Vixen and Queen Alice

No-one in the whole blessed kingdom knows I writes. They think me simple, just because I don't talk. Don't make me dumb though. My Lady, my best friend, she taught me her learnings as we grew up, though God knows it's against the law. Teaching your handmaid anything other than how to set a curl or drape a gown.

My Lady named me. Vixen. On account of my russet pelt and wily ways. Though most think it's a joke. My mistress is Lady Alice. Queen Alice since the king came by and took our village. Took a fancy to my golden Lady and all. Pointed. Nodded. She was his. Just like that.

Since we moved here, to the palace no less, I thought it prudent to keep a note on what I see and hear. Which is a lot. No-one holds their tongue around a pretty simpleton. God knows it might come to use.

I sing and all. Words don't come out but give me a tune and I'll sing tears to your eyes. Mistress begs me sing when I bathe her. Both of us in the tub is how she likes it, girls together. Which is what I was doing when the goodly knight came through the window, finger to his mouth as if to hold me to a secret.

Oh dear, what a day. Alice didn't see him, he was behind her, so she stands out the water in this great gold bath, all clean and done, brassy as you like. No idea the gentleman bruiser is wolfing up her cheeky rear.

Now you might wonder why we weren't screaming like peacocks at this intrusion, and I'll keep you wondering for a bit because what happened next was a lot more exciting. I go to stand up with m'Lady, wrap her in a gown, but she puts her hands lightly on my shoulders, keeping me kneeling at her feet. Ever so slightly, she leans her hips toward me.

I don't want you making any rash judgements. My Lady and I, we are very, very good friends and it is my duty to serve. We been playing these naughty games since we were, I dunno, old enough for games to get naughty.

I know what the signal means. She is all nervous and smirky because sometimes I ain't in the mood and she don't like to force it on me or nothing. Truth is, most times I love it. Her sweet flower. And today I thought, sod it.

Our guest could like it or... umm... lump it.

So, I dipped to my duty and did the best of my worst with the tippety-tip of my wicked tongue. The geezer behind leant against the window frame, biting his fist and smiling fit to burst. Lucky sod got quite a show - I can tell you - and Queen Alice weren't in no hurry, stroking my hair and cooing at me like a favoured pet. She even put a foot up on the edge of the bath, all indecent-like. Then suddenly she barks over her shoulder. "Oh come and help. Buffoon."

She knew he was there, too! Cheeky cow. The knight bolted over - he must obey his queen –dropping to his knee beside the bath, but still behind her. Next thing I knew, my tongue had competition between my Lady's legs! One front, one back. What a day.

I will leave that picture in your head for a bit, and colour in the background. You see, we are in quite a fix, mistress and me. We all have our roles, and my sweet Lady's duty is to produce an heir. Her only job. Other than silencing crowds with her beauty and giving something for the knights to fight over. And the king, well he's an old bull – bless him – more interested in fighting than fucking. Twice her age and all. More, probly. Queen Alice is his fifth wife. You can guess what happened to the others. When they turned out to be 'barren'.

So that is our pickle. We got to get the Queen up the duff, somehow, secret like, or it don't bear thinking about.

My lovely Lady cannot be seen to be involved in any plot or contrivance that pops a man between her thighs. However, way I see it: If her virtue is plundered, by some stout heart. Plucked. Well, then it's the plucker's risk, innit? Also, sweet Lady Alice, she's a romantic. She dreams of being relentlessly plucked by someone who cannot stop himself, no matter what the risk. Well don't we all.

But cuckolding the king is a dangerous game and not one that many want to play. Rising to this challenge calls for balls the size of melons and the brain of a walnut. Enter the King's noble warriors, his stable of prize stallions. His knights.

And it was jousting season.

I hatched a plan. Well stitched one. A plan of the castle – and a secret route through it - sewed onto the Queen's favour, a sash of crimson silk. At the joust today, my Lady took her pick, planted the favour on this good specimen's lance like a kiss. To my surprise, he was bright enough to understand it, and here we all are.

My Lady was having the time of her life with two wriggly eels at her bits, and she soon cackled into one of her frothy little climaxes. Now she was good and buttered up, my job at the front was done. I slipped out of the bath and frantically unbuckled everything I could find on the good knight's ceremonial armour, dripping (umm) while he continued to eat my Lady. Normally she's not keen on too much down there after cumming but today she was bent double, and offering her split peach like a desperate harlot. Looking back on it, this did not bode well.

I cursed at the blessed metal plate all over this bloke - I mean what manner of ceremony requires one's nethers to be sheathed in steel – then; with a final clank I had him all undone, and took my leave.

I didn't stray far; my Lady likes to know I'm close. Usually with a keen blade in my knickers, should I need to neuter some brute. I ducked behind a screen, shaking myself dry (...), and kept watch. For the King too, should he surprise us.

This knight was a fine looking man, handsome and none too scarred. And a giant. My Lady turned round and he stood up and she still had to lift her head to kiss him even though she was raised in the bath. He smelt good too! The pocket of gold I had given the castle whores this afternoon, to scrub him down, was money nicely spent, I'd say.

I glowed in pride at my own cleverness as I watched my Lady playing with the only hard thing left on this shelled man. His great club, stuck up all excited between them. Oh and his metal boots by the look of it, but that didn't matter I supposed.

