Written by artsmart
30 Jul 2016
The Rote and the Harp
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11 minute read
-the story speaks about the legend of Tristan and Isolde-
My dear Kings men wouldst thou come and heareth what I have written to thine ears.
One day, in days of old, while Tristan was absent from court, an Irish knight named Gandin, came to the King’s court. This Gandin, was a player of the rote, playing the rote in such a manner as to entrance King Mark. The King was lulled so into this trance, that he found himself being totally enamored until such a point as the knight Gandin saw the effect he was having on the king. His sole intention looming up for the catch, he stopped immediately and awaited the Kings forth coming and obvious request for more. It was a court setting and all those of high were present. Perfect for Knight Gandin. He made some excuse of having a sore throat and the king made the request that should the knight play more he give him whatever he asked for. To which after the followed and continued performance, the knight asked for Isolde, the kings wife.
Gandin proceeded to mount Isolde onto his huge black stallion, mount the horse, breathe in the desirable perfume of the kings wife and gallop away toward the harbor where a sailing ship awaited him to take him back to Ireland.
The journey back to the ship was a rough one indeed. The queen was not adept to be carried away so quickly and in such a manner. She found the Knight rather gruff and smelling of wine. But she had little say in the matter. He was breathing heavily into her hair from behind and she felt his hot body bumping against her as the stallion negotiated the track they were on. How long before this beast would spread her legs and bear down upon her womanhood and would she be wet enough to maintain his manhood. She had taken a small pouch of herbal douche just in case she needed it. She used it for her King as she did not feel aroused by him and instead used to dribble it into her cavern minutes before he would make the notion to enter her.
It was this small pouch she now fingered nervously, toying it like a love potion and wishing her fate would change.
They were now almost at the harbor and coming through a rocky part of the road. At a point it was necessary for the knight to dismount his horse and lead them through a very narrow section. It was in this section upon a rock that the sweetest of all sounds filled their ears. And it was no other than Tristan himself, playing his harp. The Knight so greatly impressed by the harpist, invited him to come with him to Ireland. Tristan obliged immediately and rode his horse alongside the trio until the harbor.
It was a windy evening as the sun sank over the Northern sea. The tide was high and the usual long trek across the sands to the water’s edge was not possible. Yet it was imperative that they board the ship before nightfall as to the threat of robbers and such along those lonely shores at night.
Seeing that Knight Gandin’s saddle was not fit for two people and the probability of losing his female prize to the tidal waters, Tristan offered to take Isolde upon his horse, seeing that he had a saddle that could accommodate two comfortably.
Gandin obliged and handed Isolde over to Tristan. Tristan suggested the Knight lead the way and upon doing so followed on his tail. No sooner had Gandin waded deep enough for his horse to start swimming, than Tristan galloped away in the opposite direction with Isolde.
Gandin turned and saw what was happening and demanded why Tristan was doing such an evil deed. And Tristan bade him that it was he, Gandin, who had tricked the King into handing over his wife for a simple rote and now he, Tristan, had tricked the knight with his skillful harp music.
The knight was angry and made pursuit of the two, but Tristan knew his territory and soon out ran the knight who was forced to return to his ship as the sun sank below the horizon. But now it was Tristan’s turn to take shelter and more so for Isolde, the Kings wife. They would not make it back that night so he had to engage an alternative plan. He knew of an inn some two hundred meters off the track they were on and he steered his steed in that direction.
Isolde was relieved by her turn of fate. Perhaps it was her douche pouch that had worked its magic. But what was she to do about this Tristan whom her husband favored. She had seen him a few times at the Kings court before and found him very attractive and now she was being saved by him and riding on his horse to an unknown destination. She felt no fear with him as a tingle of excitement rippled through her body at the prospects of this sudden turn of events.
They arrived at the inn and Tristan had to cover Isolde’s face as to not make her identity known to any dwellers there. It was a rough place, housing mostly revelers, tinkers and sailors. Not a place for a queen at all. But it was their only option for now. The innkeeper knew Tristan and quickly gave him his best lodgings without anyone knowing. This happened to be the innkeepers own bedroom. It had a fireplace in side and the linen was clean and fresh. The keeper sent our two travelers a small meal of pheasant and warm baked bread with honey. To drink they had a tankard of wine to share.
The bed was large, soft and comfortable. After dinner the queen made preparations to bed her tired body and bade Tristan to share her lodgings as she could see he were as tired as her and there was no other place for him to sleep apart from next to the fire.
Tristan was not to miss this chance and he first asked the queen to join him on a large soft sheep skin next to the fire and sip some wine with him. The queen, pleased by Tristan’s advances, took her place next to him in front of the warm fire. She could smell his washed and herbal perfumed skin smell envelop her nostrils and she felt a warmth begin to spread deep inside her belly. Perhaps it was the wine but she was beginning to feel rather alive for the first time in years.
