Sir Prosil was before him, and the man was glorious in his nudity. His fighter’s body was laden with muscles, large globes that loomed from every part of his body, yet when he moved as he did to place his hands upon his hips, they were a symphony of conjoined intent, sliding around in simple harmony.
He had seen these arms, these breasts, at times in the warmer seasons when Sir Prosil would remove his shirt after a battle to wash himself. It was below the waist that had remained forever hidden, forever covered, until this night. Until now, Sir Prosil had waited until the light was extinguished to remove his clothing. Not tonight.
His legs were broad, the muscles distending to either side and this broadness only enhanced the space between, made it a wide white plain in the center of which was the tower of his manhood. For it was a tower, not a meek curl in his dark brush, but it rose in glory from its bed to gaze upon Radon with one weeping eye.
Radon gazed upon this powerful tool of manhood and his tongue licked his lips without his bidding.
“Come on, lad, finish your clothing and into the bed with you.” Sir Prosil said. “I have waited long enough.”
Radon’s hands untied his waist-cord, his woolen hose fell to his ankles with no further effort from him. His mother had sewn them for him before his engagement to Sir Prosil, and had left them large for him to grow into. She had seen Sir Prosil’s muscles, she had sewn for a larger man, and upon Radon, they yet bagged despite the shrinkage of woolen fibers.
“Now the shirt, my faithful squire.” Sir Prosil said gently. “Let me look fully upon you, as you now have upon me.”
His shirt hung to nearly his knees, he had not yet exposed himself, but when the shirt was pulled over his head, there was nothing left to cover him.
Sir Prosil regarded the youthful organ whimpering at him with a gentle joviality. “I see you have the spirit rising in you as well this night.” he joked.
Radon shrugged, timid yet. “I am but newly a man.” he explained. “I cannot always choose when it rises and falls.”
“And why should you ever choose for it to fall?” Sir Prosil strode toward him, two quick steps of a warrior upon the field, and he was upon Radon. “A proud sword such as this should never be sheathed till it be blooded.” And with that, his hand seized Radon’s organ and Radon gasped.
“That’s a strong lance you bear.” Sir Prosil said softly. “I am glad that it is now mine to wield upon my need. Time for you to learn another task of the squire to a knight upon his quest.”
“My Lord.” Radon gasped as Sir Prosil’s hand began to stroke him with slow but firm motions. “Oh, ah, my Lord!”
“Such an attention from your knight deserves its return, does it not, my lad?” Sir Prosil reminded him.
Radon’s hand fumbled quickly for Sir Prosil’s cock and it met him with a joyful flood of juices that poured upon his palm, forming an impromptu lubrication. Radon gripped and he stroked his lord with the same tempo his lord used upon him, and was rewarded by Sir Prosil’s gentle sighs that brushed Radon’s shoulder.
“Now, my gentle squire, we must to bed.” Sir Prosil said. “It is a busy night you shall have, but I promise that you will rise from it tired but wiser by far than when you retired.”
“Aye, my lord.” Radon panted and he felt his prick released by Sir Prosil’s hand, and Radon lay upon Sir Prosil’s bed, holding back the covers, ready to let his lord lie atop him.
And yet Sir Prosil did not, but rather he stepped to straddle Radon’s chest, and then lowered himself to sit upon the slender breast and Sir Prosil’s shining glory of a cock beckoned to him. “Taste it for me now.” he said, and it wasn’t an order, nor a request, but something in between. Radon felt this, he could refuse, but if he did, it would mean the end of this new thing in some way.
And that must not happen. He opened his mouth, his hand sought and caught the turgid tool and guided it to his lips. The saltiness of the fluid that adorned the shaft was acrid upon his tongue, but that diminished as Sir Prosil pushed it deeper into him. A few inches into his mouth, and Sir Prosil stopped, as his cockhead just touched the back of Radon’s mouth.
“Taste it for me.” he repeated.
