Lady Jessica\'s Duel
Lady Jessica's Duel
For Jessica Elwood (jessicaelwood.deviantart.com)
By the Muse of Caprice and Whimsy (http://www.furaffinity.net/user/themocaw/)
_Disclaimer: The "Jessica Elwood" fursona and its distinctive likeness is the property of Jessica Elwood and is used with permission from the creator. The story is the property of the MoCaW. It may be distributed freely as long as it is distributed in its entirety without editing, and with this disclaimer block intact. In other words: please give credit where it is due, it's the decent thing to do. Thanks.
Inspired by this lovely piece by the talented Jessica Elwood: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/401664/_
*****
The men hesitated as the breathtaking young Cayan maiden walked to the foot of the old sycamore tree, the cool spring breeze catching her golden hair in a lover's caress, rustling her dress of bronze-colored silk like the sigh of an expectant maiden. Their eyes lingered upon her body, her slim waist, her full bosom, her slender legs and her delicate arms, graceful as the neck of a snow-white swan gliding in the moat of an exotic palace from spice-scented lands.
The sword she carried was as slender and elegant as she, and her emerald-green eyes were haughty, but beckoning, carrying the promise of sweet delights and the dangers of swift death in equal measure. There had been laughter and derision when she had offered her challenge those long weeks ago to dissuade the suitors who called upon her night and day. "A duel of swords and hearts," she had called it. Victory meant that she would be yours for a night, to do with as you will to her beautiful noble body. Defeat meant a swift death as finely honed Toledo steel found its mark in your heart.
It was a testament to her charms that, even after the deaths of three heartsick fools, there was still no shortage of men who said their prayers to the god of war and the goddess of love for the chance to lay their hands upon that supple body. "So," she said, laying a hand upon the hilt of her sword, "who wants to be first?"
It was what I had been waiting for. "I will," I said, stepping out of the crowd. There was a soft murmur as the men turned to regard me. I ignored their gazes, knowing what a strange figure I must look like: a foreigner in this land, dressed in strange clothes, carrying a strange sword. "Allow me to be the first to test the blade of fair Lady Jessica."
"Very well, then," she said, smiling like a cat regarding a fat mouse as it staggered across the parlor floor. "Do you know the terms, stranger?"
"I am aware of the rules of your game," I replied, bowing deeply, "but I would ask for one boon of you. A trifle, really."
"Very well, I am always willing to do a favor for a condemned man," the lady replied haughtily. "Name your boon."
"Allow us to conduct our matters in private," I said, inclining my head. "If I lose, I do not wish to have the shame of my defeat seen by others. If I win," (and here I gazed into her emerald-green eyes intently from under the brim of my wide, beplumed hat), "I don't wish to shame you in front of these men."
She smiled at me, the faintest hint of a smile, like a queen regarding a peasant who had hurled himself upon the mercy of her court. "Very well," she said. "We shall do this in private." The smallest gesture of her hand, and the others left, many of them reluctantly, some giving me angry, dark glances as they faded away. I ignored them, and busied myself with removing my coat and hat, despite the bitter chill, knowing that the cold would soon pass.
"Well, we are alone now," she said, after a time. She drew her sword and smiled, going en-garde, her sword held in quarte, left hand held high and back like a striking snake. "Shall we begin, dead man?"
"En garde," I replied. I drew my own blade and went to tierce. throwing my head back slightly in a defiant pose. She raised an eyebrow, smirked as she saw my stance. "I'm afraid," she said, "that you're not going to like how this turns out. Go home, fool. I will even have one of my handmaidens warm your bed tonight to console you."
"Tonight," I replied, "my bed will be warmed by your loins, and no other."
"Silly boy." She lunged like a mongoose, her lithe body, graceful as a dancer, seeming to hang in mid-air, that lovely blade flashing towards my heart like a thunderbolt, straight and true. Our blades clashed, ringing like bells as I parried her lunge, riposted with a pair of quick strikes that knocked her back on her heels, eyes widening with surprise. Pressing the attack, I pushed forward, my blade flashing bright silver in the light of the full moon before she regained her footing, countered, forced me to leap away as her sword clove the air bare inches from my throat.
We stood there under the cold moon, eyes locked upon each other, her emerald green, mine dark as night. "It seems," she said, at length, "that I underestimated you, stranger."
"And I you," I admitted.
"That sigil you wear on the hilt of your sword. What brotherhood does it belong too?" she asked.
I told her. She smiled. "I should have known. My master came from that same school."
"I recognized your footwork," I admitted. "You fight well, milady."
"Jessica," she said. "My name is Jessica."
"Jessica." I raised my sword in a crisp salute. She replied in kind. We returned to en garde, and this time, we approached much more warily. My eyes were locked upon hers, staring into those emerald-hard orbs searching them for any sign of weakness. I found none, and my heart thrilled. Here was a woman after my own heart, one who had never been mastered, a wild spirit untamed by the touch of a man. To make her mine, to turn that passion into ecstacy, would be the sweetest of blisses.