Tristan nestled down next to his queen and made casual talk with her. She was a beautiful woman. Her cherry blonde hair, green eyes and fine features played tricks on his eyes in the firelight. Their wine sipping was going rather well when he noticed that her dress had come away at the knee and her sensual legs were peeping out. Tristan could not resist this lure and gave thanks to the Gods of love who he knew had guided this great fortune to him. His queen was quiet tipsy by the time he placed his hands onto her protruding leg. She was warm and smooth. She sighed deeply and nestled against his strong trunk. Her perfume took him by surprise and made him reel in an intoxicated swoon, him almost losing his senses so strong was her love potion for him.
Tristan ran his hand all the way up Isolde’s beautiful leg until he entered her inner thigh zone. Isolde’s heart was racing. She was about to commit adultery with Tristan and yet it appeared to be the most natural occurrence in the world seeing that her King had never been able to arouse her before. With Tristan, it was different. Her pussy was so moist with him that she had a small concern he may be put off by it. Tristan could smell Isolde’s juice before she was aware of it moistening up so rapidly. His sex had rose immediately and for him it was not long before he would mount his queen and ride her into kingdom cum.
Isolde, felt Tristan’s hand playing with her thighs. She slid down and parted her legs enough for him to slip his hand against her smoothly plucked mound. All the time and pain she had endured plucking her Venus was now paying off. The man she admired was about to express his fondness for his Queen. She saw it as a noble deed. Isolde thought that at this stage she should distract Tristan a bit as she preferred it go slower giving them both time to savor the moment, the foreplay. So she purposefully slipped her shoulder out of her gown as she adjusted her posture and her large bosom tumbled out into the firelight. Yes, it worked wonders because Tristan immediately cupped her breasts and passionately fondled them until her back arched and she began craving Tristan’s passionate fingers to play her like he played his harp. He did just that and she felt his long fingers flip across her wet pussy lips over and over again while his hot mouth passionately ate into her breasts. Her nipples rosy and aroused shot wave upon wave of erotic signals over her shoulders and down her spine. She looked into the fire and saw the flames of love dancing and waited tenderly for the moment when Tristan would part her and take her home.
Their play went on for a while until Tristan rose to the occasion. His Queen parted her delicious legs and he grabbed onto her buttocks.
“My Lady”, Tristan whispered, “dost thou wish to be taken from behind”.
Isolde had not anticipated such chivalry and quickly obliged. Her King had never requested this and therefore had never fulfilled her fantasy as such. She quickly kneeled with her full buttocks to the fire. Feeling the heat take her from behind and her head bathed forward in the cold of the room, she spread her legs as she felt Tristan playing her moist lips like a harp. He was making fine music from her intricacies and her juice was gushing like slippery jewels through his fingers.
Tristan ate her bum cheeks while he brought Isolde’s pussy to full flowering until she could hold it no more she felt his swollen penis, hard up stroking her up between her bum cheeks. Where was he going, this fine gentleman harpist? She felt him at the door to her anus. His head was stroking her open. Her pussy was calling him in and her anus was aching for more. He pushed gently and she felt her fantasy turn to reality. Tristan’s penis sailed into Isolde as his fingers slipped into her hot wetness. She came hard against them as he thrust his member deep into her anus. She almost buckled with pleasure as her orgasm erupted through her. The fire in the heath behind them lit up for an instant as cupids love arrows collided between fantasy and reality sending sparks of intense passion spraying everywhere. Tristan felt his penis deep inside Isolde’s slippery depths and felt her orgasm rupture it and his fingers pressing up against her G-spot inside her moist flower. He slowed down as she thrust against him, playing the moment. He slipped out and she took him by the neck and guided him into her post orgasmic pleasure so that he could awaken her animalistic passion once again. Tristan drove his swollen manhood, thrusting it hard into the gasping and spread eagled Isolde. The cold darkness of their room before them became alive with their passion. Shadows caused by their writhing bodies against the light of the fire played a mystical dance around the room. Isolde rolled onto her side and Tristan came in behind her to slip into her dripping cavern and they spooned each other until Tristan’s penis exploded forcefully into his Queens pleasure treasure.
They lay silently together watching the fire as they cooed and cuddled. Tristan playing with and stroking Isolde’s breasts, gently touching her nipples while his free hand explored her warm curves. She loved his touch. And they kissed, tongues entwined. Their love juice making music in the spheres.
They slept that night, arm in arm next to their log fire. The following morning, they washed, got dressed and bade the innkeeper farewell with three gold coins, one for luck and two for the fire.
Tristan gallantly took his Queen back to King Mark. Upon arriving he quickly hastened to meet the King and went all out to crap on his head for being such a dick as to trade his wife off to a badass like Gandin.