it took to stop him.

"You're a big man," Falcona said, and slipped her fingers around Gascon's flaccid cock. She poured a thin stream of oil from her vial, put the vial away in her cloak, and used both hands to smooth the oil up his shaft and around his balls. All the while, she muttered a chant.

Gascon groaned and writhed. He clenched his teeth and tried to fight off his sudden arousal. "Your hands! They burn!" he gasped, but Falcona's fingers worked without interruption under his balls and along his suddenly-hardened cock. Gascon writhed in Falcona's hands and instinctively pushed back against her strokes. Her magic made his cock grow bigger and harder than it had ever been before, and he balanced on a thin line that separated pleasure and pain.

"God have mercy!" Gascon begged, but it wasn't God's mercy that he needed; it was Falcona's, and Falcona had no mercy.

Falcona's spell was cast when spasm's wracked Gascon's body. His eyes rolled back, he clenched his teeth, and the contractions gripped his balls. They sent his hot essence splattering across his chest and belly—again, and a third time, until they died away.

The nuns licked their lips while they watched, and Falcona milked Gascon until his body stopped twitching. He was still struggling to catch his breath when Falcona laid his still-hard shaft down and rose to stand over him. Gascon's heaving chest slowed, but he felt no relaxation, no emptiness, no satisfaction.

Falcona offered Taresa her hand, and while the little nun tasted Gascon's thick cum on her fingers, the witch told Gascon, "Perés y Hernandez, you won't be soft again, and you won't be empty until I release you from my spell, or until you die. Until then, you'll need a woman like you need air to breathe."

Gascon's eyes opened wide because he could feel the truth in what Falcona said. He looked from the witch to Taresa, and to Madalena. When Madalena looked back, she saw desperation in his eyes. Gascon needed no more than that glance from her before he pulled her down between his knees. She squealed in surprise, but he muffled her by pushing his cock between her lips.

Madalena needed only a moment to recover, and then she slipped her lips down his shaft. Gascon laid back in his chair while the sensitive head of his cock traveled over her tongue to the back of her throat. The wet warmth in Sister Madalena's mouth and her tongue's eager explorations forced all thought from Gascon's mind. He moaned into the darkness above him.

Falcona sipped her wine and watched, and then she handed her chalice to Sister Taresa and said, "I expect that he'll need you when Madalena's done with him."

Taresa sipped the wine. "As you wish, Señora." the nun said. She cupped her breast in one hand and, without thinking, she pinched her nipple through the coarse fabric of her tunic. The touch sent a rush through her body. "He'll find me willing."

Madalena's noises grew louder, and came more quickly, and the cooks and stewards stepped around the table without uttering a word. They watched Falcona for signs of disapproval, found none, and turned their wide eyes on Gascon and on the nun.

Gascon clutched at Madalena, and he shoved her headscarf back until her long, red braid fell free. He put his hands on her head and forced his cock down her throat. It wasn't until Gascon's climax overwhelmed him that his fingers knotted in excitement, and he let Madalena go. He bellowed, Madalena gasped for breath, and his cream gushed into her mouth, onto her cheek and her neck.

The nun sat down between Gascon's knees and wiped him off her face with the tail of her cape while his bare chest heaved. His cock—as thick and hard as it had ever been—pulsed between his legs. It gleamed in the flickering light under a coat of Sister Madalena's spit and his hot cum.

When Gascon lifted his head again, he glanced at the cooks and stewards who silently watched. He focused desperate eyes on Falcona, and then on Sister Taresa. Falcona took the chalice from the little nun's hand, but barely in time.

Gascon lurched out of the chair, and Madalena ducked out of his way. He pulled Taresa close and inhaled the scent that rose from her black hair and from within her tunic. Any thought of saving himself from castration was drowned by his screaming need. He forced the little nun down on her back at Falcona's feet, and Falcona stepped back against the table to give them room, and to watch.

Even if Taresa had wanted to protest she could not because Gascon covered her mouth with his and forced his tongue between her teeth. He groped at her small breasts as his hand traveled down her body, and he pulled the hem of her tunic to her waist.

Gascon shoved Sister Taresa's thighs apart. The dark curls between her legs framed her cunt and her parted pussy lips gleamed wet in the firelight. They both caught their breath when Gascon shoved his cock into her. She gasped from the pain as her hymen tore, and he gasped from his excitement.

Taresa's body yielded, but her tight grip around Gascon's cock was maddening to him. He paused only a second to catch his breath, and then he pushed into her as far as he could reach. She arched her back and lifted her legs around his hips while he fucked her. His hard flesh filled her, and his animal passion thrilled her.

"Do you think he'll live long enough to satisfy us all?" Madalena asked. Her eyes were fixed on Gascon's muscular butt as he squeezed himself into Taresa, but her hands wandered her own body. She touched her throat, she touched her full breasts, and she stroked her hand down her belly.

"He'll still be here to satisfy you," Falcona said. She sipped her wine and looked over the rim of the chalice at the shadowed expressions on the cooks and stewards who watched. They'd seen the virgins ravaged before, so now they watched a miracle, and they crossed themselves after each of Taresa's loud cries.