Dancing in the flames

Four

The castle, once a bastion of routine, now pulsed with an undercurrent of tension. The sheriff, fueled by a relentless determination, intensified his efforts to capture Robin Hood and his band of outlaws. The air thickened with suspicion, and every corner of Nottingham seemed to harbor the echoes of a looming confrontation.

In the midst of this turmoil, my encounters with Little John took on a new urgency. The alliance forged in the garden, the shared secrets of Sherwood, now served a greater purpose. We became conduits of information, threads weaving through the intricate tapestry of rebellion, as we collaborated to provide intelligence to Robin Hood’s band while avoiding the ever-watchful eyes of the sheriff’s guards.

The kitchen, usually a haven of familiarity, transformed into a nexus of whispers and coded messages. Little John, with his keen awareness of the castle’s comings and goings, became my silent accomplice in navigating the precarious dance between loyalty and danger. Each glance, each stolen conversation, held the weight of a shared purpose—to protect the secret heart of Sherwood.

As the sheriff’s relentless pursuit encroached upon the castle, I found myself entangled in a web of deceit and stratagem. The nobles, unaware of the unfolding drama, reveled in their own excesses. Little did they know that within the seemingly mundane routines, a clandestine rebellion thrived, fueled by the indomitable spirit of Sherwood Forest.

One evening, as the castle buzzed with the frenetic energy of a feast, Little John and I orchestrated a covert exchange of information. Amidst the clatter of goblets and the laughter of nobility, we slipped into the shadows of the kitchen—a realm where secrets were exchanged in the simmering pots and concealed corners.

Little John’s eyes, usually veiled in mystery, now bore the weight of shared responsibility. The sheriff’s relentless pursuit cast a shadow over our alliance, but our determination burned brighter. In hushed tones, we exchanged information gathered from the castle’s corridors—whispers among the servants, the shifts in guard patrols, and the subtle shifts in the sheriff’s strategy.

Then when all information had been exchanged and things fell silent a look spread across Little John’s face. I’d seen it before in the garden. Even thinking about the garden caused me to blush and bite at my lip. My fidgeting must have encouraged him because he pressed in even closer.

The small nook we had hid in kept us just out of sight from the kitchen and with the noise of preparation and cooking being so loud our words couldn’t be made out by anyone except us.

A squeak came out of me as my back hit the cold stones of the wall and I looked up with big eyes at Little John. “You have no idea how badly I have wanted you.” He says in a growling voice. His sheer height and size compared to me made it even harder to resist. His lips envelop mine like a hungry wolf to its prey. And I open up to him wishing he could swallow me whole.

Heat starts pooling in my core as he deepens our kiss until my head is against the wall. My hands against his chest so sturdy, so strong. His tongue wraps around mine and I moan into his mouth. His hands quickly move to my chest pulling the front of my dress down completely exposing both of my breast.

His hands roughly grasp my b**bs and he holds them in his hands. I’m moaning more than I’d like to admit but he is too. It’s rough and sensual the sounds coming from him. And I know he has lost all abandon or fear of being discovered.

Devouring heat leaks from between my hips. I feel the wet dripping off of my thighs and I want so badly for John to reach down and f*nger my p*ssy. I reach down in the heat of the moment and rub between his legs. My eyes widen and I gasp when I feel the stiffness between his legs.

He moans breaking our kiss and puts his head against the wall moaning right next to my ear. I press down more rubbing him through his clothes, eliciting more moans from between his lips. I shiver In excitement imagining him without any clothes at all how he must look.

I feel his lips on my neck and I let out a moan. He traces my neck teasing me with his lips. I feel his breath roll down my shoulders. And then begin the slow wet sloppy kisses starting just behind my ear and trailing down my neck to my shoulder. I hear the moans coming from my body before I can even process that I am making them.

His lips continue their conquest on my body, past my shoulder right to my fat n*pple. “John!” I say breathlessly as he sucks on it pulling it into his mouth and rolling it with his tongue. I moan and blush the pleasure of it unbelievably consuming. I don’t want to stop touching him but Little John’s mouth demands my full attention

“Oh my!! I’m so sorry I didn’t see anything!” A lower maid screech’s out embarrassing all three of us. Little John jerks away tugging my dress upwards quickly to cover me. I blush furiously wishing I could die. The maid scurries off in a hurry and so does Little John. I stand there and collect myself for a moment before carrying on. The throbbing between my legs won’t go away as easily and it makes it hard to focus on anything other than the feeling of Little John’s c*ck through his clothing.

As the night wore on, the kitchen became a hub of conspiratorial fervor. The camaraderie among the kitchen staff served as an unwitting cover for our subversive activities. In the chaos of the feast, we were but shadows—silent observers in the unfolding drama between the sheriff and the elusive outlaws of Sherwood.

The tension within the castle mirrored the rising stakes outside its walls. The sheriff, frustrated by the elusiveness of Robin Hood, tightened his grip on Nottingham. Guards scrutinized every face, every gesture, seeking the slightest hint of complicity. Little John and I, aware of the perils that loomed, treaded carefully through the castle’s corridors, our every move calculated to deflect suspicion.

In one such encounter, as the castle slept under the watchful eye of the moon, Little John sought refuge in the shadows of the garden. The night, usually a realm of tranquility, now harbored the whispers of danger. Our clandestine rendezvous unfolded beneath the branches of the same trees that had witnessed our first real conversation.

As we exchanged information in the secluded alcove, a distant rustle alerted us to an approaching guard. The shadows embraced us as we melted into the darkness, our breaths suspended in the stillness of the night. The guard, oblivious to the presence of conspirators in the garden, continued his patrol, and we emerged unscathed.