The Penned Dragon

Another quickie! There is a longer tale in the works, I promise, but these little ones keep seizing control of my imagination. This one is a traditional tale of fantasy, and contains elements of incest, magic, gently dominant moms, kings, queens, witchcraft, and probably the oldest trope in English literature. If these are not your cup of tea, please do not complain to me that you are drinking somebody else's tea: just give me back my dang tea.

--for my muse--

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King Eadweard studied the chessboard while the wind howled outside his chambers. The white bishop stood before his king's knight, and he obliged by moving the red lacquered horse in line with his own bishop.

"It's your turn," he said, reluctantly taking his hand off the piece.

"Oh?" By the fire, a female figure was bent low over the roaring fire, stirring a simmering pot. Curling steam arose from the lip of the three-footed pot, then sloshed down towards the floor before dissipating. As she stirred, an unfamiliar scent flooded the room -- spicy and warm and summery. She gathered the hem of blue dress in one hand to keep the gold brocade out of the ashes, pulling it tight across the broad, womanly curve of her buttocks. She dipped a tin ladle into the bubbling liquid and poured it up into a matching set of goblets.

"Did you take anything of mine?" Bryda, the Queen Mother of the Middle Kingdom asked as she placed one of the cups before her son and seated herself. A long black curly tendril of hair had escaped the tight white wimple that framed her face, and a frustrated smile split her plush mouth and spread to her kelly-green eyes as she tucked it back inside.

"No, not as yet." He lifted the vessel in both hands, relishing the heat in his fingers, and watched as she pushed her king's pawn forward a space.

"This smells oddly," Eadweard breathed deeply of the wine in his cup. "Have you done something with it?" The wind reached a high pitch outside, then his mother laughed, a short sharp dismissive bark.

"Did you think your father's people were the first to mull wine?" Bryda laughed again. "It is a recipe of my house. A messenger arrived this morning with a package from my own estates; my dear sister was thoughtful enough to include a purse of spices. Your father's kingdom is fertile and vast, but some things I can only find at home."

"I imagine, yes." His queen's bishop slid next to the white one. "A great many things must grow in the fens that cannot take root in good farmland." It was gratifying to see the color rise in her cheeks as she bristled at his words. If he could unsettle her, he might win this time.

"Is that so, sweetling?" Bryda bared her teeth at him, barely concealing the venom in her voice. "Which fens do you speak of? The fens that are home of my father where we took refuge and hid while your father's blood ran fire through his body, or the fens that swallowed an army of Northmen alive when they came looking for him?" She shifted another pawn. "Speaking of our kinsmen from across the Narrow Sea, where is your lady wife this evening?"

"The Queen is resting in her chambers this evening." Eadweard moved his other knight. "The mead gave her a queer turn, she said."

"A cold way to pass this bitter winter's eve," Bryda observed, pretending to scan the game board. "Why, when I was your age, your father and I scarce passed an evening outside of these chamber walls. That is how you-"

"-ended up with two brothers and seven sisters, I know." He watched her long, elegant fingers pass over her chessmen. How she kept them so clean was a mystery to all.

"Your wine is cooling, Eadweard." She hovered over a rook. "It may be the only thing to keep you warm tonight if Hild won't come to your bed."

"She does come to my bed, Mother," the young king drank from his cup. The spicy mix was wildly different from the castle cook's, and left his lips and fingertips a-tingle. "Just- just not tonight."

"I see, I see." Bryda tapped her lower lip, lush and pink, as though thinking. "All these visits to your chambers must be why she has not produced an heir these last three years. Why, the girl is simply too busy fucking to get pregnant!"

"Mother!" The wine sloshed over the lip of his cup as he slapped it back down on the table. "I am king here, and you will show the proper respec-"

"Yes, and a fine, young, handsome king you are at that." She castled her own king, swapping it around with the rook. "You should be bedding women and making babies; a fine crop of bastards would be better heirs than no child of your body at all. I'm sure half the maids in the castle go to their beds dreaming of having their king's mighty sceptre between their legs. You would scarcely be the first lord to-"

"I will not." Eadweard copied her move and took a deep draught of the wine. "Wedding vows may hold little sway over other men, but I swore fidelity before half the kingdom to keep the peace with her father and I mean to hold to my word, Mother. Hild will bear me a goodly son and heir no matter how long it takes."

