A Knight to remember
(female knight!Sam Winchester x princess!reader)
Summary You've had your eye on your personal guard for a while now. Tonight is the night the two of you finally take the next step. CWs Smut. Soft, female knight Sam. First time. (Directed) oral sex. Touch of gender fuckery. 8.1k words AN I wrote this for the gorgeous @chevroletdean's 5k Dicey Follower Celebration! My prompts were: smut, historical/royal/fantasyl!AU, Garth, and one character I could choose myself. I started out writing this fic with Dean as the female knight originally, but after a couple thousand words switched to Sam instead, as I couldn't manage to make the knight character I had in my head fit Dean. Better luck next time! This is also my first time writing any kind of medieval themed fic, and I really enjoyed it! ❤️⚔️
Sam Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist
“I hope my husband will be tall,” Lady Marianne says, picking another daisy to add to the crown of flowers she’s holding. “I would not like a short man. I think I couldn’t love him.”
“Lady Marianne!” Lady Beatrice says, shaking her head. “Who cares about his size?”
“I only care about one size,” Lady Celia interrupts, and Lady Marianne giggles while Lady Beatrice gasps.
“You are terrible, Celia!”
“I am not! It’s what you were all thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking it.”
“I was! Hung like a horse, he should be!”
“You don’t even know what that means!”
“Neither do you!”
“Princess! Princess, what do you think?”
You blink yourself out of your thoughts, look up.
All three of your ladies-in-waiting are looking at you expectantly, eyes wide, smiles as bright as the sun shining down on you, light flickering from the soft breeze moving the leaves of the tree you have decided to have your afternoon picnic under.
You clear your throat. Look around, as if hoping your surroundings might give some indication as to what the other girls are talking about. Your eyes fall on the guards surrounding you, standing many feet away, turned away from your group as if they’re not watching, their cloaks fluttering in the same soft breeze as stirs the leaves above you.
“Think about…” you ask, playing with a blade of grass.
“What kind of sword your future husband will wield!” Lady Beatrice squeals, and the others giggle hysterically. You force a smile onto your face.
“The kind of sword says nothing about whether he knows how to wield it,” you answer, and just as expected, the girls nearly fall over each other laughing. You need to chuckle as well. Although you find the topic dull, you know that to them, this is their way of making the future feel less daunting. Making fun of men and their swords - sometimes it feels like the only kind of power any of you wield, since as ladies of the court you are instructed not to touch any swords, on a man or otherwise.
“He should be kind, and love you,” Lady Beatrice adds, looking at the other girls as if what you’ve said proves her point, when you’re sure she’s not talking about what you’re talking about. “And he should not drink or be loud.” Lady Marianne rolls her eyes, dropping down on her back on the blanket the servants have laid out. She reaches for a fig from the large bowl of fruits, nibbles at it.
“Boring,” she says, and Lady Beatrice narrows her eyes, slaps her knee. “It is! Princess, would you prefer someone kind and sweet or someone… you know.”
“We all know what she prefers,” Lady Celia interrupts with a glimmer in her eyes. “There’s a reason they gave her woman knight for a personal guard. Our princess has an appetite.”
You look up at Lady Celia and see her face immediately crumple, shock at her own words coming over it. The other two girls look at her in horror, then at you. You purse your lips, breathe down your irritation.
“I–I didn’t mean–” Lady Celia stutters, but you shake your head.
“A lady of the court ought not to believe rumors, much less repeat them. It is unbecoming,” you say, voice calm, before pushing yourself up to stand. You brush off the skirt of your dress, thin linen against the warmth of the day, and the other ladies scramble to stand as well.
“I will retire to my rooms,” you say, hands intertwining in front of you. You turn away from the girls, all with their gazes lowered. The moment you begin walking, you hear them whispering behind you, Lady Marianne and Lady Beatrice scolding Lady Celia, but you don’t turn back to add to it.
As you walk towards the courtyard, your personal guard falls into step next to and behind you. Three all together, but it’s only the one walking at your side that you pay attention to.
“The ladies bothering you?” she asks, deep voice casual, making you smile.
“Some of them are so simple,” you answer. “You could open up their heads and find nothing at all inside.” A chuckle from your side, and you finally look. Have been wanting to the entire time, but held back.
She’s so handsome for a woman. Not a girl, though the traces of it you can still see sometimes. She’s slighter than the men, but taller than you, by a good head. Broad shoulders, made broader by the armor, the light one for the season and since you’re still on castle grounds. If you were to walk down into the city, she’d wear a heavier kind, one that clings and clanks with every step. Silken cloak with your father’s banner stitched on it, helmet under her arm to reveal her mesmerizing face.
