He shouldn’t have looked, but he did. And really, who could blame him? So much of history came down to the effect women had on men, and what men would do to impress those women. To make them their own.
Making her his own was a long way off, just yet. And so far, he’d only been aware of her in the way that any man is aware of any woman. He’d seen her. Registered her beauty, taken a moment to drink her in, and moved on. He had work to do. A caravan to guard, travelers and cargo to protect. She was the job, and he was a professional.
But that evening, when she bathed in the shallow hot springs, as he heard the laughing and splashing of the women bathing with her, he became aware of his growing arousal. A sort of focusing away from the task at hand, the growing realization, that yes, he was a man, she was a woman, and he was getting hard.
It started with a sidelong glance, just enough to register the women in the water. The pale skin, rarely, if ever kissed by the sun. Wet hair. The barest suggestion of curves. A glance, and he looked away. A glance. That was enough, wasn’t it?
But he felt his cock getting stiff, felt it pressing into his trousers, felt a faint tingling in his balls, and emboldened by that, he looked again. More slowly. More purposefully.
And she met his eyes.
The other women didn’t notice him, standing, as he was, in the brush surrounding the springs. Invisible to them. Just another guard, protecting them from wildlife and brigands and whatever else might have been out to get them. But she noticed him, met his eyes, and blushed.
But she didn’t look away. And she didn’t cover herself. Not immediately, anyways. She smiled, looked down, bit her lip. He smiled back.
She was tall, with dark hair and large breasts. Hips that curved almost as wonderfully as her breasts, legs that went on forever, and a dark, triangular patch of hair almost hidden between her legs. Her nipples were dark, large, and tight in the cool night air.
She met his eyes again, more shyly this time. She slid a hand down her belly—
And another woman splashed her, laughing. The dark-haired woman shrieked in mock outrage, and the moment passed as she splashed the interloper back.
He sighed and turned his back to the springs.
When the women finished and made their way back to the caravan, he found himself a nice, secluded spot in the undergrowth, and undid his trousers. His penis came out, hard and stiff and as ready for battle as any guard’s spear. He ran a finger down the shaft, tried to pretend it was the dark-haired beauty’s hand. Cupped his own balls while he imagined her delicate hands on his cock, pulling at his scrotum, rolling his testicles in her hands. What her lips would feel like slipping across the head of his cock. What she would feel like, as he pressed himself into her. Would she moan? Call his name? Scream his name? Would the other guards wonder what was wrong, would they come running, only to find them in the throes of passion?
He gasped as he came suddenly. His imagination had done the job, apparently, because he hadn’t really realized that he’d been stroking himself that vigorously. His hands were a slimy mess of cum and he felt a little ashamed, a little embarrassed as the hormones drained suddenly from him. What would the beauty say if she heard about this? Would she be offended? Revolted?
Would aroused be too much to hope for?
He smashed his hand into the dirt, wiping off as much as he could before he fastened his trousers and went to wash up.
The next few days were a sort of delightful torture for him. The springs that the caravan stopped at were far apart, and some nights they slept more or less where they stopped, alongside the road with no place for washing up. No special guard duty to pull. Sometimes there would be way stations for travelers, and those were almost worse, as the merchants and their families disappeared into the inns, not to be seen again until morning. At least, on the side of the road, he saw the beauty, and she saw him looking. She teased him from a distance, sometimes stretching so that her breasts strained against her dress, and once, in the privacy behind a wagon, tugging her already low-cut neckline down to expose those pale, perfect breasts almost to the nipple as he passed by. He was hard almost instantly, despite knowing exactly what her nipples looked like. He didn’t wonder about them. He hungered for them. Hungered to touch them, to feel them pressing into his palms as he cupped her breasts. He imagined her lips parting and a soft moan escaping her throat, her hands pushing down his trousers…
It was behind one of those wagons that she finally spoke. And it had to have been her that spoke; for a guard to approach those he was charged with protecting was the height of bad taste.
“I’ve seen you,” she said, “Looking at me.”
“I know,” he said, simply, unsure of what else to say. What else could he say, navigating this labyrinth of social strata?
“Watching me,” she prodded, her lips curling into a smile that wasn’t entirely without mischief.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Lusting after me,” she continued. She drew near to him, and he forced his eyes to avoid her plunging cleavage.
His lips worked for a moment, before he finally agreed again, “Yes.”
Her breasts brushed against his chest, nipples erect and firm even through the fabric separating them. “You can look,” she told him, unlacing her bodice a notch or two, allowing her breasts to spill free just a little. He reached up with his hands, intent on cupping them, on feeling the nipples between his thumb and finger, luxuriating in their firmness against the soft flesh of her breasts.
“Look,” she said. “That doesn’t mean touch, brave guardsman.”
He hesitated. Was she really going to tease him this way?
No, dammit. She was not.
But still he hesitated. What if she didn’t want it?
