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A story from the Round Table.

Intense cold still sprinkled the mornings with frost but the days were lengthening and preparations were under way for the annual Spring time festivities.

Gwaine knew it was time to depart on his quest to the castle of the Black Knight. To exonerate himself and his reputation as a chivalrous knight he must face his fate and either absolve himself of the debt of honour he owed or die in the attempt.

As the great warrior contemplated his destiny, staring out of his window at the sparkling landscape beyond the confines of the castle and as if by some natural synchronisation, a raven swooped down, landing boldly on the stone cill, right by the waiting nobleman. The creature glistened in the late winter sunshine, its iridescent feathers catching the rays flashing purples and greens with its agitated, seemingly impatient shuffle from foot to foot on the pale grey stone.

With a flattening of it’s body, it thrust forward its fine head and bristling neck ruff, as it shocked the morning air with a full-throated, rasping call which reverberated around the chill castle walls. The great crow revelled in the sound of its voice like a herald trumpeting its deafening unmistakable message.

Gwaine turned to his faithful servant. “Summon the guards.”He said with the calm urgency of a general at the approaching clash of arms. “We must prepare to depart.”

With an immediate understanding, the consequence of months of anticipation and preparation, Arthur and his master could interpret this arrival no other way. This was the means by which they would find the castle of the Black Knight.

Arthur acknowledged his master’s order with a subtle nod of obedience and left the chamber.

Within the hour, a team of sturdy horses had been assembled. Strong pack animals, provisioned for a long journey, mounts for Arthur and each of the Guards and Gwaine’s tournament horse, Gwawr.


The summoning cries of their avian guide sounded from the Castle gate, trees, rocks, occasional buildings on their road. At dusk it would fall silent and at dawn it would call again to draw them onward, day after day into unfamiliar territory far from the rule of their king. Lakes, rivers, gorges, mountain ranges, broad grassland plains.

Then, one afternoon as they rode, a great fertile valley opened up before them, a sleepily winding river, the criss-cross patterns of fields down in the distance. As they drew nearer, drifting palls of smoke climbed into the still air from occasional farms.

As the sky began to dim, they could see small communities, well kept, prosperous looking villages, the movement of carts, animals and healthy looking, tan-faced people, they heard children at play and farther off, solid and ancient in the clear, chilly evening, the silhouette of a fortress city.

Under the shelter of some deciduous trees, breaking bud with new leaf, a stone’s throw from the quiet water of the river, Arthur and the two guards set up their modest camp.

At dawn, there came no call from their raven escort. Just the varied, busy, come-and-go of the native bird life, signalling the Spring with their amorous salutations to potential mates and blustering to potential competitors.

This lack of urgency let the adventurers know that their destination had, at last, been reached.

Preparations would need to be made to present themselves at the castle, now framed against the sky, imposing a craggy permanence on the human landscape below. The centrepiece of the grey-brown citadel, stood proudly on a promontory, rising stately beyond the outer walls.

The silent river glided by, it’s chilly waters gave them an opportunity to bathe but their bodies, pale from the past winter quickly turned blueish and they thought of the melting snows in the mountains as they splashed and scrubbed.

A group of 6 red and black liveried riders trotted towards their meagre campsite, one of their number bearing a red pennant with a black motif of the raven.

There was no military escort. they were unarmed. Instead, they bore newly baked bread, which the party could smell before they saw it, cheese, a flask of fresh milk, wood for a fire and a small brazier containing hot embers, all of which they laid with ceremony and silent service before the travellers. The company were well pleased to receive the thoughtful gesture of greeting, warmth and breakfast and the great knight stood forward, saluted with his right hand to his heart and made a gracious bow of gratitude towards them. They, in turn, bowed and left without a word.

The sounds reaching the four visitors were enlivened with traffic along the broad thoroughfare. In the distance, towards the grand city gate, local people began to gather and the bustle of a market grew at the roadside as they broke their fast. Spring flowers sprinkled the river bank. Boats making their way past on the turning tide, lazily paddled upstream.

Gwaine knew that his duty called. The guards had dusted down their garments, istanbul travesti Arthur had busied himself with the burnishing of his master’s armour. As well as any men might be after months of travel, the hero and his entourage took horse for the city.

