Lord R and Lady M (Romance/sex)

It has been more then a forthnight since Lord Russell rode across the drawbridge of Castle Bowdoin. Lady Margaret still a vivid picture, standing with her forest green gown mostly covered by a heavy dark green cape. Her hood pushed down on the back, hair blowing in the windy snow. The hem of her gown wet and muddy with courtyard grime. A smile wide and inviting and shining eyes, bright with hope and misty tears. The brief touching of lips, sending a shiver of emotion coursing through his body. The desire to climb off the war horse and let his younger lieutenant, Rusty, lead the men to the King’s castle. Many times has he responded to his liege’s call. Now let the younger men serve, while he rests and enjoys the company of his young lady. Many marriages are arranged and are of convenience, but his lady is not only beautiful, and young, but strong spirited. A partner and equal. Her thoughts wise and reasonable. The past year, much Russell has learned as he slowly has accepted the advice and wisdom of his fair lady. The hot blood of battle, tempered now by the emotion of loss at being parted from his young bride. Where thoughts of mayhem would fill his nights with dreams, now the soft caresses of his fair maiden keeps a restlessness in his nighttime hours. Waking often in the pitch black with the look, or feel, or scent of Lady M filling his mind and affecting his body. A stubborn old man at times, sleeping on the hard earth and damp soggy ground. Why not take his Lady and share a tent and the warmth of her arms! Ah. To have gained so much and now risk this love, to the chances of war. There she is sleeping in our turret room. Her maiden warming her side, while I have the comfort of riding a hard smelly horse all day and then sleeping on the smelly saddle of my proud steed. A squire keeping the fire hot. A young lad, but should I trust him with my Lady. She is true, but the warm blood of absence and the youth of my lad might enflame her with the need that she so shares with me. My eyes are green with jealousy of her maid and squire. They see and hear and maybe touch, the essence that I can only dream of. The crackling of the fire and the white of snow, falling again. The fourth day in the last fourteen. The mud still caked to the soft doeskin tunic. Pants still hard with caked dirt and debris from the muddy roadway. Armor. Polished each night and stained by the following evening. The flames flickering in the night sky, lull me into a sleep, deep from the long hard ride. A few more days and we will reach the King, but the weariness of long hour in the saddle and hard, wet ground has taken it toll of the older soldiery. Past wounds and age and a good life the past few years have taken strength and vitality. As I lie sleeping, I awake and there my Lady M has added her fur robes to my blankets. Her warm body lies close and her breasts push against my arm. I can feel hard nipples pushing through the soft blouse of her riding garments. Her lips touch mind and her tongue pushes into my mouth. Sweat beads on my brow, as I look into the feverish brown eyes. Her head is hot with fever, her cloak is wet. As if she was riding in the rain all day and night. I pull her body to mind, and laying sideways gather her close. Even in her fever, I respond to her charms. My organ elongates and hardens, pushing at her riding skirt. Long weeks my hand and memories the only relief. Now the warmth of my lady as her hands push at the riding skirt. Warm soft flesh, now pushes at my shaft. Her hands deftly pull my pants down my legs, my shaft springing free, and nugging against her thigh. Her lips now softly kiss mine and then her head buries under the covers. Lips tracing a hot line down my chest as her hands push my shirt up, exposing to her lips my tiny but sensitive nipples. Tongue and then teeth nip at the little buds. And then kisses hot and then sucking. The milking of my nipples erotic and exquisitely painful. Her tongue now following her fingers tracing and exploring my stomach and now twirling the hair of my gentials. Fingers touching the hardened shaft. Then the soft warm mouth enfolding the head, and then quickly the shaft is swallowed and the back of her throat tickles my head. Hand grasping my balls and another stroking my thighs, her mouth slides up and down sucking on the veined cock. As my hips buck in response, the mouth slides up and my penis pops free. Her hands push at her ankles, freeing her skirt and then lifting the heavy blankets and furs, she straddles my hips. Hot lips spread and she slides down my shaft. The heat and moisture takes my breath away. Leaning forward so that her breasts sway over my mouth, she slides the lenght of my organ. My lips capture a sweet nipple and suck greedily. The teat springs free with weight and my lips finally capture another. My hips buck , as her pussy clenches my hard organ and draws the life blood to the surface. Reaching forward with my hand, my fingers trace and then push along the top of my cock. Filling her pussy, the fingers slide against the swollen lips and then touch the exposed clit. Rubbing gently, a keening escapes her mouth. Long and low. My head swivels to see if the noise is waking the sleeping men, or if the sentries come a running. No noise but the low moan. Now my lady is leaning backwards as she rides the broncing steed. The lubrication seeping and the clit peeking hard and full. My hip now push at her body, sending my orgasm shooting deep into her womb. her legs tight to my hips, pussy gripping my cock and my hands hold her hips as she bucks, breasts exposed and and swaying with the motion of her body. I lay there for long seconds, my hand holding a softening organ. My bedclothes covered with cum. As my eyes focus, there is no one there. No warm body. My mind has released my physical need, but the feeling of emptiness quickly returns. A long sleepless night follows and the pleasure of the night, is now the suffering of the day. Long and hard is the ride. A blare of trumpets, and the King ride out with his retainers to greet this new force. An hour with the King is not worth one second with my sweet Lady. Wenches in plenty serve the king, but not a one can raise the spirits and body of Lord Russell. Spoiled by his ladies love and needs, he can live for awhile on the memories of warm nights.