Chapter1

Arthur’s Story

Guinevere, my love, my soul mate... My absolute pain in the arse. They say behind every great man there is an even greater woman... Yup, whoever said that was obviously in his wife’s bad book. I mean, I’m never out of Guinevere’s bad book. She may as well be writing a fucking novel. It must have a contents page that reads like a parts manual for one of those fancy new trebuchets.

You would think being King would mean that I had the power to do what you want, when I want. If I wanted to have a dump in peace, then I should be able to ferment in the smell. But no, as soon as the turd hits the moat water, I’m up and out, making sure not to use her hand towel.

Guinevere wears the crown. She might lend it to me while walking around my kingdom. But in the castle... She’s the boss.

Still I crave for Guinevere.

I’m currently lying on the bed, naked like a turkey waiting to be basted. I had both beards trimmed and my best crown tilted to left, just as she likes it. The royal standard was flying full mast. His majesty was in residence and ready to rock his kingdom. Wearing a smile I watched the bed drapes part as the naked Guinevere knelt on to the mink bedspread. As she reached over me her tits swung like a heifer’s udders. Like a dog waiting to be patted, I arched my neck allowing my eyes to follow the woman I doted. “It’s good to know we still have it, my love?”

“What on earth are you on about, Arty?”

“I’m ready to pillage your pussy.” My heart thumped away like a March hare while Guinevere straddled my thighs. I reached down and held my stiff cock, brushing it against her tight curls. “Open the gates, or no mercy will be given.”

Guinevere reached under her pillow and pulled out her night robe. “Come on, put Excalibur away.”

“Why? It’s been so long since you polished the crown jewels.”

“I’m trying to get ready for the jester... but I can’t find my special knickers.”

That hurt. I know Guinevere hates that jester. He is about as funny as standing in dog muck. The knob can’t even juggle... I mean, what kind of bloody Jester can’t juggle?

Still, the jester was the best on offer. Never mind invading Saxons or rampaging Vikings, I can deal with them. No, the worst thing about no longer being under Roman occupation is the lack of entertainment. They took their gladiators, chariot racing and orgies back to Rome... and left behind Jesters who can’t juggle.

I suppose that’s why people are calling it the Dark Ages.

So with my cock in hand, I began to wank myself while I watched my wife get ready for the hapless jester. “Just bend over for me and let me see your drains.”

“Drains... what a horrible expression.”

“Sorry, Merlin taught me that.”

“You’re spending too much time with Merlin, he’s nothing but a perverted old man.”

“He’s not that old, he’s just ravaged by alcohol.” I began to really squeeze my cock as Guinevere bent over for me. She sighed as she spread her legs and leant over the sideboard. My eyesight is not what it once was, so I shuffled to the end of the bed while she reached around and parted her fleshy arse cheeks.

“Don’t touch me, Arty. I’ve not been washed.”

Guinevere was right, I could smell her musty wilds.”As if that would bother me.” Although not completely lying, she was rather pungent. Despite this, I rattled myself silly. Her brown cherry puckered up, and I could see the salmon pink of her pussy.

Nearing an orgasmic cliff, my eyes squinted like a constipated dog.“Right, I’m tipping my curd on your behind.”

“No, wait.”

To my pleasant surprise Guinevere spun on her heels then dropped to her haunches. At point blank range I blasted her in the face with two sacks of royal cum. My love juice crisscrossed her beauty like a spider’s web. I shook my head and smiled like a guilty dog. “You’re amazing, Guin... but it’s so not like you.”

“Merlin told me it will give me eternal beauty.”

“Merlin should practice what he preaches, then. He has a face like a worn out sock.”

Guinevere stood up and gazed into the mirror. She began rubbing my cum into her cheeks. “You should offer him your services.”

“People would start talking.... I could bottle him some, though.”

“He tried to convince me to try his first... I’m telling you, he is getting beyond a joke.”

“He’s misunderstood, that’s all.”

“If he wasn’t such a fine sorcerer, I’d suggest you seek the magic of another druid... one a little less creepy.”

I was fond of Merlin, and hearing Guinevere’s distaste from my friend hurt. “He’s my drinking buddy though. We are two of the same kind.”

