Kingdoms: Amazonia 6
Anna Popplewell, Lyndsy Fonesca, Charisma Carpenter, Marcia Cross, Alex kingston, Alexis Bledel, Brittany Daniels, Kirsten Dunst, Alexa Vega, Amanda Bynes, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Michelle Trachtenberg
FF, FFFF, anal, F-solo, voy
This is a work of fiction, obviously there is no such place as Amazonia and the celebs doing nasty things in this story probably aren’t doing them in real life, though for all I know they may be having lots of lesbian sex with each other.
It felt strange to Anna Barr, nee Popplewell,
to be in such a wanton pose without her wife there. She lay naked on the couch, except for a sheet which covered her belly and that was all. One of her legs rested on the sofa, the other was at a right angle to her body. Of her hands one rested under her head, the other was holding her smooth slit apart. It had been Lyndsy Cross’s, nee Fonesca, idea. A nude painting as a present for Roseanne. Indeed apart from the painter, who hardly said a word, Lyndsy was the only other person in the room, prattling incessantly. Occassionally the brunette rubbed her belly, nothing could yet be seen beneath the dress, but soon it would become obvious.
Anna was glad her friend was there. Roseanne had gone on a tour of her far flung estates, leaving Anna behind in St Stow. She’d been gone two weeks and was due to be away for another two. That meant a fortnight of Anna not having her back passage filled and she was exploding with horniness. She had tried fingers, toys, even cold baths, but nothing could dampen her itch – the next two weeks were going to be hell. Still at least with Lyndsy there, she could force herself to concentrate on other things apart from her lack of sex life. Well, she would have been able to if Lyndsy wasn’t giving a graphic description of how her wife Marcia had taken her on the breakfast table that morning.
Anna gave a sigh of sexual frustration, she couldn’t even slip her finger into her cunt in case it spoilt the artist’s concentration. Luckily Lyndsy was in one of her perceptive moods, she stopped talking about her sexespecades and changed subject, “Missing not getting any?”
“More than you know,” admitted Anna.
Lyndsy grinned, “I know what it’s like. Marcia has had to leave me when she’s been out of the city, by the time she returns I’m barking at the moon. Still, think of this way when she returns it’ll be the fuck of your life.”
“Two weeks is an awful long time to wait for that,” grumbled Anna.
“Never mind,” replied Lyndsy, “I know what’ll cheer you up, there doing a squirt bukkake at the Royal Theatre tonight. Come with Marcia and I, we’ve got ringside tickets.”
That perked up Anna’s interest, “Who’s on?”
“Some newcomer called Charisma Carpenter,” Lyndsy made the universal sign of big tits, “And twenty squirters.”
“Sounds good,” said Anna, “I’ll be there.”
The Royal Theatre was filling up. It’s weekly squirt bukkake events always drew a big crowd, peasants mixing with aristocray and artisans. Though, obviously the expense of the seats limited the actual mixing. Charisma Carpenter sat nervously in the wings. This was her big break, only a few weeks before she’d been a hooker in one of the middle-class bordello’s. It was only luck she was here now. When things were quiet the madame typically had one of the girls recline on the floor and be squirted on by a couple of the others as a way to drum up some business amongst punters who were taking too long to finish drinks and settle down to action. Charisma had been the one on the floor when the owner of the Royal had stepped in, and she was always on the look out for talent.
It was a chance which came along once in a lifetime, if that. Some of the big-name bukkake bitches, as the performers were colloquially known earned hundreds of sovereigns per performance and had set themselves up in country estates with the airs of nobility. Charisma was only getting one sovereign, but if she could attract customers that would go up, especially if other theatres started seeking her talents.
“You ready?” the owner stuck her head round the door and Charisma nodded nervously. The owner smiled in encouragement and patted Charisma’s hand, “Just go out there and knock ‘em dead.”
Charisma stood up and followed the woman onto the wings. The hudbud of talking died down as the woman quieted the audience, “Tonight,” the owner’s voice was loud and clear, years of training to get to the perfect pitch where even those at the back who could hardly see the stage could hear, “we have a newcomer. She’s brunette, with the nicest pair of titties any woman could want. And she’s here to be squirted on for your and mine and her own pleasure. Let me welcome… Charisma Carpenter.”
Charisma walked onto stage with a confidence she didn’t feel. The crowd, which had fallen silent, greeted her with the customary cry of ‘Show us your tits.”
