Date: Mon, 28 Feb 2022 20:09:45 +0000 From: Silenos69 Subject: Lanced-a-Lot 15 LANCED-A-LOT By: Silenos This story is a work of fiction and involves teenagers in sexual situations. If that offends you, don't read it. If you are underage, don't read it (like that's going to happen). This story belongs solely to the author and may not be copied or reproduced in whole or in part without permission of the author. Please contribute to Nifty, these guys work hard and need your copper, silver and gold so we can have these stories. https://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Feedback is always gratefully appreciated: silenos69@protonmail.com Dear Reader: If you have not been following the story an explanation of where it came from is after the end of the chapter. This is a short (even for me) chapter and is more of a bridge than anything else. LANCED-A-LOT: Chapter 15 When the sun finally did rise after my "purple" episode so did all of our lances. It appeared my fits and their aftermath were infectious. I woke on my side to feel Michael trying to push his ever eager bone up my ever willing arse. I shooed him off when I saw our knights manipulating their lances beside the bed. I stood and bent over the end of it presenting my buttocks with a jiggle and a glance over my shoulder at Gallant. The signal was clear and in no time Gallant was on me shoving his lance in to the hilt, being in turn mounted by Michael, who was then mounted by Idris. A golden chain of sweat and panting man-boys hungry for the moment. There was nothing lovely about it. All of us just wanted release. Which happened quickly, the four of us panting and groaning to our climaxes. The only residue and new stench being that of mine on the pallet. I must say, at this point, Gallant (who possessed a fearsome member) was about as elegant a lover as Michael. Little concern for the recipient of their lance as much as a need to dispel their urges. I resolved to speak to Idris of this in private so we might better educate the two of them that while we might be bullish in our desire; we were not bulls. Regardless, it was a satisfactory release for a morning with all of us huffing and puffing and pounding. We were quite a thing to see and I wished someone had been watching. I admit, I like to be looked on and excite others when I am having sex. It is a particular thing of mine. Some like to suck on toes, some like to be beaten, some like to be bound, I like to be watched. I also like to have more than one companion in lust at once in whatever way the numbers allow us to manipulate ourselves. The proviso being knowing all those involved. It is no fun with complete strangers. Then again, who is a stranger after a proper introduction? When we had spent ourselves and lay trying to pull in air, I realized we had duties to attend. The sun had crossed the horizon as could be witnessed through the pitiful window and it was time to rise as we had duties and obligations. It had been agreed we would meet the Mason at the Roman ruin shortly after cock-crow and breakfast at the old Roman ruin to discuss how to create a town. The others were eager to go again; but I was not so, my body being as stiff as my lance had been only a short time before. Yet it had to be done and I roused myself with a groan. Michael and I quickly washed our masters and applied scented oils. The oil favored being Satyr Oil, I knew not its ingredients, but when worn it was a guarantee of even dogs pounding against one's leg. Mandragora would laugh at me later about this as at the time I had no idea of its properties. Properly applied and used the scent could move mountains and change kingdoms from the bestial sexuality and passion the scent aroused. Ironically, I learned later, one of the foundations of this scented oil was Mandragora root. All of our lances were still stiff when we mounted our horses after a quick breakfast and set out to the lands of Idris. Each of us wondering where those lances would find release. That was simple. Once out of the wood we stepped again into the bush and formed a chain of mouths. It was a quick meeting of minds, mouths, and desire and we were momentarily satisfied enough to get through the rest of the morning. Idris commented again "You must have fits more often Bug." For, indeed, it was the residue of the lightening that had struck me the night before, infesting us all (especially me) with an indescribable madness of lust. When we reached the Roman ruins and the ford and after all the hails of "good morning" and "well met" words were spoken business was gotten down to. Gwydion stood behind his father. He whispered something to his father and turned to race off up the hillock to the remnants of the tower. In the middle catching my eye with his own and causing me to almost fall off of my now beloved horse Agatha, as I spontaneously spent inside my tunic and on my saddle. I was thankful I had intentionally not worn any of the finery from the weaver woman, wishing to keep them secret from all until the wedding day. Needless to say, my worn tunic and saddle had become an uncomfortable and sloppy mess. This did not go unnoticed by the ever observant Michael who I witnessed briefly fondle and soil himself in his hose with a gasp. He pulled his horse over to me and Agatha whisper-giggling. "It seems you have a passion for the Mason's boy." I merely huffed but he would not let up saying "you do know you almost could be twins don't you? Perhaps you prefer yourself to others?" It was worthy of noting the odd look the Mason gave me on seeing me for the first time. Not wishing to put up with such teasing I nudged Agatha forward saying "Come along, we have work to do in the Fisher Village." "The Fisher Village!" his brows rose, and he became excited. I smirked, I'd spoken to Idris and Gallant in private while we had sent Michael