The Tempest Knights & Me#1&2

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Elizabeth Countess of Kenferd must bed The Tempest Knights.
Each Knight will possess her body; but can a Knight steal her heart ...

Chapter 1 (v.1) - The Tempest Knights & Me#1&2

Submitted: July 19, 2013

Reads: 741

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Submitted: July 19, 2013



The Tempest Knights & Me#1&2


“You came to The Tournament only to run away!”

“I did no such thing!”

He stopped her progress outside the Great Hall, the loud raucous laughter of the Knights settling down to supper seeming to heighten the circle of tension that raced against Elizabeth’s heart.

“Am I to be chaperoned 24/7!” She declared.

Athos’ eyes narrowed, he appraised Elizabeth noting the high red flush consuming her skin.  His voice cut through all the anger and confusion, all the contrived bluster and heat.  “What happened Elizabeth?” He asked his voice as gentle as barbed wire.

“I beg your pardon?” Contempt remained her only defence. Scowling deeply, Elizabeth’s eyes became hard with indignation; her desperate aim was to distress and distract him so that he might simply find offence and walk away. But Athos was having none of it.  He threw her a hard look that weakened her resolve and moistened her cunt.

“You fucked three of my cousins, however by your tone and demeanour it is clear something else transpired.” He stepped closer his arms velvet smooth and vice like slipping around Elizabeth’s waist. “Tell me.” His grip was insistent and firm.

Elizabeth shivered despite the protective heat offered by Athos’ body.

“Were they indecently rough?” His eyes darkened. “If so I shall have words with them.”

“No, nothing like that.” Said Elizabeth, thrilled by the concern that raged in his eyes and in his touch as he pulled her close.

“It is nearly over Elizabeth, only Porthos, De Rochefort and Aramis remain. Porthos will be at your disposal after supper; De Rochefort will be in your arms by the early hours of the morning.” Athos sighed, pulling an unruly curl away from Elizabeth’s beautiful face, the deep blue flecks of his eyes suddenly seemed luminously bright.

“I would gladly share your bed with De Rochefort but he is adamant that he will share you only with Aramis. He offers this knowing full well that it is unlikely Aramis will take part in the task of bedding you.  The entire idea has from the very start been an abomination to Aramis and remains so still.”

There was a slight pause, pregnant and full, Athos seemed to choose his words with care. “What you have to realize is that Aramis has always been and will most probably remain a man at war with his base instincts.  He adores women, wine and war and this adoration is equal if not at times surpassed by his love of the church. It is this very love that causes his continual torture and internal conflict. It is a state of being that ensures my brother is an absolute cunt to be around when it comes to the business of eating pussy and having fun!”

Elizabeth failed to hide the anxiety that crawled against her skin. “I cannot be left alone with De Rochefort. I now truly understand what he is capable of.”

Athos’ eyes seemed to burrow into her very soul. “Do you?”

Elizabeth swallowed a tight dread taking possession of her throat as she uttered her next words.

“I have been told everything … about you, your wife.”

Elizabeth watched as Athos took a step back, the hot comfort of his arms falling away as distance took the place of passion. His eyes cooled as they appraised her, a broken quality slipping beside each word.

“Then you understand fully what is at stake?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth said placing more confidence in this single response than she actually felt.

“Aramis is a creature beyond comprehension at the best of times.  He answers to no one but his own internal moral code; yet he remains the key if De Rochefort is to be controlled.”

Elizabeth swallowed, a shudder passing through her body as his meaning became clear. 

Regarding De Rochefort she was on her own.

Athos’ gaze was unreadable as he raised a hand to her breast, his index finger caressing through light fabric the gentle thickening of her nipple. Elizabeth moaned, an electric heat moistening the walls of her sex to a messy slickness; ever conscious that this was a raw precious moment she was desperate to prolong.

“Then what will sway Aramis?”

“Persuasion.” Athos whispered against her skin.


The Great Hall felt hot and close by the time Elizabeth plucked up the courage to enter.  Athos’ words rang in her ears, the memory of his touch still sharp and intense, her cunt still alive and aroused by the numerous violations that had brought her to rough and raucous climax in the last twenty-four hours.

She could not ignore the truth.  She was not the woman she had believed herself to be: calm, contained, rational and above all sensible.  In silence Elizabeth conceded that such a woman had never truly existed accept in the tight constricted imaginings of her own head. Until the Tempest Knights arrival she had been sleepwalking through her own existence with no hope, so it had seemed from ever waking up.

Elizabeth felt her heartbeat quicken as her mind once more replayed her most recent sexual experience that had so engaged both her mouth and her cunt.  Even now after a hot shower and the strenuous brushing of her teeth she could taste them. The thickening salty tang of cum stealing to the back of her throat, an electric charge racing through her pussy as she had gagged on ruthless engorged cock and exacted deliciously dirty punishment utilising the spite of ancient tools.


It was De Rochefort, his cold inquisitive gaze heating up her skin and quite setting her nerves on edge who spoke to her first.

“Lady Elizabeth, please tell your cook that she has once again surpassed all expectation. Why we have before us a veritable feast fit for Kings!”

Mrs Green had not over extended herself.  The meal was so simple as to be basic.  One might be charitable and go so far as to say, ‘rustic’ but lamb chops, roast potatoes and salad could by no ones standards be described as, ‘a feast.’ But Elizabeth would grit her teeth, hold her tongue and play along and pretend that De Rochefort was indeed a king and not a monster; that the darkness slipping by slow but steady increments across her heart was nothing more than nerves and that the sweet yet dull sense of dispossession whispering against her soul was merely her crude imaginings after taking too much cock.

“Yes, I shall be sure to pass your hearty praise on to Mrs. Green.” Elizabeth lied smoothly.

De Rochefort drained his glass, French crystal, vulgar and overly designed very much like The Tempest Knight in question, whose eyes were bright with lust and mischief as he appraised Elizabeth, a ruthless enmity devouring his face.

“I understand you have been showing off your many hidden treasures to my brother Knights.” He leered, the scar beneath his eyes seeming to alternate between a sickly vivid green and motley yellow.

“When finally you returned Bazin, Planchet and Grimaud to us, they appeared positively drained but in uproariously high spirits!”

She felt all eyes upon her; conversation fell away to be replaced by a hushed blanket of silence.  Elizabeth wished in that instant that De Rochefort might suffer severe bodily harm but the Knight remained in rude health, his perfect teeth flashing a malevolent smile.


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