Jumping onto him like a cat into a tree my Lady giggled her head off and the knight caught her as if she weighed nothing at all. She squirmed down over his length and, I won't lie to you, I squirmed too, watching how much fun she was having. His big, scarred hands gripped her bum and he impaled his queen - deeply, over and over - on his thick meat. The muscles on him quivered and – oh dear – she started getting very noisy. Deep breaths at first, then little words, then full on moans and groans.

The silly cow. There is encouraging noise, then there is this wild joy that won't do anyone any good if you ask me. She only had to get him to release in her, anything else was just... not duteous. But before two dozen strokes she goes all stiff, digs her fingernails in him and cries out another fruity climax! Properly howling with it too, having a literal fit on this big cock. She was enjoying it far too much. Then I realised. My Lady was young and healthy and it had been months since her wedding night. Months without a man. I could rub her hungry tummy, but at the end of the day, she needed feeding.

The knight looked uneasy, but still plunged "yeses" out of my Lady as he carried her across the chambers to the bed. He slipped her off him and laid her out, still shivering and slinky with her crisis. I have to say, she looked done. Blushed down to the tits, she was, and mouth stuck in a dopey smile. But bless her, she rolled over onto her front and tipped up her bottom. She had remembered her duty after all. Or something. "Don't stop now," she said.

The knight sheathed his cock in her - to the hilt - and they both gasped. I hoped this would pass quickly now, from my experience men burst easy like this. I prayed my Lady would keep her voice down too. All it would take was some mischievous courtier to pass the window, earwig an abandoned howl of ecstasy, and drop a hint to the king. We would all be done up like kippers.

Oh dear. The knight pummelled her rear with a plumpy slap-slap-slap that my Lady soon smothered with long puffs. Then whimpers, then little yelps. He pushed her down flat, closed her knees and straddled her, ploughing the furrow beneath her bottom, galloping hard and fast.

She stifled her cries with the mattress but couldn't control herself, arching and pushing back at him and heartily grunting into yet another, selfish, dangerous, climax. Something about this fella really hit the spot it seemed. Honest, she was screaming. I jumped in, deciding I had to quiet her down, shove something in her gob.

Then the king barged past me.

There was no innocent explanation for the position he found them in. "We fell over" wasn't going to cut it.

"Sir MICHAEL!" he roared.

I rushed and put myself between them, but the king knocked me aside and slapped the knight hard. On the arse.

"Good Lad!" He bellowed, "Look at that flank Alice! Hard as a horse! A fine heir indeed. Now please do hurry up, we have a war counsel waiting."

With that, he spun on his heal, grabbing my arm on the way out.

"Little Vixen," He rumbled. "It is not my Lady's voice we need to hear, do you understand?" I nodded, he patted my cheek, hands like great bear's paws. "Do whatever you have to do. But keep it quiet. Embittered courtiers have keen ears and razor tongues and must see justice served. I do not want more pretty heads on spikes."

He left, and we all stared at each other. Then at Sir Michael's withdrawn, and fear flagging member.

Do what you have to do. I stepped forward, stooped and took the knight's wet bulb in my mouth. It was Queen Alice's turn to peer at the show as I squeezed his plums and sucked him back to rigidness. I made to withdraw but my Lady had other plans and kept me in place, while she too pressed her mouth to the lucky knight.

A wise move. The man finally started to gasp and shudder as we nuzzled at him. I won't lie there was something heavenly about working this thing with my lovely Lady, our tongues and lips colliding sliperilly at some hard part of him every now and then. But when we squeezed a drop of juice out of the tip and watched it roll down his head, we knew what would soon follow. We were done.

"Now." Alice muttered and the knight shook his head out of its dream and went back to his job, pushing her back and taking her soft little feet. He spread her legs like bird's wings and rammed her, good and proper, quickly. As if his life depended on it.

Me, I was left stuck like a one plum pudding, listening to their sloppy slurp and urging noises, naked and all dribbly down my thighs. So I did what a Lady-in-waiting does best. I waited. And waited. Curse the whores who bathed our knight. I reckoned they performed well beyond their duties because the big bugger would not cum!

And worse. No, no no. It was my Lady huffing up to another climax. The knight looked over at me like "help!" She was getting rowdy again. I panicked. I forgot all propriety and figured to kill two birds here. I jumped onto the bed and plomped my soggy bits on m'Lady's puffing gob. She made a startled – if muffled – squeak but then attacked them with her tongue and – thank god – cried her climax into me like a bawled secret.

I had no idea I was so close, I tell you, and if it weren't for my lack of voice, her cries would have been coming out of me. I shivered and shook and whimpered in my own crisis, on all fours, splayed to her face, bottom raised toward the groaning, humping knight. I love my Lady's long and vigorous tongue, you see. You might say I'm addicted to it. God knows I don't get no other kind of payment for all my hard work. As I hoped – from his reaction to our lickety-split earlier – the sight of this set the fella off, mercifully, and he stifled a good and hearty roar, pumping his seed into my Lady's belly.

I watched him over my shoulder, twitching at our queen as I trembled on her. We grinned, rolling our eyes in relief at having completed our task at last. Quite forgetting about m'Lady, all stuffed and smothered beneath us like a goose fit the oven. He slapped my arse in glee and I frowned at him, but knew he meant well.

We have no way of knowing if an heir has been sired by this sir knight. But – with the kings implicit approval of surrogacy – I reckon to concoct a few more discrete trysts for good measure anyway. Just to make sure. A few more secret plans, pinned to the victor's lance.

I might be a simpleton, but the tournaments will be hotly fought this year, methinks.