Her hair is long, a chestnut brown, tussled by the breeze and where she wore the helmet earlier. Strands of it she’s tied together with a leather band, letting the rest fall into her face and over her shoulders.
“I think you’d find something inside,” she answers as the two of you keep walking, step into the shadow of the courtyard, the other two knights, both men, keeping step a few paces behind you.
“Horse shit, maybe,” you cut in, and you watch as your knight, Sir Samantha, opens her mouth, then chuckles, deep dimples appearing on her cheeks. You grin. She’s always so delightedly surprised when you say something not begetting of a princess. You would not tell it, but you have made it a point to watch her reactions to what you say. Anything that drags a smile from her you take note of.
Because her smile… you cannot quite explain it. She is often so serious. But when she smiles she looks like an entirely different person. Her forehead smoothes, her eyes narrow. Once or twice you’ve even made her laugh. A heavenly sound, light and easy. So different from how she usually is.
The fact that a woman has made it to her position has provoked the ire of more than one knight at your father’s court, and you’ve witnessed them saying things to her. Question her, imply things about how she got to where she is. All the insults fall short - the idea that she would have gotten there by giving favors to the lords at court does not make sense, when girls with wide hips and long hair and airy giggles are everywhere, and many more than willing. One particularly nasty servant once implied that maybe the head of the guard liked his companions boyish - another jape that missed its mark, because there are plenty of boys at court, too.
Your knight is a special, unusual mixture. You’re not quite sure who would be drawn to her, but could imagine anyone would be, in one way or another.
But most of all, you. Especially you.
She shakes her head now as the two of you ascend the stairs to the gallery.
“That’s not a way for a princess to talk,” she says, but you can tell by the one-sided smile on her beautiful lips that she does not mean it. You shrug.
“Maybe you should tell on me,” you say. “I’m sure my father would love to hear–”
“My lady!”
Both of you stop and turn. It’s the steward of the house, Garth, rushing towards you, his chaperon hat nearly flying off him with the way he’s hurrying.
“There you are!” he calls out, before coming to a stop in front of you. “You went out? If only you had said something, I would have provided some, uh, some–”
“I had three knights with me,” you interrupt him while he still pants from his running. “I only wanted to lie in the grass and sun a little.”
“Princess,” he says, tilting his head, “you cannot simply, your rooms were empty, and–”
You step forward, lay your hand on his arm, and he stops himself, blinks.
“Everything is fine,” you say, your voice calm. “Here I am.” Garth’s breathing slows, and then he throws a look at your knight. You see her raise her chin.
“I was watching our princess the entire time,” she says, and something about her voice makes you turn your head, look up at her. She turns to you as well, something soft around her eyes. “I would never allow anything to happen to her.”
The next breath you take is deeper than the ones before, because suddenly, your chest feels tight. Not in a bad way, the way it feels when you hear of conflict that might lead to war, or see your father with dark shadows under his eyes, talking to his advisors deep into the night. But in the way it felt the first time a handsome knight asked for your favor before a turney. The way it did when that stablehand worked without a shirt in the sun, or when your cousin’t bethrothed laid his hand low on your back during a walk in the woods. When that duke’s son pulled you in and moved between your legs. The way you’ve felt touching a boy’s skin, kissing his lips, or the way you feel at night when your thoughts wander and your hand slips between your thighs.
You don’t know if Samantha feels what you feel in that moment, but her beautiful eyes almost seem to shimmer and shine for a second. Then she turns back to Garth.
“And I would see her to her rooms now,” she concludes. You swallow, nod, look at the steward too.
“Would you have someone bring us some food? And wine?” you ask. You see that Garth is not quite done with chiding you, but he closes his mouth, nods.
“Of course, my lady,” he says. You nod again, then walk around him towards your room. Your breath still caught in your throat.
Because what you just felt when you looked at your knightess is something you have only ever felt looking at men, until you have started feeling it when looking at her. And you know exactly what feeling it is, now.
It’s pure, unbridled lust.
You bid goodbye to the other two knights when you reach your room, only Samantha entering with you. This is custom, and the reason your father picked her as your personal guard. He does not know of your escapades, but he has desired that you be watched day and night, and having a male knight in his daughter’s chambers is something that can only lead to disaster. He’s not wrong, but if you wanted to fuck a knight, you would simply do so elsewhere. Have done it, and he never needed to enter your personal rooms for it.
But right now, there is no one you want in your rooms other than her.
You reach for the net that holds together your hair and open it, discard it on a low sideboard. Kick off the loafers you are wearing, then drop down on one of the plush chairs, arms stretched over your head. When you look at Samantha again, she is just positioning herself against the wall between the windows and the door. You tap your foot, watch her for a second.
