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You're wearing the most beautiful scarlet gown any woman could dream of and riding a magnificent horse through the streets of a beautiful stone city, in the south of Italy. The sun turns the edge of your long auburn curls into gold. On both sides of the street, dozens of people are admiring your beauty and poise. And yet the only thing you want to do right now is take all those yards of velvet off your body and have a glass of something really cold, until a stern voice reminds you why you're enduring all that nonsense.
"Cut!"
It's the director of the television series you work in. You are a stunt rider and a horse specialist, and today you're working as the stunt double of Lucrezia Borgia. You just filmed several scenes in which you rode at a slow pace through the stone paved streets and finally went up a set of stairs on horseback; you've repeated it for more than ten takes, and you could really use a rest. The pretty actress who plays the Borgia lady is also there among the crew, surrounded by a small group of fans and attendants, in a velvet brocade dress identical to your own and a similar golden wig. As long as the camera doesn't point directly at your face, no one can tell the difference.
"It's a wrap for the day! Everybody go home and rest!" Shouts the assistant director to the crowd.
You dismount, take the horse's reins and lead it to the stables. Its name is Dijon. It's a black Frisian horse, solidly built and very good to work with in front of a camera. It's also very tall, a huge beast more suitable for a big man, and you look unusually small and feminine when you're riding it.
Despite having worked for hours, Dijon seems quite restless. It had to walk with a particularly slow gait on the cobbled streets, and what it really wants now is a good race before the night falls. The horse pulls on the bridle a couple of times trying to get ahead of you, until you finally get the message. You go into the small area of the stables that doubles as your dressing room, take off your shoes and also your wig, releasing your real hair underneath. Then you take the saddle and the blanket off the horse, lead it outside and mount again, heading to the fields that surround the small city. The animal is thrilled to be free of the saddle, and you let it go wherever it wants to, speeding down the hill with its mane in the wind. You tilt your head up and close your eyes, loving the familiar sensation of freedom that you always get when you're galloping. A triumphant cry escapes you, like the call of a bird of prey.
Suddenly the horse stops abruptly beside a group of trees, and you're startled by a burst of laughter. There is a young man leaning on one of the trees, and he seems to be enjoying the view. At first you think he's one of the locals, but his skin is too pale for an Italian, his intriguing blue-green eyes too foreign. It must be one of the new extras, you think after seeing he's dressed in leather trousers and an elaborate green and black doublet with silver studs. You blush for a second thinking how the attractive stranger is seeing you: barefoot, sweaty, with your hair sticking to your forehead and the velvet court dress all wrinkled and gathered below your knees.
"Good evening, my lady", he says with a head inclination and a cheeky little smile. You think he has obviously mistaken you for the actress who plays Lucrezia.
"Please don't bow. And stop acting as if I were the lady of the castle... I'm just her stunt double."
"I bet she's not as good a rider as you", he remarks, walking towards the horse and petting its mane. Dijon seems to like the stranger, but you don't dismount. Better safe than sorry. "What a magnificent beast. It wouldn't look bad in my father's stables."
"Your father keeps horses?"
"Hundreds of them."
"And you work as an extra in a series? I bet you're doing it just to piss your family off."
"Everything I do seems to have that effect lately." His smile disappears for a second and you're about to apologize, but the cloud over his expression fades as quickly as it arrived, and he seems cheerful again. "Is the horse yours? What is your name? And what does a stunt double do exactly?"
"My, aren't you curious? What question shall I answer first?"
"All of them."
You laugh again. "But it's getting late, I should be returning Dijon to the stables."
"Then I'll ride with you, and we'll speak on the way. Your splendid horse can carry the two of us."
"Not so fast, prince charming. I don't even know you."
"My name is Loki. You can call me Prince if you want. Dijon seems to like me. And a lady as lovely as you wouldn't abandon me here in the middle of nothing... would you?" He lets go of the horse's mane and, with a swift movement, mounts behind you. There is no saddle, no stirrups, nothing solid to hold on while he pulls himself up, but he does anyway.