As tradition demanded Charisma didn’t straight away. First she curtsied to the owner, who bowed back before she walked off and then to the crowd. Only then did she peel away the bikini covering her tits. She bent over and waved them at the crowd. The loud shouts of appreciation boosted her confidence, it seemed to be going well. Next off came her bikini bottoms, she tossed them to the back of the stage and walked forward to the edge. In front of her sat a couple of teen brunettes and a redheaded Milf. They were clapping and cheering at the close up of her twat.
Charisma gave them a smile. Obviously aristocrats or rich merchants to get such expensive seats, if people like that enjoyed her show she was made. She ran her hand over her pussy, feeling its velvet softness, her eyes never leaving the women in front of her. One of the brunettes grabbed the Milf’s arm in excitement, obviously the aristocrat’s wife, though Charisma. She would be the one with time to gossip to tell her friends about what a great show it had been and probably had control of much of the household’s purse strings – she would do as the target.
Sliding a finger in Charisma started to finger her clit hard. Feelings of excitement drove up within her, as her lubrictated digit hammered at her bud. She stroked faster and harder, revelling in the excited cries of the crowd. The women in front of her yelled as hard as the rest, their eyes fixated on her bald slit; the wife grabbed the redhead tighter – Charisma guessed that the redhead would be getting her conjugal rights tonight.
She slammed her finger deep, letting the orgasm explode within her. She gave a shriek and thrust her pussy forward. The juice gushed out, over the brunette who tried to catch in her mouth as tradition demanded. The crowd were on their feet clapping and cheering, Charisma blushed with pleasure. There was nothing the punter’s liked more than their bukkake bitch doing her own squirt at the start. Charisma took a step back from the edge of the crowd and curtsied to the cum covered brunette, before repeating the curtsey to the crowd.
The owner was out, clapping as she did so. She looked pleased with the performance so far. She stopped in the middle of the stage and waited for the tulmult of applause to die down before speaking again, “And now let’s welcome the squirters,” she started to reel off a list of names and as they were called each one came out. Charisma curtsied to them and they curtsied or bowed back, depending on whether they were a top or bottom. Squirters didn’t get paid as well or become as famous as the bukkake bitches, but they were an indespensable part of the show. A few would be full-time, going round the various bukkake squirts on a regular basis, but others were chorus girls looking to supplement their income, bukkake bitches who were failing to make the grade or even scions of the aristocracy looking for a fun night out before they were forced into marriage.
The low table was wheeled on by a couple of leggy blondes. With much fanfare Charisma lay herself atop it. It was specially designed so that the squirters could stand over it with a leg on each side and finger themselves onto Charisma’s face. It was the hardest part for a bukkake bitch, she couldn’t touch the squirters, but by her expression and sounds had to keep the crowds attention on her. The first squirter stood over Charisma, the brunette let out a whoop of delight. From the sounds of the crowd they loved that. The squirter began to finger herself furiously until her pussy exploded a shower of wet cum. Charisma let out another triumphant cry. She arched her back so that her head was leaning over the top of the table and the crowd, or at least the ringside seats, could see the juice trickling down her face.
Barely had the first squirter finished than the second took her place, she rammed a couple of fingers down her snatch. Charisma shouted, “Come on, juice me baby.” It was the simple words which drew in the crowd. They stamped and hollered as the squirter blasted her cum over Charisma’s face. One after the other the squirters did there stuff, exploding juice over Charisma, down her throat, into her eyes, splattering her face, soaking her hair; leaving a pool forming on the floor below Charisma. The crowd loved it.
Eventually the last one exploded over Charisma. Charisma let out a final shriek of joy. The squirter stepped back to join the line at the end. The squirters curtsied or bowed to the audience and trooped off into the wings. The owner stepped out leading the audience in a raptous applause, she lent down and helped Charisma to her feet. Charisma curtsied to the audience, they were on their feet stamping and cheering. They loved her – it had gone better than she ever imagined. She curtsied again and walked from the stage, better not to overstay her welcome. The owner started to give a preview of what else was coming up in the Royal, but the audience, the night’s entertainment over, were already leaving.
Picking up a towel Charisma headed for her changing room to dry herself off. A few minutes later the owner entered, “Darling you were wonderful – I’m going to book you for the next month. Two sovereigns a performance, one show a week. How does that sound?”
It sounded good, “Wonderful,” replied Charisma.
The owner nodded, “An inspired first squirt by the way. You know who it was?”
Charisma shrugged, “Some aristocrat.”
