Geas

He was groggy, his head throbbing, and at first as he opened his eyes he thought the room empty, a cut stone cell, nearly square, hardly more than three strides on a side. The writing stand and books made it obvious to him that it was not a prison cell, but rather for a cloistered member of some holy order. It took a moment to identify the source of the dim and diffuse light, but lifting his head he realized it was from a candle flickering within an elaborately screened candleholder. Immediately he winced, even the slight brightness of looking directly toward the flame bringing the pounding back into his head with full force.

How he had come to be here… there was a flicker of memory, something important, but elusive. He was a Knight of the Azure Order, that he knew with certainty that nothing could suppress. But why he was here, what he was doing, such things were shrouded. The more he tried to focus on them, the less he was able to discern. There was only a compelling sense that there had been a mission, a goal of utmost importance, a goal he could not now remember.

His armor and sword he could now make out in an untidy heap by the door of the room, blue surcoat crumpled on top. A pang of guilt stung him – so many years of training to revere his equipment could never be ignored. Before realizing what a terrible idea it was, he moved to rise from the bed to pick them up off the floor, where the dampness would quickly lead to rust. But before he could lift himself the pounding in his head was even worse than before, strength fleeing from his limbs and his vision dimming, narrowing to a tight tunnel. A moment later he realized he was back laying flat on the bed.

Well then, surely a blow to the head. He had experienced that many times before in his career. For that matter he realized his helmet wasn’t with the rest of his armor on the floor, but he couldn’t recollect what had become of it – more memories flittering away like shadows in the night. But he would recover from this as he always had before, he was sure.

It was only then that he realized he was not alone in the room.

She was there beside him on the bed, must have been there all along, for how not? He suddenly recognized the warmth of her, and without willing it he rolled to feel the softness of her. She responded in kind, her arms quickly around him, then her hands caressing him. So many women had he known, but something here was so different. Her fervor, her immediate intensity, took him unawares. Pale ivory skin, full breasts, and she was drinking kisses from his lips, wrapping herself around him, pressing and undulating before he fully realized it.

Her effect on him was immediate. Her sinuous movements, her voluptuous curves, the smell of her and the taste of her all pierced his fog and brought him a clarity that had been eluding him. His cock was hard, its throbbing now exceeding that of his head. She ground against him, her hands working at the tie on his pants, and working at his cock as well. Faster than he could register she had his pants pulled down his legs and was taking his cock into her lips. Her head bobbing so quickly, her tongue flickering so quickly, her hands running over his body so quickly, nails dragging hard and so close to breaking his skin.

Then without conscious thought he had rolled, had her under him, lined up his cock and sunk it deep into her. Her gasp fueled him even more and despite the renewed pounding in his head he was thrusting, driving long strokes into her. Her legs spread wide, and her moans rose, becoming more and more urgent. The slap of his body against hers punctuating her cries, she pulled him toward her again and again, arms wrapping around and holding him to her.

Another wave of pain in his head, a jolt, something imperative, and he wrenched himself, pulling back for a moment. But still he couldn’t remember, couldn’t attach the urgency to anything else, anything but her heat there so close to him. And his body knew what it wanted, what it needed. He drove forward again, but just as he did she shifted under him, lifting herself, and he buried his cock not in her cunt but in her other hole. His head reeled, unable to make sense of this, of how he could possibly have penetrated in one thrust into a hole that was so tight now, of why she made no protest. His decency recoiled, and he tried to pull himself back as well. But under him she not only made no protest, but again with her arms around him pulled him close, and now wrapping her strong legs around his waist held him fast. He again tried to pull back, appalled at such an indecent use of a maiden, but she was somehow even stronger, her legs trapping him, slamming him forward, his cock again driving full length into her ass.

And now it wasn’t him fucking her, but her fucking herself with him. Her legs impossibly pulling him forward over and over again, irresistible and urgent. Faster, faster than he ever could have, she forced his shaft to slam deep into her. It was no longer passionate but furious now, violent, brutal. She should have been ruined by the force of it, but she pulled faster and faster. His bones jarred every time she impaled herself with him, until cries of pain were driven from his lips. This would break him, this should have broken her. The tempo still increasing, faster than he had ever known, harder than he could bear, but through it the intensity peaked. Her entire body shuddered too, just as his did, simultaneously, with the sharpness of a thunderclap. There was no pleasure in it for him now, but his seed burst forth, flooding into a place he blushed to even think of, her legs still forcing him, holding him deep within her as his spasms continued.

His climax finally lifted the fog for a moment, and his eyes went to the scroll on the writing stand, the ornate seal on it, his urgent quest. And her legs held him to her, within her, as she drained his seed, drained his essence. He struggled now again to pull away, this time not just away but towards the scroll, his urgent quest, his sacred charge. But her power rose as she consumed his essence, now the crimson cast of her skin showing through the glamour, the small horns showing through her tousled hair, all of her energy now directed elsewise, channeling, directing, forcing the sleep upon him, forcing all will out of him.

And so he fell again into his slumber, as she rose and stretched languorously, her lithe naked form touched now by the first rays of dawn through the narrow windows. She judged that this time he might succumb to the sleep for days. She walked over and tried, as she always did, to pick up the scroll. And, as every time before, she could not, was held back, tantalizingly close. She smiled, knowing that it might take years of this, and relishing her mission.