Hugh the Young Knight

[LeSeigneur]

Hugh the Young Knight

written by Ceep for the Seigneur de M.

 

Hugh felt uncomfortable in his own skin, but that was the only pitiful facet of his life. The fact that he acheived knighthood at the legendary round table at such a young age was truly remarkable and enviable, yet all he knew was unease for it. It was not the affections and admirations of the people that left him feeling sheepish and shy, though; no, it was the very reason that he sat among knights who, in his eyes, were twice the man he was, yet the opposite was true. A specimen of masculinity rarely unseen, a contrast to the freshness of his face, his young body rippled with muscle tone and power; even through the stuffy clothing and the chainmail he was obliged to wear as a knight, the lines of his musculature were unmistakable, lending him to be unintentionally intimidating to those around him, yet the gentle, freckled features of his face and his supple, pale flesh lent themselves to a more friendly, youthful appearance which rendered him approachable. Indeed, Hugh had a gentle, if not quiet disposition, yet a fierce loyalty to that which he believed in - and what he put most of his faith into was his coat of arms and the honor of his kingdom. Though the youth had not yet been tempered by the fires of bloody combat, nor had he taken a life, those he stood beside thought of him as an intelligent and capable knight in spite of his age.

In celebration of Hugh's knighthood, the captain of the knights saw fit to propose a banquet - and the queen, an intelligent beauty who was thoughtfully involved with the knights of the roundtable, allowed this feast without opposition. Amongst the queen and the entirety of his greatest peers, Hugh felt absolutely tiny, a truly ironic sensation, considering his musculature over even the most fit individual there. There was conversation, a great meal, and drinks to be enjoyed, yet Hugh was ever the wallflower, eating quietly and talking politely, avoiding any and all eye contact with the queen out of a sense of bashfulness - and that was quite difficult, for she frequently looked his way. Hugh was certain he could see ulterior motives in her gaze, and had he been a little bit more mature, he would have easily seen her lust. Yet, all he knew for certain was that the queen was giving him queer looks and flirtatious glances - what could he do but tolerate it? Very soon, a toast was held in Hugh's honor, one he found difficult, to say the least; bearing a contrived, cheeky smile brought on by overwhelming embarassment, he took the praises of his queen and his fellow knights with modesty, yet the lovely royal lady blindsided the youthful knight with a command that shook him and rendered him speechless. "Brave young Hugh," she said with a tone not unlike a sultry purr, silencing the entirety of the dining hall, "rise for your queen. Let me gaze upon your youthful body, a fine model of the male form!" All heads turned from her majesty, Guinivere, to lowly Hugh, so young that he should not have been any more than a lowly squire. "I, ah... I beg your pardon, your majesty?" he said, his voice a tiny squeak. "Hugh," she said slowly, "you heard me well." Then, letting a seductive smile grace her features, the queen relaxed in the comfort of her decorated seat, awaiting young Hugh's show.

It was so unlike Hugh to be any kind of an exhibitionist, but there it was - a direct order from his queen. For many long seconds, he simply thought of rejecting the command and forfeiting his knighthood, but that would have cost him everything. Resigning himself to the queen's will, he rose from his chair, standing above the heads of all his fellow knights. All eyes were on him; in deathly silence, they awaited his next move. Please give me the strength, Hugh silently prayed with momentarily closed eyes. He felt no divine will enter him, but he made up for its' absence with willpower of his own. Emitting a long sigh, he began to curl his mighty arms inwards, at the same time subtly hunching himself over. With blushing cheeks and a subtly grimacing expression, he flexed his arms for all they were worth, and Guinivere looked on with obviously hungry eyes - had anyone been watching her and not Hugh, they would've seen the very unladylike way she licked her lips. Hugh felt all their gazes on him, criticizing him, scrutinizing his every move, and it unconsciously spurred him to do the best that he could. Straightening his back, he smoothly lifted his arms above his head, and he exerted every ounce of his strength; his muscles bulked heavily, stretching the tight mall to its limits. It would have been appropriate to see him holding an anvil in his bare hands, or maybe even the entirety of the castle's tower, but all he lifted was the air itself. As he ran every cluster of youthful muscle in his arms through their paces, they trembled, as if such power was too much for them. He balled his supple hands into white-knuckled fists, and he shuddered. He soon reached the height of his spectacular double-bicep pose, and at much the same time, a noise of wheezing, protesting metal came forth, growing more and more intense as the youth worked his muscles. With a grunt of exertion, the chainmail he was dressed in split in a dozen places, ripping like fabric, just as easily as the shirt over said mail. There he stood, still blushing, his unlikely arms and his defined chest clutched loosely by ruined garments, his face still alight with blush, by then more than ever before. "Very good," Guinivere said quietly, belying the true lust she felt for that handsome youth, "you may take your seat again, young Hugh..."