Radon reached up with his tongue inside his closed mouth and let it curl around Sir Prosil’s prong, Sir Prosil moaned quietly and his hips moved to pull the length out of Radon and Radon’s tongue caressed it as it withdrew, then those hips pushed it back inside again and Radon’s tongue tasted a new globule of the saltiness that flowed from the slit.
“Now, lad, hold tight with your lips and help me move it.” Sir Prosil instructed. That was the right word, instructed. Not a supplicant, and not a commander, but one who was teaching him how to behave. Yes. That was the duty of a lord to his squire, to teach him what he needed to know.
Radon obeyed Sir Prosil’s instructions to the letter, and soon no more words were needed, he was moving upon Sir Prosil’s dong with sure motions, the warm prod sliding in and out of his mouth.
Sir Prosil’s body was above him, and Radon’s hands moved up to caress him, and while this was not in the instructions thus far, Sir Prosil not only allowed it, but groaned his approval. The student learned well, that was the words buried with the syllable-less sound of Sir Prosil’s voice.
“Now you have the way of it.” Sir Prosil said. “Let me upon the bed proper now and you may take a firmer control of this.”
Sir Prosil laid back upon the bed, and Radon splayed his own body below, so that his mouth could again reach that noble organ and renew his ministrations, he was in the service of his lord, and this was a delight of its own as so many things were when one was apprenticed to the teachings of a noble knight!
Sir Prosil accepted this until Radon’s mouth felt the heat building. He knew from this that Sir Prosil was close to his release. “Enough now, lad.” Sir Prosil panted.
Radon stopped, his stomach fluttering. He was not naive entirely, he and his friends had spoken of this and that, and he had overheard more by careful listening at nights when his parents had company and he had been sent to bed. He knew what must be about to happen next.
And Sir Prosil surprised him yet again, instead of moving to take Radon’s lower opening, he shifted instead so that he could take Radon’s own dong into his mouth, and now he presented his manhood again to Radon’s attentions, and Radon was quite enraptured by the sensations now rushing through his body that it took a knocking by the cockhead upon his cheek to remind him of his duty.
That long cock now fitted into his mouth and throat as though it had been born there, as if his mouth was a sheath for this man-sword, and it was sliding into its new home, a perfect match of form to function, and now they were two bodies moving in synchronization, their motions complementing each other, so that they held each other’s cocks deep inside at the same time, and moved apart as well so that they could return again, and again and again.
Sir Prosil had timed this well. Radon’s young body could not stand long the warm, wet mouth that had captured him so fully, even as Sir Prosil’s own climax began to be born, Radon found his own orgasm clawing its way to its own birth.
And so squire and knight moaned together as their delight took them, as their mouths sped up to drive their shafts faster and yet faster into each other, and the hot explosion of rapture claimed them as one.
Radon could only shiver as his climax seized him, as his body ejaculated into Sir Prosil’s mouth. Sir Prosil did not release him, but only continued to suckle him as an eager calf to its mother, drinking down his man-milk as quickly as his young squire provided it.
So when Sir Prosil’s own heat burst upon him, Radon braced himself, he would take this whatever it was like. It was strongly-flavored, it was true, and yet the pungency of the pre-come was not there, this was the man-fruit in full ripeness, not the beginning decay of the cast-aside fluids that inhabited the shaft in hopes of some release. It felt upon Radon’s tongue as so many bites of ripe plum, hot from summer sun, tart but pleasant-tasting, and he could swallow this, aye, he could drink this as though he quaffed from the finest keg of wine tapped in the winter to warm the bones and heat the heart in the bitter chill of the winter winds.
And he drank down his lord’s juices, while he fed his own in turn, and even when both cocks were empty, they still strove to bring forth that final, succulent drop, while the last sparkles of the fireworks of their orgasms still lingered in the skies of their consciousness.
Sir Prosil released Radon’s dong with a heavy sigh. “And you show again what a natural talent you have to be the squire of a knight on the tramp.” he said with hearty approval. “I knew it the moment your mother presented you to me, begging me to take and teach you. And I have taught you, but you have talent that made the lessons a joy.”