“The day is warm,” you say finally, “and I am sure tonight is not the night someone will try to murder me. You should take off the armor, be comfortable. It must be as hot as an oven in there.”
Samantha steps from one foot to the other. One of her hands goes to her sword, resting on it, a small gesture that nonetheless makes you shift where you sit. She tilts her head to the side slightly, her lips pursing before a challenging smile appears on her face.
“And how do you know nothing will happen this night, princess?” she asks. You lower your arms, rest your hands in your lap, fingers playing with one of your rings. Then you shrug.
“I just have a feeling,” you answer. Your knight raises her chin.
“A feeling?” she says. You nod.
“Yes,” you reply. “Don’t make me command you.” And at this something goes over her face that you cannot explain, something like a shiver or a tremor or something entirely different.
“You would command me?” she asks, the slightest quiver in her voice. “To take off the very armor I wear to protect you? That is your wish?” You take a slow breath, hoping to fill your lungs, but you don’t quite manage.
“Your armor protects you,” you reply, keeping her gaze. “It is your sword that protects me. I will allow you to keep it.” You feel a smile tug at the corners of your mouth, see it reflected on hers along with a narrowing of her eyes. She opens her mouth to reply when there is a knock at the door.
The servants enter, three of them. You only see them out of the corner of your eyes until they walk to the table in front of you, setting down several plates, cups and a jug.
“Honeyed wine, princess?” one of them asks and you finally tear your eyes off your knight, look at the young servant girl.
“Yes,” you reply. “Two cups, if you will.” The girl nods, takes the jug and fills two of the cups. Then she straightens, curtesies, and the three leave the room again.
You lean forward, reach for one of the cups, and then hold it out to Samantha. She stands where she is for another moment, then drops her head forward, chuckles, before looking up again and slowly crossing the distance to you.
“First you wish to get me to take off my armor,” she says. “And then you try to get me to drink on my shift?” You smile up at her and once she stands just across from you, she takes the cup.
“Consider your comfort an order,” you reply, reaching for your own cup, bringing it to your mouth and taking a sip. It is sweet on your tongue, but it is not the sweetness you want there.
It’s her you want. Want her so much it feels like your entire body is aching with it. The idea of those loving another of the same sex is not a stranger to you, and it might give you pause to wonder at your feelings. But it’s difficult to even think with the way her sharp gaze is pulling you in.
“Well,” she says, bringing her cup up as well. “Far be it from me to disobey my princess’ orders. I will need your help, though.” You frown over your cup, and your knight inclines her head, before a slow smile crosses her face.
You can smell her with how close she is. Skin warmed by sun, despite the armor. The smell of sweat, but hers is sweet. When you loosen the plate of armor covering her back and set free the skin of her neck, the highest point of her spine revealed to you, you discover a beauty mark just below it, and you want to lean in, press your tongue against it and her. Taste her salt. You swallow the wish down. Begin undoing the next little leather clasp.
“I thought my dresses were a pain to get into,” you say as you move to her right arm, and she chuckles. She’s already loosened them, so you only help her take them off, lay them gently on the floor.
“This light armor is nothing,” she answers, as you move on to her breast plate - no leg armor luckily, because as much as you enjoy undressing your knight, you have become intently eager to see her without it, realized you never have before. To distract, you purse your lips as your fingers fumble with the clasp.
“Even more reason to get out of it on a day like this,” you say, and finally the chest plate comes free. Samantha takes it from you and sets it against the low table, then straightens.
She takes your breath away. Her pants are of leather, her tunic roughened cotton, loose on her but you see the rise of her breasts under it. Narrow hips from what you can tell, but as you try not to make your staring too obvious, you quickly look up at her face.
She’s usually so self-controlled, nearly stoic, but that’s not what you see when you look at her now. Her gaze is lowered, and her hands go together, fingers intertwining as she stretches first the one of her right, then of her left hand. Her lips move just a little you see as you let your gaze wander to them, then lower.
“This is beautiful,” you say, stepping forward and reaching your hand out without thinking about it.
The cross is on a thin string of leather. Completely unadorned, and you run your thumb over it. Samantha looks down at where you’re holding it.
“It was my mother’s,” she answers, shifting a little. “She died.” You look up, at her face. Let your eyes roam over her strong features, up to her eyes which are speckled with all the colors you can name.
“How old were you?” you ask. You see her swallow.
“Only a babe,” she answers. You blink.
“That’s so young,” you say. “I’m so sorry.” Samantha is quiet for a moment, then raises her hand, wraps it around yours, still holding her cross. Her palm is calloused in part, but her fingers are long and gentle. You look into her eyes, and she looks back.
“It meant my father picked up his sword again,” she answers, her thumb twitching where it’s resting close to your wrist. “He was a knight, but had settled on some land when my older brother was born.” You raise your chin.