Well past the banquet that evening, Hugh found himself amongst his fellow knights, still quite bashful from the outcome of the feast. He had been issued a new set of chainmail and a fresh tunic - bothh with some extra slack in them, to help prevent another such incident from occurring - but the youth chose to remain in the nude following his bath. As he finished up and dried himself off, he heard escalating words from Lancelot, arguably the most respected and beloved of all the knights of the roundtable; ordinarily, a scrap between even such noble knights was not unheard of, but the things passing Lancelot's lips were stunning to all - Hugh included. "I can hardly believe the behavior of our queen! I saw the lust in her eyes as clear as day!" Though Lancelot's plight was, on the surface, one of morality and disgust, the truth was that he felt jealous - Guinivere was a woman of impeccable beauty, not to mention exclusivity for her royal blood. It certainly flustered Lancelot to know that a youth nearly half his own age had her favor and her sexual admiration, yet to admit his own lust for the queen was not at all acceptable; the bitter irony was that speaking derisively of her was accepted more than admitting his own wantings for her body. Whether he picked up on this or not, Hugh correctly assumed that Lancelot's anger was his fault; being a good, noble knight, however, Hugh simply would not stand for such words about his queen. The youth abolished any and all shyness; all that mattered to him was the honor of the queen. He emerged from the baths with his expression set in stone, his inexperienced eyes glowing with intensity. Lancelot turned his gaze on the nude form of Hugh; momentarily, he was staggered by the sight of his body, though it wasn't the first or even second time he'd laid eyes on the young knight. "You shall not speak of the queen in such a way, Lancelot!" he warned, finding himself unafraid as he stood toe-to-toe with Lancelot.

For a moment, Lancelot - dressed in merely a loose-fitting undergarment - looked as though he were sizing up the youth as an opponent, but ultimately, he shook his head. "Forgive me, Hugh, I should not have spoken ill of our fine queen," he conceded, his tone one of benevolence, but not submission. More and more, he found himself admiring the pale-skinned youth before him in more intent ways, and in the slack confines of his undergarment, he felt his shaft swelling with blood. It was just obscene that a teenager, nearly a mere child, hat such an enormously powerful body. Hugh, pacified but still not accepting of Lancelot's behavior, stood proud and tall, his muscles flexing and twitching even at an idle, his heavy, uncut shaft hanging freely between the carved flesh of his thighs. "Your body," Lancelot said absently, having stepped back to better view Hugh's form, "such a form, it's like your mother and father carved you out of marble, Hugh." The comment brought Hugh pause, and it interrupted his unconscious intimidation, replacing his stern expression with a blushing, somewhat dull look. "Ah, thank you, Lancelot," he bleated, suddenly well aware of his handsome fellow knight's roaming eyes - in some way, he felt comfortable with Lancelot ogling him. "Please, Hugh, satisfy my curiosities," Lancelot said with a hint of arousal in his voice, taking a few steps away from the youth. There, in the training hall - just off of the knights' quarters, where they slept and bathed - was a rack with hundreds of pounds of armor and weaponry upon it. It would've taken a horse and a carriage to move it with so much gear upon it - but, almost instinctively, Lancelot knew Hugh could move it with ease. "You want me to lift that?" Hugh asked, tightening his jaw in unease and disbelief. Wearing a small, coy smile, Lancelot nodded and chuckled. "Try it. You might be surprised."

