Ingrid watched in wide-eyed wonder as the hall filled up, slowly but surely, with strange knights. There seemed to be no end to them, all these men who had come to joust, wrestle, and compete in the tourney, which would begin the next day. At twelve years of age, she had never been more than a mile from this very hall where she had spent her entire life, and so she had never truly seen a stranger before.
Now there were close to sixty strangers in the hall below, just now sitting down to eat supper at the long trestle tables Lady Joy, Ingrid's mother, had had brought out of storage for this occasion. After tonight, and until the final night of the tourney, the knights would take their meals in their own tents outside the castle walls, but tonight they had all been permitted inside, and Ingrid felt a little shiver of fear run up and down her spine: it seemed unnatural to allow so many big, warlike men into the castle.
"Come, Ingrid - you will sup with your nurse in the lady's bower," said Lady Joy, catching her daughter by surprise. Ingrid allowed herself to be led away to her boring supper in the safe, well-lit bower, though sounds of the feast and revelry from the hall below permeated even Jonquil Keep's thick stone walls.
Ingrid was awakened that night by a strange sound coming from her bedroom door. It was a rhythmic scratching sound. She could still hear the sounds of the feast from the hall - it would go on until dawn or until the last partygoer collapsed in exhaustion.
Curious, she went to her door and opened it to find her little pet dog outside, looking bedraggled and miserable, wagging its tail at the sight of her. And then Ingrid saw that the very end of the little animal's tail was gone - cut off! As with a knife or a sword!
She gasped in outrage. Immediately she comprehended that some drunken knight below stairs had sought to make a game of wounding the innocent little animal, and she was enraged.
Dressed in nothing but her nightshift, a thin gown of pale yellow linen, the little blond twelve-year-old dashed down the corridor and the stairs, and burst into the main hall.
Most of the people she found there were asleep, lying along wood benches by the walls. None of her brothers, her mother, her father, or even the usual knights she had grown up with at Jonquil were in evidence. In fact, the only ones still awake were a collection of perhaps ten large knights sitting near the hearth, still drinking and laughing loudly.
Ingrid stalked right up to them and exclaimed, "How dare you harm my puppy!"
A big knight with dark black stubble lining his square jaw lurched to his feet and stared down at her while the others fell silent, gazing at her intently.
"Your puppy?" he said.
"Aye! Someone has cut off the end of his tail!"
"Ah," said the knight, slowly, "it sometimes happens at a feast such as this one. I know how to make it grow back again."
"You do?" Ingrid blinked in surprise.
The knight nodded. "Is that the dog you mention?" He pointed at the puppy, which had followed her down into the hall. Ingrid nodded.
The man said, with a smile, "You must trust me, young lady, to know what to do. You have the power within you to heal the animal, but it must be me who helps you. Will you do as I say?"
"Aye, of course," said Ingrid, excitedly. She did not think anything was amiss when the man instructed her to climb up on the wood table and lie down on her back with her legs dangling over the side. She did feel a little hesitation when he told her she ought to pull her nightgown up to her waist and spread her legs, but she suspected that the knight came from a far off land - he had a Norman accent - and might know some kind of magic that she had never heard of.
Very gently, while the other knights around them watched and smiled silently, the big knight picked up the squirming puppy and gently began to poke the slightly bloody end of the little dog's tail between her legs. It tickled and felt strange, and stung a little, but Ingrid lay still as she felt the end of the dog's tail gently poking into the entrance of her tiny little cunt.
The knight sighed and said, "If you were a grown woman, this would work. But you are just a child, and your little cunt produces no wetness to heal the animal."
"Oh, no," said Ingrid, feeling as if she might cry. "Is there a way to make my cunt wet? Or should we go find my mother and ask her to heal the puppy?"
The knight smiled benevolently, and put the puppy down on the floor. He stepped between Ingrid's spread legs, took her by the hips, and drew her towards him, until her soft little pussy was pressed against the cold smooth metal of his codpiece. He began to rub his codpiece against her cunt by slowly grinding his hips at her, and he said quietly, "I can make your cunt wet, little one."
Ingrid began to feel fear. Immediately she knew that the big knight meant to rut her - she had seen her own father and brothers rape village girls and servant girls before
seen the act from a distance, and knew what it meant.