“He must be honored to have you as his daughter,” you answer, your voice sounding low and rough. Samantha’s gaze drops to your lips, and you feel your heartbeat quicken, more so when her fingers move, the pads gently tracing down to your wrists. It makes your skin pebble, your nipples harden. The world between your legs heat.
“I became a knight to find my way in this world,” she replies, her voice now low too. “And it led me here, after all. To…”
She stops herself, and the next second she lets go of your hand. She takes a step back, then turns away from you and reaches for her cup of wine, takes a large sip from it, then another, then drains it. You watch her, your hand cold now, despite the warmth of the day.
“Apologies, princess,” she says, not looking at you. “You don’t want to hear this drivel.” She reaches for the jug, fills her cup again, all without looking at you. You take a step forward.
“I do,” you say. “And it’s not drivel. Nothing about you could ever be.” Samantha raises the cup again, halts briefly at your words, then drains it as well. She swallows it down, takes a deep breath before setting it down and finally turning to you again. There is something lost and forlorn on her face.
“What are your intentions?” she asks, her voice unsure, maybe a little defensive. You bite your bottom lip, something your mother always told you to stop doing, but you can’t help it at the broken look on your knight’s face.
“I don’t know,” you answer. “But I have been thinking about kissing you every night and every day.”
For a moment, Samantha does not react. Simply continues looking at you, before she finally takes a deep, stuttering breath, her chest expanding, her jaw clenching. She lowers her head, looks at the ground.
“Don’t…” she starts, then halts before continuing. “Don’t make fun of me. Not you too.” Your lips move, but no sounds come out of it. Your confusion at her words is too great.
“I would never,” you reply. “What would make you say such a thing?” Samantha sniffs, looks to the side. Her beautiful face is tensed, her brow furrowed, and you want nothing more than to take that tension from her.
“Your ladies-in-waiting,” she answers. “The other knights. They love nothing more than making it their past time to wonder aloud if I am more man or woman, and what that means for who I would love, and, and–”
You cross the distance to her quickly. She tenses when you lay your hands on her arms, but doesn’t move away. You look up at her face, but she is unable to keep your gaze. A soft blush appears over her cheeks.
“I would never make fun of you,” you say. “And I will punish anyone who does.” And that, finally, seems to bring her out of her defensiveness, because she huffs, then chuckles.
“Punish them?” she asks, and you nod, give her an admonishing look.
“And I won’t need a sword to do it,” you reply, then soften your voice. “I have my ways.”
“I’m sure you do,” Samantha replies, and now you can’t help the little grin breaking out on your face. You let your hands wander up slowly, watching her face for any sign of discomfort, but you don’t see it. Finally, you can cup her face from both sides.
Her skin is soft, and when you move your fingers they brush against her sharp jaw. You look at her lips, and then into her eyes again. And then you move in, push up on your toes, and kiss her.
Some of the men you have kissed have had soft lips, but it’s nothing compared to how your knightess feels. You wonder if that is because of her heavenly mouth or because she is a woman, but quickly all thoughts are chased from you at the sweetness of her touch. She kisses you back, but you can tell that she is shaking, so you pull away, look at her.
Her eyes are closed, her eyebrows pulled together the slightest bit. She slowly opens her eyes, looking nearly dazed.
“Please don’t stop,” she whispers. So you kiss her again.
She is endlessly soft and warm, and you lose yourself quickly in the ways your lips touch. Her kisses are uncoordinated but eager, and you hold her jaw to keep her where you want her. You feel her smile against you. Your control of the situation seems to spurn her on, because shortly her hands are on your waist and she is pulling you in.
You sigh against her, your head leaned far back to meet her mouth, let go of her face to wrap your arms around her neck. Press your tongue against her lips, gentle yet insistant, looking for the comfort only the inside of her mouth can provide. When she parts her lips, it’s careful, the tip of her tongue merely tickling yours and it drags a moan from you.
A moan that makes her pull away, let go of you and step back. Again.
Your hands are still raised, but your eyes fly open as you look at her. She has her hands on her hips, is looking to the side, her chest rising and falling quickly.
“What is it?” you ask, lowering your hands. If she were to reject you, it would break your heart clean into two. But she raises her hand, runs it over her face, grimaces.
“I don’t know…” she answers, gives a big sigh. “This is… I haven’t…”
You watch her, wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t, which is when you understand.
“You mean…” you ask. “With another girl?” Samantha swallows, shakes her head, still not looking at you.
“No one,” she answers. You lick your lips, nod.
“I’m surprised,” you say, trying for a light tone. “I’ve heard that few knights can save themselves from all the ladies throwing themselves at them.” The joke seems to fall flat, because Samantha gives a forced smile, but is unable to hold it.