But first, she would have to be tamed.
Concentrate yourself on victory, and victory alone, my master had told me. No other thought must even enter the anterooms of your mind. Don't let your eyes be distracted by the loveliness of her throat, the sensual length of her hair, the lovely bowline of her mouth, and the delicacy of the hands that grip the sword. You must become like your sword: a blade of polished steel forged in fire, cold as diamond on the outside, but burning with a fire deep within. My soul rejoiced at this moment, at the purity of this contest: a man, a woman, and two swords. Nothing else existed for us.
She struck first, and the grace of her lunge was such that it made me want to weep. A parry, a riposte, a counter, a sidestep, a snap of my wrist, a flick of her fingers, and we moved apart again. There was a fresh rent in my right sleeve, and a drop of blood gathered on my forearm, dripped onto the pale white rocks. "It seems," I said, still staring into her eyes, "that you have me at a great advantage."
"Do tell?" she murred, lips quirking into an amused smile.
"All you have to do is kill me," I pointed out. "I, if I wish to win, have to defeat you without killing you."
"I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually," she remarked.
"I think I already have an idea."
"Let us see." We moved.
There was another flash of steel, another rapid flurry of strikes, and then my blade found its mark. With the very utmost care, I ran the edge of my sword along her lissome body, barely tickling her fur as the razor's edge of my sword sliced through her bodice stays in a single smooth cut. It fell away, and her pretty white mounds with their strawberry-pink tips emerged into the cool evening air. "I've won," I said, smiling.
"Not yet," she murmured, taking up her guard again, uncaring of her nakedness. "And now, I expect, your eyes will not be on my sword."
"Touche," I replied, saluting her.
"Not yet. But it's only a matter of time."
"It does seem a bit unsporting, though," I pointed out, slowly moving my left hand to my shirt collar, never letting my sword point stray from her direction. "I mean, here you are, having to go without a bodice on this cold night. I think I should even things up." I undid the buttons of my shirt, slipped it off and threw it away so that I stood bare-chested in the cold spring night. "There," I said. "That's a little more fair, now, isn't it?"
She raised an eyebrow as she looked at my naked chest, and there was a note of appreciation in her eyes. "Trying out an opponent's technique against her, hmmm?"
"Like I said," I grinned, "I prefer to fight fair."
She smiled at that, a big, full-hearted smile, not the arrogant smirks she had given me earlier, and we saluted once more, advanced towards each other yet again, blades swaying gently, like grass swaying in a breeze, our eyes locked, hearts pounding, sweating despite the cold. Her sword touched mine, very gently, and that little metallic ring awakened something in both our hearts. We exploded into a flurry of strikes, our swords flashing so swiftly our eyes could not follow their motions, our bodies moving by instinct and practice, hearts burning as we moved together in a deadly waltz of steel. The slightest error was paid for in blood: a flick of her wrist, and a flash of pain lanced across my shoulder. A sweep of my arm, and her petticoats were torn in half. A desperate lunge, and her honed blade scrached my left cheek. A quick moulinet, and a wide swatch of her skirt fell away, exposing her shapely white legs. A risposte, and her rapier carried away a bit of my hair.
We came away the worse for wear, her clothing in shreds, and I bleeding from a half-dozen small wounds. Her eyes and mine locked one more time, and we knew, then, that the next pass would decide this. Her eyes glowed with excitement, like two emerald stars shining in the darkness. Her bosom heaved with her breathing, her lips tremored with her passion, her cheeks were flushed pink with exertion. I sank deeper and deeper into my trance, that heightened razor-edged state when the world comes into sharp focus, when every thread of your clothes, every hair on your body, every breeze in the wind and every blade of grass under your feet is felt and savored like a fine wine.
If I died in the next few seconds, I would die in bliss.
Then she blinked.
And for the first time that night, I attacked.
There is a trick to disarming a foe, the blade must strike just right, slide just so, exert force in precisely the right angle, and on that night, I struck clean, fast, and accurately. Her sword spun away from her hand, embedded itself several inches into that big sycamore tree, and I saw her eyes widen in surprise, saw her mouth open, saw her freeze as my sword point touched her chin oh-so-lightly. "You lose," I said, grinning.
Her eyes smouldered defiantly. "Not yet," she sneered.
"Oh?" My blade flashed downward. The tattered remnants of her skirt and petticoats fell away, leaving her completely naked except for her socks and gloves. "How about now?"
"Not yet," she sneered, defiantly unashamed of her nude body. "You'll have to kill me first."
"And that would be a shame unlike any other," I murmured, running the cold blade along the inside of her thigh, the sharp edge running oh, so close to her sex, but her eyes never left mine, not even when that edge brushed along her sensitive folds and delicately stroked her little pink button.