"When was the last time someone denied you anything... Loki?"
"I don't remember. Give me the reins", he says with a disarmingly boyish smile.
He holds them in one hand and circles your waist with his free arm. His fingers are icy cold, and the cooling sensation through the thick fabric of your bodice sends goosebumps down your spine. He's an experienced rider, and soon the steed trots obediently towards the town. The sun is setting right in front of you, so you close your eyes to prevent the bright light from hurting them. You can feel the movement of the horse's muscles behind you and the lean body that supports your back. It feels dangerously exciting to have him so close, and you wonder if he's having the same thoughts. As if he read your mind, you are surprised by the sensation of Loki's cool breath on your neck, followed by the light touch of his lips against your skin.
"Careful, prince charming, or I will kick you off the horse", you whisper, reaching to slap him away from you.
"You will do no such thing, my sweet", he teases, getting hold of your hand and pinning your arms to your sides. You realize, alarmed, that he has let go of the reins.
"Are you insane? Now Dijon will go anywhere but where you want it to!"
"Dijon will do as I please. And so will you." His voice has turned husky, somewhat dominant. "The horse knows who is in command, knows what the rider wants, and there's no need for me to use restraints. Do you know what I want... what I've desired since I laid eyes on you?"
You stop struggling and growl back at him. "I'm perfectly aware of it, but there's no need to immobilize me on top of my own steed. I still have a saying on what goes on here, and I can play tricks too", you say, arching your back to grind against him, your backside against the bulge in his trousers. The layers of fabric prevent you from feeling his arousal, but a sharp intake of breath from Loki tells you the trick is working.
"Damn it, woman! Stop that or I will throw you to the ground and have my way with you here and now" Loki snaps, but you can tell he's smiling as he starts nibbling the soft skin of your shoulder. Your arms are free again, and you maneuver one of your legs over the horse's neck until you sit side-saddle, facing him at last. He pulls you into a deep kiss while you throw your arms around his neck, playfully fidgeting with the collar of his shirt.
The ride comes to a sudden halt and you open your eyes again to realize you've reached your destination. Your fellow rider jumps to the ground and helps you dismount before leading the horse through the door of the stable. He closes and bolts the door behind you while you take Dijon to his booth and make sure it has enough water and hay. Now that you're finally alone with your unlikely prince you can't bring yourself to look at him, and when you finally turn around you see he's halfway up the steps that lead to the haystack, glancing at you with the most lustful look you've ever received.
"Upstairs. Now." You open your mouth trying to think of a witty remark, but he grabs your hand and pulls you close, making your head spin. The best you can do is try not to trip over the steps while you attempt to compose your very disheveled gown.
"I swear this is the last time I work in a medieval production... this dress is a cage", you complain, tugging at the velvet fabric to get everything into place, with little success.
"And what a magnificent cage it makes for such a pretty bird", he teases, running his hands along the gold embroidery. "Let's get you out of it before you faint in my arms." He traces lines across your ribs with his long fingers before attacking your lips again. The kisses grow less playful and more passionate, and you really feel you're going to faint from lack of air. His hands fumble at the laces of your bodice, trying to free your breasts while you undo the clasps of his doublet. Smooth and cold under your touch, his pale skin seems carved in alabaster, and when he finally takes off his shirt you hold your breath for a second, admiring his figure, before he embraces you again.
Loki lays you down on the hay and starts leaving a trail of kisses down your neck while you moan softly, your hands running through his hair and down his back. He tries to gather up your skirt, but the many layers of dress, overdress and petticoats between you and his hands make it a difficult task, and you let out a frustrated groan. It usually takes you more than an hour to get into that gown, and half an hour to undo all the buttons and laces. You feel suffocated, imprisoned, and reach up to tug at the cords that keep the outfit in place, but he holds your wrists and pins them down.
