The Tale of Queen Arta Ch. 02

And as the hands worked. As his hands worked. As they played her like a lute. As they lay their spell, she began to drift. Though her body was firmly grasped in the clutches of the multi-dexterous and her mind remained focused on the associated pleasure, she felt some conscious part of her stretch and slip outside that web. She felt the heat of her arousal and the unwelcome inability to reach release opposed by an impossible coolness as she simultaneously drifted amongst stars, innumerable and ineffable as they were.

Her vision pulsed with the shadows of stars, the spaces around them once null and void now filled with the cosmic minutia whose colors she saw hints of before. Her mind's eye filled with swirls of pale green, pulses of astral magenta, clouds of indigo-violet, and streaks of vibrant yellow. Between them lurked.. not stars... but... memories! Here and there amongst random instances of her life lay those relatively few moments with her precious Violet Knight. Their first time after the unfortunate hunt, their time after she took Baurus's so-called kingship, and the innumerable secret visits in between, as well as their last, short as it had been.

That last visit. It had been a session of court, the Violet Knight accompanying some minor, outlying noble as a simple man-at-arms, preposterous as that was. The less-than-count had blathered on for far too long about bandit raids that had long since passed. Arta's gaze had lingered not on the whinging noble but upon her armor-clad lover, her eyes boring deep beneath plate and padding, devouring the skin and sinew she knew lay beneath. She had imagined the throbbing sword he wielded and all the ways it could--and would--fill her if given the chance. Her knight had eventually interrupted the noble, pledging to rid the man's lands of any and all crime for the next few months. The distracted Arta had accepted her Lancelot's promise and adjourned the session of court shortly after.

The two had met in an abandoned hallway not far away, his dark and wavy hair, his grey-blue eyes, his heavy step, his strong arms. They had all closed in on her in their own way, her lips and his meeting in accustomed secrecy. She had pulled him into a side room, knowing their time was short, her gown soon lifted above her waist as undignified as that of any serving girl so keenly desiring of a man's steely flesh. No undergarments obscured her skin, her pale skin unhidden, her wetness and arousal glimmering in the side-room's ensconced light. She had not seen his face then, simply imagining the wolfish grin he surely displayed as he undid the cinch about his waist.

She could hear the footfalls behind her as he closed those few feet. His swollen mushroom-tip glanced against her cheek, a pulse of excitement coursing through her. She heard him spit softly into his hand, followed by a momentary pause, before his bulky sword met the delicate flesh betwixt her legs. The angle was not ideal but his glans soon found the achingly-empty wetness at her core. A half-stroke forwards and she felt him begin to stretch her in that familiar, exquisite, essential way. His hands, rough but soft-enough moved, one grasping her waist, the other sweeping down and around and finding the firm button looming over her wetness.

Their sex that day had somehow been more secretive, more forbidden, more... naughty... than ever before. They both knew they had no time and so he'd wasted none, pounding into her hard and fast. His bulk stretched her and filled her, his probing tip striking the folds of her passage, glancing as it did that spongy indentation at the fore of her sex even as his hand coerced and caressed her delicate clit. She'd cum, swiftly, rapidly, staying silent only by biting her lip just shy of bleeding. And yet he hadn't stopped, railing in and in and in and in. One orgasm had multiplied into two, three, four... wash and wave and pulse and surge, one after the other in a way she'd never before experienced. Sometime between three and four and four's aftershocks, he'd tried to warn her he was about to cum himself. And she hadn't listened. Or, at least, the conscious part of her mind hadn't. The primal, bestial part had, forcing her hands backwards around him, dragging his hips and cock forward, deeper, further until she had felt him spill inside her for the first, and only, time.

Sometime during this remembered moment, the hands adoring her shifted once more. The callouses began to fade, the fingers' tapers no longer so coarse, an impossible softness setting in. These were no man's hands but also they were not Arta's. If these hands worked by day, they worked not by sword or wooden shaft. Yet they bore with them a sensation that neither Arta's nor Lancelot's had. It was hard to describe, especially not when as muddled and addled as Arta's mind was, dashing haphazardly through its erotic haze. These hands had an impossible heat, an unearthly slickness, and an impossible... awareness of Arta's body and her current needs. They were even more plentiful in number, even more aggressive, even more pleasing, and even more determined to build that wave of pleasure to unimaginable heights.