Her hands found his trousers, slid inside, fingertips brushing against the firm shaft, caressing the head of his cock. It sent trills of pleasure coursing up and down his body. He felt his knees tremble. He reached for her shoulders, found them, pulled her close, kissed her deeply. Pressed his tongue against her lips, flicked them open. Imagined flicking his tongue through her soft, wet sex. Tasting her on his tongue, feeling her tremble even as he was trembling right now.
Her fingers wrapped around his cock, pulled tight, pumped his shaft once, twice, three times. He felt a moan rising up his throat and pressure building inside his shaft. He didn’t want to come, not there, not then, not inside his pants, and he pulled away from her. Even still, he almost lost control as her finger stroked the crevice underneath the head of his penis in parting.
“I thought you wanted that,” she murmured, lips brushing his.
All the things he could’ve said raced through his mind, came to his lips, died there, forgotten and unimportant and unsaid. He pressed her to him, one hand behind her shoulders, one hand cradling her buttock, and hoped that she felt his stiff penis and knew it to be proof that yes, he wanted her.
He wanted her so badly that it hurt. The pressure in his cock was almost unbearable. He fumbled for her skirts, pulled them up in handfuls—and then stopped. Another young woman had come around the corner of the wagon and was taking in the scene with an amused smile. He pulled away, dropping the beauty’s skirts, and cleared his throat.
His would-be lover smiled and looked away, seeming bashful for the first time. “Maybe you want her to watch?” she asked, even as she was lacing her bodice back up. “Isn’t that a thing you men like? Showing off for the ladies?”
The other woman rolled her eyes with a good-natured laugh. “Don’t let her tease you too much, Mister Guardsman. She’ll drive you mad if you let her. And you! Come on. There’s work to be done. Supper won’t make itself, you know. Let the poor man get back to work.”
And back to work he went. Did his duty, watched for signs of bandits and signs from the beauty, but if she meant to break away from those around her, she was never able to do so. And so when he was relieved from his watch, he stole away, found a quiet corner, and unlaced his trousers. For what seemed like the hundredth time now, he thought of her and stroked his cock, fondled the head and balls, felt it stiffen under his fingers. Felt it grow and swell as he thought about the beauty, thought about her friend watching. He didn’t know if he’d want that, not in reality, but the thought of it thrilled him a little bit. He thought about all the things he would do with the beauty while her friend watched, and her friend’s gaze—imagined or not—was an almost physical weight as he thought about his cock entering the beauty’s warm, wet cleft.
When he came it was in warm, heavy spurts of cum. He gasped and trembled and then lay still for a moment, and decided, then and there, that the next time they would not be disturbed.
The following night they stopped at an inn, smaller than most, and few of the merchants were able to rent rooms. The beauty and her family were among those who’d been able to rent them, but the rooms were small things, most with no more than two beds apiece. Those who did not get rooms made camp as they did out in the wilderness: in and under their wagons. He stood watch for his appointed shift, vigilant for bandits and brigands, and listened to the happy sounds of camp and of the common room inside the inn. Music came from inside the inn, lively fiddle and flute songs, but as small as the place was, the only room for dancing was outside.
The beauty and her friends danced as he watched, merry jigs that cast long and shifting shadows in the evening bonfires. Her eyes met his on each pass around the fire, and he felt warm inside, as though the fire burned in his belly. He wondered how she felt.
In hindsight, he needn’t have.
She left the fire late, but not so late that it was deserted. There was plenty of merrymaking and revelry yet, laughing and carrying on. But it was late enough that she was not the only one leaving for her rooms, and he, not the only guardsman walking into the common room. She paused as she passed by him and curtseyed in such a way as to give him a view down the front of her bodice. He felt, as before, the pressure in his groin that meant an erection was building.
She tugged his hand. He followed, discreetly, into the inn.
Her room was small, little more than a pair of beds, one of which already held the body of a sleeping woman just visible in the light of a candle. He froze then, recognizing her friend from the night before, and she laughed softly.
“Oh, brave guardsman. She won’t mind. She’s asleep. Promise. Now come on.”
Her hands reached for his trousers. He reached for her dress and pulled it up over her head before she could undo his trousers. Her breasts came free and fell, full and firm, against his chest as he leaned in to kiss her. He cupped each breast in his hands, lifting and supporting them so that he could nuzzle against her nipples. They tightened, almost forcing themselves in between his lips as he kissed them. The sound she made when he ran his tongue against them wasn’t so much a moan as it was a sharply drawn breath.
He kissed her belly. She pulled down his trousers, and his cock came free, firm and hard. He pressed her back against the bed and kissed her belly button, kissed the soft patch of hair underneath. Her moan was real now, and he glanced over at the sleeping woman to make sure that she was, indeed, still sleeping.
