Spring Sonnet Festival (Patreon)

From time to time I completely forget that I’m a Lady. No I don’t think that I’m a man, don’t be stupid. I mean a proper Lady of the court. I’ve got titles and noble upbringing and all that shit, more so than most. Back in Schweinhold I am Princess Jonah Serilda Annette von Lichtenshwein; formerly heir to the throne and social pariah to the fucking nobility. Bunch of stodgy cunts that they are. You can thank my fiendish uncle and my spineless oaf of a father for that. The opinions of court always meant so much to him. Guess it’s why it don’t mean much of a damn to me.

Here in Lioncourt I’m no princess, just Dame Jonah Schwarzsturm; the Black Dove of Harrow’s Arc. Technically I’m Baroness of the small baronage. Fucked around and got awarded the title under some extraordinary circumstances. So now I’m duty bound to deal with a new set of nobles and noble duties. Can’t seem to catch a fucking break, but it ain’t all that bad, because I ain’t got to do all the work.

I much prefered being a knight, when that was my thing. Now I much prefer being a mercenary, now that that’s my thing. I’ve earned enough goodwill in Harrow’s Arc that the folks there ain’t up in their ass that I can’t be bothered with the day to day rule of a baronage. Nah, they got Sir Goran Sully for that.

Goran is Castellan of Harrow’s Manor; the castle which I’m supposed to live in. It was the ancestral home of House Harrowmond, the lot that used to rule the baronage. House Sully had always served House Harrowmond. They served loyally up until the Harrowmond’s got themselves wiped out during the war with the wilderings. Since then, the Sully’s have minded the castle and waited for the crown to award someone the title of Baron. Now the Sully’s say they serve House Schwarzsturm; which consists of just my thick, pink, ass. That’s gotta suck.

Goran’s about thirty years my senior. A kindly old ursa. The man’s humble as humble can be. This doesn’t stop him from treating me like a child from time to time. The man’s got a serious case of the ‘gramps’; he thinks he’s everyone's parent. He keeps me informed of what I need to know, takes care of the day-to-day minutia, and lectures me on how to properly present myself to the court.

I already know how to play the part, but the old bear likes to teach, so I let him. Unfortunately for me this means I can’t really refuse him when he sends for me. He insist I make appearances at major functions and gatherings. ‘The Lady of the Castle must always attend!’ he would say with an amount of pride I find kind of endearing. So I wasn’t surprised when the courier crow arrived summoning me back north for the Spring Sonnet festival. Eighteen grueling hours of wine, merriment and terrible poetry. I was less than thrilled.

I guess my presences is a testament to my respect for the man and what he does. I travelled alone back to the Assyrian Province, post haste; so as to not be late for what I was sure was going to be the most boring day of my natural born life. That didn’t end up being the case though.

I had arrived in the early morning and readied myself for the greeting. I refused to wear the frilly and frankly, putridly girly dress he’d picked out for me. Instead, I wore a formal and fancy armor, with a nice leather tunic. These were gifts given to me by a couple of noble houses when I was awarded the baronage. I was more comfortable in armor and no one would ask why I wasn’t in a dress. They’d assume I’d want to show off the gifts, publically honoring those who’d given them to me. I was all ready to stand and smile and pretend to give a shit about leaves and the history of the baronage, when a most peculiar thing happened. Someone grabbed my ass and pinched it.

You’d think I’d turn around and punch a guy out for that. I’d have thought so too, but I didn’t. Instead, I stood there for a moment, blinking. It wasn’t quite that I didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to grope me. It was that no one ever had. I took a long second trying to think of the last time anyone ever tried to get handsy with me. I came up blank with recognition that It had never happened. I felt confused, flattered and upset all at once. I wasn’t sure how I was going to properly feel about it.

On the one hand, on principal it’s shitty behavior. I should’ve been furious and responded in kind; raining down white hot fury on the dumb son of a bitch who dare try to objectify me. But a part of me was genuinely curious. A certain friend of mine had always claimed that I was far too intimidating and unladylike for a man to ever wanna get fresh with me. I almost smiled at the idea that he’d been proven wrong.