Feeling just as shy and uncertain as his forced show in the banquet hall, Hugh momentarily sized up the rack; at least ten feet tall, it was covered in mail, plate armor, swords, axes, and shields - easily several tons worth of steel, not to mention the fact that the rack itself was built out of sturdy, ancient wood. "Lancelot," he said uneasily, looking back at the handsome knight - Lancelot nodded reassuringly, folding his arms across the toned form of his chest. "Try, Hugh, please. Satisfy my curiosities." Hugh sighed, and though the noise reeked of impatience and disgust, it was actually a sound of exasperation - why did everybody wish to ogle his body like so? To somebody so sexually inexperienced, it was very unusual to Hugh, but he would oblige Lancelot. Squatting down, clutching the cumbersome rack by its' base from the side, Hugh grunted, the sound not youthful, but rather one of a grown man pushing his body to the limit. Before Lancelot's eyes, the pale, freckled example of pristine, male beauty before him began to rise that loaded rack - clutching with his arms, lifting with his legs, Hugh rose inch by inch. His carved biceps balooned, the mighty pecs flexed tight and in deep striations, every single muscle strained and bulged, stretching the velvet boyskin. Hugh’s body became carved and edgy, a superior, unreal musclebeast as he showed off his true power. His breathing, once steady and calm, had since degraded into animalistic and unintentionally lewd huffing. Lancelot was staggered, and had his jaw not been clenched, his lip not bit in a display of admiration and arousal, his mouth would have hung open. To see a form so youthful and perfect as Hugh's lifting that rack so high that it crested over his head, revealing his animal-like, bushy armpits, his body glistening with sweat, his herculean chest heaving with the labored breathing of a wild animal, Lancelot was shocked, amazed, and incredibly aroused - in the snug-fitting undergarment around his hips, he sported a mighty erection, and all he knew for certain was that he had to feel that youth's body.

Hugh set the rack down a mighty thud!, followed shortly by the rattling of mail and armor. A few armaments fell to the floor in noisy, harmless clanks and clatters, but Lancelot could hear none of this - all he wanted to hear was the gruff panting, the near snarling of Hugh's breathing. He smelled the youth's undeveloped scent, that which would one day be a potent musk of unspeakable attraction and heartbreaking sexuality, and he availed himself for the youth. As he approached, Hugh turned, his freckled face alight with blush, his skin damp with sweat; before he could speak a word, Lancelot kissed him, slipping his tongue into the warmth of young Hugh's maw, teasing over the youth's palate and teeth in an enormously sexual gesture. Before Hugh could even register the kiss, Lancelot ended it, and he pressed his cheek to Hugh's own, savoring the feel of soft, pubescent flesh on the shaven stubble of his own - which, inversely, was a sensation Hugh enjoyed. "L-Lancelot," the youngest knight stammered, finding himself silenced with another kiss, this one shallow and brief. Lancelot had no words, and he drove on with instinct alone. He nibbled and kissed down the impossibly mighty youth's jawline and neck with brisk speed, but he dabbled on Hugh's chest. There, he licked, he kissed, he gnawed; no crease of muscle, no swatch of smooth, freckled flesh was safe; Hugh shuddered and moaned, and involuntarily, he flexed hard for Lancelot, pouting out his chest, presenting like a peacock to the handsome knight.

Hugh unknowingly fed off of Lancelot's worship, and his shaft, once casually flaccid, had already begun to swell with arousal, engorging its' length with blood. As it reached its' peak and it came around to a respectable length but an unbelievable girth Hugh shuddered, and Lancelot was further stricken by the youth's form. Even as compelling as the ambivalently tender and hard flesh of the youngest knight's chest and arms was to his kissing lips and licking tongue, Lancelot could not resist that which dwelt between Hugh's chiseled thighs. Dropping to his knees, unabashed in his homoeroticism, the handsome Lancelot clutched Hugh's meat in a strong, tough hand, a contrast to the virgin flesh of that penis. Squeezing it firm in his grip, he pulled down upon the uncut foreskin of the youth's length, exposing the tip, its' shade a muted pink, one unaccustomed to light or the chilly air of the outside world; indeed, to have the tender glans of his shaft so ruthlessly exposed sent a shiver up Hugh's spine and made him moan, yet the moisture and warmth it naturally knew was replaced with another - Lancelot's mouth. The handsome knight struggled to engulf Hugh's colossal manhood, and as he descended, he removed his groping, tugging hand, placing it, along with the other, on one of the youth's thighs. Hugh's cheeks lit with a vibrant and youthful blush, making his cute freckles all the more apparent, and though he quaked and moaned with pleasures yet unheard of to his sexually inexperienced body, he found himself embracing an almost feral dominance; setting one of his smooth hands on the back of Lancelot's head, he encouraged the handsome knight to work his swollen shaft harder, doing so with wary pushes and squeezes on the back of his skull - Hugh was not entirely sure what he was doing, but whatever it was, he somehow knew it was right.