She said softly, "No, I do not want to."
"Do you not wish to heal your puppy?" the big knight breathed, slipping his hand between her legs and gently feeling her soft little cunt with his big, blunt fingers, spreading open her tender pussylips and caressing her bare little mound with his palm.
Ingrid said in a hesitant voice, "Aye, I wish to heal him."
"Then you must let me put my wetness in your cunt, little girl. Then we shall put the puppy's tail in you, and it will heal, and when he grows to be a big dog, he will be loyal to you and only you, forever."
The thought was sweet indeed. Ingrid nodded slowly, but she shivered when she heard the men around her begin to rise from their seats. The knight between her thighs continued to caress her pussy, gently poking one fingertip into her tight little opening, as the other men came to stand around the table, blocking out much of the firelight.
The big knight was breathing heavily as he removed his hand and began to grind his codpiece against her once more. Ingrid was a little surprised to feel a hint of tingling heat in her cunt, deep inside, and a little moisture, too.
The knight once more began to feel her hairless, bare little mound with his fingers while he undid his codpiece and let it fall away. Ingrid stared up at the ceiling and heard the knight whisper, "Some of that chicken fat, if you please, Willard."
The knight lathered the fat onto his hugely bloated cock. The veins on it were standing out, the head a dark purple with need. The other knights watched in tense, needy silence as he slowly spread the little girl's tiny pussylips open, revealing her soft slit and tiny hole. As one, they breathed in when he set the hot, fat head of his cock against her tiny hole and began to push inside of Ingrid's love sheath.
Ingrid bit her lip and moaned when she felt the knight begin to force his hot, heavy rod up into her tight channel. She felt every bump and gnarled vein on the hard shaft as it began to penetrate her tiny opening, tearing her skin a little. The knight moaned too, feeling the tight little girl cunt clamping and clenching in protest around the head of his cock as he began to force it into her.
The sight was incredible - the little blond girl, biting her lip, shivering and beginning to cry, her slender, pale thighs spread wide to accommodate his hips, her hairless slit split by his red, swollen cock that was slowly, by degrees, moving deeper up inside of her body.
With a groan, he could no longer stand to be gentle. He gripped her buttocks tightly, tilting her hips up towards him, and rammed into her with all of his weight, his cock pressing through her hymen and in one vicious thrust penetrating her to her cervix. He barely even heard her scream - he was in heaven, a tight hot cunt-sheath gripping and milking his cock as a slender little body writhed in agony beneath him.
The knight began to pound Ingrid, holding her steady beneath him as he slid his hot hard cock repeatedly in and out of her bleeding, slick, soft little pussy. He threw his hips against her over and over again, grinding his coarse pubic hair against her bald little mound with every thrust, until finally he could take no more. He lay down on her, crushing her against the table, and humped into her with fierce grinding thrusts, spearing her over and over again with his rod, until finally he jammed in as deeply as he could go and held there, unleashing his cum into her spasming cunt-sheath, spurting into her heavily four or five times until he had drained his clenching balls into her shuddering body.
When he drew himself out of her, another knight was there. Silently, the new knight penetrated the sobbing twelve-year-old, and immediately began to saw his thick, filthy cock rapidly in and out of her wet little pussy. When he came in her, he bit her shoulder and mauled her tiny little breasts with one hand while he ground his hips against her in rhythmic little circles, spraying her cervix with a hot heavy coating of semen.
Fifteen knights unloaded themselves into her poor little cunt during the night. Fifteen big, sweaty, dirty men plowed her soft young pussy with their hard rods, some of them taking her two or three times before collapsing in exhaustion. But they all ejaculated in her, and their moans of pleasure filled the hall, long after her sobs had waned to sniffles and then to silence as she fainted and became nothing more than a warm body to be raped over and over again.
Ingrid's mother found her daughter unconscious on the table in the morning, her nightgown gone, her small body smeared in cum and blood, a mixture of those elements seeping heavily from between her ravaged, swollen cuntlips.
At the end of the tourney, all the knights returned to the hall to take their final meal there before departing. Lady Joy poisoned the meat, the soup, and even the bread. She killed her husband, thirteen women, and sixty-seven men. Years later, she and Ingrid would agree that justice had been done.