Once upon a time there was a girl named Isobel, who attracted the very close attention of the queen. Isobel was a lovely girl, with long, pale-blonde hair, and wide, blue eyes.
Isobel’s mother died when she was very young– her father was a nobleman who was killed in battle only a few months after he got remarried– to Maeve. Maeve was a jealous woman who had two daughters of her own– Isobel’s stepsisters.
While Maeve couldn’t just toss Isobel out, after the death of Isobel’s father she did what she could to make the girl’s life uncomfortable, and that included incurring the wrath of the king.
When it was decreed that Isobel should marry Sir Harald by order of the king and queen, Maeve ignored it, and didn’t bother to tell the girl. When next Isobel was at court, the king was furious. And the queen, well she had always had a soft spot for Isobel…
“Girl!” the king shouted, moving forward through the crowd. “On your knees!”
Isobel moved forward at a lightning pace, not daring to make eye contact. Falling to her knees, she submitted wholly to the king, every line of her body rife with submission.
“Sire,” she spoke loudly, voice clear and high enough to ring from the rafters above. “I am yours to command.”
“It seems your stepmother has chosen a different marriage for you than the one I commanded.” The king spoke lightly, but Isobel could not miss the menace in his voice. “Is this of your choosing also?”
He stood behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body.
“No, Sire.” She shook her head with vehemence. “I want that which the king commands.”
“I see,” he snarled. Isobel could not move for fear of him, knowing that it enraged him that she came between him and his queen, however inadvertently. “And yet you are not yet married…”
Isobel shook her head in confusion. “No Sire…”
The king was silent for a long, terrifying moment before he raised his head and turned to the court. “Leave us.”
His voice was low and guttural, almost a growl. Yet that simple command sent the hundred or so people in the room scrambling for safety. Within seconds they were alone.
“Isobel,” he spoke her name calmly now, almost amiably, but Isobel was not fooled. “My queen has issued you an order– an order which you have not obeyed.”
“Sire,” Isobel began.
“No!” He roared, voice echoing off of every corner of the dense stone walls. Isobel stopped, not wanting to agitate him further. It was then she heard the footsteps, moving toward them with agitated speed, light and quick. The queen.
“Take off your gown Isobel,” he commanded.
“But Sire…”
“Take it off!”
She rose from the cold flagstones of the floor and stood perfectly still in the middle of the room, cursing her stepmother with each breath for not having told Isobel that a marriage had been arranged for her.
“Isobel…” The king’s voice sounded behind her, menacing with fury.
“She can’t.” A feminine voice said, as the footsteps drew closer. “You should know this, Edward– she’ll need help with those buttons.”
Isobel began to shake as the queen entered the chamber. Drawing up behind her, the queen worked the buttons of Isobel’s gown with surprisingly deft fingers. She knew the queen’s presence, had been a target of the queen’s desire for quite some time now. Isobel trembled at the thought of what the queen would do to her.
The king was silent as his queen undid the buttons of Isobel’s gown, peeling it down to expose those perfect, plump breasts. He grunted as she turned Isobel toward him– his erection beginning to twitch as his wife’s eyes lit with lust.
“She’s not married yet,” he said. He watched as she pulled Isobel’s hands behind her back and bound them with a piece of silk. He could almost feel the queen’s pussy throbbing with heat- it was always the same when she lusted after this woman.
Isobel’s breasts thrust out in front of her as her arms were bound, taut and full with youth. The queen groaned and licked her lips, eyeing them. She reached a hand out and began to touch Isobel’s flesh, powerless to control the effect it had on her. The queen was often powerless over her lust for women, this one in particular.
“You will marry Sir Harald,” she told Isobel, as she bent to take one rosy nipple into her mouth. Isobel gasped and arched her back as the heat of the queen’s tongue made contact. “I forgot how sensitive your breasts were,” she said with relish, gorging herself on Isobel’s flesh.
Isobel tried to pull back, her face a mask of confusion. The queen had demanded Isobel’s presence in her chamber many times and always forced her to strip naked. They had rubbed pussies, licked and sucked, and done unspeakable things. No matter how she tried, Isobel was never able to control the feelings of arousal she got when the queen touched her. She could feel her pussy growing wet beneath her gown as arousal began to snake inside her belly now.
“Once you marry Sir Harald,” the Queen continued, mouth full of Isobel’s left breast. “I will be free to take you as my lady-in-waiting, which means I can take you whenever I like.”
Her hands explored Isobel’s body with greed, and she reached down to push Isobel’s gown below her hips. The king stood back, silent, watching his wife devour the girl. The queen was a lusty woman, and the king always found that it worked to his advantage to let her have what she wanted.
Now as Isobel’s gown fell below her hips, the queen ordered her up onto the dais to lay out on the table. Stepping from the gown which billowed to the floor around her feet, Isobel moved toward the dais with a slow, sure step. She knew what would happen once the queen buried her face in her pussy. Lying back on the table, Isobel spread her legs and watched as the queen stared down at her.
