Written by lazytortoise

Fiction
6 Jun 2013


Ok, so a different type of 'fantasy' story than is usually posted here, but it might amuse someone. There may be more to come if it finds an audience.....

(Excuse some layout glitches, the site isn’t kind to copy/pasting out of Word)

Chapter 1

Sir Luther, Knight of Olidimarra, God of Debauchery, Drinking, Dicing, Debauchery and Debauchery, hammered on the door, the sound bouncing along the back alley.

"Fuck Luther, do you have to knock so loud." His companion Sir Rodger (lately lighter of purse due to bad luck at the dice and now more than a little drunk) complained. "You'll rouse the city watch."

Sir Luther grunted.

Above them the dishevelled head of a slatternly whore appeared through a crooked window, connected to shoulders unadorned, and followed into the night air by a pair of heavy tits that flopped out the window like pound bags of flour. Even by the dim torch light Sir Luther could tell it had been a rough night; bits of hay stuck out from curly hair that framed an unattractive face; rouge was smeared from lips framing a mouth lacking the burden of a full set of teeth, and the drooping tits were covered in what looked like dried cum.

For her part, the wench Esmeralda looked down upon the hulking figures in the torchlight, devoid of knightly garb and looking nothing more than a couple of ruffians and rolled her eyes.

"Be off with ye, it's 4am, we're closed for the night."

Sir Luther, being hardly what a nobleman would call attractive; maybe not even what a goodwoman would call good-looking; possibly what a street yokel would call ugly; but not what a farmer would call beaten about the face with an iron bar; expected as much, and bent down on one knee. "Oh beauteous maiden, keeper of the door, I beseech thee, admit my companion and I within to take the pleasure of your bounty, for we have stumbled through the city to find your establishment, seeking the sign of the rooster with the prodigious member, sign of the house of whores the world over."

"Fuck off."

"Did I mention that we are Knights of Olidimarra, and it is the quarter moon and thus we are required to make our religious observances before dawn?"

Esmeralda was stopped in her tracks; the Knights of Olidimarra were known throughout the lands as followers of the God of Vice and famous for their religious observances which required them to fuck at each stage of the moon's journey. What made them particularly attractive to the whores of Rel Mord was that the knights were honour bound to pay for those religious observances with specially minted gold coins, decorated with the seal of Olidimarra, which could be exchanged for ten normal gold, as much as a whore earned in a whole week of bedsport.

"Well, why didn't you say, sweety." Esmeralda called down her tone completely changed into something more welcoming. "Wait a tick."

Sir Luther grunted assent, and stood with Sir Rodger, who swayed a little as they waited. "Are you sure this is a brothel?" His companion muttered looking at the panel in front of him. "This looks more like a barn door."

"It has the sign of the rooster, doesn't it?"

Sir Rodger grunted.

As it turned out they were both right. When the door opened, it revealed stables, which just happened to be doubling as a whore house at night. Luther and Rodger looked at each other and shrugged.

"You'll have to excuse us, milords," Esmeralda explained, now all sweetness and drooping tits, "but it's been a busy night and most of the lasses have gone. There's only me and Mary left."

"We only need one each." Sir Rodger slurred.

Mary it turned out was a skinny, seemingly flat chested girl, merely a waif against Esmeralda's slovenly plumpness.

"Well seeing I'm paying, I'll take the healthy one." Sir Luther said.

"That’s not fair." Sir Rodger complained. "You know Olidimarra requires us to visit our observances upon full figured women."

"You shouldn't have been so shit at craps then." Sir Luther laughed, pressing a shining gold Olidimarra coin into the hand of each of the whore's hands. They disappeared instantly down into secret pockets inside kirtles, precious as they were.

The ladies led them into adjoining empty stalls, and Luther stood as the heavy breasted whore undid the laces of his braces and gasped as his cock leapt free.

"Mara's tears, it huge!"

From the next stall came Sir Rodger's laughter. "And Luther's Club is free again!"

"How the fuck do you get a cock that big?" She said in amazement.

