by Jean Roberta
Claire’s last girlfriend had been her first, back in high school, and they had done little more than kiss. Now, that secret affair seemed like ancient history. Sensations ran along the hot threads of Claire’s nerves, keeping her glued to the present, and every spark under her skin found its way to her cunt.
While Irene tormented Claire’s other nipple, Rosie tormented her mind. “This is just a taste, little tomboy. You can do us later on, but first we must show you the mysteries.” She giggled wickedly. “You see, we have toys.”
Irene pulled her mouth away. “Tools of seduction,” she corrected. “Implements of terror and delight. In my backpack.”
“Some in my bag,” said Rosie. “I remembered everything.”
Claire felt herself melting, felt as if her edges were dissolving in the very garden of her family home. The grass, the flowers, the hedge and the trees had never looked or smelled so fresh before. It wasn’t Midsummer Night, but Claire felt as if she were taking part in some important ritual. She couldn’t wait to be fucked.
“Here on the lawn,” explained Irene, “you need to get down on all fours.” Claire did as she was told. Rosie, in her role as an efficient servant, brought a dildo in its harness. Glancing behind her, Claire could see that it was clear and sparkly, made of some synthetic material that looked softer than plastic. Irene fastened the harness around her hips so that the magical cock stuck out at the right angle. She knelt behind Claire and guided her tool into Claire’s very wet opening. “Beloved,” she said to Claire’s back, “you are so much fun. We’ll take care of you.”
“Oh!” Claire moaned loudly when Irene pushed the dildo all the way in. She could have been calling the first syllable of Olivia’s name to the echoing hills. Irene gradually thrust harder and more rhythmically.
Rosie stood in front of Claire so that her reddish-brown bush and its pungent smell were close to Claire’s nose. “Lick me,” she commanded. “It will be good for your concentration.” Claire stuck out an unsure tongue and managed to reach Rosie’s slit. Claire timed her licks to coincide with the forward and backward movements of her whole body, as propelled by Irene.
“That’s good,” said Rosie, pushing herself closer. Claire inhaled her scent and tasted her juice. She tried to find Rosie’s clit with her tongue, but it was a hit-and miss effort.
For what seemed like a long time, Claire relished the fullness in her hungry cunt, but her excitement didn’t increase. Then Irene reached under her to find her most sensitive spots, and rubbed her clit without mercy. Claire erupted in ecstasy.
“Now you’re ours,” promised Irene. Claire imagined herself in livery embroidered with the crest of Countess Olivia’s family. She didn’t want to imagine herself bringing tankards of ale to Sir Toby and Sir Andrew, but she thought she could get used to it.
“Husband,” said the queen, “I don’t hear any protestations of love from these amateurs, in jest or in earnest. You place them in too high regard. They are hardly worthy of the name.”
“The first act is barely finished, my dear,” responded Oberon. “Prepare for a few surprises.”
“Viola,” said Irene.
“We’re still in our roles,” Rosie reminded her, just to make sure she understood.
“You tried to deceive us,” Irene continued. “Cesario is a fiction that you invented to gain employment from the Duke, and he in turn sent you to me so that I would forget to grieve for my dear brother and let him woo me through you. I thank all the angels that his plan did not succeed... and that you have shown us your womanhood.”
“My lady,” snickered Rosie, “this impostor deserves punishment.”
“You still have to earn our forgiveness, Viola,” Irene said. “What punishment do you think would be suitable?”
Claire had no idea what the two seductresses had in mind, though she could guess that suitable accoutrements were on hand. She was open to all she could imagine, as long as this scene would never become general knowledge on campus.
“My ladies,” she said, “I deserve to be spanked for appearing to you in disguise.”
“At the very least,” said Rosie.
“Maria, bring me the birch.” Irene walked to the bench, giving Claire and Rosie a fine view of her backside, including her smooth, well-formed legs. She sat on the bench and patted her lap.
Claire felt stunned. “I thought spanking was always done with a hand,” she said.
“We can begin that way,” said Irene, “before moving on to more, shall we say, effective measures.”
Rosie appeared with a bundle of flexible sticks, tied together at one end. It looked homemade.
“Thank you, Maria,” said Irene. “You never fail me. Please position our guest over my lap.”
Rosie grinned and pulled Claire by the hand, showing her how she was to arrange herself. Claire spread herself over Irene’s thighs, feeling the heat from Irene’s dark, hairy center. She clutched the bench for balance.
Irene gave one of Claire’s cheeks a gentle smack. Claire squealed quietly, but she was relieved that it didn’t truly hurt. Irene smacked the other cheek with more force. She seemed to be testing her aim and the resilience of Claire’s flesh, rather than going easy on her.