Once again riders emerged with pennants and the red and black garb of local soldiers. These figures were tall and proud and marshal but once again they were unarmed. Ten in number, they split from two columns into one with an impressive manoeuvre. Two of their foremost riders road past the travellers, wheeled their horses and took up position at the rear of the party while the others formed a column ahead. All done with precision, as if rehearsed a hundred times and in a manner which could not be mis-construed as hostile. Even now, the visitors moving forward under the great arching gate hardly garnered more than a glance from the busy market traders and their customers. Just as they might expect to come and go at home returning from the hunt.

Once inside the city wall, the business of the day could be seen in the artisan yards and sheds fronting onto the road: Wheelwrights, farriers, blacksmiths’ forges, armourers, basket makers. Moving up through spiralling streets of well kept houses, past noisy barracks, the clatter of horses hooves on cobbles towards the castle, it all seemed to Gwaine like an intense experience after so many weeks of travel whilst buzzing through his mind a gnawing anxiety about his submission to the Black Knight.

Even after so much preparation, was he about to be torn open and left crippled and bleeding to death from the insides like so many of the traitors he had interrogated. He must fulfil his obligation but this was not like a combat to the death he knew he would lose. Here, he must submit to the physical magnificence of the Black Knight’s sexual prowess and hope that his training had been enough to withstand the onslaught of that herculean organ.

His thoughts were snapped back to the here and now by their entrance through a great portcullis gate and into the Castle courtyard. A parade ground, assembly area for troops and the greeting of friends and allies or a killing ground for the invader. Many huge doorways led away from the central space, defensive positions high in the walls surrounded the visitors, directly ahead of them a plain stone stair led down to their level.

There, a few steps up from the courtyard, stood the figure of a tall, powerful man in a simple black robe, reaching almost to the ground. “A garment more suited to a priest or sorcerer than to a ruler or commander.” Thought Gwaine as he recognised the handsome features and impressive stature of the Black Knight. The broad, darkly bearded face broke into a genuine smile of friendship as the eight leading soldiers wheeled their horses away.

As if sensing the surprise at the simplicity of his presentation, The cloaked figure raised his arms and called “Welcome! “

Out of the air, from a vantage point somewhere high above cawed the rich resonant voice of a raven. “My attendants have guided you well. It gladdens me to see you, Sir Gwaine.”

The surrounding stone resounded the full baritone of the Black Knight’s sonorous voice. “Your horses will be stabled here, my lord, perhaps your escort could wait with them while all is arranged and I accompany you and your page to accommodation that has been prepared for you.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, my lord.” Responded Gwaine and nodded towards his guards and Pistwl, Bardwlff and Arthur dismounted, gathering the reins. Arthur took up his place beside his masters’ war horse as the mail-clad warrior smartly swung himself from the saddle and stepped forward to the foot of the stone stair.

The Black Knight motioned to his two remaining soldiers who then dismounted, leading the way to the castle’s stabling, beyond the courtyard.

“Our ways are simple, my lord, this is a centre of learning.” Said the Black Knight, aware of the austerity of their surroundings in comparison to the grandeur of Gwaine’s home.

At close quarters, Arthur observed the sheen on the finely woven wool of the Black Knight’s robe and realised that simplicity did not suggest inferiority.

Gwaine regarded the bold profile of the Black Knight. The heavy brow, the tanned, shaved head, the square jaw, the slightly flattened nose (an injury perhaps- like his own?), the jutting pointed beard of tightly curling, densely swirling, black bristles but most memorable of all, as the great athlete turned back towards his guest, those shining amber eyes which seemed to look right inside him, reading his soul.

Remembering the feeling of calm and relief, their candour and closeness, following their intimate encounter a year before, then the freezing over of their relationship as the Black Knight rode away, their business only half concluded, Gwaine was tense.

“Come!” Called the Black Knight, seeing the stern look on his guest’s face. “We have a matter to resolve. You have istanbul travestileri travelled far and waited long for this meeting.”