The owner clucked like a mother hen, “Not just some aristocrat, darling. Lady Marcia Cross, her wife Lyndsy and the Lady Anna Barr, Lady Roseanne Barr’s wife. And Ladies Cross and Barr are members of the Queen’s Council. What a masterstroke… They’ll be queuing up to see you now.”
Charisma blushed with pleasure. There was a knock at the door and a servant entered, she leant forward and whisphered something in the owner’s ear and the woman gave a gasp of surprise. She turned to Charisma, “Some visitors for you.”
She quickly exited, allowing the three newcomers to enter. Charisma replicated the owner’s surprised intake of breath and quickly gave the deepest curtsey she’d ever given. Neither Lady Marcia Cross, nor Lyndsy or Anna returned the greeting. Not that Charisma had expected them too, they were way above her social standing – indeed it was a great honour that they’d even consented to come back stage to visit her.
“A marvellous performance,” said Marcia, “I understand it was your first time.”
“Yes, my lady,” replied Charisma.
Marcia nodded sagely, “I can see a great future for you.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
Again Marcia nodded, “Well thank you for the entertainment. If you need a word said in the right places, feel free to contact one of my maids.”
“I will, your lady,” Charisma almost fell over so deeply did she curtsey. Tonight had exceeded her wildest dreams, not only had she been a success, but she had attracted the attention of one of the richest and most powerful nobles in Amazonia. She was still curtseying as the aristocrats turned and left.
The first chill of autumn was in the air as Marcia and Lyndsy escorted Anna to her carriage. The two teen’s talked excitedly about the nights event and Lyndsy’s good fortune in being the recipient of Charisma’s cum. Marcia followed behind admiring her wife and Anna’s shapely asses.
“Good night,” Lyndsy kissed Anna’s cheek, “I hope tonight helped with your, er, problem.”
Anna returned the kiss, “I’ll see in the morning after my fingers have had a work-out.”
They both laughed as Anna alighted her carriage. As it drove off Lyndsy and Marcia waited for the their own one to pull up. The courtyard was still thronged with the audience, gabbling excitedly about the evening entertainment.
“Lady Cross and your wife… how delightful,” a voice sounded from the crowd and the Crosses turned to see who it was.
“Miss Kingston,” Marcia waited until Alex had bowed before she returned the compliment, “Here for the evening’s entertainment?”
“Yes,” Alex Kingston swept her hand towards the theatre, “One likes to support the new blood. I make a point of going to see all the girl’s debuts.”
“Very charitable,” agreed Marcia.
Alex leant forward conspiratorially, “Though I have to say tonight’s was a particular corker. Such beauty combined with inate sluttishness is hard to find nowdays.”
“I agree,” Marcia nodded, “though I remember you and have to say she is in your shadow.”
Alex blushed and gave a small bow, “You are too kind. I see your carriage is here… I will not keep you.”
She bowed for a third time, before she returned in kind Marcia spoke again, “You must come to dinner sometime.”
“I would be delighted.”
“I’ll set something up,” Marcia helped Lyndsy into the close topped carriage. The teen’s lips were pursed, always a bad sign. Marcia waited until they were under way before asking, “What?”
“I can’t believe you talked to her. Never mind invited her to dinner,” Lyndsy spoke angrily and for added effect thrust her back against the velvet cushioning of the seat.
Marcia shrugged, “You are such a snob at times. I’m not blue blood myself.”
“That’s different,” Lyndsy replied, “She’s a bukkake bitch.”
“She was, now’s she’s a very wealthy merchant in a kingdom tottering on the edge of bankruptcy,” Marcia sighed, “I don’t want to discuss it now.”
“Okay,” snorted Lyndsy and turned her head to look out the window at the dark street.
Inwardly Marcia groaned. The trouble with Lyndsy being pregnant was that she jumped from giddy happiness to grumpy moodiness quicker than an arrow shot. She reached out and stroked Lyndsy’s hair, luckily she knew how to even Lyndsy’s temper.
“That won’t work,” snapped Lyndsy.
“What?” replied Marcia innocently, she twirled a lock of hair round her finger and touched the teen’s ear with her thumb.
“You know what,” said Lyndsy, though her tone was noticeably softer than a few moments before.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marcia hand slid down the naked flesh of Lyndsy back until she came to the top button of the dress. She popped it open and slid her hand under the material. She opened another button and gave a quick downwards tug of the dress.
Lyndsy’s tits, which had been struggling against the dress all evening bounded free, “Sure you don’t” said the teen.
“Honestly no idea,” murmured Marcia and put her lips onto one of the teats. Pregnancy may have given Lyndsy mood swings, but it was also heightening the sexual sensitivity of her nipples. Marcia started to suck at it, letting her teeth lightly clamp against the rough flesh of nub, the tip of her tongue probing at its top.
