She screamed and writhed under him, rolling her hips to move him deeper inside her. The sheet he'd handed her to bite down on was long gone, and he was sure the whole of Camelot's lower town could hear her loud appeals but he was too far gone to care. He fucked into her hard and fast, his fingers digging into the meaty flesh of her hips and his pelvis crashing into her backside. He bit his lip to stop the onslaught of moans from escaping his lips and shut his eyes tightly. His thrusts quickened, he could feel the heat building in the pit of his stomach, he knew was close. Suddenly his whole body jerked, and he rutted into her once more before pulling out, mouth open in a silent "o" as he spilled his seed onto her backside. After coming down from his post-orgasm high and leaving the still-writhing woman on the bed he stood, grabbing a towel from the nightstand and cleaning himself before pulling up his trousers and re-lacing them. He walked across the room, stepped into his shoes, and grabbed his cloak, taking out the small bag of gold he'd stashed in the hood. He walked back to the bed, the well-sated woman staring him down from it like an animal would it's prey.

"How much?" he asked, taking a few pieces of gold from the bag.

"After that performance, I'd feel wrong if I took your money. I suppose an encore would be out of the question?" She said, licking her lips seductively and spreading her legs.

"Yes, it would." He said. Irritated, he pulled on his cloak quickly and walked to the door.

"Goodnight, my lord." She said, and he closed the door behind himself.

The night was cold and blustery, and as he walked he drew the cloak further in around him, pulling up the hood to hide his face. He moved silently through the lower town, taking back ways and alleys to avoid running into any patrol guards. He knew all the hidden passages of the castle and traveled as such, taking the even less traveled of the least traveled. Upon reaching his chambers he took off his hood, stepping past the guard who stood at the door and walking inside. Once inside, he took off his cloak and put it in the dresser then fell into his large four poster bed. It was Saturday, and as it was such he knew that his wife would be warming Lancelot's bed. So he lie alone, stretching his limbs and sprawling about the large bed. He thought about his day, the well-spoken young peasant woman that had petitioned the court on behalf of her ailing father for assistance on their land, the beautiful farm boy that had come to get permission to sell his harvest at the next market day, the dinner he ate alone, and his subsequent visit to the lower town. He thought about Lancelot and his wife, the pain he saw in his knight's eyes every time Guinevere was forced to take her place beside her King. He thought about his manservant, the twinkle he saw in his eyes every time he himself entered the room, the witty banter they had between themselves, and his bravery despite his limited fighting skills. After a while, though his mind still raced, he felt sleep beginning to creep upon him and he succumbed, wrapping himself around one of the large pillows and drifting off.