Glade and Ivory Ch. 08

"It only reminds me of my fate," Ivory moaned.

"They will be here for only a few days," said Glade. "You may well enjoy it more than you think. I've seen how much pleasure the Chief gives you. Other men may satisfy you even more."

"But if the Reindeer Herder chief is as old and lined as Chief Cave Lion..." said Ivory.

"If he is too old," remarked Glade with a smile, "he may not have the energy or even the ability to fuck you. Don't fret, my sweet. That day will soon be past and we can make love together once more."

"I don't wish to carry a Reindeer Herder child within my womb."

"Don't worry about that either, my love," said Glade conspiratorially. "One of the many talents I have as a shaman is to relieve you of an unwanted child. I also have artistry that may prevent such a thing happening at all."

"You have?" said Ivory, with a sudden unexpected rush of hope.

Glade nodded. "It's not foolproof, sweetest. But follow my advice and it may be that you will never need to bear a child. Unless, of course, you should change your mind..."

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Glade was gripped by a breathless urgent anticipation as, despite the Knights' endeavours, rumours of fresh rebellions spread amongst the slaves. All the snatches of Glade's conversation with slaves from outside her compound were of the same subject. The slaves' satisfaction was briefly compromised by the news more widely promulgated by the Knights that one of the rebel villages had been crushed by the King's army. But this was a bloody engagement that cost the life of several of Lord Valour's Knights, including that of Baron Peerless.

Lord Valour became a more frequent visitor to Lady Demure's bed, but this didn't appreciably result in his wife's greater satisfaction. His sexual pleasure was compromised by his desperation and frustration that his wife hadn't yet become pregnant. Even though his efforts at impregnating his wife had become more urgent, it was obvious he'd prefer to fuck his male slaves who were beginning to hide rather less well their resentment at his anal incursions. Glade, Quagga and, most particularly, Mimosa were also rather less than delighted by his more frequent insistence on anal sex with whichever arse was nearest at hand. Mimosa was bitter at the specks of blood that often accompanied his frantic buggering.

"If he fucked cunts as often as he fucked arses, who knows how many children the bastard would have now!" she complained to Glade after one especially frantic night of one-sided lovemaking.

Even Glade was now decidedly unenthusiastic about the chief's favourite sport, though the more frequent visits meant she could pass more words with those slaves of his who belonged to her tribe. She even managed to get Tree Shrew, one of her tribesmen, to ejaculate when she discreetly masturbated him while his master was engaged in fucking Quagga's arse and Lady Demure's vagina in roughly equal measure.

However, the day came when Lord Valour entered the tent unannounced with no intention of fucking his unenthusiastic wife. He was far too agitated and anxious. Lady Demure was nestled on the bed between Glade and Quagga, saliva from Glade's tongue slipping down her inner lips and onto her thighs. She could see her husband's agitation and rather more politely than she would once have done she eased her slaves to one side.

"What is it, Delight of my Heart?" she asked.

"Blessed Cunt of Mine," he said, still observing the niceties of civilised discourse. "I have heard news which if it is true is most terrible indeed."

"And what is that, my Sweet Prick?"

"The King is dead."

Lady Demure narrowed her eyes and laid a hand on Glade's thigh to steady her weight. "The King is dead?"

"There has been a rebellion in his village, my Sweet Cunt. It was horrific. The carnage was terrible. Not only the slaves of his village but of the surrounding villages descended on the King's court and murdered every last nobleman. The King's wives and all his children were ritually disembowelled. The rumour is that he was found with a spear that had been thrust up his anus, through his bowels and right out of his mouth. The King is no more. His Princes are also dead."

Lady Demure ran her hands down the side of her cheeks and pulled them downwards. Then she smiled. "So, it may be that you have a claim to the throne, my Proud and Erect Prick. We may have the wealth and glory of all the tribe at our feet."

"What?" said a puzzled Lord Valour. "You think..."

"Who else but you, Sweet Childgiver, is better suited for the highest office under the gods' firmament?"

Lord Valour stood uncertainly in the flickering light of the fire, clearly rather flattered by the notion. Then he corrected himself. "It is not right, my Sweet Cunt, to celebrate the death of the King."

"But it is your duty and your destiny..." said Lady Demure excitedly. "Think of all the power you would have, my Proud Prick."

"What power, what glory and what majesty is there, my Chosen Childbearer," asked Lord Valour, for once the more realistic of the two, "if there is no Kingdom for me to reign over?"