The Bandit, The Knight, and The Lady Ch. 01

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Nessa gets caught.
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Before you read this, note that this teaser does not yet contain ultra-explicit sex (which is why it is called a teaser). The story was originally much longer than this, but I am not satisfied with the way the rest of it turned out. There are very mild bondage and some exhibitionism themes. Do you want to see this further developed? If so, how? Is there anything you would see improved? Let me know in the comments.

*

Faizal watched the lone figure making its way down the dirt road from his perch up in the boughs of a craggy old tree. As it drew closer, the shape coalesced into a clearer form. He could not help but admire the startlingly beautiful red mane of hair that contrasted sharply with the typical drab gray and brown peasant garb. The latter was not a good sign. There would not likely be much coin to be had from this one. The former though, held promise.

As more details of the creature began to take shape, Faizal was pleased to confirm that it was a female—one with a rapturously pretty face, pleasing enough to send a small shiver of anticipation up his spine. It was indeed quite the trap. Lone women, especially those as pretty and succulent as she, simply did not travel alone in these parts, peasant or no. That could only mean militia would be skulking around somewhere, ready to pounce on honest crooks such as himself. Well paid and equipped militia, he reminded himself.

Putting two fingers to his lips, he let loose a series of four swallow cries and pulled out his trusty scimitar. With practiced ease, he dropped down from his hiding place to land a few feet in front of the "helpless damsel". Yes, she was indeed a pretty one. He flashed her the most devastating smile in his arsenal. Everything about her, from her high cheekbones to her dancing blue eyes, was clearly a cut above the norm. Those eyes were at the moment open wide with surprise and fear. Faizal was impressed with her beauty as well as her acting. If he did not know better, he would have believed that she was genuinely frightened.

"Hello beautiful!" he greeted her in his best Lothario voice, while brandishing his blade dramatically. His four comrades emerged as if from nowhere and flanked him on either side, openly appraising and approving their fearless leader's extraordinary catch.

Faizal waited the requisite five seconds for the guards to come bursting out of the forest to righteously apprehend them. The girl preempted him, only waited till the three second mark before letting out a suitable shriek of the feminine sort and bolted back up the road.

Perhaps it was a small ambush party and five armed men were too many to handle. Well, he would just have to sweeten the deal. Faizal turned to his right and slapped Raif on the back, "Go and set up camp my good man. I am in the mood for a little run!"

Raif chuckled and needlessly loudly replied, "Yes boss, just save some of that delectable woman for the rest of us! Why, she must be nothing short of a goddess. If I had her to myself I would—"

"Right right!" Faizal cut him off while slamming his blade back into its scabbard. More acting lessons were in order for his right-hand man. Raif did tend to get carried away.

Faizal waited for the woman to get a good distance away before he began his pursuit. It was not a lie. He did enjoy the physical exertion as well as the exhilaration of the hunt, no matter how staged it was. He tried to listen out for the sounds of the rest of his men taking down would-be ambushers but could make nothing out.

It took him a tidy short time to catch up. The girl had "tired" and was jogging along at a moderate pace, breathing heavily, hands nursing her waist. Concluding that this was the place she was leading him too, he tackled her from behind like the ruffian he was, knocking her breath out and pinning her to the ground. She struggled against him weakly but with a good amount of noise. He simply and easily flipped her over on her back and laid the full length of his body against hers, quite pleased to find that she was soft and shapely underneath the baggy rags that passed for clothing.

"Get off me you brute!" she exclaimed in a pleasant if somewhat unpeasant-like voice.

Wondering idly which brilliant maestro writes their lines, Faizal rested his chin on her shoulder and held her absolutely still as he listened intently for her allies bursting through the bush. He only heard her heaving breath. It took all of ten seconds for the pretty lady to start feeling awkward. Confused at not being ravished or worse, she prodded, "Hey, are you still alive?"

He decided to play this suavely. "Why yes I am darling, how nice of you to ask! Looks like it's time to go home, don't you think?"

He rose to his feet, pulling her up with him and slung the petite woman easily over his shoulder with one arm despite her half-hearted kicking and struggling. He kept his other hand firmly on the pommel of his sword. He had learned long ago never to underestimate anybody, especially whilst in the middle of a trap. Whistling, he strolled back down the road with a saunter.

