“That’s better,” she said with a nod. “That’s how naked we should all be for what’s coming next.”
Ragnell smiled at Fleur’s words. Despite having just come, a frisson of excitement washed over her at the thought of what was about to happen. She was looking forward to pleasuring Fleur and watching her expression as the pure joy overcame her, just as it had last time.
“Your wish is my command, my lady,” she said, enjoying the act of being at her friend’s beck and call. She unfastened her corset and let it fall to a heap at her ankles.
Fleur’s eyes were glazed through her hooded eyelids. She took in Elaine’s slim frame and small sweet breasts, then ran her gaze over Ragnell’s naked body. Her smooth dark skin glowed from the firelight, and her dark pink nipples appeared black in the shadow.
“You’re so different, yet both so beautiful.” Fleur rose from her knees and walked away from the kitchen through the short tunnel of a hall and into Ragnell and Gawain’s marital chamber.
Ragnell and Elaine exchanged glances.
“I’d like to taste her,” Ragnell said. “You suckle her breasts to stimulate the flow of her cream, and then we’ll lap at it together.”
Elaine nodded, then rose from her chair, grasped Ragnell’s hand, and pulled her away from the kitchen in the direction Fleur had disappeared.
They entered Ragnell’s bedchamber to find Fleur sprawled across the bed, her arms and legs splayed open. Her pussy hair was wet and matted, and white drops of her milk graced the hair, making it glisten like jewels.
Ragnell sat between Fleur’s legs and stroked one finger lightly over her mound. Fleur bent her knees and bucked her back in response. She purred like a wildcat ready to mate.
“Oh, no you don’t. Not yet.” Elaine held Fleur’s shoulders down against the bed and crouched at her side. “You keep still and let me suck your breasts until you’re screaming out for us both to lap at your cunt like hungry kittens.”
“Yes,” Fleur said in a throaty whisper. “Yes, I’d like that.”
Elaine sank onto the bed and clasped her lips firmly around one of Fleur’s hard teats. She released her grip on one of Fleur’s shoulders to cup the smooth breast. She gave the soft flesh a gentle squeeze, and Fleur moaned in response. Elaine sucked harder and clamped her mouth around more of Fleur’s breast. The nipple grew, filling Elaine’s mouth with its rough surface.
Fleur slammed a fist against the mattress. The will to come was so strong that she didn’t think she’d be able to hold on for much longer, but the dual sensation of having Elaine suck her breast and Ragnell play with her cunt was too good to hurry. She lifted her hips off the bed to push harder against Ragnell’s finger.
“I want that finger inside me,” she ordered.
“So authoritative,” Ragnell teased. She leaned forward and gave Fleur’s pussy a single lick before sitting back up again. “I think you’ll find I’m in control now, Fleur, my sweet. But I will show you what you have to look forward to when I decide the time is right.” Resting her surrounding fingers around the folds of Fleur’s sex, she pushed her middle finger inside her friend’s cunt. Her inner walls were soft and fleshy and clamped around her finger.
Fleur unleashed an agonized groan, a mix of pleasure and heady frustration. “May God grant me the love of my friends until our husbands are freed,” she whimpered.
“You’ll always have us, my love.” Slowly, Ragnell retracted her finger from Fleur’s body.
“Again,” Fleur objected. “Please, Ragnell, again. Probe me with your fingers until my cunt swims in wetness.”
“Be patient, now.” Ragnell’s own pussy buzzed from the thrill of being in control. “There’s something else I want to try first.” She adjusted her position to lay on top of Fleur, holding her upper body aloft with her arms, so as not to disturb Elaine, whose head rose up and down as she feasted on Fleur’s breast. Ragnell lined her pelvis up with Fleur’s and pushed her mound on top of that of her friend.
Ragnell’s coarse pussy hair scratched Fleur’s sensitive clit, catching it just in the right place to send her head into a spin. Fleur grabbed Ragnell’s buttocks and pushed her down harder.
“Grind your body onto mine,” she gasped. “As close as we can get.”