Bryda held up her hands in mock surrender.

"Very well, very well." She chuckled. "I raised you too well, perhaps. If my son is a better man than most I suppose I should be proud. More wine?"

"Please," he said. His mother took the cup and refilled it.

"But she gets her blood? Every month?" That black curl reappeared at the crest of her smooth, pale forehead, a stray comma on a blank page.

"I- I imagine so." The furred cloak around his shoulders felt too heavy, too warm. "It may beggar belief but II do not inspect my wife as though she were a brood mare."

"She's so small," the Queen Mother went on. "Like a stripling boy. No hips or breasts to speak of, like she's never eaten a healthy meal. They say that starving maids may lose their moon tides altogether, and become as barren as a stony field." She moved her knight to shield the white queen. Bryda, herself, looked as though she'd had many a good meal; the blue dress she wore did little to hide a figure that seemed to be almost entirely curves, from hips to bust to lips to behind, womanly and screaming with the fertility that she'd proved over a lifetime of childbearing. Ten babes she'd birthed Eadweard's father, and though scarcely four had survived to adulthood, Bryda looked as though she were ready for more, if her husband hadn't been dead.

"Must we have this conversation every evening?" He pushed up one of his pawns, and without a moment's hesitation, she took it with her knight.

"Until there is a screaming baby boy in that...wo- no, girl's arms, I don't see why not." Bryda waved the chessman at her son.

The young king's nostrils flared; draining his cup, he stood, drawing himself up to his full height to look down upon his mother. Like his father, he was tall and broad and possessed of a hard stare, though he had the dark coloring and sensual mouth of his mother's people.

"I wish to retire." Eadweard slammed the goblet back down on the table. "We can continue this game in the morning, but not this conversation." The Queen Mother of the Middle Kingdom, heir to the Estates of Deepland Marshes, pushed her chair back and bowed low before her son.

"Yes of course," she said, that one strand of hair escaping her wimple as she bent nearly double. "As my liege wishes, I shall take my leave and see him in the morning." He couldn't see her smirk, but he could hear it.

"Thank you." The king breathed a sigh of relief. "And mother?"

"Yes oh my son, great king of kings?" She wasn't even trying to hide the sardonic grin now.

"Leave the wine. It will be cold in here tonight."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Bryda gathered up her skirts, and crossed the room to the door. "Have a very pleasant evening."

"And you," he refilled his goblet.

"Oh I'm certain I shall." Heavy iron hinges squealed as his mother pulled his chamber door open; it fell shut again with a room-shaking clang when she departed. Shaking his head, Eadweard shifted a chair and sat before the fire, thinking.

The king was well into his third? Fourth? Cup when he noticed the sweat standing out on his brow. The once-high flame had long since ebbed to mostly embers; he mopped his brow and banked these into a heap, then unclasped the brooch holding his heavy cloak in place. When that did little to cool him, he began stripping off articles of clothing to alleviate the heat.

Outside the wind whipped around the thick stones of the castle keep. A thick lip of snow was forming on the sill of the nearest window.

"It cannot be so hot in here," Eadweard said, suddenly struck by fear. His father had been carried off by fever: did a similar fate await him? He flexed his hands, watching his fingers. He did not feel sick. There was no ache in his joints, no dizziness, no trouble in his guts. Indeed, he could feel a pleasant tingle in his extremities, the effect of his mother's concoction.

Ah, well. She did say it would keep him warm, but he did not expect the effect to be so profound. His hands and feet felt were practically hot, and there was no denying a very pleasant warmth between his legs.

There was a knock at his door, light and tentative, almost inaudible over the storm raging outside.

"Who comes?" Eadweard called, wondering how many steps it would take for him to seize his sword, hung by the wall.

"It is Hild, my lord. Might I enter?"

Surprised and confused, he replied "yes, of course lady. My own wife need not knock and beg entry like a servant." Crossing the room in three long strides, the young king seized the iron ring that served as doorknob and opened the oaken door for her.with a grunt.

Clad only in her finely woven linen shift, Queen Hild looked as if she'd stepped out of a fairy circle. The thin fabric flowed like smoke around her lissome body, all long limbs and the subtlest of curves; her tiny breasts were mere suggestions under the dress, capped by bright pink nipples that were obviously hard in the cool night air. Long, platinum blonde tresses were braided into a complex circlet about her head. Eadweard found himself wondering how long such a labour took as she looked up at him with her big doe eyes, brown as the rich earth that surrounded their castle.

