by Reddoraion no ōjo (レッドライオンの王女)
Amoret is tucked behind a tapestry, her palms sweating, her mouth suddenly dry. She’s been naked before; the Queen and her lover are no strangers to Amoret’s pale body, know every curve and secret place of the Queen’s pretty bedwarmer, but Amoret has never felt so naked before. She trembles behind the tapestry, suddenly afraid that she won’t do well, that she’s a noble girl whose dancing is all the squares and lines and circles of the ballroom downstairs – what does she know of the girls who dance in dresses like this? It’s ruby silk, almost the twin to her hair, sheer enough for them to see everything from Amoret’s pretty breasts to her cunt and all things above and below, slit up to the thigh and plunging almost to her navel; there are anklets of bells and coins that transform Amoret’s trembling into a delicate music.
“Don’t fear,” whispered Sir Gerard when he’d thrust the leather bundle into her arms that afternoon. “Your Lady’s looking for pleasure, and you delight her.” He leaned close, his breath hot on her ear. “As you delight me; we both cannot do without our prettiest blossom.” He’d tucked a russet strand behind her ear. “If you already delight us, you can only add sweetness. And we know how much you love pleasure.”
Amoret had blushed to the pale tips of her ears, sure her face was glowing, a smile twinkling on her face. Sir Gerard patted her cheek, his bronzed skin warm like molded sunlight; Amoret arched towards it just as she does to her Lady. “It’s settled, then.” He’d lifted her hand to his lips, his dark eyes deep as forest pools, and she could drown in them just as she could in the Queen’s. A shiver passed through her body. “Ah,” Sir Gerard had smiled. “Perfect.” He had winked at her as he strode back down the hall, his dark curls shining, the emerald on his sword shining like a verdant star.
Amoret hears soft laughter, the pouring of wine, the clink of cups as her Queen and her lover drink to each other, murmuring endearments. The rouge tastes sticky on Amoret’s lips, and she’s already smeared a bit on her hand trying to keep it perfect; her eyes are already smudged black with kohl, so there’s not much she can do to keep it sharp-edged, blurred from the moment she smoothed it on. So here she is, hidden like a chest or a chair, waiting.
The Queen sighs as sweetly as a cooing dove; this is the sound she makes when she is happy, like she’s awoken from being Queen and can simply be a lover, someone inside her own body. Amoret feels her body tingle in return and wonders what Sir Gerard is doing to her, wondering if he’s caressing that soft spot on the back of her neck, laying kisses on the inside of her wrists, tracing patterns on her chest, his tongue slowly sliding into the cleft of Her Majesty’s golden breasts. Amoret silently sighs in response, wishing she could see them, how the firelight plays upon her Lady’s soft curls of brazened honey, the flush that the heat brings to her skin, a harmony of olive and gold, how her mouth, stern and strong downstairs softens enough to allow her to sigh, loll on her favorite cushions while the candles catch spirals of gold and copper in her hair.
There’s a soft, throaty laugh that follows, the clink of glasses again, and then Sir Gerard whispering what Amoret’s certain are now filthy, delicious things.
Amoret feels her cunt grow silky and full, heavy with blood, wet enough that it starts to slide down her thigh. She feels different now, excited, as enticed as the moment the Queen first put a drop of spiced honey on her tongue and let her taste the burn, the heavenly sweetness, watching intently with her dark eyes.
(Later the Queen dotted her between the brows with honey, claiming Amoret as her own, Her Majesty’s hands and fingers and tongue the heat and flame that made her rise again and again, unable to believe such rapture could exist. Amoret still can’t quite believe it does, and like any love song, it breaks her heart to be far from her Lady, away from the blazing circle of her arms, the warmth of her precious skin.) Amoret sighs like the quietest of doves and feels her skin tingle, her nipples harden.
Sir Gerard claps, and Amoret slowly slips out from behind the tapestry, first one pale leg, then a flash of her flaming red hair. She hears the Queen murmur in pleasure and, feeling stronger, Amoret spins out, moving her hips, shaking her bells, suddenly not minding if there’s a right or a wrong way to do it. She spins and dips, lets the silk float on the air, drops to her knees, for that’s what Amoret does even if these girls do not. As she looks up through her lashes, her heart beats faster with the strangeness and wonder of what she sees. It is nothing Amoret has ever dreamed of before.
