261. Forever Young
Amy decides to try seducing the swordsman. If there’s one thing her sexual experiences have taught her, it’s that the surest way to a nerd’s heart is through his blue balls, and what is this guy but a giant fencing nerd?
“Hold!” says Amy. She drops her sword and puts her hand in the air. Guy brings down the point of his blade, but keeps it in hand.
“I believe,” says Amy, “that I might have a solution, a cure for your broken heart. If I can teach you to love again, would you be willing to allow me to pass?”
Guy eyes her suspiciously, “If what you say is true, then I could see allowing you to pass through this hallway. But be warned that I will not take chicanery lightly! If you should fail, a fate worse than death awaits you!”
Amy thanks the fencer and runs back the way she came. At the exit she finds her way barred by the twin pole axes. The suits of armor that hold them look to the swordsman, who nods. The suits begrudgingly move the axes out of Amy's way, and she rushes into the Grand Hallway. She finds the various clothes she’s collected and starts stripping off her own clothes.
“Heart-print panties are cute, but I feel like this guy wants something a bit more old-fashioned,” says Amy to herself, “This fancy stuff should knock his socks off. Or his hose. Or whatever he’s wearing.” Amy, now naked, slides the pink silk thong up her legs and pulls it snug around her waist. She pulls on the garter belt, then rolls the twin purple stockings up her legs. She considers leaving her bra on out of modesty, then decides it would be wiser to leave it off. “Why leave the big guns in the holster?” she thinks to herself, “This dude probably hasn’t seen a nipple in two hundred years, if ever.” She quickly inspects herself in a mirror. She removes her glasses and fluffs up her hair, then practices a few sexy looks before heading back to the portrait gallery.
“Hello, big boy!” She announces her presence at the entrance to the portrait gallery. Arms akimbo, hands on her hips, legs spread to display her silky pink thong with lacy black trim, chest out-thrust to show off her round, perky tits. Amy licks her lips while looking at the man with her best hungry, animalistic bedroom eyes. Guy’s eyes are wide. His mouth drops open. His sword clatters to the ground.
Amy begins marching down the hallway in her best impression of a model on the catwalk; arms swinging wide, hips swaying, wriggling as she goes. Her breasts bounce in time with her stride and she notes with pleasure that Guy can’t take his eyes off of them. Finally she’s arm’s length away. She stares him straight in the eye for a few seconds, parts her lips, then grabs his head with both hands and pulls him in for a kiss. As soon as their lips meet she shoves her tongue into his mouth while her right hand works its way down to grab his butt.
“Mmmm, oh, Guy!” she moans as she pulls back from the kiss and Guy sputters for air, “You’re just sooooo manly! I can’t wait to wrap my lips around your big cock!” With that she begins feeling around the front of Guy’s pants, hoping to find some entrance. With luck, the sucker will finish at the first touch and she won’t have to put any part of him in her mouth. Amy rolls her eyes as she thinks that it wouldn't be the first time that an undersexed nerd with an itchy trigger finger had saved her from a mouthful of limp sausage.
Guy pulls back, “Unhand me, you ravenous whore! You deceitful slattern! You think to disgrace fair Helene’s memory by comparing her tender ministrations to your ungodly seductions!” Guy begins reaching into a small pouch attached to his belt, “Your speech is fair, but you’ve shown yourself to be nothing but a common harlot! Now everyone will see you for what you truly are!” He pulls out his hand to reveal a small amount of sparkly dust. He holds it palm-up and blows a pile of it in Amy’s direction. Amy is blinded by sparkles of light, then the world goes black. But not for long.
A new portrait is added to the gallery, toward the back, depicting a rather salacious subject. A young woman with brown hair and blue eyes leans back on a bed. She wears nothing but a black lace garter belt, a pink silk thong with black lace trim, and deep purple stockings. Her left leg is bent with the foot resting on the bed. Her right leg stretches out to the floor. The woman’s left hand cups her breast, the index and middle finger teasing her nipple. The right hand is ensconced in the front of her panties, an indentation in the front showing where her index finger is teasing her clitoris. The woman’s mouth is open in a silent scream of ecstasy; her eyes are half-closed.
Amy surveys what she can see from her new resting place on the wall of the portrait gallery. She remains frozen in place, unable to move, forever in a state of almost-climax. Her right index finger sits poised on her tingling clitoris, but, being unable to move, she must endure the torment of an eternity with a persistent itch that she just can’t scratch. Her eyes remain half-open, where she must endure the demeaning looks of the gallery’s occasional visitors, along with their disparaging remarks about the sort of slut who would pose for such a revealing portrait.
Amy is in no condition to continue her adventure.