The beauty stroked his hair as he kissed her thighs. He gently spread her legs and inhaled, breathing in the scent of her as his kisses came lower, became more intimate. He thrust his tongue inside her, straining to caress as much of her as he could with that movement. Her clitoris was a swollen button against his lips, and he sucked that as hungrily as he had her nipples. Her desire was a warm wetness that ran down his face and chin and tasted of pure lust.
She shook under him, trembling with each stroke of his tongue, each brush of his lips. When he thought she might come, he pulled back, but she seized his hair in her hands and pushed her hips up to his face. He buried his face in between her legs and lapped hungrily at her, drinking her in, savoring her taste. She came suddenly, legs shaking, gasping and clutching at his head, and gasped so loudly that he was sure the whole inn had heard. He paused and listened as intently as he would have during any shift of guard duty.
No one came—except, that is, for the beauty, who continued to gasp and shake as though her orgasm was echoing inside of her. He nuzzled the inside of her thigh and rested his cheek against her other leg, studying the delicate folds and crevices of her ladyhood. His erection was like a brilliant bonfire in the night, blinding him to anything but his desire—no, his need—to take her. To mount her, to come inside of her in a blaze of pleasure and warmth. But when he made to do just that—nuzzling her, kissing her, gently spreading her legs as he knelt with cock in hand to penetrate her, she stopped him.
“Soon,” she whispered. “But not yet.”
A flurry of thoughts crossed his mind then, a barrage of frustrations and longing and craving and somehow, that “not yet” enticed him more than ever. He was frustrated, yes, denied, yes, but he was so close he could not imagine why she wanted him to wait. Could not imagine, that is, until he felt slim, delicate fingers reaching for his cock. He let his hand slip from his cock to make room for hers. Let her stroke and caress and explore the spear of his penis, groaning with delight when she grabbed him and pumped his shaft, once, twice, a third time, and then let go before the pleasure could reach a breaking point.
He leaned back on the small bed, cock like a tower in the night, legs spread to invite her to him. To do whatever it was she wanted to him. Everything in him screamed for her. Craved her. Wanted her. Didn’t care how, didn’t care what, didn’t care as long as his cock was inside her.
Her fingers brushed against his balls, and he felt them pull tight against him in reaction, even as he wanted to press them into her hand. There was nothing to him but his hunger for her. His world became small, tight, compact. It was nothing but yearning and the desire to release his seed into her.
He groaned in pleasure as she took his balls in her hand and squeezed gently. Another groan as her tongue flicked against the tip of his cock. When her lips plunged over him, when her tongue brushed rough and wet and warm against the underside of his cock, it was nearly over for him. It was only the soft exclamation of “Oh” that made everything stop.
Not a word spoken by the beauty, whose mouth had been occupied with his erection. No, this was another voice, also soft and feminine and just a bit familiar. He looked around and the beauty pulled away from him. She gave an embarrassed smile to the other bed and he followed her gaze. Her friend was awake, eyes wide and a little startled.
“No, no,” her friend said. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
It was quiet for a moment, and finally the beauty laughed softly. “I told you,” she said to him. “She won’t mind.”
The other woman smiled mischievously.
He was unsure of what to do. Should he cover himself, cover the beauty? Excuse himself and leave? He felt his erection begin to fade and tried to suppress a sigh. So much for that.
“Oh no, no,” the beauty said suddenly, “We can’t have that. I’m not done with you, noble guardsman.” And she kissed him then, much the way he’d kissed her, belly and thighs and then his manhood.
And all the while her friend watched. A part of him was embarrassed, maybe even a little shamed, but as the beauty worked her magic on his cock, as she stroked him up and down, licked and sucked and caressed him, he felt himself stiffening again. He no longer cared that he was being watched. Urgency came back to him, the need to cum that was so pressing he couldn’t think.
The beauty pulled away from him. He opened his mouth to object, but then she was there, straddling him, gripping his cock in her hand and guiding him into her. She was warm and wet and she enveloped him as though he’d been meant for her.
In the other bed, her friend hiked up her nightclothes. She made no move to join them, but her hand stole down to her own sex, stroking and probing even as the beauty began to rock back and forth across his lap. She rocked forward and ground her pelvis against his cock, rocked back and brushed her buttocks against his scrotum. He pushed into her, angling to rub the head of his cock into her. The beauty gasped. Her friend began to breathe heavily.
He reached for her, slid his hands up her hips to her breasts. The beauty came as his fingertips brushed against her nipples, and sagged against him. He continued to thrust into the woman, stealing glance after glance at her friend, frantically working at her own orgasm.
Her eyes met his, and it was too much for him then. He came, releasing his come into her in a warm, wet torrent that immediately flooded down his legs. Her friend came a moment later, trembling and gasping, and he felt an odd surge of pleasure knowing that he—that they—had together done something that had aroused someone in that way.
He’d have to leave the room, sooner or later, but he was drowsy and the beauty was already asleep. Her friend turned over and was snoring softly in a moment.
Plenty of time before morning to leave.
Plenty.