“Who would ever want me?” she asks, her grin faltering. You can’t help but frown as you step closer to her.
“Who wouldn’t?” you ask. “If you’ve been made to feel like there is something undesirable about you, that is due other people’s shortcomings, and not yours.” She doesn’t react for a moment, then scoffs.
“I did have that one lord with the red hair ask if he could suck my cock once,” she replies. “He didn’t know I don’t have one. Though I sometimes wish I did.” You chuckle, then press your lips together.
“They are overrated,” you reply, feeling some heat rise to your cheeks. “What would you want one for, anyway?” Samantha raises her eyebrows.
“To… please someone,” she replies, and it sounds half like a question, the little bit of self-assuredness she has just found seeming to go out of her again. You raise your chin. Your mouth feels dry, you notice, but something else pushes you forward into saying what you say next.
“Don’t need a cock to please anyone,” you say. “There’s other, much better ways.”
And what you see on Samantha’s face is brief and quick but still you catch it. The look of someone who has gone into the water on a dare, is up to their hips, and suddenly remembers they cannot swim. You purse your lips.
“So you haven’t… been with anyone?” you ask, voice quiet and careful so as not to embarrass her, but too curious not to. “Bedded someone, I mean?”
And she swallows, her throat moving and tensing, and you know the answer without her saying it. She looks down at the floor, fist tensing and untensing, knuckles turning white.
“Like I said,” she replies, voice quiet, “who would want me?”
And you cannot believe that your knight would really think she could not be wanted, when desire for her burns so hot in you you’re sure it’ll turn you to ashes.
“Sir,” you say, taking a step closer. When she doesn’t react, you come closer still, closer, until you are right in front of her again. She hasn’t moved, so you raise your hand, bring it to her chin and gently raise it.
Her lips are slightly parted when she looks at you, her lids low. Your thumb is resting against the cleft in her chin, and you love the feeling of it, wish you could touch it for the rest of your days. Her gaze meets yours, and you keep it, show her you see her.
“Do you,” you ask, then need to take a breath. Samantha is unmoving, like a stature, except for the quick, shallow breaths she is taking. “Do you desire anyone? Men or women?”
She doesn’t answer, then raises her chin.
“I only desire one thing,” she answers, and she sounds more sure of herself this time. “And that is to serve my princess.”
It robs you of your breath, her words. This time it’s her that grabs your face and pulls you in.
Her kisses are so much more determined now. Her lips slide over yours before she sucks in your bottom lip, the tension her urgency creates making an unwilling sound escape you. Your fingers fly to the hem of her tunic, hands wandering over it.
She is a mix of softness and hardness as your fingers gently explore her, at least until they touch a rough rise of skin. You turn your head, lift the fabric a little to see, and her lips land on your cheek instead, continuing her wet and intent worshipping of you, at least until she follows your gaze, looks down as well.
The scar is big and ugly, but you are immediately in love with the sight of it. Carefully, you run your finger over it, then raise your head again.
“Where did you get this?” you ask.
“A gang of thieves down in the southern woods,” she explains, and you lean in, kiss her cheek, slowly wander down to the sharp edge of her jaw, lips never fully leaving her skin. “They killed a dozen travelers and we were ordered to dispatch them. P–princess.”
You’ve reached her neck, keep kissing and sucking the skin, and her hand shoots to the back of your head, but not to drag you away, instead to pull you closer against her.
“Keep talking,” you mumble against her skin, and she shivers under you. You press your fingertips against her harder, move lower on her neck.
“We–” she says, then whimpers when you gently nip at her skin. “We, we were a cohort of five knights. It took nearly a fortnight to find them all. We were, we were–” She stops when you detach from her and slowly sink lower, her eyes widening. You hold on to her until you are on your knees, and all of her trembles. You look up at her for a second longer, then lean forward, kiss the scar gently where you are still holding up her tunic.
She presses herself against you, against your kiss, so you lick over her skin there, kiss her again. She tastes just like you were imagining, and you want to fill your mouth with her.
“Princess,” she pants. “You– please.” You detach your lips from her, look up. Her lids are low, her eyes wet and you wrap your arms around her, pull her in but keep looking at her, your chin pressing against her taut stomach. Her hand reaches down and her fingertips dance over your cheek. “This is no position for a princess.”
You can’t help but laugh, your hands stroking her back and bottocks.
“Believe me,” you say, “it’s a position I’ve enjoyed before.” But she shakes her head.
“Please,” she says. “Let me–”
Without another word, she reaches for your arms, pulls you up. Once you are standing again, she pulls you close, dips her head to kiss you again and you let her, enjoy the way she covers every bit of your mouth with hers, almost as if she is attempting to make up for letting you kneel.