“It’s always nice to see you fräulein. I was afraid you wouldn't come’” a familiar voice whispered. My almost smile became a grin. That voice, that accent; the way he absolutely butchered the word ‘Fräulein’. I was sure it could be no one else. I went from feeling confused and maybe a bit curious, to proud. I smiled and leaned back into a warm body that was much firmer than I remembered. Looking up, I gazed into the wonderful hazel eyes of the Desmond Sully, young heir of House Sully and Sir Goran’s only son. A pleasant surprise I must say.

Last I seen the boy it was his eighteenth nameday. I’d resolved to welcome the shy little snot into adulthood personally. He’d been a quiet, cautious boy, whom I had to always thought cute. I took his virginity as a memento of the day and had for as long as I’ve known him, instructed the boy on how best to be a man. I was worried he’d end up like his father; nice enough, but too tame for my taste. Looking up at him then, I think maybe I’d done a better job than I thought.

“I hope you don’t go around grabbing all the girls asses’” I admonished playfully. I knew he didn’t. No matter how much he’d grown, I was sure he wasn't that kind of man.

“Perish the thought my lady,” he said placing his arm over mine in a gentlemanly fashion.

I wrapped my arm around his and gave him a sweet laugh. “And just where are you taking me, sir?” I cooed in my best debutant voice. I could tell I made him flush under his fur, because his brown coat bristled and he averted my gaze.

“I’m to accompany you to the main hall Baroness. My father wishes you to sample some of the noble’s poetry before the main gathering.”

I’m sure my distaste was visible as I pretended to gag. I placed a hand on his wide chest and said, “I’d rather not.” The boy looked unsure and I could see his eyes looking for his father. He’d grown so much, large in fact. A fuck ton of a man if I do say so myself. He had to be about a good two heads taller than me now when merely four years ago he’d been barely eye level. The boy had matured nicely on the physical side, but as I watched the worry on his face, I realized he had a ways to go as a man. He still needed daddy to give him direction.

I grinned wickedly then. I knew exactly how I wanted to pass the time until the event. Without a word I pushed my weight against his side, steering him where I wanted to go.

“My lady”’ he asked as we walked toward the hall leading to the side stairs.

“Yes?” I replied grinning like a snake. It took a second for him to figure out what I was doing.

“‘Ma’am we can’t... we’re expected..” he tried to protest. But we were now well out of sight of any guests and the stairwell afforded me the privacy to shush him with a kiss.

He tasted like wine and peppermint. I guess he still favored the candy as a treat. Even as an adult. His tongue tasted cool, sticky and sweet with a hint of spice. He didn’t resist my kiss and I was glad for it. I could barely contain myself as I began to undress him while we awkwardly ascended the stairs. He tried to speak between kisses, protesting weakly and wondering aloud what would happen if someone saw us. Since I didn’t care, I didn’t pay him much attention.

I haven’t spent much time in the manor, but I knew where the guest bedrooms were. I also knew which one was never occupied; the farthest down the hall. The one past the nook, off in an almost hidden recess. It often missed or forgotten by the servants and maids of the castle. It was the perfect, secluded place to have my fun.

No one noticed as I walked the boy down the hall, still locked in an exuberant bout of kissing. No one heard me as I slammed him against the door and began unbuttoning his shirt and removing my armor. As the door swung open, the smell of disuse and vacancy wafted into my snout. I forced him back to the bed and kicked the door closed behind me. A quick reach and the latch to the lock was fastened, and I was back to my goal.

It didn’t take me long to get his pants down, his briefs off and his cock in my hand. Thick, pink and full of youthful energy. The pungent smell of sweat and arousal was a pleasant reminder of one wild night when the boy was undeniably mine. I grinned as ran the length under my snout, taking in his scent. The bear cub had become a fine man and I wanted to reward him for it, properly.

I heard him groan appreciatively as my wet, pink, tongue coiled around his member; sliding up and down with rhythm to his breathing. I tasted the salty leavings of his precum as his excitement stiffened his cock so rigid that several veins were visible. I made a game running the tip of my tongue underneath the engorged crown of his dick. Kissing the tip before suckling on it like a a babe on a teet.

Desmond squirmed and shuttered under my efforts. It was encouraging to know that I could still play the boy like a flute. Taking the rest of him in my mouth was easy work and barely gagged as I went down, taking the full measure reach the back of my throat.