The cloaked figure turned and led the way up the steps and through a wide, arched doorway into a vaulted stone passageway where light streamed down a further staircase ahead as if calling them forward and upwards. Black cloaked, anonymous figures moved quietly about giving the environment the look of a monastery rather than a fortress. The wide, rectangular landing they reached gave a sense of grandeur to the castle, with tall, simply vaulted ceiling and massive oak doors leading off.

Up another flight to architecture of a more human scale, a similar layout but a sense of comforting enclosure and here Gwaine’s host turned to an iron strapped oak door on his right. Gwaine followed as the tall, powerful figure swept into a spacious room where spring sunshine flooded in through two small windows.

Towering over the diminutive Arthur, he turned to Gwaine with a serious demeanour and looking deeply into his visitor’s grey blue eyes, he said, indicating a door to his right, “I will await you in the next room, my lord.” He made a small, respectful bow of the head and left the room.

Gwaine looked down solemnly at his page, realising that his moment had come, whatever fate lay through that door he knew, by his honour he must face it boldly. As if speaking to the page for the last time he said “Arthur, we have focussed our attention for a whole year on this moment. You have dedicated yourself to it in a way I could never have expected, making it your duty as it were your own. Whatever befalls I am grateful for your loyalty, your tenacity and your unerring support.”

To hide his blushes and the tears welling up in his eyes, Arthur made a low bow and characteristically said nothing. Then, in silence Arthur helped the great knight with his mail coat and in the pool of warm sunlight near one of the windows they stripped Gwaine naked. His formidable musculature rippled with the mundane task of removing his clothing and the massive hairy frame was finally revealed in all its glory. Carefully practiced fingers released the chain and strap from his master’s thigh and Gwaine’s gargantuan penis swung free, the thick, silver ring piercing glinted in the morning sun.

From a pouch pocket at his waste, Arthur took out a very small turned and polished hardwood box from which came a familiar smell of tallow, camphor and eucalyptus. Opening it, Arthur smeared the essence onto his forefinger as his master bent forward at the waste and with his great hands exposed his arsehole for the young page. Impassively, Arthur set about his duty working the ointment into the ring flesh with one finger, then two then three. Their familiar training routine completed with the stretching of Gwaine’s body, clenching and unclenching around the forearm of his faithful servant and Arthur carefully avoiding the hair trigger of the great man’s joy button.

It was time to put all their work to the test. Gwaine’s naked feet stepped forward to where his host had left the room and the warrior opened the door. Ahead, lay a gigantic four poster bed adorned with black drapes and a black counterpane. Otherwise the room was much the same as the one they had left. As Gwaine entered, a familiar voice murmured. “Magnificent!”

Silhouetted against the warm sunlight stood the figure of the Black Knight his head and massively broad shoulders bore a halo of strong reflections. A haze of fine body hair could be seen outlining his chiseled deltoids and triceps, picked out in microscopic detail by the intense glare under the window.

He stepped forward towards Gwaine and as he came the bronze log of his erect penis bobbed with an improbable tension, swinging lewdly, enormous before him. Gwaine lifted and expanded his magnificent chest, drawing in a deep breath of defiant courage as he did so. One could look upon a figure like either of these titans and fail to be unimpressed. Neither was immune to the other’s staggering physiology.

Sidestepping the proud, confrontational Gwaine, The Black Knight gestured with an open hand towards the huge bed and Gwaine, compelled and propelled forward by his honour walked towards it and lay down on the warm counterpane. In a gesture of absolute submission, he raised his powerful legs as he had imagined he would do.

Those hungry amber eyes were upon him and he held them with his own steely gaze. The tanned figure approached his prone body.

With a practiced assurance, the Black Knight took a firm grip of each of Gwaine’s ankles. Their eyes locked together, testing mind and spirit as the flesh would surely be tested. Arthur held his breath as he watched the Black Knight’s shoulders straighten, fascinated by the rounded power of the deltoids, the colossal breadth of that great bronzed back, dusted with curling black hair into a deep cleft that ran the whole length, down from the base of his shaved skull, the dimpled conjunction either travesti istanbul side of the spine, just above that bubble butt; his buttocks clench and Arthur, eagle-eyed, saw the Black Knight bring his massive, rock steady cock head up to the tender puckered flesh at his master’s hole.

So rapt was their attention that neither Gwaine nor Arthur noticed as someone else slipped noiselessly into the room and waited in silence, as innocuous as a fly on the wall.