“Uuuurrgghhh,” Lyndsy arched her back, the argumet forgotten. She ran her hands through the Marcia’s red hair, dropping the silky locks down and then picking them up until Marcia hair resembled a wind-swept forest. Marcia in the meantime had moved her hands so that it went under the bottom of the dress and was stroking the pantyless pussy of her wife. So close was the shaving that the skin felt as smooth as a marble statue, though considerably warmer. She waited until Lyndsy had produced the first trickle of juice, before changing tack.
Putting together two fingers Marcia drove them into Lyndsy’s twat. The teen let out another squeal and her head went so far back it banged against the carriage wall. Lyndsy didn’t seem to mind the bump as she pushed her crotch forward into Marcia. The redhead pushed deeper, feeling the hard skin of the clit against ther fingertips. The hole quickly soaked, each thrust squelching through the damp girl cum and eliciting a squeal of excitement from the teen. Marcia hammered quicker, shifting her mouth from one tittie to the other.
“Go on,” shrieked Lyndsy, “do me hard.”
The brunette’s entire body was shaking and trembling, her hands gripping the cushions as if that could possibly control her excitement. Marcia let go off her wife’s tits so that she could look into her face as Lyndsy came, the way it contorted was so attractive. The teen’s face scrunched up and her mouth moved from side to side as she screamed in ecstasy. Marcia withdrew her fingers and licked them clean as Lyndsy recovered.
“Mmm, you’re forgiven,” murmured Lyndsy, “though I’ll want something bigger than that in me when we get home.”
“Why wait until we get home,” said Marcia, she reached under a cushion and brought out a strap-on dildo, “I came prepared.”
“Oh, you’re wicked,” purred Lyndsy as she undid her wife’s trousers. She slid them and the boots to the carriage floor, before pulling the strap-on up the redhead’s thighs until it nestled in her crotch.
Lyndsy bent over, “I better lubricate it.”
“Oh, so that’s where you want me to put it,” Marcia grinned as Lyndsy’s plump lips slid up and down the cock. As her wife was sucking it she adjusted the toy so that the end-clip slid against her own clit.
Lyndsy’s sucking skills, quickly left the cock damp. She lifted herself and sat on Marcia’s knee. The redhead grabbed the teen’s dress and slid it up, gripping her waist hard as she did so. Picking up Lyndsy she rested the teen’s puckered ass on the top of the dildo, “Ready when you are.”
“Owww,” a particually large pothole decided for them, the cock pushed half-way up Lyndsy’s back passage. She gave a groan of pleasure as she pushed herself down until it was fully buried within her. Marcia began to push upwards, guiding her wife’s movements in time with her own. Everytime Lyndsy landed down she pushed the dildo back against Marcia’s clit, sending paroxyms of pleasure through the redhead. The milf’s juice trickled out, damping the leather straps which held the toy in place.
“Oh that’s so good,” moaned Lyndsy, “Fill me up.”
“Mmmhmm,” grunted Marcia, her pelvic thrusts perfectly attuned to the teen’s downwards squats. The redhead reached round and grabbed Lyndsy’s tits groping and pulling them as she fucked her hard.
The coach door opened and the driver looked in, “We’re home, my ladies.”
Marcia paused temporarily, “Let the maids know to put out some cheese and bread. You can put the coach away when we’ve finished.”
“My lady,” the coach driver dutifully shut the door.
“Now where were we,” Marcia gripped Lyndsy’s large tits and ran her lips over the back of the teen’s neck.
“You were ass-fucking me to orgasm,” purred Lyndsy.
“So I was,” grinned Marcia and thrust the cock deep up Lyndsy’s ass. Soon the teen was squealing like she was in heat. Her entire body seemed made of electricity, as she jumped and shuddered.
“I’m cuuuummmmiiiinnnggg,” Lyndsy shrieked. Marcia hardly paused, she could feel her own orgasm was on the cusp, but iof she stopped to let Lyndsy recover she might loose it again. She hammered hard upwards, soaking her sweat against the teen’s skin and dress, revelling in Lyndsy’s lusty cries.
The orgasm ripped through Marcia like an earthquake, tearing and shredding at her body until she was quivering like jelly. Slowly she eased Lyndsy off the toy and let her wife’s head loll against her shoulder, “We better go and get some supper,” Marcia finally said, “Enjoy tonight?”