Distantly, Hugh wondered if this was a common occurance for Lancelot, or if it was similarly his first time with another man - but at the forefront of his thoughts, all he really acknowledged was how wonderful that mouth felt around his length. Huffing with nearly the same intensity and urgency as when he'd so effortlessly hefted the armor rack, Hugh held firmly onto Lancelot's head with both of his supple hands. Everything about the moment was unspeakably fine; Lancelot, whether by practice or dumb luck, sucked and bobbed upon the youth's turgid member with incredible ferocity and skill, and his manly, rough hands alternately fondled the hairless, wrinkled, tender hide of Hugh's scrotum, or the carved-in-stone curve of his rear-end. Hugh soon felt himself nearing the bliss of a climax; he had masturbated, but it was a rare occasion, for he found his time spent better practicing with the sword or maintaining his fitness, and so Lancelot's ministrations were helped along by a pent-up, pubescent libido that rarely knew the casual release of a loving hand. "Oh, ah, nngh!" Hugh grunted, screwing the charming, youthful features of his face into a toothy grimace, clenching his naive eyes shut. Sweat dripped from his body; once but a sheen not unlike a morning's dew, it freely poured from his form, and his member, nestled safely in the hot and humid confines of Lancelot's gulping, sucking maw, oozed incessantly with bitter-salty pre, stinging the knight's tongue, but not in a manner unpleasant. With his huffing and near-snarling reaching a crescendo, Hugh pulled Lancelot's head flush to his pelvis, and he stood up on his tip-toes in the sweet, sudden agony of his climax. Every cluster of muscle and iron-hard sinew tensed to a density not unlike chainmail, and he blew a colossal, pent-up load down Lancelot's hungry throat. The older knight wasted not a drop of the young, yet virile and thick seed that Hugh saw fit to feed him, and the youth's orgasm and dominance brought him such scintillating pleasure that, without the use of his hands, he sullied the insides of his undergarment with a sloppy, manly mess of his own. When Hugh at last returned to his normal posture, and he appeared to be his timid, usual self, he awkwardly unhanded Lancelot's skull and apologized down to the handsome knight - Lancelot stood, and without a word, he silenced the young knight mid-sentence with another kiss. The feel of such supple, pink lips on his own was blissful, accessable pleasure - but they were finished for the night. "You, young Hugh, need not apologize for anything," Lancelot said enigmatically, walking off to the baths. Hugh watched him go, and then he made his way to bed for that night, where he slept very soundly.

The next day, Hugh's attempts to reconcile all that had happened the night before were cut short; a mysterious command from the queen herself, delivered by her handmaiden - he was to come directly to the queen's bedchambers and speak to no one along the way. Hugh felt an odd chill down his spine, a tingling of worry, even though he assured himself he had done nothing wrong - it was simply an immature reaction to being summoned by the highest of authority like so. Stepping through the threshold of her bedroom door, dressed in his new chainmail and more slack, forgiving tunic, Hugh looked adorably uncomfortable, and more out-of-place than ever before. "You summoned me, your majesty?" said the handsome young man, moving before the bed, for upon its' edge sat queen Guinivere, as lovely as ever, if not in the regal setting of her throne room. Hugh made to kneel, but the queen stopped him with a hand upon his chest. "There is no need for formalities or anxiety, young Hugh," she cooed with gentle reassurance, her tone not unlike that of a caring mother, but her eyes exhibited anything but such innocence. "Regarding your display at last night's banquet," she began, at once summoning a mighty blush to Hugh's smooth, freckled cheeks, "I wish to see more of the same, without the prying eyes of your peers - only mine." Sitting back, she looked unusually casual for a queen, but her eyes were ever lewd, burning with sexual intensity and desire. Despite his endearing shyness, Hugh obliged - but this time, he disrobed, shedding the tunic, the mail beneath, and his undergarments, exposing the naked, supple flesh of his chiseled body to the chilled air of the castle and the hungry eyes of the queen. His manhood, though flaccid and unaroused, hung heavily between his thighs, promising to be the most handsome penis the queen had ever laid eyes upon - and indeed, she couldn't help but glance at it, even as it was. Her eyes studied not just the youth's genitalia, however, for she examined every crease of muscle and every bulging strand of sinew, taking in his appearance with a subtle, nearly animalistic lick of her lips.