“I told you to be patient, my sweet. We go at my pace.” A renewed fire burned at Ragnell’s sex and, despite her words and will to hold back, she continued to rub herself against Fleur, unable to slow herself as she’d planned. As their wetness combined and their cunt hair dampened and flattened together, swollen flesh crept through, creating friction as their pussy lips moved against each other’s.
Fleur bucked again.
Without taking her lips from Fleur’s nipple, Elaine stretched out an arm across Fleur’s body to clutch her other breast in a bid to keep her still.
Ragnell’s temperature raged as she watched Elaine fondle and suck and Fleur’s expression contort as she experienced the heaven-like pleasure of having the mouth, fingers, and pussy of her friends massage her writhing body. The sight was spectacular. With her clit a bundle of throbbing nerves, Ragnell continued to masturbate against Fleur’s sodden pussy until every nerve popped and a plethora of colors flooded her head.
“Now, Elaine,” Ragnell managed to utter through the labored breaths of her orgasm. “Now’s the time we lap at her soaking wet pussy.”
Elaine lifted her head to reveal Fleur’s swollen pastel pink nipple, much bigger than the one she hadn’t sucked. Her eyes were hooded, and her normally plain face was serene and beautiful. She nodded, and positioned herself, along with a panting Ragnell, between Fleur’s parted legs.
Fleur opened her legs as wide as she could to allow both her friends to nestle their heads side by side at her sex. Two pairs of soft lips and two hot tongues nibbled, licked, and probed at her clit and the walls of her wet, wide open pussy. If Ragnell’s Gawain returned home now, he couldn’t fail to hear her cries, for she screamed out in unabashed pleasure. She had no idea whose tongue touched her where, just that it felt like pure bliss. Could sex with Parceval, once she experienced it, ever be this good, or would it be a disappointment compared to how other womenfolk made her feel.
She lifted her head and propped herself on her elbows to get a full view of the two women stimulating her orally. Ragnell bobbed her jet-black head up and down as she flicked the tip of her tongue against the burning peak of Fleur’s nub. The mousey head of Elaine ducked almost below Fleur’s sightline as she pushed her tongue inside Fleur’s milk-drenched cunt.
“Oh, God have mercy!” she cried out as the orgasm took hold, momentarily paralyzing her movements. Her clit pulsed uncontrollably, and her cunt contracted around Elaine’s tongue, still deep inside her.
Her friends allowed her time to recover from her pleasure before they gently lapped up the drops of her spilled juices. Once clean and all evidence of their secret fun removed by their mouths, Ragnell and Elaine climbed back onto the bed and lay beside Fleur. They rested in silence until each of them regained their equilibrium.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you two,” Elaine said, breaking the companionable silence. “In our hour of need, we’re there for each other. True friends.”
Fleur nodded her agreement and turned her head to face Ragnell. “Elaine’s right. And we really do appreciate what you’re doing for us, Ragnell. I know transforming can be dangerous, and it’s a brave thing attempting to trick Vivien, but we’ll be there for you. We’ll be watching and waiting, silently hiding in the distance. We won’t let that witch or her beloved queen hurt you.”
“Of that, you have our word,” Elaine concurred.
“I know,” Ragnell said. “I’ll transform tomorrow, and I won’t let you or the Knights of the Round Table down by being cowardly. That much, I promise.”
Chapter Four
Vivien snapped a sprig of thyme from the plant, rubbed it between her fingers, and sniffed. The pungent aroma cleared her lungs, and in her head, she was already plan
ning the spell concoction she would make later. Thyme made for a powerful anti-aphrodisiac spell. That would help her avoid the pull of the pendant. God knows she needed it, as she couldn’t deny she had been finding it more and more difficult of late to resist Guinevere’s sexual advances. She’d known when she made the pendant, it was more powerful than anything she’d created before, but she hadn’t bargained for just how all-consuming its effects would be.
She laughed to herself as she recalled the expression on Lancelot’s face when he departed the castle the evening prior. The muscles on his arms were full and firm, his thighs lean and toned. He was battle-ready, that was certain. Going to bed with Guinevere had succeeded in renewing his strength. She would no doubt have seduced him into drinking the nectar from her nipples and the miraculous milk from her cunt. But it was his face that betrayed him. He looked as if he’d emerged from a fight with a beast rather than from a highly charged sexual encounter with a beautiful, powerful woman. His eyes had shone with fear, and his brow was furrowed. His dignity was spent. She could see that much.