“Very much,” replied Lyndsy and tenderly kissed her wife’s cheek.
Unoriginally as her late, mainly unlamented Mama had been the Cat, Alexis Bledel’s nickname was the Kitten, It wasn’t a very threatening title for the head of St Stow’s largest criminal grouping, but Alex Kingston reminded herself that even Kitten’s had claws, no matter how cute they might be. Still the Kitten’s strongarm tactics were certainly different from her Mama’s. If the Cat wanted to speak to you her thugs frogmarched you to her office and she told you what she wanted. The Kitten was a lot more subtle, a casual invite to join her at her private baths.
The older woman dropped her robe and stepped naked into the bath. The warm waters bubbled, as she lowered herself down onto seat. A naked Kitten was already in there, she passed Alex a goblet full of expensive wine, “Cheers!”
“Cheers,” Alex returned the salute, “You wanted to see me?”
“We can talk business later, let’s have some fun first,” the teen smiled and snapped her fingers. Two attractive and very naked women came in, holding strap-ons. They dropped the toys by the pool and waded in. One slid over to the Kitten and put her arms round her, the other did the same for Alex, running a hand over the older woman’s tits. The Kitten grinned, pointing first to young woman holding onto her, “This is Brittany Daniels and this… sorry I’ve forgotten your name.”
The woman didn’t seem to mind, she just snuggled closer to Alex, “Kirsten Dunst…” Her hand slid under the water, touching Alex’s smooth twat lips, “Pleased to meet you, the Kitten has said so much about your… prowess,” it was an obvious lie, the woman was without doubt a whore hired by the Kitten for the evening, but Alex didn’t mind as the young woman pressed her body against her, licking at her throat just under the chin. With her spare hand she began to play with Alex’s left tit, as her other hand gracefully rubbed at the merchant’s cunt.
“Mmnn, that’s good,” Alex closed her eyes and let Kirsten work her skills. The young woman’s tongue sensually ran across Alex’s throat, slowly and seductively she went up and over the chin, ending with her lips closed on Alex’s. The older woman opened her mouth and let the hooker enter her. There lips locked as they competed, tongue against tongue. Alex continued to relax as Kirsten guided a finger into her slot. The young woman was experienced, no painful probing, but a tender exploration, swirling around the damp tunnel until she found the bud. She gradually pushed it into life and Alex felt pleasure grow within her.
“Uuuurggghh, fuck me baby, fuck me hard,” Brittany’s voice was loud and Alex opened her eyes. Brittany was leaning on the edge of the pool, behind her Alexis was slamming a cock deep into her ass.
Kirsten had seen her partner open her eyes, as she broke the kiss, “After you cum you can do me.”
Watching Brittany’s body bounce under the anal pounding add to the pleasure Alex was getting from Kirsten. She put her arms back across the side, watching Brittany and feeling the orgasm explode within her. She came with a cry, her juice mixing with the clear blue liquid of the bath to form a small cloud before it drifted away in the water.
“Fuck my ass, now,” Kirsten stood up, passed Alex the strap-on and then waded across the bath to lean next to Brittany.
As Alex pulled on the toy Brittany put an arm round Kirsten and drew her closer for a passionate kiss. The Kitten slowed down and turned her head over her shoulder to grin at Alex, “Come on in – the asses are tight, as they say.”
Alex grinned, it was very seldom that she had heard the well-known saying used so literally. She look at the Kirsten’s pink hole, it looked very inviting. She took her strap-on in one handed and waded across the pool, until the tip was touching the puckered skin of the back passage. Kirsten threw back her head dramtically, “Fuck me baby, fuck me hard.”
Alex pressed forward, easing the cock into the hole. Kirsten gasped and shuddered, her tits wobbled as she rocked herself back and forth to help the toy in. Beside her Brittany was screaming like a banshee as Alexis hammered away at her. The splatting noise of there bodies hitting each other merging with the splashes as the Kitten surged forward. Alex continued to push, driving the dildo as far as it could go, determined that Kirsten would match Brittany’s cries. The young hooker moaned and leaning on one hand moved the other to feel Brittany’s cunt, an action reciprocated by the other woman.
Banging forward Alex filled Kirsten ass, her hands reached up and roughly grabbed the young woman’s titties, gripping them like they were the reigns of a horse as she galloped forward. The Kitten’s hand suddenly reached out and she started to rub Kirsten’s butt cheeks. Alex paused and looked at the teen. The Kitten smiled back and with her eyes indicated that Alex should feel free to grope Brittany’s butt. Alex reached down and squeezed at the naked flesh, it was muscular and firm, but pleasant and supple at the same time. She squeezed harder and was gratified when Brittany gave a yowl, “That’s it… oh Goddess… yessss.”