Sir Gerard is there, his shirt partially unlaced, bite marks on his golden skin, and lying in his lap is a man; high cinnamon boots, breeches, a laced shirt and cinnamon leather gloves, stern, elegant cheekbones making him look like a sculpture. The man sighs in pleasure as Sir Gerard caresses his chest, catches his mouth in a hard, brutal kiss–and the sigh is that of the Queen, as are the open eyes, black as a raven’s wing.
“My brother-in-arms,” murmurs Sir Gerard, his eyes flashing wickedly. The knight-who-is-the-Queen smiles indolently, nipping at Sir Gerard’s ear, rubbing a hand between his own beautiful legs, the-knight-who-is-the-queen stimulating himself to groan in pleasure, no longer a dove’s sigh, but a stranger, enticing beast. The knight pauses to speak.
“We do so love a pretty dancing girl.” He narrows his eyes and smiles a sharp, beautiful smile. “Especially when she’s ours for the night.”
The-knight-who-is-the-Queen puts his finger under Amoret’s chin, and Sir Gerard hisses,
“And my brother hasn’t had a woman for such a long time. Desperately hungry. Aren’t you, darling?”
Sir Gerard’s companion smiles back with the Queen’s eyes, full of hunger and lust, white teeth bared, softly licking his lips. “Yes.”
It’s the cruelest, loveliest growling voice that Amoret has ever heard. Her heart hammers in her chest as she drops deeply into herself, becoming only the desire to serve, to be taken, to be theirs –
The words have barely left the knight’s enticing, rounded lips when Amoret stamps her foot on the ground to jingle her bells. Her audience pauses from kissing to focus on her, hungry as wolves. Amoret’s hungry, too.
She slides along the floor, swiveling her hips, the memory of fucking guiding her: her mouth on the Queen’s golden cunt, the Queen pushing her long, elegant dark fingers into her as Amoret squeals in pleasure, begs for release…
She is rolling her arms like the white waves of the sea, the way pleasure rolls inside her when Sir Gerard is sunk deep inside her groaning, as the Queen bites at her shoulder, calling her sweetling, hungry little cunt, her own finest bitch, tugging at her hair and…
Amoret dances, feeling like this is the only real dance she’s ever done, that pavanes and lines and step step step and twirl and back have only been there to guard the secret of the dance. It’s flame, it’s fucking, and the pale girl in the sheer red gown and bells thrusting her hips as no decent court lady or bedwarmer ever would is what’s true. Amoret drops to the floor, attentive to the curve of her back, the way her hips and ass move as she stalks like a hungry cat, crawls over to bat at the matching pairs of cinnamon-colored boots, hearing rumbles of delight from above. Amoret’s body is only hunger, wanting as she licks, caressing the boots with her tongue, stroking the leather with her lips and drying them with her hair.
She’s rewarded with a low hum of pleasure, and with a heaving of arms, she’s lifted into the waiting laps, as two pairs of dark eyes like polished onyx stare down at her.
“Sir Gerard,” purrs the-knight-who-is-her-Lady whose hands are strong, rougher now as she pinches at Amoret’s nipples, Amoret rocking in delight at the sharp bursts of pain coursing through her body as she’s filled with pleasure, “doesn’t our naughty girl have a few too many clothes?”
“I agree, Sir,” purrs Sir Gerard, and with a flick of his dagger, Amoret’s stripped bare till only the bells on her ankles remain.
Then their hands are on her, pinching, squeezing, caressing, their sweetly wicked smiles making her squirm in bliss, till she feels a finger in her mouth. Being a good girl, she sucks and licks slowly, tenderly, and slides it as far as she can into her mouth. The knight-who-is-her-Queen smiles sweet as honey, sharp as a viper.
“That pretty mouth belongs right between my legs. Down you go.”
Amoret drops gracefully, opens her eyes widely at what she sees. It’s a tooled leather phallus, gilded with vines, and she watches it slide against her Sir’s hand as he fucks his fist, slowly, leisurely. From the growls, Amoret can tell Sir Gerard is kissing hard and fast, both of them snapping their teeth at the other’s lips.