“So what would you prefer instead?” you ask against her, into her. Samantha’s hands are running up your arms, and she holds your face, pulls back. Looks into your eyes. First into one, then the other, then back again.
“I want to serve my princess,” she says. “Won’t you show me how?”
Love and lust explode in your heart. You lean in, kiss her again, gently, barely, but she chases you, kisses you harder. Her skin is warm.
“Is that what you want?” you ask, breathing hard, and she nods against you, lips still connected.
“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes.” You let your hands wander before you finally manage to stop touching her, bring your fingers to your own shoulders. You look up again into your knight’s eyes, then slowly pull down your sleeves. They slip off your shoulders easily, and you see her swallow again.
Your dress pools at your feet, only a thin undergarment of silk now covering you. You know that it can be seen through, and you watch as Samantha’s eyes roam over your body, studying it, before going up to your face again. Her lips move again in that way they do, and then she licks them, leans in again to kiss you.
“Please,” she breathes, her hands flying over your side, long fingers brushing your ass, but she’s careful, shy, like you haven’t made it abundantly clear that you want her to touch you everywhere. You reach for the hem of the slip dress, pull it up, and when she sees what you’re doing, her hands go to the fabric as well, help you pull it up until it slips off your arms. You drop it to the floor and stand naked before her.
Her breaths are gasping now, so you run one hand up her chest, hold her face to drag her in again. Your free hand finds one of hers, and when you do, you drag it to between your legs, press her fingers against your burning heat.
She separates her lips from you, a long whimpering moan leaving her. You look up at her with low lids, and she looks like she is in blissful pain. Her fingers move only a little against your softest parts, so you move your own hand on top of hers, moving her fingers along.
“Do you, do you know how to touch yourself?” you ask, all the while landing soft kisses on her jaw and cheek. You wonder if she heard you for a moment, but then she blinks her eyes open, looks down at you, a strand of her hair falling over her forehead.
“I–” she says, then swallows, seemingly completely enraptured by the feeling of you. “The feeling scares me. I know there’s a, uh, a bigger feeling, but I can never, I can never reach it.” You nod against her, your hand still moving her fingers.
“Do you want me to reach it?” you ask, breathing shallow. “With your help?” She nods ragerly, her lips brushing yours again.
“Yes, princess,” she mutters. “Please, I want to.”
You pull her with you toward the bed then. Her fingers don’t move from between your legs even when you let go, only when the two of you stumble against each other when you stop at the foot of it. You giggle, and a wide smile cracks open on her face, deep dimples forming on her cheeks that you immediately press quick kisses too. She wraps her arms around you, kisses your mouth again, but you take her hands where they are behind your back, unwrap yourself, then move back and sit on the bed, pushing yourself back on it.
She reaches for the hem of her tunic, pulls it up and over her head. You watch her as her hands then go to her trousers, untie the leather bands holding them up. The way she does it is unceremonial, not meant to seduce, but you cannot turn her eyes from her as your knight slowly reveals inch after inch of skin.
When she is done she follows you onto the bed, leaning over, eyes on your face until you feel the mess of pillows against your back, drop open your legs, and her eyes go to your cunny. Your knight licks her lips at the sight. You can feel heat and wetness there, and her gaze makes you flutter in a way that could be almost embarassing if you didn’t see the way her jaw tenses at it, the hunger that spreads on her face.
“Can I…” she asks, looking up at your face, “with my mouth?” And you’re sure there must be a gush of wetness dripping from you at that precise moment, and all you manage is a stuttering nod, need to lick your lips to answer.
“Yes,” you breathe. “I want that very much.”
Samantha crawls further up the bed, moves her hands and they come fluttering down on your skin like kisses of a butterfly. Her fingers trace over the top of your foot, briefly wrap around your ankles to squeeze, then up your legs. She moves closer still, on her knees, until she is between your legs, long fingers grabbing your thighs before she dips down and kisses you again, her chest pressed against yours.
You wrap your arms around her, kiss her, deep and wanting and hoping to be as full of her as you can be. When you wrap your legs around her and rock up, it's not on purpose or with full wherewithal - simply an instinct.
Her hands squeeze hard the flesh of your thighs as she moans into your mouth, moves one hand away only for it to land closer to the underside of your thigh, to be able to press you harder against her. All the while she continues kissing you, and you don't want her to stop, yet she does, and just as you're about to complain, you feel her lips begin to travel down your body.
They land on your chin, wrap around it warm and wet, only to slide lower, before detaching again to land high on your chest. You bite your lip again, moan as you reach for Samantha's head, hold the back of it in encouragement. She kisses further downwards, breathing hard against you, her fingers running along your side, over your ribs which makes you flinch and giggle, the sound turning into a moan as she moves her head, sucks one of your nipples into her mouth.