to fetch some unnecessaries a day or two before and they had agreed. If we were to go off jousting after the marriage it was important Idris have a Page as well as a Squire, the Page to remain behind and protect the ladies. Besides, on learning of the polishing of armor and grudge work involved in being a Squire I needed someone to pawn these tasks on; though I did not tell anyone of this self-serving motivation. There was, of course and ulterior motivation. I may not have ever felt the pangs of true love, and loved to spread my legs for the pangs of true lust, but I did recognize love was there and at heart I was a hopeless romantic; I had witnessed the exchange of eyes between Michael and Rump when we had first visited the Fishers. There is a distinct difference between carnal desire and love. I did not, or thought I did not, know how that felt; but I could recognize it. With all the fun the four of us had, Idris and Gallant still needed time to themselves as they were truly "in love". Real, true, love is hard to come by, but they had it to the extent they would, no matter Michael and my's relationship with them, throw us to the wolves if we came between. Just seeing them together made my heart pound harder. I do not know why but I envied them their longing not to be parted for more than an instant. Love, romantic love, the knowing of the need to bind with another or others is a magical thing. It may come on sight, or it may take some time but there comes a time when out of nowhere a bolt of lightening strikes and then it is all over. Sex has nothing to do with it, love is the intermingling of two souls (or more) that cannot be rent no matter what adversity comes between. I believe I had witnessed that bolt between Michael and Rump and I was about to make Michael, and Rump's, day. As we continued down the road, now more a path once past the ford, I glanced back at the remains of the Roman tower on the hillock behind us. I was startled, and excited to see, Gwydion standing naked and bold, furiously handling himself with his head thrown back as a great arc of come shot out of his tool. It must have been a ferocious moment of joy for me to see it from so far. I was surprised when he leaned forward, obviously panting, grinned and waved at me. With my rein hand I clutched my once again alert best friend, with the other I waved back. Michael noticed and pivoted around to look asking "who are you waving at?" but Gwydion was gone. I shrugged and simply said "nobody, just a friendly urchin." Michael then began to prattle on excitedly about our visit to the Fisher Village, wondering with every other sentence, if we might see the pretty boy called Rump and perhaps pay the God another visit. I did not heed his words, being lost in thought. Did I really look like Gwydion? Others had said I was beautiful, but it is hard to tell from a reflection in water. Certainly I could not be as beautiful as Gwydion. I resolved I must find a looking glass to see for myself. Which gave me another idea quickly put aside for other questions such as: why was I so attracted to a mason's son? Why did my stomach flutter so when I thought of him? He was just another comely boy wasn't he? Certainly I was attracted to him, but why more strongly than to others? Why had he seemingly made it a point for me to see him spunk? Was it a message? I had only seen him twice in passing, well also in my fit of dreams, but what did it mean? Was his cock enormous as it must have been to see it from so far? Why did his eyes have the purple hue that morning? I was lost in these thoughts as we approached the village; more a collection of huts really. As before the men put aside their work to greet us and the old man came out to speak for them all. "Hail good sirs." He bowed, I think he would have called anyone a "Sir" if they were actually on a horse. "Good morrow Fisher, our masters have sent us to have words with you." I greeted him back as I dismounted. A bolt of lightening shot around the side of one of the huts and came to a breathless stop, its eyes fixed on Michael who stumbled and fell with one foot in his stirrup, returning the stare. He recovered and stood quickly muttering "Oh bother, silly, clumsy me. I shall never be a knight." The rest of us ignored him as I handed Agatha over to an ugly fisher son who seemed privileged to be so entrusted. Then, taking the Fisher Father by the arm to walk and talk, I turned to Michael and said "Have Rump gather his belongings, he is coming with us." Michael's mouth dropped open in the greatest smile I had ever seen as he stuttered "Ruh..., ruh, really?" Rump, who heard as well, simply fainted. This tale came to me from a wealthy friend who found it bound in his family's extensive bookshelves. Nobody could read it as it was in a strange hand and written in a mix of the common tongue and Norman French of its day. His family has lived in the same place, if not home, for centuries and are what one might consider landed gentry. My friend brought it to me in hopes I might be able to transcribe it into the English of our own time as that sort of thing is what I do. I have updated it only in that I have made such things as measurements, expressions, and such understandable by our reckoning today. What I found in my labors was quite startling. It would be wise for the reader to remember that mores were different then, and that the perception of "age" was as well. Average life expectancy was about 33 years, and people were smaller too, the average height being about 5'7". Insofar as I can tell these pages were written after the Norman conquest, but not by much. England, Scotland, Wales and Cornwall were all very much their own kingdoms, with petty kingdoms within, and Vikings could still be something of a nuisance in some parts even though history says their terror ended in exactly 1066.