It did not take long for her token fight to die down. She settled for lying limply on his shoulder, preserving as much dignity as she could in her current position. Taking the cue, Faizal gallantly introduced himself, "By the way, I am Faizal. King of bandits, terrorizer of merchants and lover of women all over Haridonia!"

Seeing that she was not courteously volunteering her name, much less with a befitting level of swoonage, he simply put the question to her. "So what do I call you, young Miss?"

After a pause, she lied, "Rowan."

"Ahh, Rowan, Rowan. Beautiful name!" he remarked, nodding an acknowledgement to the rowan tree that they had just passed.

He let the awkward silence be. She did not seem to him to be the strong silent type, so he waited to see if she would break. Indeed, being the excellent judge of character he was, he once again deduced correctly. What he did not expect was how heartbreakingly sweet her voice could be when she wanted. "Would you please put me down? I promise not to run."

"No."

"Why not? I would really feel more comfortable."

"Firstly my dear Rowan, I like carrying you." He pinched her bottom for effect, grinning to himself as she squirmed most delightfully against his shoulder.

"And second, it makes me look strong and dashing in front of my men. I am, in fact, strong and dashing, but a beautiful woman adds to their awe!"

"Can't you ummm... put me down and carry me again when you get closer to your camp? Pretty please?"

It was a good thing that her would—be pleading eyes were out of his sight. No, it was time to play. "My men are watching us right now. Most likely, they are exchanging words with your friends as we speak."

"My friends?" she quipped innocently.

"Don't be coy my dear. Give me a little credit. I may be unbearably handsome, but stupidity is not one of my virtues."

She did not rise to the bait, but instead changed the subject. "What are you going to do with me, Mister Faizal?"

He grinned, pleased that she remembered his name. "What do you think we are going to do with you sweetheart?"

"I suspect, Sir, that your intentions are not honorable."

Faizal burst out laughing, admiring her courage and wit. "We are outlaws, my dear Rowan. Though we are not naturally honorable, sometimes we are by chance."

"So is this my lucky day?" she asked, wiggling ever so slightly.

"Well, that would depend on what you mean by lucky," he mused, "I have doubts about your intentions myself."

"How you say that of me?" She gave him an ineffectual kick in mock indignation.

Faizal replied with a swat to her firm behind. "Hush now, we are nearing the camp. Don't spoil the fun for the rest of them."

"They like their women feisty, huh?"

He suppressed a chuckle as they came around the bend where Raif was patiently waiting for them with his arms crossed, a concerned frown on his face.

"So what have we got?" Faizal inquired hopefully as he strode up with his prize.

"Nothing boss. Absolutely nothing. We searched the hills, the rivers, the trees, the bush, and there's no one about."

Faizal frowned. This did not bode well. He set Rowan down on her feet semi-gently and pushed her towards the nearest man, proclaiming for the benefit of the entire camp, "String her up. Even with no one to rob, we will have entertainment tonight!"

Rowan responded with a swift kick to the her unfortunate captor's shin, drawing curses from him and snickers from everybody else. She turned and graced Faizal with a withering glare before being hustled away. After the collective laughter died down, Faizal turned to Raif, "This looks ominous. Double the sentries tonight. We break camp in the morning."

Raif, looking as worried as he felt, uncharacteristically grunted in acknowledgement before turning to bark orders. With nothing else to be done, Faizal made his way to the nearby stream to wash up. Contrary to popular belief, bandits were not all filthy unsanitary scum. In addtion to general cleanliness, he wanted to smell good for Rowan's benefit. That woman was something special. Satisfied at his state of hygiene, he was ready to attend to the day's conquest. Making his way there slowly, he exchanged jokes and knowing nods with several of his men along the way, warming them up for the show.

He found her with her wrists tied above her head, secured to a sturdy branch of the tree that marked the center of the camp. A crowd was already gathering to watch the festivities as he approached. Rowan was entertaining herself by hurling thinly veiled insults at anybody who walked past. Unfortunately for her, not many of his men were bright enough to catch her sarcasm.

"Good evening, Miss Rowan. Hungry?" he inquired as he pared a sliver from his roast and brought it to her lips.

