Nareena awoke with an ache between her thighs and the taste of Sir Charles on her lips. She was slow to open her eyes, but as she did the room came into view and she found she was alone in it.
Had her king--her husband--joined her last night? Her palm pressed against her head, foggy from the celebration wine, and tried to remember. A sword and a sheath...the memory brought a strong blush to her fair cheeks and she found herself glancing around once more to assure herself she had no company.
Why did this memory alone cause a throbbing in her most pleasurable place? Did all acts hold such a power, or was it the knight who had taken her virginity and yet given her so much more?
Her mother had prayed over her before her wedding day, that as she gave her body to her husband so would she give her undying devotion. Nareena's heart quickened with fear. She could not hold devotion for anyone other than her husband and king. It simply could not be.
She closed her eyes against the rising sun and let her fingers find their way down, and down further still, to the throbbing, aching need between her legs. She must remind her body of whom she is devoted, she thought as she felt the warm wetness greet her willing touches. Nareena let her mind wander back to the hours before her wedding, with her king between her legs, as she mimicked the expert movements of his tongue. Her body arched as she imagined him there yet again, pictured his beard tickling her thighs, envisioned his eyes glaring up at her as he licked and lapped and sucked and...
A moan escaped her lips as her fingers slid inside the furnace stoking her desire, just as her king had.
"Please, my grace," she begged aloud to no one.
Her fingers began a rhythm all their own and her mind followed in a hazy fog, as images of her king were joined by fantasies of her knight. Her breath quickened as she envisioned King Gregory rising with his juice stained beard to motion for his knight to come take his place, then Sir Charles approaching naked and ready to sheath his sword again.
"No," she gasped, "it should be my husband" she whispered to her desires warring with her devotion. Her other hand began to grope at her breast, eliciting mewls and panting as she continued to build up the pleasure in her bud.
Her mind wandered back to her knight standing before her, ready and wanting. "But my husband," she protested half-heartedly. Sir Charles took no notice of her words and instead groped her thighs as he slowly entered her tight, waiting vessel. Her body began to vibrate as her mind lost all rationality. Her fantasy knight thrust in and out of her as she turned to see her husband lying beside her. "Yes, my queen," he whispered with hot breath against her neck. She groaned as he sucked on her skin and kneaded her breast.
"Come for me my queen."
She no longer knew whose voice was speaking, whose body was pleasuring her. All she knew was waves of ecstasy crashing down upon her as she cried out and spasmed against her own slim fingers now dripping with the sweet nectar of her rapture.