“Well, little one. Show me what you can do.” A sudden flash of dark eyes, a crook of a smile from her Sir (only her Sir now). “After all, we’ve paid enough for you.”
Amoret opens her mouth, letting her Sir’s cock slide back into her mouth, feeling hands she loves tangle in her hair. She licks, slides her mouth up and down till her mouth drips too, sending long strands of crystalline liquid to dampen her hair. Above her she hears a growl of pleasure, a groan of sweetness as her Sir presses her head down.
“My slut. My perfect bedwarmer, my prettiest of whores.” Then there’s only gasping and thrusting, her Sir thrusting into her mouth, Amoret parrying, silken liquid sliding from her lips entranced by this dance, back and forth only her Sir’s cock and her mouth.
“Look at you two,” purrs Sir Gerard. “There’s only one thing that can tear me from your lips, my brave companion,” he growls, “and that’s your pretty slut’s mouth.”
“Why don’t you have a taste?” purrs her Sir, leaning over to rub her hand inside Sir Gerard’s shirt, pinching at his nipples. Sir Gerard snarls with each kiss while Amoret sucks at her Sir’s cock as if it is the finest sweet she’s ever tasted (and it is). Sir Gerard roars in pleasure, crushing Sir to him in a violent kiss, with Amoret’s Sir leaving a trace of blood on Sir Gerard’s lip, finishing with a warm, wicked laugh.
“Let our girl kiss it better. She’ll make you forget any pain. As for my pain…”
Amoret can’t even moan from the sparks flowing through her body and the wetness at her cunt and mouth. Drooling like a naughty puppy onto the rich red and black carpet, she feels hands on her hips, a stiffness and suddenly she can groan in joy, hands she recognizes on her skin.
“…she’s got a lovely little ass that soothes me perfectly.” The low laughter makes Amoret whimper, want to beg for more, but all she can do is twist her hips back and forth. She needs this, needs her lovers in her in any form, every form because she wants them.
Loves them. Amoret’s eyes open wide as if it were her heart and not her mouth agape. No one plays with them as she, no one else shares their bed, and she’s felt kisses on her brow and lips before she wakes, and if she’s a darling slut she’s also a treasure and…
Then there’s a hot, scorching whisper in her ear. “By your leave, sweetling,” whispers her Sir, his leather cock pressed tight against the ivory curves of her ass.
“Yes,” Amoret sighs softly, “oh yes,” as she feels Sir Gerard’s cock at her lips, tasting the few drops of salt already present, catching them on her rosy tongue.
“Shall I give you something lovely to suckle?” Sir Gerard grins, keeping slightly away from her lips, making her chase, twist her head, unable to move far as greased fingers slip into her ass, as she feels a slick pour of oil, wriggles from the pleasure of it, gets a quick slap on her left cheek, which she knows as an order to be still. Amoret can only gasp, nod her head.
“Please, please, please,” she whispers, forgetting all courtesy in this fever, this hunger, this lust for her darlings, her pearl hands spreading like stars on Sir Gerard’s thighs as he smiles, thrusting forward into her, even as Amoret feels her Sir slide into her. Suddenly she’s lusciously full, overwhelmed. Each lick, each thrust of her hips is an act of devotion, her Sir’s arms around her hips, fingers moving to play with her pearl, finger at her cunt as her ass is fucked, Sir Gerard in her mouth, his dark, musky taste on her lips, her mouth tasting salt and sweat as he growls, swells, tightens his dark honeyed fingers in her red hair, tugging her forward.
Amoret has no words but can only feel her ass filled, stretching, can’t see her Sir and Sir Gerard wink at each other with their dark eyes. She’s being fucked rhythmically, in perfect time, her lovers sharing this, overwhelming their girl till she’s only mouth and ass and flesh, trembling and sweet, all joy and sweetness. Moaning her pleasure around Sir Gerard’s cock, Amoret can only tongue, slick her mouth, feel him slide deep into her, slick on the spittle that flows down her face like water, can’t even think of her rouge, just the joy of him in her–and then to feel her Sir gripping her round the waist, nuzzling against the sweat on Amoret’s back, tasting it, then fucking harder, working a finger at Amoret’s pearl till she can’t, she can’t…
Amoret comes screaming, hot around Sir Gerard’s cock. Sir Gerard snarls, pumping faster, not even able to save a moment longer till he fills her mouth with his hot seed, Amoret gulping, the salt and sharpness of it on her tongue, using her mouth and throat until she’s swallowed every bit. Amoret rests her head on his knee, feels him stroking her hair as her Sir works at her harder and harder, curls springing loose from the tight braid they’ve been in till there’s a groan, a prayer-like whisper of “Yes, my filthy sweetling, yes.” Amoret feels a hard shudder, then another, then heaviness of her Sir’s body on hers, the heat of a familiar breath on her shoulder, kisses. Amoret weeps from delight, rubbing her eyes against Sir Gerard’s breeches, adrift on pleasure like a cloud on warm spring wind.
