Cevisa was alone in a cold, dark room. Midnight hair tickled her back to spite the gloom. She had long since given up shivering, naked though she was. It was an unwelcoming waiting room, but the light of hope kept her spirits high.
The stone below burned against her knees. Above, applause and stampedes alternated with increasing intensity. More people were filing in and more people were cheering as the day drew to a close. For the final contenders, the crowd would be deafening. For him, they might start a riot.
But until he arrived, Cevisa was alone in the spartan cell. She would endure anything until then, but she conceded that the floor was harsh on her knees, her posture was uncomfortable for every other bone in her body, and the frequent breezes, well, she could do entirely without those.
Still, she knelt with her head bowed, huddling inward as much as she could while still maintaining the proper form. She should be on her knees, ready for her sacred duty when he arrived. To be overly excited or to show weakness to the weather would be unbecoming. Any small error on her part could jeopardize his performance.
A wave of stamping feet and cheers died down, only to be immediately replaced by the clamour of a thousand bodies in motion. The last match was over, but was it time for his?
The dull padding of footsteps answered her question. From the room's sole entrance, he emerged. Half-clad in his armor, he stood in the doorway and took not one step further. His stony features betrayed no emotion, he did not even look at the sole occupant of the room.
But the spell was cast. On her hands and knees, Cevisa crawled forward. Between her passion and her dedication to form, she forgot about her discomfort. Her knees no longer burned, even though they now dragged upon the stone floor. Her free tits jerked and bounced against drafty bursts, but all she felt was pleasure.
Her wide, youthful eyes drank in every facet of his radiance. The broad scarred shoulders padded with thick cloth, the chiseled legs that would support her, the glinting eyes already set on the danger ahead. It was her duty to prepare him for that danger in the only way that she knew how. If she did her job and he did his, then this ritual would repeat in a week, a month, and that was all she wanted in this moment.
Her pace doubled and tripled with no regard for the pain when his hand casually drifted down. He still did not look at her as the flaps of cloth parted to reveal a plain cock, but a cock that she loved more than anything in the world.
Her legs dragged tightly together, bringing almost overwhelming stimulation. She could feel the wetness between her legs, the only reminder of the cold air. It clung and grew with each squeezing pull of a leg forward. It took nearly every ounce of willpower to ignore the urge to slide a hand back and finish herself then and there.
If there could possibly be any willpower not used for that particular restraint, it was used to prevent any attempts to fling herself upon that cock and wrap herself around her knight. The very thought of him filling her was enough to nearly trip her up.
With mere paces left between her and her prize, she struggled vainly to ignore the degradation of her circumstances. Her, naked on the floor, crawling towards the worship of a man, that delicious, beautiful cock, it was all too much to bear. Such thoughts would need to wait until a more appropriate time.
At long last, she was there. Slowly, she rose up onto her knees and reached out shaking hands. They found familiar warmth on the back of his sculpted legs and she dug in with her fingers, just to get a little closer.