Then, suddenly, for no apparent reason, her own hands were no longer restrained. Arta's limbs moved on their own, one flying to her clit and the other into her snatch, three dainty fingers slipping in as deep as they could while the other hand rubbed as quickly and roughly as possible. The ethereal fingers thus displaced but continuing their assault on the other erogenous zones of her body, the dam could no longer keep up. Her fingers danced, they wove, they moved in ways that Arta had never moved them before, the symphony of release she was conducting of a depth and complexity she'd never before experienced. And it came crashing down so hard and so unexpectedly that she could not help but wail out in absolute ecstasy. Her hands froze, the ethereal fingers stopped. Hell. Time itself could not tick forward as the surge burst through her. Every nerve cried out in pleasure. Every muscle twitched and released. The stars shown in her eyes as every sensation other than sheer orgasmic rage in her body failed her. The aftershocks were minimally less powerful, each wave cresting and battering the already-slipping walls of consciousness... The last sensations she could process before the waves washed her into the unwitting realm of sleep were a wash of blissful nectar heat spilling from her legs and a passionate kiss upon her lips.

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Arta awoke with a startling jerk, bolting upright. Her body was covered still in a thin sheen of sweat and her breathing was fast and deep. Her skin could still feel the touch of innumerable hands, both hers, her Lancelot's, and undoubtedly Orrea's, upon her skin. She was infinitely aware of her arousal and could almost feel the lingering effects of her one and only orgasm from the night. She did not need to reach between her legs to know she was still soaking wet, just as she could feel the cold wetness of the sheets beneath her from her orgasmic emission. Her reminiscing was interrupted by the sight of Orrea, perched at the window, one hand playing with her breasts and the other busy between her legs. Arta saw Orrea shiver with pleasure, her legs squeezing together and eyes closing tight as she came, before withdrawing her hand from between her legs and licking the juices from her fingers.

"Well, then." Orrea said, "That was enjoyable. I can see why you miss him."

Sluggish as her drowsy mind was, Arta was still taken aback, "I locked every way into this room. How on earth are you here?!"

Orrea chuckled playfully, "What made you think I wasn't here before you locked the door? Now, can we please go back to how divine that experience was?"

Arta gave a sardonic half-scowl, "And you're going to claim you weren't involved?"

"Hahaha. No, I won't pretend that. In order to track him, I had to be in your place. He knows what he's doing." Orrea purred. "And then I wanted to make sure you had an unforgettable night."

"Oh." Arta couldn't tell whether she felt more uncomfortable knowing that Orrea had experienced exactly what she had experienced herself or that Orrea had touched her most private and sensitive parts without permission. She decided to process this uncertainty later, "So are you able to find him?"

"I have a lead at least. If you were inclined to listen to me, I'd suggest you spend the next hour or two tending to the pent-up feelings last night stirred. One orgasm, no matter how strong, isn't enough to drain the sort of beacon we had to build. And if you'd further listen to me, I'd love to spend the rest of this morning with you, My Queen." Orrea batted her eyes overly-exaggeratedly at this last bit.

Arta shook her head, "You already had your way with me without permission. Just be glad I want to keep your witchy little hands intact. We shall speak again when you have followed up your lead."

"Kiss goodbye? I hate to cum and go." Orrea chirped, indefatigable.

"Not this time."

"But there'll be a next? Oh, goodie!" The incorrigible redhead giggled to herself before unlatching the chamber window, opening it, and stepping out through it, a red bird flitting off into the distance as soon as Orrea'd fallen out of sight.

Arta collapsed back onto the bed. Her heart was pounding. Her mind was reeling. And she could feel the agonizing pulsation of unresolved need pounding between her legs. Snippets of the night floated unbidden to the forefront of her mind, including times where it was clearly Orrea's hands caressing her tender folds. She groaned, disappointed that Orrea was right, yet again. Her hands drifted to their accustomed places as she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift to a place that could only be described as somewhere between her experience from the night before and her last time with her Violet Knight. A tired smile broke across her face before being replaced by the solemn, serene face of unbridled pleasure. The room and the air outside her tower were soon filled with the same.