I slurped and sucked greedily; unconcerned about the messy pools saliva gathering down by his balls. With a single hand, I pumped the shaft as I went; immensely enjoying my prize. If Desmond had anything to say about it, any compliments or cautions to mutter, I didn’t hear it. I just continued own methodically bobbing my head until I felt the jerk and shuffle that signified I’d managed to push him past his limit. He came in my mouth and I eagerly accepted it. Chugging cum like thick, creamy, milk on a cold winter's morning. It was bitter and flavorful, just as I liked it.

As cleaned his cock, enjoying the way he cooed and grunted when I teased his now sensitive crown; I began to muse on how I would ride him. How I would slam my ass down on his thighs, as I looked back at him, giving him the best view in the house. It didn’t go like that though. The kid’s got more moxy than I gave him credit for. After he’d grown tired of my torments and teasing, he reached up and grabbed me with his thick bear claws. I giggled gleefully as he tossed me to the bed. He meant to give my pussy a good rutting and I was all for it. I put my hands behind my head and parted my legs, saying simply,

“Show momma what you got, big boy.” And he did.

The hearty bear didn’t waste time replying. He quickly squared the head of his dick up to my cunt and pushed. Wet as I was, there was no resistance as he impaled my pussy with his tool. I cried;

‘Dear Goddess,’ as his warm girth filled my insides and he drove himself deep down into my womanhood. I loved the determined and fierce look on his face as, he grasped my ankles in his mighty hands and began moving his hips in earnest. No build up, no lead... just a series of precise and powerful thrust. The slapping echoed in the empty room and the pleasure was enough to drive me wild.

‘Fuck that pussy, Des! Give me every fucking inch!’ I screamed as I worked my hips in time with his.

Desmond was wonderful. He’d certainly grown up, I can tell you that. The first time we’d fucked, he was timid and unsure of himself, but was still a good lay. He had decent stamina for a virgin and his equipment was top notch; but now he knew how to use it. I spared a thought to all the young maidens who must have had the pleasure of Des’ rod. He’d certainly gotten his experience somewhere.

I’d like to say I squealed like a stuck pig, but for some reason I’m always told that phrase is in poor taste. So I’ll just say the boy made me scream and shout like a bitch in heat. Like the female kinlings did in the old days, when the power of estrous was strong enough to rob their minds of sense and the pleasure of procreation was the only thing their sex crazed minds could pursue. My mind wasn’t quite as hazy, but he certainly fucked me into a frenzy. I almost broke the headboard and ripped the sheets when he emptied his balls into me. Goddess how good it felt to be filled with his milky seed.

I came then myself. I reached up, grasping him by the neck and holding him firm to me. I rotated my hips and gyrated a bit, as my love juices coated his cum, caked, cock. Gods, it was wonderful! The warmth! The sensation! The depravity of it. It always made me feel like a real woman to be filled with cock and cum. I was never concerned with the consequences or realities of it all. I kept concoctions and potions that would ensure I’d never be surprised by a pregnancy. But should that fail me, I could choose a worse man than Desmond. It wouldn’t be too bad to have his cock any time I wanted. A beautiful babe in one hand and his in the other. But not just now.

‘Little’ Des collapsed then. His load spent and all his effort expended on me. I give him full marks for dedication and zeal. He’d made this pretty piggy proud. I kissed him on his lips and then rolled his big ass off of me. He could sleep it off for a while, but I could not. If we both vanished from the party for too long people would talk; and I’m not so sure that Sir Goran is ready to know that I fancy his boy.

I cleaned up best I could and made my way out of the room. The hallway was empty, so I left Desmond to return to my burden.

The rest of the night was pretty much what I expected; stuck up nobles reciting bad poetry. I had to listen to several odes to the leaves and the trees. Several limericks about the changing of the seasons. I smiled at Goran through it all. Not because I enjoyed myself, but because he was blissfully unaware that I could still feel his son’s seed warm inside me. It was the most pleasant part of the proceedings, until Sir Goran’s son took center stage. Desmond’s poem was the best of the night. An ode to passion and the pleasure of color. A lot of talk of pink and precious moments, power and praise. He never took his eyes off me as he recited the words. I smiled at his father and complimented his sons skill as a poet. Goran graciously accepted the compliment, foolishly believing that somehow, Desmond was talking about leaves.