The towering might of the Black Knight, poised to strike. Gwaine felt the touch of the shining hard cock head against his most vulnerable skin. A shiver of excitement underscored the stress of this much anticipated moment. His legs held wide in the vice-like grip of those strong brown hands, his body absolutely surrendered to the will of his host. He felt his hole teased and caressed again and again as the Black Knight toyed with his anus and his sensual lips curled with an obvious passionate pleasure. Pushing more and more, delighting in the extraordinary sensation of the sucking on the end of his penis as he began to stretch at Gwaine’s arse lips, the Black Knight indulged himself with the sensation of this kissing game, arse and cock lips.

Gwaine could feel his anus slowly spreading to the prodding of the monster and he exercised his discipline, focussing on relaxing, waiting for that massive painful thrust that he had expected. To his great surprise, the Black Knight moved his face from side to side bending forward to tenderly kiss the instep and then the ankle and then the massive, sinuous calves of the prone warrior. Hissing and murmuring his pleasure as he did so. Bucking his hips a little more, stretching so skilfully a little more each time.

Mimicking the ‘O’ of a kiss or perhaps the ‘O’ formed by his stretching arsehole, Gwaine’s concentration produced a mouth opening wide as his body opened. Wider and wider his mouth gaped and his eyes searched the face of his tormentor for the sign of that big push. More and more improbably large cock head peeped into Gwaine’s body but then held back and he felt himself craving that moment to be over and done. There was this strange connection between their two bodies, through their eyes and their imaginations as neither saw, only felt what was happening below.

Then, as if in a natural flow, the body was breached and they were joined, cock head to arsehole as if it were nothing at all. That great ramrod slipped in and out of Gwaine’s body with no more resistance that Arthur’s hand had done at rehearsals. The Black Knight’s face was a mask of amazement and joy, his glittering amber orbs stared down on the stricken Gwaine with awe and took in the magnificence of that fabulous, hairy man impaled on his knob and totally helpless before him, he telegraphed that feeling of heat pouring from the glove-like grip on his glans. Gwaine’s ‘O’ mouth could not express anything but the fullness and the astonishment of that big, big moment.

As if in his own chamber, his head nodded in affirmation and as if by telepathy his new master took the signal and pressed his great body forward, his siege engine slithered into Gwaine’s guts slowly and smoothly. Drawing back a little then more veins, more girth and more soft skin disappeared until at last the Black Knight’s low hanging ball-sack rested snugly against Gwaine’s downy buttocks. With a few gasping, guttered inhalations and a few panting exhalations, Gwaine accommodated the giant flesh tube inside his body. The psychological feeling was of relief, alleviation, achievement; the physical feeling was………impossible to describe completely and his mind was overwhelmed that he could summon no logic to quantify what his overloaded senses were sending him.

The Black Knight released Gwaine’s ankles, to press behind his knees forcing them down towards his shoulders. He leaned in and smothered Gwaine’s rounded, gaping mouth with his own, forced his tongue into Gwaine’s warm maw as his cock lay in the heat of the warrior’s guts. Without thinking Gwaine responded, wrestling tongues with the intruder, totally lost in this bestial embrace. Once more he felt all conventions of human conformity slip from him and an animal instinct hijacked his body and mind, releasing the frenzy of lust he so craved. His own cock awoke with a start and both men felt it grow between their bellies as they exchanged saliva and sucked in turn on tangled tongue muscle.

Gwaine’s inner beast was at the controls and all chivalry, duty and honour was subordinated to the need of the wolf to feed. He flexed his internal muscles as he had learned at exercise with Arthur and he felt that great pile driver back up inside his arse channel and slip right in again. The Black Knight, sensing the waking wolf, released his own beast with a snort and grunt of approval slammed his massive rod into the innards of his guest slobbering and sucking on his face as he did so. His mighty body pushed Gwaine’s knees over his shoulders and he bore down on Gwaine with a torrent of thrusts that would have split a lesser man clean in half, lifting his head up and gulping in much needed air, leaving Gwaine staring at the ring in the end of his own cock and a tear of shiny translucent pre-cum dribbling from it towards his gaping mouth.

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