Diary of Madame Nikki

I knew without need to turn and look that He had entered the tavern this warm June eve. Perhaps twas the way my nearly waist length-tousled mane of gold now grated across my bare back or the immediate surge of honey at the cleft between my legs when his virile scent filled my head. I gulped down more of the tender’s fine ale, feeling with agony and pleasure His eyes burning into my back. I took the opportunity to shift my weight and cock my hip in an arrogant pose, allowing the sultry warm air of the season to blow across my nearly naked form. He countered my movement with a caustic comment made to my back as well as the other patrons in the tavern.

“What have my eyes fallen upon but a wench in need of a lusty slap to remind her of her place? Go home, evil witch, you tempt with your wicked form and supple limbs these good people.”

I allowed his words time to sink in and reach the ears of all the men and women in the room as I finished my ale, dragging the back of my hand across my full lips. With the haughtiness that is my nature, I turned and offered him a full view of my wicked form and supple limbs’ gracing him with a seductive smile before returning a remark.

“You dare to insult me when you insult these same good people by having their wives? Be careful of what you speak, dark rogue.” Further colorful comments as to his vile nature flowed from my lips as bubbling froth from a newly poured ale amid embarrassed gasps from the patrons. Twas easy and the mark was met.

I care not of what people perceive me as or that one would choose to give rise to my anger for show or challenge for I will counterattack with my own vicious tongue. I fight for my solitude. No male will capture me. I vow this vehemently.

“Bloody whore.” He spat the words as if distasteful to his senses, but I knew better.

It was then I realized a fight was to be had between me and my divine enemy. This one was difficult. He long ago worked his own spell over me, invading my dreams, relentless in his torment of my emotions. He was mammoth in size, the hard body of a man who battled and fought often, nimbly handling a dagger as well as a two handled battle axe with ease. He took great care with his appearance although he was no pompous prince. Ebony silk served as his shoulder length hair, if truth be told, for surely no man could have hair so glorious. His face appeared chiseled from stone, to affect a serious pose, I’m sure, yet I have seen him laugh with careless abandon before. From afar. I also knew that underneath the appealing and neatly trimmed goatee which graced his handsome face was a dimple in his rugged chin. He was a beautiful man.

I stood at the ready, legs firmly spread and planted on the plank floor. A metallic hiss sliced through the still air as I drew my sword from its sheath at my hip. I held it at the challenge, arm outstretched, the cold hilt of my precious weapon laid flat against the underside of my wrist. I raised the sword to eye level and glared down its hard length to the point held aimed at his black heart. His eyes of brown never left my azure glare, which only fueled my need.

“Take care of whom you insult. I am the unspoken name you cry out in your dreams . . . or your very nightmares.”

With that said I thrust the tip of my sword ever so gently into his tanned skin near his heart, knowing my blade had pierced him. I watched his eyes as he came to realize my intent. I had drawn first blood.

To my dismay I made an unaffordable mistake by becoming distracted by the drip-drip of crimson tears which slowly oozed from the tiny wound and now dragged against his tempting skin. He seized the opportunity.

My sword was wrenched from my grasp and at the same time one of his large leather gloved hands captured my wrists and held them above my head. Did I tremble? Some say I did. Never had they seen Virago taken off guard in such a way.

I know he delighted in my predicament, shown by the evil grin on his succulent lips. I will not give in, I cried inwardly. I fought against his grip allowing him a better view of generously endowed breasts.

Ah . . . he weakens, I thought. And just when I planned to make my counter attack, the sword he was holding, my sword mind you, swooped down and stripped the clothes from my body. Albeit, the clothing was sparse, being the warm season previously mentioned, but I was appalled that the metal coils of such expensive chain mail could be severed so easily. A situation I will undoubtedly have to face later, but for now I needed a plan.

Triumphantly he held my wrists above my head allowing the patrons of the tavern a full view of my nudity. I’ve never been one to shy from the naked form, all women are graced with beautiful and delicious bodies, however unalike they are and mine was no exception. I am, after all, a warrior of impeccable abilities and strident training as evidenced by the sinewy flexing of muscle adorning my long legs, tight bottom and flat belly. It wasn’t until the mention from a grizzled character enjoying the show of my quivering breasts that I began to struggle. Quivering or not, what right did he have to announce it?

I proceeded to glare at my nemesis, struggling a bit in his grasp, which I might point out only added to the quivering, affecting a vicious snarl and further caustic comments aimed at his manhood.

It was then I felt the assault of his mouth on mine, his tongue dipping into my mouth with ferocity. Oh yes, I could match this plunder of my senses. I probed his mouth with my own tongue, secretly delighting in the taste, touch and texture of his mouth on mine. My woman’s body longed for him, responding eagerly to his touch. The wetness between my legs increased as he continued to ravage my mouth.

Startled for a moment he pulled back, eyeing me suspiciously. Something had changed in his eyes. They seemed–soulful and questioning. Almost.

I met his eyes with confidence and smiled as he leaned against the large trestle table near the center of the tavern and released his sword’ from its doeskin sheath, the same time releasing my wrists. His eyes never left mine as he plunged his unsheathed and oh so dangerous weapon deep into the intimate soul of my body.

I felt the fingers of his leather gloved hands dig into the soft flesh of my hips as he lifted me only to impale me on his rock-hard phallus again and again and again. He was hung proudly and each deep thrust brought a cry or a gasp from deep within me. I felt the core of my being begin to grasp onto him, pulling him deeper still, nearer to my heart.

Sweat glistened down my back, between my all to quivering breasts as we rode together that night, mindless of the awestruck spectators. A collective sigh was heard as we both climaxed violently, spent in each other’s arms. I lapped at the vermillion drops of blood on his chest, purring like a contented cat.

I rode my wild stallion many times that night and by the dawn we had succeeded in breaking each other.

Legend has it that I lost the fight that eve. Perhaps I won? What be your guess?