She shivered at the touch of that cold steel, her lips trembling with passion. "Whatever happened to fighting fair?" she said mockingly.
"Too right." I dropped my sword, and almost immediately, she attacked. My hands grabbed her wrists, pushed her back, and she was snarling at me now, spitting almost like a polecat, her clawed hands reaching out to rake my eyes, and then I pulled her to me and kissed her, hard and rough, pressing my lips roughly against hers, pulling her naked body to mine. She bit my lip, hard, drew blood, but I didn't pull away, just pulled her in closer even as she struggled to pull away, and then I let go of her wrists, let my arms wrap around her, and pulled her in tight, mashing her full, soft breasts against my bare chest, squeezing her buttocks tightly as I massaged her ass hard, and then I felt something drain from her body, felt her violent struggles turning into sensual writhing, felt her teeth let go of my raw and bloody lip, felt her tongue running along the bite marks on my mouth, felt her clawed hands raking my back slowly fade into passionate caresses.
We tumbled onto the grass with our hearts pounding like drums in our chests, our hot bodies entwined as I forced my fingertips lower and lower, pushed them roughly between her wet folds, parted them like flower petals between my fingers. She was murmuring now, purring like a kitten, those fiery eyes liquid with bliss and desire, and so I tugged at the laces of my trousers, pulled them down to my ankles, freeing my already-hard member from its prison. She was kissing me passionately now, her mouth pressed hard to mine, our tongues dancing against each other like questing blades. parrying, disengaging, riposting. She smelled like strawberries and springtime, tasted like flowers and rain, felt like velvet and silk. I pulled my fingers from her sex with a little wet slurp, felt a tiny thread of her juices come away, licked her honey off my fingertips then slid my fingers into her mouth, let her taste her own desire.
She had her legs wrapped around my waist, was rubbing her wet sex up against my stomach, so I picked her up, pushed her up against the tree, pushed into her so deep that she stifled a scream by biting down painfully on my shoulder. She was tight, and wet, and warm, and every thrust into her was a moment of bliss. Already excited by the scent of her arousal, I knew it would only be a few minutes before I came.
She had other ideas. Her legs clamped hard, and she pushed off against the tree so that I fell over onto my back. Her hips gyrated as she rode my lap, her arms wrapped around my neck as she kissed me over and over, raining little wet kisses all over my face and throat. My hands took hold of her breasts, squeezed tightly, and she seemed to like that, arched her back a little and gave a little moan of pleasure as her toes curled, so I squeezed a little tighter, and then she came to life, whispering wordless little things into my ear, wordless things that spoke of passion, pleasure, bliss, and a longing for release.
We were both so close, but neither of us would give in. It was like another fight, and we were struggling not to be the one who blinks first. My head was pounding as my body begged to spurt its seed deep into her hot sex, but I forced myself down, made myself slow my pace, savoring the delicate, inch-by-inch creep of my member in and out of her now dripping pussy. She was squeezing me, bearing down as hard as she could, trying to force me to cum first, but I refused to yield, like a duelist on the piste who, though he be torn and tattered and ready to fall, refuses to surrender, and forces his second to call off the battle of honor rather than be shamed by surrendering to a foe.
On a whim, I spanked her asscheek, hard, and she exploded. "AAAAAANH!!!" she cried out, a strangled gasp of release, and her pussy tightened around me even harder, making little black spots dance in front of my eyes from the exertion of trying not to release myself. She was rocking against me, shuddering like a ship on the high seas, her toes curled, and her back arched so hard I thought she would break. She didn't. She just came and came and came until she was spent, and then I could pull out of her, push her onto her stomach, thrust into her from behind like a rutting dog, possess her, take her, make her mine, until I, too, felt the bliss of that sweet release, pulling out to spurt my white-hot seed all over her back and ass, the milky fluid gleaming against her white fur like pearls in the light of the full moon.
*****
She awoke with the rising sun, and discovered that he was gone, like a dream that fades and dies with the coming of the dawn, leaving behind only the sweet memory of that night, so that she wondered if, in fact, she had dreamed that midnight encounter. But no, there was her dress, tattered and torn, and there was her sword, stabbed deeply into the sycamore tree, and his seed still marking her belly. She stood, searching all around for any trace of her lover but found none, and as she stood there, her heart aching with the knowledge that he was gone from her life, she realized that she had never known his name, or clearly seen his face in the daylight.
She was gone from her home by the time the sun set again. Her suitors would wait under the sycamore tree the next night in the forlorn hope that she would return, but she never did, and as night followed night, their hopes that she would return faded away. She gave them no further thought, for her heart had been captured by the man who had won the duel of hearts and swords, the man who had defeated her steel and taken her love in the same night.
She would search for him a very long time.
END