She accepted the meat without hesitation, brushing his fingertips with her full and pouty lips. She chewed slowly and deliberately, never taking her defiant eyes off him for a second, and let the juices dribble down her chin. "Thank you," she enunciated with her scathingly sweet voice.

Her act of defiance brought out the showman in Faizal. He performed for his men as much as he did for the woman. "Thank you? Ah manners! What a rare virtue in such troubled times!"

A chorus of sniggering and laughter broke out around the camp. Getting into the act, he dramatically drew his curved blade and rested the tip against her slender throat, assuming an impractical but flamboyant combat stance. Through the sword's shining metal, he could feel her body tense, but to her credit, she did not give any ground. In his ringmaster's voice, he menaced, "Any last words before we begin tonight's...proceedings?"

The bound woman merely closed her eyes in response and raised her head to the skies. She bared her neck to him, calmly surrendering to his whims as if daring him to take her life. He whispered so only she could hear, "Don't move a muscle."

Dancing circles around his target, his sword flashed and sung in the firelight as his audience watched in rapt attention. He ended with a flourish, scimitar raised up high as he crouched low listening to the pieces of fabric softly flutter to the ground behind him. Instead of the hoots, whistles and applause he was accustomed to after his master act, he was surprised by a hushed murmur that fell upon the camp like autumn leaves in a light evening breeze.

Decisively depositing his sword into its scabbard, he spun around sharply to inspect his handiwork only to find himself stricken as speechless as his men. The lady was stunning—practically glowing. She was not malnourished like a peasant. She was not muscled like a guardsman. She was not even flabby like a noble. Startlingly, every curve on her body was perfectly shaped and in fine proportion. Her pale skin was alive in the flickering firelight as she thrust her modest but pert bosom forward, confident and proud. She looked right at him with neither shame nor outrage, simply waiting.

Still entranced, he walked slowly towards her like a lion stalking its prey. Even though she was already staring right into his eyes, he lifted her chin anyway. A gentleman to the last, he inquired, "May I?"

She nodded slowly with nary a tremble, never taking her eyes off his. Bathing his hand in her wild red curls, he brought his lips to hers and inhaled her heady earthy aroma. The silence was deafening as the hardened bandits took in a performance that deviated from the usual script in a grand, but ethereal way. Faizal, lost in the moment, let his hands skim lightly over her smooth skin, not the least bit concerned with where they wandered.

She became his instrument of passion. He played her skillfully as he could, teasing forth a melody of throaty moans and whimpers. Drowning in a sensual dance of lust, he moved rhythmically to the chorus, transporting himself, his subject and his audience into a dreamlike world of rapture. Round and round he went, a touch here, a kiss there...

He barely heard the thump from above. She did, though, and glanced upward, so he followed her gaze and found himself staring at a strange, somewhat pudgy winged reptile roosting on the tree above. It was covered entirely in green scales and had bug-like yellow orbs for eyes. Its neck was long, as was its sturdy tail. Wicked looking talons graced its four feet. In a burst of rudeness, it belched a puff of steam at him.

After a moment of stunned, near paralysis, the camp jumped into a flurry of action, with orders being barked and weapons being gathered. At least a dozen arrows were aimed at the creature, awaiting the order to be let loose. Noting that his woman was more annoyed than afraid, Faizal followed his gut and raised his hand, imposing a disciplined silence. The creature blithely ignored them all.

Rowan was looking as pissed as only a woman who was tied naked to a tree could. "This had better be good Finnagan! There haven't been bandits for three months now and we were just getting to the good part! Don't you dare deprive me of my pleasure."

"Sorry, Nessa," the reptile whined plaintively, "people at the keep."

It could speak! Faizal was astounded. This woman was much more than she seemed, certainly more than he expected. He had the sinking feeling that he had gotten himself way over his head again.

"So don't let them in! Tell them I'm busy, as you can plainly see!" This Rowan, or rather Nessa, clearly knew where her priorities lay.

"Many people—" The now considerably less threatening creature looked like it was ready to bawl its eyes out.

Nessa let out a frustrated growl as she lowered her arms, leaving the rope dangling above her, knots and all. Finnagan descended from his roost and huddled against her leg for comfort. Faizal was still trying to put the rope, the creature and the woman into context when Nessa turned and gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek, "I'm sorry darling. I wish I could stay for the fun but I really have to go. On the off-chance that it turns out to be nothing, maybe I can come back and finish up? I would like that very much."