"Will my lord permit me entry or does he wish to check me for weapons first?" There was a new, playful note in her voice. Hild was usually either cool-but-deferential or bored-but-deferential, and so this made a welcome change.

"Yes! Yes, please, enter." Eadweard stood aside as she flowed past him, dragging one hand against his chest as she did.

"Did you have company this evening, my lord?" Hild seated herself behind the white chessmen, gathering up her skirt, revealing a long, lithe leg almost up to her hip. The king stared. This was more of his wife's flesh than he'd seen since their wedding night.

"On-only my mother," he said, suddenly nervous. "We played for a bit. She's gone now."

The young blonde circled the rim of Bryda's cup with her finger.

"Yes, I can see that." She chuckled. Eadweard couldn't remember if he'd ever heard her laugh before. It was a good laugh, high and clear as a bell. Beyond the walls, the wind howled.

"What brings you here on this foul evening, my queen?" For some reason, he was nervous, even more nervous than he had been on their first night together. "The Ides are still five days hence."

"Five days hen-" Hild's clear brow furrowed, first in confusion, then surprise. She laughed again, a long peal of it. "Yes of course my darling husband! The Ides, our...arrangement." Eadweard mopped the sweat from his brow and watched as his wife drank of his mother's abandoned cup.

"She came to see me tonight, the Queen Mother." Hild bent low over the chessboard, inspecting it. "We spoke a long time."

"Oh?" The young king approached the table. Bryda's knight was vulnerable, so he took it. His wife looked up at him approvingly.

"After leaving you she came to my chambers, and we spake a long while." Long white fingers began to unwind her tightly knit braids. "Your mother and I drank and talked and agreed that something is amiss in your verdant kingdom, my lord." Kinky tresses, a blonde so pale it was practically silver, tumbled down around her shoulders.

Drank? The drink! Damn her, had Mother slipped something into the wine? Some of the serving people whispered in dark corners about the old queen's eerie herbcraft but he had assumed they were simply the usual rumours about the fenfolk.

"Does my king wish to know what malady afflicts his kingdom?" Hild put one hand on his hip.

"Lady, mayhap we should speak-"

"We agreed that this royal cock spends too much time trammelled up in your breeches, and not enough time buried in my pussy." His wife's other hand slid up the inside of his thigh to rest on the heated bulge snaking down his pant leg. "Oh my, the dragon stirs in his pen, my love. Shall we free him from his confinement?"

Eadweard stood there, conflicted, as nimble fingers worked the leather laces holding his breeches closed. Hild was clearly not herself, under some kind of influence, but she had come to him, hadn't she? She was actively chasing his prick, wasn't she? Moreover, he hadn't felt a hand on it other than his own in almost as month, and there was no denying that it was eagerly responding to her touch.

"Does something trouble you, Eadweard?" The knot came free after a moment's work, and she yanked his breeches down, letting his burgeoning erection flop free. Even half hard, it was a thick slab, growing thicker still by the moment under her touch.

"Oh what a mighty beast it is," Hild cooed as his staff swelled to a full erection in her face, veins pounding angrily with blood. Any qualms Eadweard might have had about his wife were calmed as she smiled lovingly up at him and wrapped her delicate fingers around as much of his rampant cock as she could manage.

"Do you think we might soothe the savage beast with a kiss?" Her eyes were lidded, fair complexion aglow with lust; she peeled back his foreskin with a languorous stroke, revealing the smooth purple tip and, locking those big brown eyes on his, gave it a slow, lingering kiss. The young king couldn't help but let a low moan escape from his own lips as she slid hers around the head of his dick. Slender fingers folded around his shaft, stroking in unison as Hild began to bob her head, slurping noisily.

Was this the style of lovemaking they practiced on the other side of the Narrow Sea? He'd heard they did things differently over there, but she'd certainly never offered to do this before. It had been hard enough to get her to agree to perfunctory fulfillment of their royal duties once a month. Right now, his wife drooled over his rampant dick, slowly nursing at the tip like a babe at the breast, occasionally opening her mouth to show him a luxuriant lick.