"Be still and close your eyes. I will undress you", he mutters in your ear, biting gently on your lobe to reinforce his words.
You obey, sighing in frustration again, fearing that your growing passion will be delayed, but after a moment you start breathing more easily. The laces are coming undone, by themselves, while Loki holds your arms over your head. Your mind is fuzzy from the heat and it takes you a moment to comprehend what's happening. When he lets go of your wrists you look down to see that the dress has slid off your body completely, as if nothing held it in place anymore. You struggle to get out of the pile of fabric and toss it aside, until there's only a muslin chemise covering you.
"Do the people at production know they hired a magician?" You wonder aloud, looking at the dress as if it had suddenly developed a mind of its own. Loki's only answer is a wicked smile before he claims your attention again, teasing your nipples through the thin fabric before covering them in hungry kisses. You enjoy the hot feeling of his tongue over the muslin that your sweat has turned almost transparent. After a moment you reach the edge of the chemise to take it off, and receive a quick slap on the wrist.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"I said I would remove your clothes." His long fingers get entwined in the neck of the garment. "When and how I please, not a moment before." He pulls at it, ripping the fabric apart in one slow movement that sends a wave of electricity through your limbs. His gaze is fixed in yours, and when his hand traces a path down your stomach you tilt your head up to kiss him again, whimpering when his fingers finally reach the wetness between your legs. You bite your bottom lip when a finger slides into you, rocking your hips against his hand, your body begging for attention. After what seems a very short moment the touch is gone, leaving you empty and deprived.
Loki is undoing his leather trousers now and you try to help him, hands shaking. He lets you pull the trousers down while he gets rid of his boots, and then guides your hand to his already stiff member. You stroke him gently while you cover his chest with kisses, licking and biting, leaving a wet trail along his torso on your way down before taking him in your mouth. A lean, strong hand caresses your hair while your lips slide up and down his shaft, your tongue licking softly at the head. He pulls away before his throbbing passion reaches the limit and suddenly his mouth and hands are on you, everywhere, exploring every inch of your skin, setting you on fire. You lay on your back and move your legs slightly apart, letting Loki know you're ready for him, but instead he grabs your waist and puts you on top, straddling his lap.
"Ride me."
His husky voice makes your throat dry. His eyes seem to have darkened, and his smile has been replaced by a feral and hungry expression. You lean forward a bit and impale yourself on him, feeling how your body stretches to accomodate his length while your hips begin a slow grind. His hands circle your waist, gripping it and making you move against him, sliding in and out in a wild dance, his hips thrusting to meet yours faster and faster; he sits up, licking and biting your nipples, and slips one hand between your bodies to press against your clit, sending you over the edge until you can't resist it any more and your pleasure explodes, clenching on his member and letting your head fall back with a dismayed sigh. But your lover hasn't had his release yet, and he lifts you off him to position you face down on the hay, on your hands and knees.
"My turn for the ride now, love. Remember what I told you before about horses? The rider picks the pace, the rider commands." He leans forward to kiss the side of your neck and you can feel his cock entering you from behind, slowly at first, his fingers digging into your hips as he increases the rhythm. Deeper, harder. You abandon yourself to the wave of sensation and let him pump into you violently, wordlessly, pulling your hair, biting your neck, making your legs shake, never slowing down until his thrusts become erratic and he reaches his climax with a wild cry.
With your last bit of strength you roll over to face him and he falls on top of you, resting his head between your breasts. The two of you just lay there, so spent, so drained that it takes you a while to come back to your senses.
After a few moments Loki brushes your lips with his, lightly, tenderly.
"That was a trip to heaven, my lady."
"That was a hell of a ride, prince charming."
Loki laughs softly while you pick a stray bit of hay from his black hair. The boyish smile appears again. The darkness is gone.
He cradles you in his arms and holds you close as you both drift off to sleep.