Afterward, Amoret feels herself sponged clean with rosewater, feels Sir Gerard hold a tiny glass of blackberry wine to her lips. Amoret wants to get up, to help. “No. You rest,” and the voice is that of her Queen again. Amoret closes her eyes for a moment as she’s lifted into bed, nibbles the bread filled with sultanas and cherries, enough till Sir Gerard is satisfied. Amoret hears them laughing low as they fortify themselves.
“Well played, well played,” she hears Sir Gerard laughing.
“Why shouldn’t it be?” laughs the Queen. “You do have the best knight in your company by your side.” Amoret hears the sound of kisses, then feels warmth on either side of her body, making her stretch like a cat in the sun. Turning to the left, she sees her Queen smiling softly; to the right a mischievous smile from Sir Gerard, his jet eyes twinkling, his dark and honeyed curls damp with sweat.
“How’s our favorite dancing girl?” Sir Gerard grins. “And how did you like meeting my brave comrade?”
Amoret looks back and forth, settles on her Queen. “Very well,” she murmurs, “Very well. Do you have a name when you are Sir, my Lady?” then is suddenly stricken with her insolence, worried.
“I really should have made a better introduction,” Sir Gerard laughs, running his fingers through Amoret’s red hair alongside the Queen’s, both of them stroking their favored pet. Sir Gerard chuckles. “Though, sweetling, you are such a delectable dancing girl, you drove words right from my mind.” The Queen breaks her composure to roll her eyes at her lover.
“Florent. Sir Florent,” she whispers into Amoret’s ear. “So you know for next time, dearest girl.” The Queen pauses. “Although I do have a lovely god-sister who owes me a visit. We do have such things to discuss.” She winks at Sir Gerard, who smiles, fluttering his dark, long lashes.
“You can’t resist, my dearest Giselle, my lovely Queen. Cheekbones such as these,” he gestures, “simply shouldn’t spend so much time in tourneys under a helmet. And I’m so kissable.” The Queen tosses a pillow at Sir Gerard who laughs, pausing to nuzzle Amoret’s neck. “I’m sure our little harlot will have such a lovely time, too.” Amoret purrs, rubbing her head at her Queen’s.
Then things are quiet, only the soft flow of breath, Amoret safe in the arms of her lovers, drowsy enough to make her brave. She breathes in, then breathes out softly. “I love you, my Lady. I love you, Sir Gerard.”
There’s a sudden flash of fear that wakes her from her reverie, a slight tremble in her limbs. Amoret then feels a soft, sweet kiss on her lips. “I love you, my sweetling.” Amoret opens her eyes to see her Queen smiling down at her, her stern face warm and sweet in here, only in here.
Her Lady looks at Sir Gerard, softly smiling. Sir Gerard leans down to kiss her, looking into her eyes, his tongue flickering softly into her mouth, then back. “And I love you. Best of all dancing girls, our Amoret.” Amoret’s eyes fill with tears both of which are softly kissed away, as if she were inside a love song.
“You’ll swoon in our arms next, little princess,” sighs the Queen. “But that’s what we get for choosing the dearest princess we could ever wish for.”
“Sleep now,” whispers Sir Gerard. “We have tomorrow, and the day after that…”
“And all tomorrows to come,” whispers the Queen, kissing Sir Gerard deeply, breaking off with a sweet sight. Amoret hears two beating hearts, feels the warmth of two hands clasped over her and is borne off to sleep on a river of heartbeats, breath, and wishes for love that do come true. Outside the stars shine down upon them all.