Your knight seems to have lost some of her nervousness in the heat of your touching, because she sucks harder, so hard it makes your stomach clench. You grab on to her head with both hands, one wandering down to her neck, squeezing the skin there which makes her huff a hot breath against you. You scratch at her scalp, and she presses herself closer against you, before sliding her lips off your hardened, sensitive nub, a string of spit briefly connecting it to Samantha's lips until it breaks.
“The other one,” you say, but she is already moving, wraps that one up between strong lips too, giving it the same treatment, almost painful but perfect. One of her hands is at the dip of your waist, but you reach for it, drag it up to the unoccupied breast, fingers bumping over the rise.
“Roll it,” you half-whisper, and she does immediately, torterously soft at first, and it makes violent need burn through your body, down to between your legs. You moan again, legs dropping open wider, feet going to her ass and rubbing along it. You are wet between your legs and you wonder if there will be a patch of it on her stomach. You like the idea of it.
Soon she moves lower, fingers and warm breath traveling over your stomach. Her nose runs along the skin too, but then she slows. You brush some of her hair behind her ear - she makes such a beautiful picture there between your naked thighs.
She looks up at you. There is some spit on her lower lip, and you stroke your finger over her cheek. She looks worried, unsure suddenly. You keep her gaze, watch as she slowly lets out a breath.
“What is it?” you ask, pressing your foot against her side, gently running it along her hip. “If you do not want to–”
“What if I’m no good at it?” she asks. You bring your arms back, push up on your elbows until you can sit up. You take her beautiful face in your hands, her thunderstorm eyes going over your face. You lean in, gently kiss her lips. When you pull back again, she is looking at your lips.
“Knowing that you worry about that,” you say, “means you will already be better than most of them.” She smiles, the way it changes the tensions on her face in such a lovely way making your heart beat faster.
“And you can…” she says, swallows. You raise your eyebrows, indicate for her to continue. “You could…”
“Show you?” you ask, feel a soft smile spread on your face. Your knight smiles too, turns her face to press a kiss to your wrist.
“Will you?” she asks. You run your thumb over her cheekbone and nod.
“I will,” you say.
Samantha looks into your eyes for a moment longer. Then she pushes herself forward, presses her lips against yours. You return the kiss, soft first but quickly turning more eager. She pulls back, presses a quick kiss to your shoulder, making you giggle, and then she moves back again. You let yoursel drop back into the pillows. She kisses the inside of your leg, your knee and you giggle.
As she slowly kisses her way lower, you hum, bring your hands to your breasts, touch yourself there. Her spit has dried sadly, but the skin still pebbles.
Samantha’s lips move lower, her beautiful big hands squeezing your thighs again when she reaches the valley between your legs. When she kisses against your cunny, you moan, making her kiss harder, eagerly, intensely, your thighs shaking until the feeling becomes too much and you try to close your legs. She stops kissing you, looks up, surprised.
“Slower,” you chuckle, petting her cheek again. “Take your time.”
She lowers her head again, hands moving up a little to cup your ass. She kisses slower, and you shiver, pull up your shoulders. Your hands go back to her head, get tangled in her hair. Her kisses are still soft and gentle, but more intentional. With your grip in her hair, you move her head just a little, moving her where you need her. Your head drops back and you moan loudly.
She focuses where you hold her, her tongue flying out, nipping against you, tensed. You card your fingers through her hair to get her attention.
“Flatten your tongue,” you breathe, and she does immediately. You raise your head, look at her there between your legs. Her eyes are closed, her brow furrowed. You smile and let your head drop back, and simply feel.
She keeps going, with small corrections from you. Presses and sucks and kisses. She’s quiet, too consumed seemingly to say anything, but you make sure to tell her what you enjoy. How wonderful her mouth is, how skilled. When the pleasure begins heightening in you, you push yourself up against her.
“Oh, I– my knight,” you moan, one leg pulling up to allow her more room, hands still on the back of her head to guide her even though she does not need it anymore, now only there to touch her. Which is why when the feeling of her tongue suddenly disappears you can tell she’s lifted her head.
Her eyes are wide, her mouth and chin glistening with your wetness. She reaches one hand up, squeezes your hip.
“Say it again,” she pants. “Please say it again.”
You card your hands into her hair, gently tug it.
“My handsome knight,” you say at the same time, and her eyes flutter shut. She turns her head and presses her mouth against you again, harder this time, wetter, more of everything, and your head drops back and your chest arches up at the utter pleasure of it.