"Uh...sure." What was a man to say in a situation like this?

Nessa rested her hand on Finnagan's head and waved to the crowd as they disappeared in a flash of light and cloud of smoke, leaving Faizal alone once more, surrounded by his loyal men.

"Well," he concluded aloud as he bent over to pull his pants back up, "It seems the lady likes me."

* * *

Nessa was still fuming with frustration as she materialized in front of her keep's moat. She cursed her creators for the umpteenth time for making her perpetually vexed with lust. If that were not bad enough, anyone she lay with perished at the moment of her climax. It made it so difficult to maintain any sort of long term relationship. That was the point, of course, but she was too stressed at the moment to bother with petty things like logic. To deal with her conundrum, she had taken to acting as a vigilante, weeding out brigands and cut-throats with her immense bodily needs, slaking her own passions without overly much guilt.

Before the smoke from her magical appearance cleared, she quickly conjured a white flowing gown around herself. It made Nessa look almost, and even oddly, chaste and innocent, qualities that brought out the best behavior from most men. For a wicked few, it resulted in the worst behavior, but she was well prepared to entertain any of those, especially tonight.

Assembled before her was a small squad of strong burly men, most of whom were clad in makeshift, but well-worn armor. At their helm was a fine specimen of a man. Unlike the others, he was encased in custom-made plate armor that served to accentuate his broad muscular shoulders. His blonde wavy hair rippled in the evening breeze as he lifted his strong chiseled jaw to address her.

"Milady." He smiled, showing off his pearly whites that glinted in the starlight. Nessa was impressed. Good oral hygiene was hard to come by in this day and age, and was a mark of his pedigree. This was the part where she was supposed to chase him away. Instead, she found herself enquiring, "Sir Knight, what brings you here?"

"I and my loyal men are here to enlist—" He trailed off as he stared at something behind her.

Glancing over her shoulder, she caught sight of Gertrude rising from the depths of the moat. Before she could say anything, her brave "hero" pulled her back and sprang in front of her in defense. "A dragon!" he shouted, "Attack! Slay the fiend!"

With that order, the motley crew charged the colossal dragon, screaming battle cries all the way. Gertrude waited for them to close in before bellowing a mighty roar, scattering the soldiers to the four winds. "Regroup!" the knight commanded, but his men were already running for the hills having had enough for the night.

"Cowards!" he snarled, as he charged forwards fearlessly.

"Sir Knight—" Nessa protested, but the warrior was already in the heat of combat, poking at Gertrude's snout with his sword.

Gertrude, unhurt but annoyed, breathed upon the champion. Fortunately for him, she was an elderly dragon and only a few licks of flame threatened him. In its place however, was a considerable amount of soot and ash that dulled the shiny armor and sent him into a fit of spluttering and coughing. "How rude!" he complained.

Rolling her eyes, Nessa magically enhanced her voice and commanded, "Stop!"

Her shout echoed through the hills as both man and dragon turned their heads to look at her, their feud momentarily forgotten. "Hey! That is my dragon that you are trying to slay!" she pointed out, hands on her hips.

"Oh." The knight turned somewhat sheepishly to address Gertrude. "My sincerest apologies for injuring you, noble creature. I have no quarrel with any who would be in Milady's service."

Gertrude snorted, expressing what she exactly how little she thought of the tiny man. Before they could be at each others' throats again, Nessa interceded, "Why don't you come in? You can wash up and spend the night."

"My thanks, Milady. I am in your debt for your hospitality." He gallantly made way for her to lead him across the drawbridge.

* * *

"So, Sir Knight," Nessa was feeling chatty as they entered her great hall, "do you have a name?"

"Ah, I seem to have forgotten my manners in the heat of battle. Do forgive me, Milady. I am Sir Heinrick, knighted in the service of King Lashor of the Kingdom of Tintenagel, at your service." He made a small bow, as much as his restrictive armor would allow.

"And you may call me Nessa. Shall we get you out of that armor and make you more comfortable?" It wasn't Nessa's worldliness and manners that made her make this offer to her guest—or was it victim? Nessa was looking forward to this part with intense anticipation. To have her hands on...

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