"You get really hammered in an inn in Radigast City." Luther answered.

"What?"

From the next stall came more laughter from Sir Rodger. "He got roaring drunk a couple of years ago in a tavern in Chendl, beat a wizard in a high stakes game of cards and demanded the wizard use an 'Enlarge' spell upon his cock to pay off his debt. The wizard in his spite added a ‘Permanency’ spell to boot, knowing how annoying that would be."

"Yeah, I bang it every time I get up from a table." Luther muttered, pushing the whore forward onto her hands and knees and lifting her skirt.

"How big is it?" Esmeralda managed to get out just before the mighty tool opened her up with a yelp.

"Eleven and three quarter inches." Sir Rodger called helpfully from the next stall, huffing a little for having mounted his own filly. "I wanted the wizard to make it twelve inches so I could call him 'Three Feet Luther', but the wizard told me he couldn't enlarge it anymore than that."

"There's only one 'Three Feet Luther'," Sir Luther said as he plucked a stray bit of hay out of the whore's arse and began to pump, "He was a distant cousin of mine."

"And he had - humpf - the full - ooh fuck - twelve - oof - inches?" Esmeralda asked between thrusts.

"He did, but in a twist of fate, he was also a midget; thereby earning his name 'Three Feet Luther' on two counts. He made his fortune being small enough to hide under those big skirts the noble women in Radigast City favour. They'd pay him good money to climb beneath their skirts and nestle his giant cock into them as they wandered around the market, walking funny as they went."

"Whatever happened to him?" Sir Rodger asked.

"A rather buxom woman happened to cum on his cock just as she was walking along the river in the middle of town. In her throes she lost her balance and they both toppled into the river and drowned."

"That's bad luck."

"Yes." Luther agreed. "When they pulled her out of the river he was still lodged in her, dead as a post and hard as a rock. Plucky little beggar."

For a few minutes there was nothing but the sound of rutting as the knights worked away over the rear haunches of their whores. Soon though there was mixed noises of frustration from Sir Rodger's stall.

"Why did the God in his wisdom decide to visit testicles upon us?" he swore.

"What's up?" Luther asked.

"This girl's got a massive clit and my balls keep banging against it. It's getting a little painful."

Luther, being able to see into the next stall enough to see the back end of the coupled couple, looked across and laughed. "I don't wish to alarm you Sir Rodger but that flat chested girl seems to have a pair of balls herself, and a cock forward of them."

Sir Rodger didn't break stride, but muttered. "Fuck, I thought it was a bit like that weird toy the Sage Patrice has on his desk; you know, the one with the line of metal balls suspended by thin wires, where he swings one and upon it's striking its neighbour the one at the other end of the line suddenly moves. Oh well." He said and went back to drunkenly pumping the lad's arse.

Later, when Sir Rodger had finished and collapsed snoring in the straw, his conquest scuttling off to wash the cum out of his arse, Sir Luther lay back contentedly, the whore Esmeralda curled appreciatively in the crock of his arm. Cum leaked from her ravaged snatch, and hay stuck to everything as she traced a slimy finger meditatively around the head of his permanently engorged cock. A horse in a nearby stall whinnied.

"Ah, no one cums more than a Knight of Olidimarra." She purred, dipping a finger into her 'bay of plenty'.

"Then you have never encountered the Edging Knights of Grandwood the Great." Luther replied.

"No. I haven't." She replied.

"They are both difficult and annoying oppoments."

"How so, sweety?"

"When you meet them in the field, they issue a challenge like a good knight should, but then demand that you wait six hours before the fight should commence. While you wait they masturbate constantly, bringing themselves to the brink of, but not partaking of, orgasm over and over again. So when the fight finally commences, they unleash their weapon - reaching an orgasm at last and a firing a torrent of cum so strong it batters down opponents over fifty yards away."

"No kidding?"

Luther nodded. "Sir Rodger and I, along with several of our companions did battle with them last spring. It was a terrible battle; we were victorious, but I'm still scraping semen out of my surcoat." *

"Hhmp." Esmerelda replied. "Could you not fight fire with fire?