Rubbing Isobel’s smooth thighs, the queen groaned as she bent to taste Isobel’s hot, tight pussy.
“You’ve missed me,” the queen sneered as she tasted the wetness there. Isobel bucked her hips, rubbing her clit into the woman’s face. Placing a hand under Isobel’s buttocks, she held them up off the table and feasted on her pussy. Her greedy tongue lapped up the musky juice that betrayed Isobele’s desire.
Groaning, Isobel began to move herself against the queen’s face. Her building orgasm robbed her of self-control. Behind the queen, the king had started to stroke himself. He moved toward his wife, pulling her gown up around her waist.
“My god, you’re wet,” he groaned, inserting a thick finger inside her.
“Fuck me,” was all she said, her tongue still working Isobel’s hot, moist slit.
The king began to slide in and out of the queen’s pussy– she was so slick and hot as he moved inside her. Beneath the heat of her mouth, Isobel’s cunt began to quiver as the queen laved her clitoris with her tongue. Isobel began stroking her own breasts with the pads of her thumbs.
The queen watched her intently, the taste of Isobel’s musky flesh in her mouth. She reached up to massage Isobel’s perfect, perky breasts.
“My god!” Isobel cried out suddenly, freezing as her body convulsed. She came hard all over the queen’s tongue. The queen sucked greedily at the juice from Isobel’s orgasm while her husband fucked her from behind.
“I love it when you come,” the queen muttered, pushing her tongue as far up inside Isobel as she could. Behind her, the king groaned, emptying his load up inside her.
As he finished, the queen straightened up, pulling her skirts down and turning to face him. Isobel, knowing what the queen liked next, lay still on the table. Within moments the king, satisfied now, had left the room at the queen’s bidding. She turned to Isobel with a joyous little smile.
“I want to have you properly,” she told Isobel, lifting her skirt up around her waist again as she mounted the table. Angling herself over Isobel’s body, she slowly lowered her pussy so that it rubbed against Isobel’s.
“Yes, like this,” she said, grinding her hips slowly. She and Isobel were both hot and wet, and the feeling was exquisite. “Can you come again Isobel?”
She bent over now to take Isobel’s breast in one hand. Playing with the soft, sexy mound of flesh, she continued to move her slick wetness against Isobel’s tender pussy.
“Isobel!” she cried, moving her body slowly and deliberately. Isobel was becoming aroused again, the queen’s intensity always did that to her. She began to respond, moving her hips in a desperate rhythm.
“Fuck,” the queen whispered, looking down at Isobel’s body now– she leaned over and began to suck hard on Isobel’s nipples. Isobel nearly shot off the table with desire. “Rub me,” the queen told her– shimmying her covered breasts in front of Isobel’s face.
Even through the fabric, Isobel could see that the queen’s nipples were hard. She rubbed her face against them, wishing she could get at them through the gown.
“God, you’re so pure,” the queen moaned, still slick and wet as she gyrated against Isobel. Her gaze was intent on Isobel’s breasts. “I come so fast, thinking about you. I want your pussy on mine always.”
She began to rub faster and harder now, staring down at Isobel’s tits with a glazed look in her eyes. Isobel could see the moment she gave over to pure animal lust.
“Isobel,” she cried, hips bucking wildly as she approached orgasm. Isobel continued to move her pussy against the queen’s, close to her second orgasm. The warm, slick wetness made her breathless with desire.
They came together, their bodies synchronizing with the ease of long familiarity. Isobel had been an obsession of the queen’s for long enough that they knew each other’s bodies well. The queen froze, the fullness of Isobel’s right breast still in her mouth as she gave over to wave after wave of pleasure.
Isobel cried out with passion, wrapping her arms around the queen and pulling her close. Their lips met and they kissed, a long, deep kiss as their bodies convulsed with pleasure. After a moment, the queen sat up and looked down at Isobel, that odd tenderness on her face that she always had after orgasm.
“So you’ll marry Sir Harald then?” she reached down to cup Isobel’s cheek lightly with her hand, smiling.
“And be your mistress?” Isobel looked up at her with wide, cornflower eyes.
“Yes,” the queen responded, shrugging. “I suppose so– but it’s better than being at the mercy of that stepmother of yours.”
Isobel smiled, nervous. The queen was right. “I’ll marry him,” she whispered, thinking ahead to a lifetime in this woman’s bed.
“Excellent,” the queen said, nearly dancing with excitement. “You won’t regret it.”
Three months later, Isobel married Sir Harald, who really was just too old to even think about sex, and who spent a great deal of time at court and never suspected for even a moment that the queen was obsessed with his wife.
Consequently, Isobel and the queen spent many years rubbing pussies, and lived happily ever after.
THE END
Picture source, here.