Eadweard closed his eyes, relishing the sweet sensations of her ministrations, letting his left hand rest gently atop her head, fingers curling into her hair. It was thick and silky to the touch, and his fingers slid deep into it, deeper than he expected. He opened his eyes again and looked down to see his fingers caught up in her kinky black curl-

The king blinked. No, her hair was blonde, definitely blonde. That silvery blonde that made her stand out in every crowd in the Middle Kingdom.

"Does this not please you, my husband?" She asked, slyly, using her tongue to wash his shaft from sac to tip.

"No, it's nothing." He grunted, and her tongue swirled around his other crown. "A trick of the light, nothing more. This pleases me very well, my lady."

"Good." Hild's mouth slid along the thick vein. "Pleasing you pleases me. But," her fingers tented over the slippery head and massaged it, making his knees quake. "I do not believe we have defeated this mighty beast. Do you?" With thumb and forefinger, Hild began to jerk it in short, sharp pumps.

"No, it would seem to be as angry as ever," Eadweard stroked her hair and tried to keep the aroused quaver out of his voice.

"What say we retire to my lord's bed," she said, rising, but never letting go of his cock. "And see if we might not tame it another way?"

The king allowed himself to be led by his member like a hound on a lead. When they reached the bed, an oaken monstrosity piled high with furs, she took his face in both hands and kissed him long and hard and deep, tongue probing his mouth, taking his breath away.

He was a little dazed when she broke their embrace. Taking advantage of Eadweard's temporary stupor, she gave him a surprisingly forceful shove, and the king stumbled backwards into the pile of furs. His cock stood straight up in the air, a hard tower of flesh.

Queen Hild gathered her shift up in her hands and pulled it over her head; tossing it into a corner. Her husband idly stroked his own shaft, staring at her, mesmerized by her lithe form, by the ruddy glow of her pale body in the dying firelight, by the way her breasts shimmied and bounced, fat, perfect globes of-

He blinked.

His wife's breasts were tiny, mere mouthfuls on her chest, barely bigger than her own small palms; indeed one palm easily covered a strawberry-pink nipple as she teased it. Hild's hips swayed as he stared, sinuous and seductive and riveting his gaze to the triangle between her thighs, thick and kinky and black as-

"Does His Majesty approve?" Hild asked, running her slim fingers through the wispy blonde curls that crowned her pubic mound. They dug down and deep for a second and came back shimmering with moisture.

"Indeed he does, my lady." Eadweard's voice was thick with arousal.

"That well pleases me," she said, softly. The young queen put one knee on the bed and then knelt upon it, straddling his body.

The bed creaked precipitously under their weight.

"You are a well-made man," Hild breathed, bending low over his body, kissing his torso sweetly, her nose buried in the narrow trail of hair that led up from his navel. "Young, and strong, and handsome. A fine king for a fine country." She punctuated her words with lingering kisses, biting playfully at his pectoral muscles, lips grazing along his neck, sucking and lapping at his earlobe.

"A fertile land that cries out for an heir, my lord. Are you prepared to do what is necessary to seed her?" Eadweard gasped as his wife seized his cock in her heated hand, and running the head of it through the slippery wet folds of her pussy. He'd never felt her like this before. He'd always had to use copious amounts of saliva or even oil of the olive (imported at great cost from the sunny countries far to the south) to ease his entry, but now he felt he might slide inside of her with barely a thrust.

"A king always stands ready to do his duty to his country," he grinned and grabbed the back of her head, taking her mouth with his. Hilde's hair fell over his face, the fragrance of familiar perfumed oils making his nostrils flare as their tongues duelled. He knew that mix: the Queen Mother must have shared her cosmetic secrets.

There was little time for him to consider the point as his cock slipped through her dripping labia and inside of her, sliding deep into her wet heat. He was only halfway in and already deeper than he usually got without significant work. Hild's pussy felt like it never had, alive and clasping and massaging his shaft, welcoming and greedily swallowing him up. His wife slowly descended, feeding him into her sweet slippery grip until their hips met and she settled in on his cock.

Eadweard was surprised at how much she weighed. That sylphid body looked like it scarcely passed a feather's weight and yet it felt much more as her buttocks came to rest against his thighs; as much as 12-13 stone, easily, perhaps more, he realized, as she sat herself upright, looking like the cat who ate the cream.