She could almost smell his shame as he walked past her to take his leave from the castle and make the short walk back to his dwelling where his wife, Elaine, would be awaiting his return. Immediately, she’d be able to tell her husband had been fucking the queen.
A surge of joy shot up Vivien’s body. That was her favorite aspect of the pendant—the proof of their husbands’ infidelity was all too evident in the men’s hardened muscles and improved speed and agility. There was no hiding it.
In the silence of the garden, she laughed out loud. The knights may profess they do not wish to bed Guinevere, but they need her honey and milk to fight, and fight they must. Their honor as knights demanded it of them, and the idiotic imbeciles would never question the oath they made to their beloved Arthur, even now he’s dead.
It served the wives right! Served them all right. They should have been more respectful of her when she’d been Merlin’s lowly assistant, should have seen the potential in her then, rather than treating her like a wayward young witch who needed the guidance of their precious Merlin. She’d shown them all how much talent she possessed. And now they were sorry.
The sky was heavy with a dark silver mist, which brought with it a cutting chill. She tipped her chin and squinted as the moisture in the air clung to her eyelashes. Hugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders, she continued her walk through the castle’s wild herb garden, crouching now and again to collect handfuls of lavender, rosemary, and catnip.
A rustle behind her in the lavender patch caused her limbs to freeze and her heart to judder. What could that be? It’s only just daybreak. Even the animals have yet to rise.
She turned and saw an old woman bent over, inspecting the foliage.
“What are you doing here, old hag? This is the queen’s private herb garden. You are trespassing. Take your leave at once, before I turn you into a newt.”
The old woman shuffled around to face her company. Vivien noticed then that her feet were bare and horribly gnarled. On the end of her long toes were thickened yellow nails, which had grown so long they curled under to the balls of her feet. Vivien winced at the sight. She expected the woman to straighten up now that her attention had turned away from the lavender, but then she realized her spine was so curved, her permanent posture was that of a hunchback.
The old woman lifted her head as much as she could to look at Vivien. Her nose was large, far too big for her wrinkled face, and hooked down, almost touching her lips, which spread into a chapped smile. The dry flakes of skin on her lips stretched and cracked, revealing dots of blood. The smile exposed two black teeth, and a waft of stale breath escaped her mouth. Vivien’s guts shifted as she caught the smell—fish left to rot on her gums and layers of mead made for a vomit-inducing stench.
“Well, well. Might you be Vivien, the greatest sorceress in all of England?” Her voice, clear and crisp, belied her appearance. It sounded more like that of a maiden than of a crumbling old hag.
“That I am,” Vivien said, consciously straightening her spine in contrast to the woman’s hunch. “Who may you be, and why are you stealing herbs from the queen’s private garden?”
“Stealing?” The gray whiskers on the old woman’s upper lip danced on her exhaled breath. “Why, I am no thief! I have simply come to find you, my dear.” With that, she performed a curtsy. Inelegant as it was with her scrawny legs struggling to take the weight of her substantial girth, Vivien’s vigor relaxed slightly. No one had ever curtsied to her before.
“You came to seek me out? Now, why would you do that?”
The woman raised one bushy, gray eyebrow. Only then did Vivien notice her eyes were coated with a milky film, so thick her blue irises beneath were barely visible.
“I’d have thought that obvious,” she said. “For your reputation precedes you, Vivien. I hail not from Camelot, but from Varlion, a county north of here. Even there, the folk speak highly of your magic, your wisdom.” The woman paused for breath and sucked in two hairy nostrils full of air. “Of the courageous way you lured Merlin to his death, resulting in the demise of King Arthur.”
Vivien puffed out her chest and pushed her chin forward. The old woman was right. Only she and Guinevere had possessed the gumption to take action against Arthur and his pathetic warlock, Merlin, and defeat them. If it hadn’t been for their courage that day, the people of Camelot would still be bowing down to Arthur—the cruel brute he was, who would have had his own wife burned to death. Not that the ungrateful subjects of this land seemed to realize how better off they were under the queen’s rule.