“Fuuuccckkk… fuuuccckkk….fuuuccckkk…” Kirsten screamed. Alex redoubled her efforts. The warm bath and the considerable extertion combining to make her sweat like she was in a sauna. She hammered harder, moving her hand from Brittany, she reached down and joined her fingers with Brittany in the hooker’s cunt. Kirsten went wild, screaming and shaking like she was on the rack. The edge of the dildo was scraping within Alex. It was enough to make her explosiuvely cum. She continued slamming into Kirsten, leaving the hooker screaming with orgasm after orgasm until she was a sobbing wreck, racked by pleasure. Brittany, too, was slumped forward over the pool edge, breathing heavily and weakly trying to prop herself up. An exhausted Kitten pulled her toy out and collapsed on the bench on the other side of the pool. Alex joined her.
“Fun…eh,” Alexis waved her hands at Kirsten and Brittany, “You can go now, get the maid to bring us some more wine.”
Alex and the Kitten sat in silence for a few minutes, worn out by their recent endeavours. A naked young woman came in with a couple of goblets. The Kitten sipped hers, nodded her agreement at the vintage and waved her hand in dismissal. The maid withdrew.
“To business, I’m afraid,” said the Kitten. She gave a theatrical sigh, “Things are still tense after the recent assassination of Queen Teri… They still don’t know who did it.”
“I heard that they had some of the survivors in the dungeons at the moment,” Alex sipped at her wine. She wasn’t sure where this was going, there were better connected women in St Stow who would know all the ins and outs of the political games, Alex only kept an interest as far as it impacted on her trade.
There was a shrug from the Kitten, “A couple of injured assassins were taken. Lady Cross has had them on the rack, whipped, scalded, but either they know nothing or there not telling who killed the Queen and tried to kill Princess… sorry Queen Amanda.”
“It could have been any one of half a dozen claimants,” agreed Alex, “It was a fairly obvious succession between Queen’s Teri and Amanda, but after that you have to go back a couple of generations and start looking at cousins and so on.”
“True, it’s not clear. I personally think that Lady Shephard has the strongest claim,” the Kitten put out her hands in a gesture of hopelessness, “but they do not ask me.”
Alex sensibly resisted the temptation to explain that this was because the Kitten wasn’t only a low-born commoner, but also a criminal; instead, she just nodded dutifully. There was another sigh from Alexis, she was putting on a good show as a concerned citizen, Alex had to admit. The teen paused for a moment, before continuing, “And if that wasn’t all I hear that the roads are becoming increasingly unsafe, bandits, highwaywomen, rebels, it is difficult for traders nowdays.”
Alex had to agree. She had recently doubled the guards on her convoys after several had come in with much less than they started with and in one case hadn’t come in at all, “I’m sure Queen Amanda will sort it out,” she said loyally.
“I’m sure she would, but the treasury is bare I hear. And there remains trouble beyond the borders, rumours of armies gathering and mercenaries being hired. War is in the offing,” Alexis smiled, she didn’t seem to put out by that fact, “Still where there is chaos there is also opportunity for us merchants, even if we have to work outside the rules.”
Alex nodded, “I’m a honest businesswoman myself.”
There was a cough from the Kitten and Alex reminded herself of the wool that she had recently paid a percentage to the Kitten on to allow Alex to smuggle it out. The older woman blushed, “Mostly honest…”
“Which is why I’d like to offer you this opportunity,” Alexis smiled and put her hand on Alex’s arm in a gesture which could be taken as either a threat or of friendship, “I need to bring in certain… shipments and I need a carrier. You have a couple of ships… problem solved.”
“And what would be in these shipments?” asked Alex nervously.
“Ah well, the money I pay you isn’t just for the cargo space, but to avoid awkward questions. Let’s just say I would like to avoid any Royal entanglements. I take it with have a deal?”
Alex nodded. She didn’t feel she had any choice.
“My – that looks nice my dear,” Alexa Vega’s Mum took a step back and turned to the shop keeper, “What do you think?”
The shop keeper could see a sale coming up, so nodded enthustically, “Yes, My Lady, nightwear fit for a young girl’s first night indeed.”
“Alexa?” her Mum looked enquiringly at her
Alexa gazed at her reflection in the mirror. The shift had so little material it could hardly be called nightwear, a couple of straps held up a thin piece of silk which covered her belly button, but missed her tits and pussy. The sixteen year old was a virgin and had no expereince of what would drive tops wild, but she suspected that this revealling atire would do the job. She nodded, “I like it.”