“Do you know why you are being punished, Viola?” asked Irene.
“For dressing as a man, my lady,” answered the naked penitent.
“That was a minor offense, girl.” The lady punctuated her statement by slapping the curve of Claire’s bottom with the palm of her hand. Claire felt the impact, and then the sting. She wondered whether the neighbors could hear it as she bit her lip. “You misrepresented your intentions,” Irene explained. “You claimed to be a messenger from the Duke, and you told a tale of consuming love as though you had no share in it. Loyalty is a valuable quality in a servant, but it must be combined with honesty. Have I fallen in love with one who can never return my devotion?”
“Mmff,” answered Claire, unable to be more articulate.
“Although it might not seem so, Viola, I have been withdrawn from the world of love for many a moon. Maria serves me well, but she is engaged to my kinsman and cannot swear faithfulness to me alone. I must know whether you could love me as I love you.”
Claire pushed herself up, feeling the tingling more sharply. She backed off Irene’s lap, sat cautiously on the cool metal bench, and looked Irene in the eyes. “Your Grace,” said she, “I hardly know if I can trust my ears. If you are not in jest, I would gladly give you my heart.”
Irene pulled Claire back onto her lap, in sitting position this time, and pressed her lips to Claire’s. “Seriously, Claire,” said Irene in a near-whisper against her mouth. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone else. I’m ready for some long-term one-to-one, and I think you are, too. You weren’t born to act, but maybe that’s not a bad thing. I want an honest dyke who is always herself.”
Claire felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She blinked to prevent them from spilling down her cheeks, and then glanced at Rosie.
“Don’t worry about me, girlfriend,” said Rosie, who appeared to have heard every word. “Irene and I go way back. I like playing with women, but I can’t give up men, so I can’t be Her Ladyship’s true love.”
“You may thank my maid Maria,” instructed Irene.
“Thank you, Maria!” gushed Claire.
“Don’t thank me yet,” answered Rosie with a wicked grin. “Bend over her lap again.”
“Oh!” squealed Claire. “I thought you were finished.”
“Not yet,” laughed Irene. “I must test your love.”
Claire put herself once more over the lap of the woman who was offering her so much more than she’d ever expected, as well, it seemed, as greater punishment first. The bundle of twigs stung far more than her hand. Irene wielded them deftly, despite Claire’s frantic squirming, to avoid breaking her skin. Claire felt as if her bottom was on fire, and she whimpered piteously between moans. Nonetheless, the flames seemed to be licking her cunt as well
as her ass. “Good girl,” said Irene in two beats, her voice breathy from her effort. “Would you like me to stop?”
“Yes!” howled Claire. She suddenly remembered that other people could be lurking beyond the hedge and the fence, and she winced, resolving to lower her volume from then on.
Irene swatted once more for good measure, and then threw the twigs on the grass. “You’re so brave,” she said soothingly. “You could have asked me before.” She stroked a cool hand over Claire’s bottom. Her hand delved down and slipped between her thighs, searching out Claire’s swollen clit.
The brave swain jerked at Irene’s touch. She was determined not to shriek, yell, or even moan too loudly, but Irene was stroking her sensitive nerve endings like a lute-player who knew the right strings to pluck. Claire shuddered as she controlled her sigh.
“That’s good,” responded her tormentor, almost humming as she leaned close to Claire’s ear. “You can let go now, honey.”
Claire managed to moan quietly as she felt her whole being clench like a fist, over and over. She had never come so intensely, or so unexpectedly.
Rosie clapped as though Claire had erupted in pleasure just for her. Claire had not forgotten her, exactly, but the sound of the redhead’s hands jerked the swain back to reality. Tingles still radiated from Claire’s very sensitive clit.
Claire rose from Irene’s lap, feeling the cool air on her wet crotch. She clutched Irene’s shoulder to steady herself, and as she straightened up, she felt pulled into the clear depths of the greenish-blue eyes of the seductress. Claire felt dizzy.
“She responds so well, my lady,” laughed Rosie, still in character as Maria. She didn’t seem at all disappointed at being left out, since her role as observer left her free from emotional bondage to any woman.
Claire sat cautiously on the bench beside Irene, but as she felt one of her lady’s warm arms around her ribs, Rosie grabbed both her hands and lifted her away. “Come here, Cesario. I probably won’t get many more chances to do this.”
Rosie pulled Claire into a bear-hug and kissed her boldly. She seemed to have one eye on Irene, who laughed. “Mistress,” asked Rosie, “may I test the impostor’s sincerity once more?” Apparently Claire had no say in the next act, but she didn’t want to refuse anything that Irene might like.
