The Knight Who Claimed Her Husband

Rosalind Faire

Copyright

Copyright © 2026 by Rosalind Faire

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The Knight Stops at Their Booth

The sun was a fucking bastard, baking the dirt between the tents and turning the Faire into a sweatbox. Savannah Lemon wiped her forehead, tits practically spilling out of her bodice, the green velvet squeezing them up so high she might as well have been selling cleavage instead of tankards. Every other guy who walked by stared straight at her tits, not the overpriced mugs. She didn’t care. Phil stood next to her, looking like a nerd who’d gotten lost in a costume shop—linen shirt, leather vest, hair plastered to his forehead, glasses sliding down his nose as he tried to explain to some pimply kid why a flagon wasn’t a stein. He was hopeless. He was hers.

Savannah fucking loved this. The costumes, the fake history, the way Phil’s cock twitched every time she called him “my lord” in that slutty whisper she used just for him. Their booth made decent money, and every night they’d fuck in the camper, counting cash and laughing about idiots trying to pay with plastic coins. It was easy. Safe. Just the way she liked it—until now.

Until the knight showed up.

The crowd split for her like she was royalty. Tall, broad, wrapped in enough steel to blind half the Faire. The woman inside the armor walked like she owned the place—long legs, dark hair braided tight, sweat gluing stray strands to her neck. Her face was all sharp lines and a mouth made for barking orders and making men crawl. Black lion on red across her chest. Juliana Longteety, the Faire’s jousting queen and everyone’s wet dream. Savannah had seen her from a distance, but never close enough to smell the sweat, metal, and raw, cocky swagger pouring off her.

Juliana stopped right in front of their booth. One gauntleted hand rested on the hilt of the longsword at her hip. She looked Phil up and down slowly enough that Savannah felt her own stomach tighten.

“Well now,” Juliana said, voice low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet. “What manner of goods does a soft-handed scholar peddle to fair folk?”

Phil blinked behind his glasses. His mouth opened, then closed. Savannah stepped in smoothly as always.

“Tankards, my lady. Hand-hammered. Authentic to the period. We also have excellent mead if you’ve a mind to wet your whistle after a hard day of smiting.”

Juliana’s gaze slid from Phil to Savannah. Those dark eyes lingered on Savannah’s pushed-up tits, then moved back to Phil like he was the main course and Savannah was just the garnish. A slow smile curved the knight’s mouth.

“Soft-handed indeed,” she murmured. “Tell me, scholar. Do you know the proper way to address a knight of the realm when she graces your stall?”

Phil cleared his throat. “My lady knight?”

Juliana laughed once, short and sharp. She leaned forward, armor creaking, and planted both hands on the wooden counter. The motion made the plates shift, and Savannah caught the faint scent of sweat and oil and something darker underneath.

“Closer,” Juliana said. “Try again.”

Phil leaned in. Savannah watched his neck flush pink. She knew that flush. It usually happened right before he buried his face between her legs and begged to make her come. Her cunt gave a lazy throb inside her skirts.

“My lady knight,” Phil repeated, softer this time.

Juliana reached out one finger and tipped his chin up. The metal of her gauntlet looked cold against his skin. “Better. But next time you will kneel when you say it. Understood?”

Savannah’s breath caught. She should have stepped in. Should have laughed it off and made some clever remark about historical accuracy. Instead, she stood there feeling the heat crawl up her own chest, watching her husband’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard and nodded.

“Yes, my lady knight.”

Juliana straightened. Her eyes flicked to Savannah again, measuring. “And you wench. You keep the scholar in line, do you?”

Wench. The word hit her like a hand to the face. Savannah’s nipples stabbed against the velvet, hard and aching. She forced a grin. “I keep him busy enough, my lady.”

“Good.” Juliana picked up one of the tankards, turned it over in her hands, inspecting the work. “Fine craftsmanship. I may return later. After the lists. Perhaps the scholar can demonstrate how these vessels are properly filled.”

She set the tankard down with a heavy clunk. Then she turned and walked away, armor clanking with every step. The crowd closed behind her as if she had never been there.

Savannah let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She looked at Phil. His face was flushed, his hands trembled slightly as he straightened a row of goblets that didn’t need straightening.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “That was… intense.”

Savannah stepped closer and pressed her hip against his. She could feel the half-hard line of his cock through his breeches. “You liked it,” she whispered. “Don’t lie. I saw your face.”

Phil glanced around, then back at her. “She’s… she’s something else. The way she just… took over. Fuck Sav, I felt like I was actually in the fifteenth century for a second.”

Savannah’s brain spun. She was always in charge. She called the shots, decided how rough, made Phil beg and eat her out until she was shaking. But watching that knight turn her husband into a blushing, stuttering wreck in half a minute did something filthy to her. Her cunt was already wet and throbbing, and there were still hours to go.

She licked her lips. “You know, we could fuck around with that. Play pretend. You’re the pathetic merchant, she’s the big bad knight. I’ll watch the booth while you get on your knees for her.”

Phil’s eyes widened. “You serious?”

Savannah shrugged, trying to sound bored even as her cunt throbbed. “Why not? It’s just a game. She obviously gets off on bossing people around. I’d love to see you squirm for once.”

Phil let out a shaky laugh, but his cock twitched harder against her thigh. “You’re evil, Sav. You know that, right?”