Her fingertips bore into the meat of your ass and hips as you keep telling her what a wonderful knight she is. When your end approaches you want to be loud for her, to show her how well she’s done. It turns out no mummery is required. She drags the sounds from you all by her own skill.
Her grip hardens even more when your hips begin twitching against your control, and your sounds are desperate. You tug at her hair, so close to it you can taste it and then you burst into the feeling, mouth ripped open in a silent scream as your knight takes your pleasure.
You hear her own sounds over yours. Panting and moaning and beautiful whines.
You let your head drop back, eyelids aflutter, when it all softens within you. Your head lolls, and just as your hands are searching out your knight, she is in your arms. You blink your eyes open, look at her. She is running her mouth over her shoulder, and you chuckle as you grab her face, drag her in and kiss her.
She wraps her arms around you, holds you close. You break the kiss and press your nose against hers, look into her eyes. They are large and searching.
“Was I good?” she asks, her voice low and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you.
“Good?” you ask, still catching your breath. “You’re a natural! It was wonderful.” The corners of your knight’s mouth fly up, her smile a little lopsided and the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You kiss her again, then give that wonderful mouth three quick pecks. She chuckles as you stroke your fingers down her side, look at her face.
“Do you still wish you had a cock?” you ask. Samantha chuckles, her finger twitching on your waist.
“If I did,” she asks, “would you like me more or less?” You shake your head against the pillow.
“No more or less, either way,” you reply. “Those aren’t the things I want you for.”
“You might be right,” she says. “And it’s not needed. Though it would be interesting to know what it feels like.”
The thought comes to you before you have time to think about it. You push yourself up, Samantha’s fingers sliding off your chin, climb over her. She rolls onto her back, frowns up at you.
“I think that should be easy to imagine,” you say with a smirk that has her eyebrows rising high.
“H–how so?” she asks and you laugh, dip down and kiss her nose.
“By using your imagination,” you say, then peck her lips. “Would you like to try?” She swallows again, her fingertips landing on your hips, careful, gentle, no sign of the unfettered lover you had between your legs only minutes ago. You kiss her again, and this time she returns it with more assuredness.
“Try… what do you mean, try?” she asks and you hum before climbing a little lower, kiss her between her breasts, then on her stomach, which promptly tenses under you.
“Try to imagine what it would be like if you had a cock,” you reply, look up at her as you move between her legs, gently push her legs so they are angled at the knee, your face framed by her thighs. “Imagine what it would be like if I took it in my mouth.”
With that, you push out your tongue, dip low, and swipe it across her flower. She’s wet, tastes salty and musky, and you’d let her melt on your tongue like a honeyed treat if you weren’t distracted by the way she shivers, all over her body, goose bumps breaking out despite the warmth of the day. Her eyes fall shut, eyelids fluttering, until she opens them again. Her hips give one hard jerk in the direction of your face, but you’re already pressed up on your arms again, watching her.
She licks her lips, as if she can taste the ghost of herself there, then focuses on you. Her hand wanders down, grasps your wrist.
“Would, would a princess do that?” she asks. You grin at her, turn your head to kiss the inside of her knee.
“I would do anything to make my knight happy,” you reply, then dip lower again.
When your tongue touches her, Samantha’s hand on your wrist tightens, and she groans deep in her throat. Her stomach clenches, and you can see her entrance clench below you too, and just as you think about getting your fingers in there to give her something to grip onto, you hear her words.
“Please,” she whimpers, and you lift your head to look at her.
Her beautiful face looks like she is in pain, but the way her body is writhing tells a different story. She is desperate with it, you realize in the next second. You turn your hand where she’s holding your wrist, intertwine your fingers instead, while you lay your other hand on her knee.
“Please what, my knight?” you ask. Her chest is rising and falling quickly, her nipples hard and pebbled, the dark moles on her face framed by a deep blush.
“Please,” she says again. “Kiss me there?”
And it makes tears shoot to your eyes with love and lust. You nod, then lower yourself, and do what she asked you to, which is to kiss her cunny deeply. She is wet and open and welcoming, and she whimpers above you immediately, so you wrap your lips around her nub, suck on it gently, holding her in place, showing her you are there, and it quiets some of her thrashing. You slowly ler her slip from between your lips, then kiss her again, and she is calmer.
“Like a knight deserves,” you whisper against her and she presses her fingertips against you. Without waiting longer, you kiss her again.
She opens up like a flower, and your heart feels the same. As you kiss at her and lick at her and explore her body, you think how lucky it is that your father not only picked a female knight for you, but this particular one.
This knight that you are quite certain you are falling in love with.
Thank you for reading! ♡ Want just my writing? Follow me at @yayitsmylastdayonearth. ☕Support me by buying me a coffee!