Her Mum turned to the shopkeeper, “We’ll take it. Now we’ll need to buy a strap-on for the Lady Shepherd, what have you got?”
It was tradition for a virgin bride’s parents to buy a toy for their daughter’s new wife to use deflower their daughter. It was an important part of the ceremony and symbolised a young girls movement from the bosom of her family to the possession of her top; the family’s took great care in presenting the new wife with a toy suitable to their position. Peasants often had to make do with shoddy, second hand goods – produced in quantity. Aristocrats, even minor ones like the Vegas, went for more expensive quality. By the time Alexa had changed from her shift, back into her dress the wedding shop owner had laid a number of strap-ons on the counter, of differing sizes and hues, such straight and hard, some curved and floppy, some smooth as marble, others ridged.
Alexa’ Mum turned to her as Alexa approached the counter, “I think Lady Shepherd will want size and girth,” she said.
Alexa nodded, she hadn’t yet met her new wife, who was travelling to St Stow from the Firth of Wolves, and had no idea what she wanted.
“A good idea, My Lady,” agreed the shopkeeper, removing those of small and average size.
“Any particular colour dear?” Alexa’s Mum asked, “Not that you’ll be able to see it where it’s going.”
Alexa shrugged. Blue was her favourite colour, so she plumped for that on a whim. There were two left, both long and thick, one smooth and one ridged. Her Mum didn’t ask her opinion and pointed to the one with ridges bumping across it’s surface, “We’ll take that one.”
“An excellent choice, My Lady,” replied the shopkeeper, “Would you like it wrapped?”
It was a depressed council which finally broke up. The news remained poor, the treasury was even emptier than had been imagined, with several choice pieces of the jewellry going missing under Queen Teri’s reign. In addition the last of the surving assassins had finally died under torture, but had kept the secrets of who had orderd the assassination to her death. And intelligence still spoke of armies massing on the borders, with mercenaries, arm-dealers and hookers flocking to join them. Queen Amanda Bynes took this as well as she could, but as the meeting wore on her smile gradually became more and more forced.
Marcia Cross waited until the rest of the council left. It was a delicate matter she wanted to raise with the Queen and it seemed indiscreet to discuss it with the rest there.
Amanda looked up, “You have something else Marcia,” she waved at a chair next to her, indicating to Marcia she should sit down again.
The redhead did so. “It’s about you siring an heir, your Majesty.”
“An heir?” said Amanda, as if it was the last thing she was interested in at the moment.
“Yes, your Majesty. If, Goddess forbids, you are… struck down there is no obvious heir. There are half a dozen contenders, not one strong enough to cow all the others, at best we have a period of stalemate whilst we squabble over who should be Queen. At worst… civil war. You need a daughter to put all hopes of anyone else succeeding you out their minds. It will unite the Kingdom and Goddess knows, we need that at the moment.”
Amanda raised an eyebrow, then sighed, “You’re right; as usual. But… well… there’s no-one…I’m well not… experienced.”
“Can I speak frankly, your Majesty,” Marcia asked. Amanda nodded so Marcia continued, “You’re not a … hetrosexual are you?”
Amanda’s nose wrinkled in disgust, “You need have no worries on that score. Even the thought disgusts me… I can’t see how the women of other lands bear it.”
That was something at least, thought Marcia; if the Queen liked men, well it could be hidden, these things always were, but it would complicate matters. She paused before asking the next question, “Have you ever had sex?”
Amanda blushed, “Well… not when anyone else was in the room…”
“That’s a no then,” replied Marcia briskly. She sank back into her chair and put her fingers together as she thought, “Here’s how I see it. We need to find you a virgin for your wife, preferably of high blood and attractive, though we might need to drop one of those. But it would be highly embarrassing for you both if neither of you knew what to do on your wedding night, so whilst we look for a bride we also need to get you some practice. Is that summed up accurately?”
“In a nutshell,” admitted Queen Amanda.
The occupants of the coach could tell it was approaching St Stow. The paved highways were smoother than the dirt tracks that crisscrossed the regions and the cobbles didn’t throw up clouds of dust as they passed. The driver cracked the whip on the horses, it would soon be night. Not that this would bring any dangers, but it would mean another night in a cheap hostelry outside the walls and neither of the occupants had much stomach for another night of that.
“I can’t wait to see cousin Alexa again,” Sarah Michelle Gellar confided to her half-sister Michelle Trachenberg.