She grinned and grabbed his cock through his breeches, squeezing hard enough to make him gasp. “You fucking love it. Now sell some tankards before I haul you behind the booth and suck you off so you don’t embarrass yourself when she comes back.”

The afternoon crawled. Every time someone mentioned the jousts, Savannah pictured Juliana’s armor and the way she’d made Phil look like a whipped puppy. By sundown, Savannah’s bodice was strangling her tits, her thighs were slick and chafing, and Phil kept sneaking looks at her red face, grinning like he knew she was ready to fuck him stupid.

They were packing the last of the unsold goods when the armor clanked again.

Juliana stood at the edge of the booth now without her helmet. Her dark hair was damp with sweat, and her cheeks carried a healthy flush from the day’s exertions. She looked even taller without the helmet. Stronger. The linen shirt beneath her half-unbuckled breastplate clung to her chest, outlining full breasts and hard nipples.

“Scholar,” she said without preamble. “Your wares interest me. Show me the rest. In private.”

Phil froze, hands stuck on a half-folded rag. Savannah’s mouth went dry. This was moving fast—faster than she’d meant. She should have said no, set some rules. Instead, her voice came out hungry and desperate.

“Our camper is just behind the row, my lady. We have better light there. And mead. If it pleases you.”

Juliana’s eyes locked on Savannah’s for a long beat. Something flickered there, amusement mixed with hunger. “It pleases me, wench. Lead the way.”

Savannah’s legs wobbled as she led them to the camper. Phil trailed behind, lugging their best stuff. Every step made her feel the wet mess between her legs, her nipples raw against the velvet. Juliana’s stare burned into her ass, making her want to bend over and let the knight take her right there.

Inside, the air was cooler but heavy with sweat and nerves. Savannah fumbled with the lanterns. Phil dumped the chest on the table. Juliana ducked in, filling the whole damn camper. She stripped off her breastplate and let it crash to the bench. Her linen shirt was soaked, see-through in spots, her tits and nipples on full display. Savannah stared, cunt throbbing.

“Pour the mead scholar,” Juliana ordered. “And you wench. Help me with the rest of this steel. My shoulders ache from the lists.”

Savannah’s hands shook only a little as she stepped forward. The buckles were stiff with use. Her fingers brushed warm skin and hard muscle as she worked them loose. Juliana smelled like sweat and metal and something wild. When the last pauldron came free, Savannah stepped back, heart pounding.

Juliana rolled her shoulders and stretched. The motion made her tits strain against the thin linen. She took the tankard Phil offered and drank deep. A drop of mead ran down her chin and dripped onto her chest.

“Good,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Now. Tell me, merchant. How does a man like you end up selling cups with a wife who looks like she was bred for sin?”

Phil’s face turned beet red. Savannah’s neck burned, but her cunt squeezed tight at the filthy way Juliana talked about her.

“We… we both love history,” Phil managed. “The Faire lets us live it a little.”

Juliana set the tankard down and stepped closer to him. She towered over Phil by a good four inches. One hand came up and traced the line of his jaw.

“History is full of men who knelt for stronger women,” she said softly. “You have the look of one who would kneel beautifully. Wouldn’t you scholar?”

Phil was panting. Savannah stood by the door, staring at the bulge in his pants. She’d never seen him this hard, not even after an hour of grinding her cunt on his face.

“I… maybe,” he whispered.

Juliana smiled slowly and predatorily. “On your knees then. Let’s see how well you bow.”

Phil dropped. Just like that. His knees hit the thin carpet with a soft thud. Juliana looked over at Savannah.

“And you wench. Stand there and watch. Hands behind your back. No touching yourself. Understand?”

Savannah’s mouth hung open, useless. Her clit throbbed so hard she thought she might come just from standing there. She nodded, shoved her hands behind her back, tits jutting out. Juliana looked her over like a piece of meat, then ignored her.

“Good girl,” she murmured. Then to Phil, “Now kiss my boot, scholar. Show me how grateful you are that a real knight bothered to stop at your pathetic little stall.”

Phil bent down and kissed the filthy leather. The back of his neck went red, his shoulders shook. Savannah felt her cunt drip down her thigh, untouched and desperate.

Juliana threaded her fingers through Phil’s hair and guided his mouth higher. Up the leather. Over the grave. Until his face pressed against the inside of her thigh, where the armor ended, and warm skin began.

“Smell that scholar,” Juliana said, voice dropping lower. “That’s what a woman who spent all day conquering looks like. Taste it.”

Phil’s tongue came out. He licked a long, slow stripe up her inner thigh. Juliana sighed and widened her stance. Savannah could see the damp spot forming on the front of Juliana’s breeches. Could smell the thick musk of aroused cunt mixing with the leather and metal.

“That’s it,” Juliana praised. “Slow. Show your wife how a man properly serves a knight.”

Savannah’s knees wobbled. She wanted to finger herself so bad her hands shook behind her back, nails digging in. All she could do was watch Phil lick Juliana’s thigh like it was the only thing that mattered, while the knight shoved her crotch in his face.

The knight looked over at Savannah again. Her eyes were dark and knowing.

“See something you like, wench?” she asked. “Because this is only the beginning. By the time this Faire ends, your scholar husband is going to know exactly who his cock belongs to. And you…” She smiled slowly and cruelly. “You’re going to learn what it really means to serve.”

Savannah gasped. Her cunt clenched so hard she nearly came without anyone even touching her.

She had started this game thinking she could control it.

She was already fucked.

And she’d never been this wet in her life.