It slowly dawned on Hugh that the way his fellow knights treated him was not derision, but jealousy - he was so reluctant and bashful to acknowledge it, but he was built like no other man he'd ever seen, his body chiseled out of what seemed like stone. With this realization, he began to flex almost involuntarily, well before the queen's mark, but she didn't seem to mind it at all; biting his lip in concentration, he pouted out the mountainous bulk of his chest, presenting that smooth flesh, and at the same time, he raised his swelling arms high above his head, his supple hands clenched into white-knuckle fists. Lifting his arms like so exposed the wiry, fluffy bushes of his armpits - the pits themselves exuded an acquired taste of a scent; though Hugh did not yet possess a true musk of his own, having not matured enough, the smell of his body and his sweat was unmistakable, and it aroused Guinivere in incredible ways. With her behavior growing increasingly unladylike, Guinivere stood from the bed, looming before the bulging, yet charmingly youthful form of Hugh. With another subtle lick of her lips, she leaned in close, and she partook of a sniff of an armpit, a tentative one; the smell of his sweaty masculinity made her shudder, and beneath the regal dress she wore, she was growing quite wet. With lust unchained, she pushed her delicate nose into the bush of his armpit hair, and she sniffed deep, taking the youth's undeveloped musk deep into her lungs. Just as bold as her nose was her hands; delicate and soft, covered in pale flesh nearly as supple as Hugh's own, she clutched the youth's half-erect penis and plump, dangling scrotum in one, and with a distinct, royal thoughtfulness, she gently bounced and groped the tender flesh, coaxing a deeply aroused, wavering groan from the handsome young knight. Such a careful, yet intent touch saw his penis swell with arousal, its' shaft engorging with blood, reaching its' full length in record time. With a smile most coy, Guinivere wrapped her slender digits around that penis, and she gave it a few long, soothing pumps, coaxing mighty wads of pre from the tip in heavy spurts, each one accompanied by a full-body shudder and a deep moan from the youth.

It was not Guinivere's intention to get Hugh to a climax yet; his pleasure would come, but only as a consequence of her own. "Hugh, sweet, handsome, valiant Hugh," cooed the queen, shedding her dress and the stifling undergarments beneath, exposing the striking female beauty of her form to the chilly air and to Hugh's hungry eyes. Her hips - delicately curved, so very womanly, but not overtly pronounced. Her breasts - swollen and full, pale and supple, the nipples stiffened and hard with arousal and the cool temperature. Behind her, a fine ass, but Hugh's was arguably finer. With the queen so close to his colossal form, Hugh was unable to partake of the view of her long legs, but what he saw was enough to leave him nearly drooling. "Your majesty," he whispered, his tone laced with lust and reverence, both vying for control of his quaking voice, "your body, it's so beautiful, I would give anything to have you." She pressed her lips to his in a brief kiss, and then she trailed a delicate digit down the range of his hairless chest, savoring the contrast of his body; though supremely muscular, he was so pale, so soft, his flesh sprinkled with charming, youthful freckles - this would be a night to remember for both the queen and her loyal knight. "Come, Hugh," she said tenderly, backpedaling, moving to kneel upon her bed. Hugh did just the same; beneath his bulk, the bed creaked in protest and unease, though it held up. With the youthful, hulking knight so close, Guinivere let her fingers run wild over the creases and crevasses of his chest, though they came to dwell upon the pink, tender nubs of his nipples. Once soft and inoffensive, they had since stiffened with arousal, not unlike his member. Though nowhere near as tender as that particular flesh, Guinivere's touch brought him tingles and shivers of pleasure, impulses that shook noises not unlike whimpers from him. "Oh, your majesty, Lancelot's touch was not half as pleasing as yours," he cooed, blushing only after the fact; in consideration, Guinivere paused, then twisted her beautiful lips into a coy smile. "So Lancelot couldn't resist you? I see... It seems I am not the only one so afflicted with your form," she chuckled, punctuating her words with a soft kiss upon his cheek.

