Agate Boyd - Revenge of the Satyr

"When I said back there on the road that I would be your truest and most faithful servant, I meant it, I have been waiting my whole life for a man like you to show me the meaning of true pleasure."

Vulkan decided to take a chance, but first.

"You are Leopold's cousin."

Only by marriage," she replied shrugging, "Maximilian carries the blood tie. My father was murdered by Leopold's father when I was a child – I have no love for his house."

"It will be very dangerous," Vulkan told her, testing still further, "Leopold will behead us both if we fail."

Jessica looked at him searchingly.

"It's the throne!" she gasped, sotto voce, "you think you can take the kingdom through marriage to the brat!"

"Aye, that and some carefully staged mayhem." He whispered back.

He peered into her eyes as she considered the import of his words, prepared to dispatch her and the crone outside at the least sign of duplicity – the pageboy he could track down later.

Her decision made, she slipped the counterpane down over her knees once again, and spreading her legs and dipping her fingers into the love juice still dripping from her pouting labial folds. Sensuously, she anointed both his lips with her honey, pushing her fingers into his mouth and rubbing the glutinous yield over his tongue.

"I will be ready when you come for me," she said simply.

Prince Vulkan stood in the centre of the field. Before him the huge figure of Count Branco, the king's champion, settled his battered shield on to his arm and hefted his broadsword ready to begin another attack.

The roar of the crowd seemed come from all around, rolling over the field like thunder as the two knights began to warily circle one another yet again. The champion was the favourite of the crowd, to both vanquish the upstart foreign prince and carry off the beloved Princess Flamia.

However, Vulkan had other ideas. The satyr had come to the summer festival as Malpurgo had instructed and easily fought his way through the lists to this final combat with the never before beaten Branco. However, the Champion was weakening after twenty minutes of punishing combat. His best and most powerful attacks had been easily warded off by the unknown prince and for the first time the knight who had never before tasted defeat, began to face up to the prospect of being beaten at the very moment of his greatest triumph!

Summoning up all of his reserves of strength and courage Branco attacked again, his great sword whirling above his head as he advanced. Vulkan parried and blocked repeatedly as Branco pressed home his attack. The clang and clash of their flashing swords echoed around the field as they fought back and forth with a ferocity that had the crowd on its feet, baying like a pack of wolves for blood.

Finally, Branco was forced by sheer exhaustion to cease his attack. Backing off as he sought to rest his aching sword arm. Instantly, Vulkan leapt forward, his own sword whirling above his head to build momentum as he rained down blow after blow upon his opponent's shield arm, crushing and splitting the battered iron as if it were mere vellum.

Inside his helm, Branco screamed as the remains of the shield were ripped away. The knight twisted sideways so as to present his sword arm to Vulkan who continued to press home his attack. The satyr prince raining down blow after blow on to Branco's upraised blade until the sheer weight of descending metal beat the critically weakened knight down on to his knees.

With a final crushing stroke, Vulkan shattered Branco's blade, sending the glittering shards of steel spinning away into the dirt, leaving the decimated knight defenceless.

Vulkan looked toward the royal grand stand, where all of the assembled nobility of Dashane had risen to stand as one. The onlookers silent and overawed at the devastating show of sword-craft given by the erstwhile-unknown prince. Through the narrow slit of his helm, Vulkan's hungry eyes zeroed in on the three fabulous creatures gathered around the king, Queen Amariza, Princess Flamia and Leopold's sister, Princess Lilliphane.

The prince closed his eyes against the red mist suffusing his vision. The incredible violence of the combat, coupled with the imminent propinquity of Leopold's royal bitches was threatening to overwhelm him. Vulkan had been unable to get to the ever-willing countess or any other female for that matter for several days. The urge to fuck something was beginning to gnaw away at the powerful hypnotic barriers the wizard had placed deep within his psyche.

Remembering Branco at last, Vulkan glared down at the kneeling knight, the urge to vent his frustration by killing the defenceless man was also great, but Vulkan knew that his mission would go easier if he showed the king's champion mercy.

"Do you yield, Lord Branco?" he called out for all to hear.

Branco nodded wearily, his voice croaking with the bitter astringency of defeat as he called back.

"I yield!"

Prince Vulkan strode across the field to stand before the King.

"Sire, as final and undisputed victor in this great tournament, I claim the hand of your daughter, Flamia."

The king looked about at the gathered nobility and reluctantly nodded his assent. Torn between the shock of the comprehensive drubbing of his favourite knight and his publicly proclaimed promise to give his daughter's hand in marriage to the winner of the contest, the king made the only decision his honour allowed.

"So be it." Leopold called out in a firm voice, ignoring the quiet weeping of his daughter, who had long ago fallen in love with the dashing and handsome count, now being quietly ushered away from the field by his squires.

However, the princess' pathetic weeping was not lost upon Vulkan, who grinned broadly at her from behind his visor. He promised himself that the pretty blonde princess would have plenty more to weep about in the days and weeks to come. The thought of her deliciously tight arsehole almost had him storming the grandstand there and then.

Prince Vulkan was experiencing great discomfort, sat as he was at the head banqueting table to celebrate his upcoming nuptials. On his left hand, the slender and heartbreakingly beautiful, if somewhat pale and reserved Flamia. She had been crying all day and even the most assiduous attentions of all her many ladies-in-waiting had been insufficient to conceal the puffiness around her eyes.

Like the consummate gallant he was, Vulkan pretended not to notice.

Beside Flamia, the fragrant yet cool and arrogant Queen Amariza who could easily have passed for her daughter's elder sister, having been only sixteen herself, when Leopold knocked her up. On the other side of Amariza was the King.

On Vulkan's right hand, Princess Lilliphane, somewhat older and far more sexually mature than Flamia. As dark as Flamia and her mother were blonde, but where mother and daughter, were tall and willowy, Lilliphane, like her brother, the king, was shorter and prone to heaviness.

Vulkan shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the heavy bulk of the cock thrust down the left leg of his suede britches ached incessantly at the closeness of the three regal sluts. Especially, at this particular moment in time, the ripe-bodied Lilliphane, who seemed to exude pheromones from every overheated pore, stimulating his heightened senses to fever pitch.

On Lilliphane's right was her husband, Eldred, a thin-faced effete looking man who had drunk far more wine than was wise and who now sat stupefied. Leaving Lilliphane to her own devices, which, as the banquet went on, seemed to consist of flirting with Vulkan. Her green eyes lingering upon his broad shoulders and bulging biceps as she chatted away, occasionally leaning into him and brushing her fingertips against his arm as she accented whatever vacuous point she was making.