“Please do,” assented Irene in her role as the Countess, “and position her so I can watch closely.”
Rosie led Claire to a patch of lawn and prompted her to stretch out on her back. Claire lowered herself down gingerly, trying to ease her bottom onto the softest grass she could find. Rosie waited impatiently, and then lunged onto her hands and knees. She stretched out her legs, dug her toes into the grass beyond Claire’s feet and brought her face close to Claire’s bush.
Claire couldn’t see what Rosie was doing, since her mop of breeze-tousled red hair was in the way. Rosie’s tongue touched Claire’s wet folds and gained confidence as it licked her swollen button.
“I can’t —” muttered Claire. She wasn’t sure if coming again so soon would be impossible, or if she was afraid of how loudly and messily she could.
Claire could see Irene standing beside her, looking as tall as a tree from where Claire was lying. Later, Claire couldn’t be sure if the look in Irene’s eyes or the graze of Rosie’s teeth on her clit was the last straw that sent her over the edge again. This time, the spasms seemed to follow each other in faster succession. Claire was proud that she could swallow her screams.
“Oh, thou art truly a woman, Viola,” said Irene, sounding smug. “Methinks we have taken all the manly stiffness out of thee.”
After letting Claire catch her breath, Rosie sprang and tried to haul her up by one hand. “Wait!” begged the well-used swain. “Let me sit first.”
The two femmes watched with amusement as Claire sat up and raised her knees. “Now,” Irene told her. As though reading Irene’s mind, Rosie stood across from her with Claire lying between them, and then the two women each grabbed one of Claire’s hands and pulled.
For a minute, the three women formed a circle in which Claire was held upright by the arms of her two companions. “Viola won’t be going back to the Duke’s employment,” said Irene as though the other two would be surprised. “A messenger can be sent to him, and there will be one less wedding in this version of the play.” Claire found her balance and shifted to let the other two know that she could stand on her own.
“I’m a traditionalist,” Rosie quibbled. “Some things don’t need to be changed. I still plan to marry Sir Toby, but if your Ladyship doesn’t mind, Viola can please me before I make my vow. That can be her wedding present.”
“You may borrow her with my blessing,” laughed Irene, “as long as you send her back. Viola, art thou willing?”
Claire thought it only fair that she should satisfy Rosie once. “Yes, your Grace. Very willing.”
“For now, though,” said Irene, throwing an arm around Claire’s shoulders, “our pussy-lad is mine.” She kissed Claire with possessive heat, and led her back to sit on the bench. She wrapped herself around Claire.
Smiling dreamily, as though thinking of her hairy-faced, broad-chested lover, Rosie strolled toward the sunflowers crowding the fence.
In the limited privacy of her parents’ garden, Claire made her own vow by exploring Irene’s welcoming cunt as Irene stretched her legs apart on the bench. The lady’s heat, her eagerness, and her musky fragrance were all as thrilling as Claire ever dreamed. And the future was theirs to share.
“My Lord, that was a most confounding scene,” said Queen Titania. “The play ends quite otherwise.”
“But one with a keen eye could see the climax foreshadowed in the introduction,” responded the King. “Let this teach you to be more observant, my dear. I look forward to my reward.”
The queen laughed in spite of her defeat. “I don’t begrudge it to you, my love, but I must know whether a sprinkling of fairy dust helped determine the outcome. We said nothing of that when making our wager.”
“Since we said nothing of that,” explained Oberon, “you can’t accuse me of violating our agreement if, as you say, a little magic was used to show the mortals their way to happiness.”
“So, you admit it, sly fox!” The queen gathered up her long hair in one hand and fastened an ivory comb in it to hold it away from her face.
Lord Oberon looked very pleased with himself. “I admit nothing, Titania. Let us give credit to the mortals, for once, for discovering what is in their hearts.”
“And their loins,” she laughed. The queen, a gracious loser, happily gave her King a taste of his ultimate reward with a playful kiss.
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About the Author
Jean Roberta lives on the Canadian prairies, where the vastness of land and sky encourage daydreaming. She teaches literature, composition, and creative writing in the local university, and is legally married to the woman of her dreams. Her diverse fiction (mostly erotic) has appeared in many print anthologies, and two available collections: Obsession (Renaissance), The Princess and the Outlaw (Lethe Press) plus The Flight of the Black Swan: A Bawdy Novella (Lethe, also in audio). She co-edited Heiresses of Russ (Lethe), an annual anthology of the year’s best lesbian speculative fiction.
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