"It is forbidden for a Knight of Olidimarra to masturbate himself. It is one of the golden rules of the Order."

"I see. What other rules do you big boys have to abide by?"

Luther ticked them off on his fingers. "Always fuck on the full, new, and quarter days of the moon, which you know. Always bend a girl over when you do so and always seek to fuck a woman of bosom, in honour of Olidimarra who sprang into the world and first saw the Matron Brunhilde as she bent over to weed her carrot patch. Thus he sprang behind her and lifted her skirts. But Lo, Brunhilde was married and her husband caught them just as he came. Surprised she sprang forward, as Olidimarra groaned and his seed shot across the sky; thus we have the stars."

Esmeralda laughed as she snuggled. "You have a sweet tongue."

"Well we are still a chivalrous order, even though we gamble and drink and whore. But always we do so with honour, and we are sworn to the king and queen."

"Well I hope these were bosom enough for you." She said as she grabbed her nipples, having to fetch a tit that had fallen into her armpit, and shock them in a whorish manner."

"Fine lady, they have served me well, but you must understand the Knights have a very fine sense of breasts; a hierarchy of flesh if you will, and I am also sworn not to lie and thus I could not call you bosomly."

"No?"

"No."

"What are they then?"

"Do not be offended, but it seems you've breast fed children and you have what we would by means of our measure have to describe as udders."

She slapped him good naturedly on the cock. "Well I have suckled seven children good knight."

"And may you suckle seven more, my good whore. It is not a disparaging term in our order, focused on larger women as we are. When-" He was interrupted by a hard pounding on the stable door and a yell from without.

"Sir Luther! Sir Rodger! Are you within?"

Sir Luther sighed, gently disengaged himself and climbed the pile of hay at the back of the stall so that he popped his head out of the same window Esmeralda had earlier.

"Yes Matthias," He said tiredly, "we're here. What is it?" He was unsurprised to see the dawn fast approaching.

In the alley below Luther's skinny squire, Matthias looked up impatiently. "I've been looking for you in every whorehouse in the Low City. The Queen summons you; you are to be at court first thing this morning."

"You leave us little time." Sir Luther remarked.

Matthias shrugged. "It seemed a reasonable request when I started looking for you before sundown last night; now get a wriggle on!"

Luther slid down the hay and planted a kiss on the forehead of Esmeralda as he balanced a second Olidimarra coin on her thick nipple, and stuck his head over the adjoining stall.

"Sir Rodger, let's go."

"Who was that at the door?" Sir Rodger murmured, thick with sleep.

"Matthias." Luther replied.

"Fuck. What did that Killjoy want."

Luther laughed. "Come we are summoned by the Queen."

"Oh alright then." Rodger said, slowly gathering himself up.

"And go wash yourself in the horse trough." Luther suggested.

"Why?"

"Cause your cock smells of shit."

* It is worth noting here the story most celebrated, if not by the Edging Knights of Grandwood the Great themselves, then certainly by the Halfling burrow of Goodmound. The tale celebrates perhaps the greatest Halfling adventurer Matilda Tightsnatch, who was determined to be the first Halfling shot into space (or at least to see what the tops of trees looked like). Deciding to use the prodigious cum shot of the Edgeing Knights as her propulsion device, she co-opted a certain Sir Dervish Oneshot to her cause, and convinced him that he should edge himself for a full day before she 'sat astride the rocket for launch'. Sadly for Matilda, so greatly had the head of Sir Dervish's cock swelled after a full day of self denial that it took two other Halflings to assist her to mount her rocket and so swollen was her cunt by the prodigious thickness that she passed out due to the sensation.

Not to be denied, the over-eager knight simply grabbed the unconscious Halfling around the waist and using her like a glove puppet to achieve his release, ejaculated with such force that he fired her fully five hundred feet into the air. Unconscious for the entire flight, Matilda eventually lodged in the top of a pine tree and remained thus for three days; her cunt so stretched that when she finally awoke she found a family of Housemartins had made their home there.