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This was to be a last act of valor, one final showing of unwavering faith for one’s country and the iron will to defend all who lived within its borders. A sacrifice from which there would be no walking away from…and in his wizened years, Sir Alonsier had no qualms with seeing his life brought to a close by the bite of enemy steel. Or so he had thought.
For in the many years he had served, nothing else could measure up to the sights he bore witness to on the day his battalion had been called upon to repel an enemy force. Their enemies were like wind, impossibly swift while foregoing the use of conventional armaments. Striking with trailing cloths with edges sharper than the edge of any sword while nimble steps carried them through the air like deadly feathers…and the most unusual of all; they were women. Remarkably beautiful with merciless ferocity in pearly red eyes, all with differing shades of skin tone ranging from alluring ochre to sun-kissed khaki with ears that came to a point instead of rounded lobes. A blow against his own creed to never lay a hand on a member of the fairer sex when he quickly became the last man standing, even if they appeared inhuman. Calling upon all he knew just to repel a myriad strikes from all directions, going toe-to-toe against superior adversaries he knew could not be allowed to pass until all the life in his body was drained. Suffering cuts and bruises wherever the women’s flowing weapons touched, proving their efficacy as chainmail and plate armor begins to fall apart against their combined onslaught. All while a hidden spectator watches on from the sidelines, showing no signs of animosity but rather simple curiosity and analytical tact, nodding as if a decision had been made in their mind after realizing this valiant old man would not go down so easily.
Despite the damage, Sir Alonsier would keep up the fight, keeping pace where his comrades could not. Almost as if he were a participant in a brutal dance, one that would begin to have an unusual effect on the seasoned knight as life seems to flow into his weathered being. Tenderizing stiffened layers of flesh and muscle around bones cleansed of disease and age, a mysterious process that leaves the skin protecting it all rejuvenated and smooth, albeit with an odd removal of body hair that leaves the knight looking rather…’new’ despite his bloodied history. But as more and more pieces of armored apparel fall away, it becomes all too clear that this supposed act of the divines was nothing more than a ploy, encouraging Sir Alonsier to continue fighting, all while his own footwork and the careful hand movements that allowed him to stay alive for so long begins to take on a more graceful air, blocking with less frenetic swings and more precise maneuvers that took little energy from slender arms to perform, while heavy footfalls with legs that were once gaunt and sullen begin to lessen. Stepping onto and off of firm soles like agile bunny hops, pivoting on raised heels to effect a hastened response time that allows for strikes of his own through masterful flicks of a waifish wrist with a blade that had become longer and flimsier…a lot like the ones wielded by his enemies.
But once the last piece of a frayed tunic falls away, that comparison cements itself yet further through a subtle darkening of Sir Alonsier’s sweat slick hide, gaining a glazed tan while unmistakably firm yet plump pockets of lady fat seed themselves across a body that could no longer be qualified as one worthy of a sworn knight. Gaining not a hint of recognition from the imperiled knight who seemed possessed by the rigorous fervor of dance even when graying threads of flayed hair extends out from the top of an effeminate visage stripped of its years into lustrous locks of ebony tinted with garnet flair, pirouetting with newfound sensual grace that far exceeds those of noblewomen trained since young in the arts. Adding hypnotic sway from a bony flank reshaped into fertile hips and primal thrusts from a toned belly superseding wasted abs to paint an image reminiscent of the foreign warrioresses surrounding Alonsier, their arms laid low, eyes fixated on their opponent…or rather, what was left of him as he continues to dance. Each maneuver coaxing new organs to life within the buxom body of the flowering woman taking shape from the compromised knight, discarding the haggard expression of someone fighting to survive for a stale and lifeless mask despite the energetic movements put on by a jiggling body, with subtle hints of confusion and dread seen in slightly parted lips that looked the type to whisper vulgar things down a man’s ear and a furrow to a sleek browline, leaving the last vestiges of Alonsier to wink out and fade as steel hued irises within sultry lashes darken before being overcome by the same shade of brooding scarlet seen in all the other women, growing a sizeable pair of appealing tits burdened with mother’s nectar out the front of a lithe torso to match the weight of a cushioned ass to complete a voluptuous silhouette lined with tone gleaned not from swordsmanship but from an art practiced in distant lands. A place the exotic dancer now called home as she comes to the end of her performance, lengthened sash blade laid down by her side. Standing in a midst of ruined armor from a fallen enemy and a half-circle of her fellow women to welcome the approach of their Master as he comes to a stop before her. Making her heart race as firm hands lift her chin to inspect the sharpened tips of her sensitive ears, loosening curly strands of well kempt hair in the process that tumble down the sides of her chest before unabashedly singing a rousing song in a voice most titillating upon the Master’s brazen daring as a girthy thumb parts her virgin folds, feeling her vulva flex and squeeze in earnest need as a liberal coating of ejaculate shoots all over his hand. Consumed by estrus fueled by the innate urge to replace what had been lost, a hunger that could never be quelled for as long as she lived…and a reward by the commander of the foreign invasion force for Alonsier’s resistance, a fate shared by all the other femme fatales that composed the man’s harem as he leads them back across the border…
In the time it took to return to her home, the defeated knight’s homeland would be left to crumble against the enemy’s superior tact and military might. A terrible outcome that didn’t matter one bit to the newest dancer draped in exquisite raiments that highlights every last inch of her perfect body performing for her Master’s enjoyment in the resplendent halls of their palace. Not when all memory of the vanquished had been replaced by cherished memories of being a part of the Master’s harem and a fabricated life as a native girl raised to become a bodyguard for a high ranking official, coming to work under a man she would come to respect. He was kind to all of them in comparison to the other slothful commanders in the military who abused the divine power entrusted to them by the ruling hand, treating her and her fellow guards like wives to be loved instead of dolls to be used and ordered around as was to be expected from those in her line of work. And that made the yearning to defend him should the need arise all the more stronger alongside the evergrowing want to see her tummy swell with his progeny in the distant future. Maybe after this endless string of conquests the royalty kept sending them off on was done and over, unable to help but think what kind of father he’d be while locking eyes with the Master as he watches her every move in turn, saved from embarrassment by the decision to plug her dribbling snatch, barely hidden away beneath a glimmering loincloth with cotton before she came to perform. A little tip her fellows had passed to her on the night she had given her womanhood to the Master, as kind and skilled as he was in the arts of lovemaking, there was a time and place for everything…and dancing was a sacred art not to be disturbed by the idea of destroying another bed…
For now, Anisa was more than happy with the way things currently stood. And if anymore ‘sisters’ were lucky enough to find themselves coming under the Master’s wing, maybe she could practice some of her growing maternal instincts by showing them the ropes~
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A valiant knight aspires to fight to the end, catching the enemy commander's attention (and admiration)...
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