“What I fail to understand,” the hag continued, “is why Guinevere is the one with the power when it was your ingenuity that fooled Merlin, the one everyone thought immortal, and led him to his demise. Why do they call her Queen when it is you who should receive their gratitude?”
Vivien narrowed her eyes. “You think Arthur deserved to die?”
“Why, of course, my dear. He sentenced his wife to death for her infidelity, so I’ve heard, and only agreed to spare her life because Sir Lancelot, the knight with whom she’d been unfaithful, requested her pardon.”
“My, my, word does get around, doesn’t it?” Vivien laughed, her breath visible in the dewy morning air. “But you’re right. Arthur only granted his wife pardon because his precious Lancelot asked it of him, even though he was the one responsible for the crime.”
“Why would he do such a thing? Honor the request of the knight who had betrayed his trust?”
Vivien wrinkled her nose, partly due to the woman’s rancid breath, and partly at how sickened she’d been at the way Arthur condemned his wife when Lancelot escaped with barely a chastisement. “Because…” She folded her arms in front of her chest. “…he couldn’t have The Round Table fall apart, now, could he? That ridiculous group of cretins meant everything to Arthur. He’d bend over backward for them.” She leaned forward and hissed her next words to the old woman. “Even when one of them was fucking his wife.”
The hag wrinkled her face even more than it already was. “In that case, Arthur deserved everything he had coming.”
Vivien gave a single nod. At least someone understood why she had agreed to help Guinevere overthrow her husband.
The hag raised one eyebrow and peered at Vivien. “How did you kill him?”
“Oh, I didn’t need to break a sweat by killing him. I simply prevented him from living by ensuring his naive little sidekick, Merlin, couldn’t reach him in time to save him in battle.” She put on a child’s voice and pretended to wipe away a tear. “And the poor king lost his life.”
“And Merlin?”
“Pah!” Vivien spat. “That charlatan? What of him?”
“Why was it necessary to kill him?”
“Look, old woman,” Vivien said. “You are far too curious for my liking. I do not know why you feel it appropriate to question me in this way. I’ll permit you a handful of lavender for whatever s
pell you are concocting, but then take your leave immediately from the queen’s garden. Good day to you.” She turned away and continued along the rows of herbs.
“Wait!”
Vivien halted as the pure tones of the old hag’s voice followed her. She turned to see the woman hobbling toward her as quickly as she could with her turned-in knees and gnarled feet.
“For the grace of God, old woman, what is it you want of me?”
“You didn’t kill Merlin, did you?” The woman’s lip curled into a hideous smile, causing the loose skin underneath her chin to wobble.
“How dare you question me! Of course I killed him. How do you think I came to be the queen’s sorceress? Do you see a decrepit wizard around the place? No? No, you don’t. Because Merlin is dead, trust me. I saw his wizened face, bloodless and blue, as he drew his last breath inside the tomb in which I trapped him.”
The woman’s smile faded, and her cloudy eyes widened. “You used your magic to defeat the greatest sorcerer in all of England?”
It was Vivien’s turn to smile. “I most certainly did.” She bent her knees to match the height of the hunched hag, picked out a feverfew flower from her basket, and held it out toward the woman. “Merlin was an utter moron, you see. But—” She heaved a melodramatic sigh for effect. “He was a moron who was in love with me. I told him I couldn’t possibly love him back until he taught me all his magic.”
She began pulling petals from the flower. “So, one by one, he taught me everything, the stupid bat that he was. Until—” She wrenched the final petal from the flower head, and suddenly the stem in her hand turned black and withered. “—I knew it all. At that point, he was useless to me.” She shrugged. “So I used one of his own spells against him to lure him into the tomb, where I trapped him.” She clapped her hands together, causing the blackened stem to turn to powder. She giggled as she brushed the dust from her palms. The irony of Merlin’s demise never failed to amuse her.
The Curse of Camelot Page 4