The sixteen year old was about to reply when they discovered that even paved roads have potholes. The beautiful young bottoms beautiful young bottoms bounced against the coach seat. Michelle rearranged her dress, the bump had pushed it up her chest. She pulled it down, Michelle had a nice cleavage and she wanted to show it off. Anyway as her Mama reminded them both before they left, if they wanted to attract a rich and influential top they had to make best use of their assets. She gave a nod, “It will be nice to see her again – it’s been, what ten years? And if she’s marrying the Warden of the Firth of Wolves I’m sure they’ll be lots of wealthy guests looking for a virginal bottom.”
Michelle had always been the more pragmatic of the two sisters. Sarah was more romantic, she sighed wistfully, “If only I could find someone like Lady Cybil Shepherd,” the Warden of the Firth of Wolves was renowned for her daring and skill at arms keeping at bay at the scum of the Republic of Lesbos. And of course, making Sarah even more jealous of her cousin, were the rumours of Lady Shepherd’s amorous exploits. Rumours abounded of the time she’d rescued a princess of one of the minor states beyond the borders and fucked her before the giant which had held her captive had finished grown cold, or the time she had captured a dozen pirates and taken them one after the other or even the night she was supposed to have taken four tavern wenches into her room and satisified them all. Sarah sighed again, “Oh to find a woman like that.”
The coach halted. They were just in time. The guard sighed and looked at the sundial. A few more minutes and she would have been able to claim that the city was locked for the night. If they had been peasants the guard might have done just that, but aristocracy, even minor aristocracy, weren’t to be treated so harshly. Reluctantly the guard ambled over to the window and stuck her head in, “Reason for visiting,” she said in a bored voice.
As she was the eldest sister Sarah was in charge in the absence of her Mum and Step-Mama, “We’re hear for the wedding of our cousin Lady Alexa Vega to Lady Cybil Shephard, Warden of the Firth of Wolves,” Sarah couldn’t help announcing it in portentous tones and she was modest enough to blush that it had come out as it had.
The guard shrugged. She seemed unphased by the name-dropping, she probably saw that twenty times a day. The woman stepped back and waved to a couple of others who were standing in front of the gate, “Let them past.”
The guards stepped away and the coach trundled in. As soon as they did so the gates clanged shut for the final time that night. The coach moved forward, slower now it was in a built up area and had to mix with pedestrians, riders and other coaches. It took at least an hour for the coach to make its way from the gate to the Vega residence.
“Cousins,” cried Alexa as Sarah and Michelle alighted. She ran forward and embraced them both, “I’m so glad you came.”
Alexa’s Mama stepped forward, both Sarah and Michelle curtsied to the top. Lady Vega smiled, “Welcome, we haven’t seen you since,” she made a gesture to her knees, “you were this high. All grown up I see.”
Michelle and Sarah blushed. Lady Vega nodded, “Come inside, my servants will see to your cases.”
“Bloody peasants,” muttered Roseanne Barr to herself as she reigned in her horse. The half dozen guards with her, did the same, uttering equally uncomplimentary epitaths about the tipped over hay wagon in front of them. A couple of buxom farmers stood arguing, about whose fault it was – the brunette reminded Roseanne of her wife waiting at home, though obviously the farmer wasn’t nearly as busty or beautiful as Anna.
Roseanne smiled to herself, then leant forward, “Get a move on – this is the Queen’s highway you’re blocking and we’re the Queen’s servants.”
The nearest of the farmers, the younger one who looked a bit like Anna turned. She gave a insolent smile and Roseanne reached for her crop to teach her a lesson. The farmer raised her hand.
There was a rustle in the undergrowth and thirty armed women rushed out, “It’s an ambush,” yelled Roseanne.
If she had been wearing armour she might have stayed and fought, none of the bandits were clad in anything more than cheap leather jerkins. However she hadn’t been expecting trouble, this part of Amazonia was at peace, not here the tinderbox of rebellion and her chain-mail was one one of the pack horses. She kicked her mounts flanks and sent it off the road across the field.
It made it less than twenty yards before it went down. Roseanne tumbled, the horse was snorting blood an arrow deeply embedded in its neck. She drew her sword and scrambled to her feet in time to despatch the first of the bandits. But a second one skirted round the back and Roseanne felt a burst of pain as sword cut through her hamstring. She fell forward. She barely had time to raise her head before darkness and a tunnel of light.
As always if you have any views on this or any other of my stories, e-mail me at [email protected]