Hugh could only shake his head slowly; the poor youth was so embarassed by what he had blurted out that he couldn't even answer with words. Guinivere acknowledged his bashful nature; indeed, it was one of the things that made him so adorable, and it was a fine contrast to the masculinity of his male form. Furthermore, she had precisely the cure for such a lack of confidence; lying back, shying away from the youth's bulk, the queen slowly spread her legs, exposing the slender lips of her cunt. Hugh had never seen such a thing before, but instinctively, he wanted it. As she spread those folds with her digits and he was allowed to gaze upon the moist, inviting pink of his queen, he bit his lip, erasing the pale, pink color from it for a moment. "Have at your queen, young Hugh," she said, her voice a sultry purr, her eyes exuding raw sexual desire. "As hard as you wish it - my body is yours this night!" Hugh needed to hear no more words; he pounced with animalistic lust. Just on instinct, he knew what to do; he prodded the swollen, blunt tip of his penis to the inviting, deep pink of her cunt, and he sank it in to the hilt. Precum and vaginal juices were his lubricants, and they were beyond sufficient; he entered her without pain, only pleasure. The handsome youth quaked and shuddered with overwhelming pleasure, finding his first time with a lady to be an erotic dream; Guinivere was not so noisy, but still, she moaned and stroked fondly over the ripped arms of the youth, which were planted on either side of her. "Mmm, yes, Hugh, have me!" she shuddered, rolling her eyes before closing them; with all the ferocity of a beast, Hugh started to pound his shapely hips, bobbing his deliciously taut behind up and down in an endless, mindless groove that matched no music, and served only to please himself and his queen.

Hugh panted and grunted in gruff, overwhelming desire; not unlike the way he had snarled and rumbled like a bull when he performed his feats of strength for Lancelot, he became similarly noisy for the queen. Consciously, he told himself it was all for the queen, but deep in his subconscious, he knew it was all about him; there was his ego that she was nurturing, whether he realized it or not. He knew that his own pleasure was what mattered most, and that Guinivere's beautiful body was a means to an end. It was a thought no self-respecting knight would ever admit - but Hugh hadn't even realized it himself. Indeed, he was straying off into more animalistic territory; he heard her moans and smelled her scent, but those impulses came to him like visions. He watched her plump, pleasing bosom bounce and jiggle enticingly, doing all it could to lure him in for a lick or a suck, but he was set in his ways; he would fuck his queen for all she was worth. "Oh, Hugh, H-Hugh!" she cried out to him, losing any and all composure as the handsome youth went on, his rhythm degrading into chaotic bucks and grinds - soon, he would climax, and that was apparent in his grunting and snarling as much as it was in his actions. Hugh knew nothing in the way of prolonging sex; so inexperienced and full of the hormones of puberty, all he knew was how to get off, and that was precisely what he did. Pounding his mighty cock in to the hilt, smacking his balls into the queen's thighs, Hugh erupted with an outspoken noise of pleasure, and he shot an incredibly virile load deep into the queen's womb. Her cry suggested a climax of her own - whether or not she had actually gotten off, Hugh didn't know, and in an uncommon moment of callous thought brought on by self-serving fucking, he didn't care. But, in his afterglow, he cuddled close to his queen, and he partook of her compliments and her kisses - and in time, he drifted off to sleep in her arms, so used to the exhaustion of sex.

Edited December 29, 2014 by JohnoUK
Colour correction