It’s true. Merlin and I had grown up together. I admit he looks older than my granddad, but he always looked the same. Back in school, parents used to think he was paedophile knocking around school kids all the time... but he was the same age. So he tells me...Anyway, he also tells me his prepubescent beard was a result of his supernatural ability, a physical consequence of the strain that the magic puts on his body.

Merlin is such a nice guy too. He loves and cares about me. So much so, he wanted to vet Guinevere before I slept with her. He told me if he died or caught a disease from her, then she was obviously no good for me... Guinevere said no to the idea.

The hearty laughter that echoed around the cavernous court suddenly stopped as the trumpeted anthem announced our arrival. Guinevere and I walked into the room to applause before we sat at the round table with my loyal knights and trusted advisors.

As always, I sat opposite Lancelot. We’re closer than brothers, but like all siblings we have our rough patches. This was one of the more testing ones. I nodded in acknowledgment. “Evening, Lance”

“Good Day, my Liege.”

You can always tell when Lancelot is sucking up. He stops calling me Arty, and reverts to my title. “Stop with the cock sucking, Lance.”

“If you say so.”

There is no real problem with Lancelot, he is a fine man, and a great warrior. But I’m a jealous fool. His face could be chiselled by God’s very own hands. The man fears no one, and has killed more men that the plague. Yet the same man is so soft, he would jump from his horse to help an elderly lady carry her food from the market.

If I’m being honest, my problem is with Guinevere. She literally creams herself every time she’s in the same room as Lancelot. I wish she saw me in the same light as him, but I’m not even worthy to be Lancelot’s shadow. It’s not just Guinevere, even I, when we’re on campaign together... feel myself being lured by his all consuming charm. There was one time when we were imprisoned by the Normans, and shared the same dungeon... Actually we won’t go in to that.

Anyway, back to my story. I know Guinevere well, and I know she would jump at the chance to ride Lancelot until he buckled. My suspicions grew when within a minute of arriving the pair was exchanging flirtations not seen since Adam showed Eve his pet snake. I whispered in Guinevere’s ear. “Concentrate on the jester you were so keen to see.”

“I would if he didn’t keep dropping his balls.”

“It’s not his balls that I’m worried about.”

“Oh, Arthur, please. Stop it with the jealousy.”

In need of a distraction I glanced about the room to find Merlin. However he was already wasted, and snored with the dogs in front of the huge fire. I raised my goblet of ale and finished it one... It was going to be a long night.

The jester was particularly bad. We booed him off the stage. He was so flustered he walked face first straight into the closed door. We awarded him with the loudest applause of the night. As blood began to pour from his nose, I began to think that it wasn’t in fact a part of his act... Still, at least he won my affection, and right to keep his head.

My guests and I had retired to the banquet hall where an informal orgy of meat eating ensued. I pretended to be engaged in conversation with the town mayor, who was trying to convince me to change the name of our town from Cameltoe to Camelot. I nodded without really listening. My mind was on Guinevere who passed herself around the male guests like a tray of spuds. They ogled her as if they were checking for blemishes, but they wouldn’t find one as she had skin like the finest white linen.

I was rather unsurprised when Guinevere ended up with her favourite, Sir fucking Lancelot. I thought I was a good judge of character, but we’ve been married nearly ten years, and I still haven’t worked her out. Is she a slut on the sly? Or is she just good at using her unrivalled beauty to get what she wants? She has won me as much land using her pert arse as Lancelot has with his sword.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Lancelot placed his arm around Guinevere’s waist and left it to linger... Not only that, but she lay both hands on his chest, rubbing his fucking pecks.

In normal circumstances I would have erupted right there and then. Lance would have been hung over the battlements by his testicles. However Lancelot is my main man. The guy has literally won wars for me. The truth is, if he wants to touch my wife up... I just have to let him, even if it kills me.

Still I’m the King, and Guinevere is my queen... maybe I can reason with him behind closed doors.

Alone, I sat slumped at my desk. The scraping of my trusty dagger reverberated around the bare stone walls as I chiselled my frustration into the English oak. I dropped the dagger onto the table as I heard footsteps outside my door. Lance’s signature knock gave his name away. “Enter Lance.”

As expected, Sir Gobshite popped his handsome face around the door. “You look worried, Arty.” He entered the room with his usual swagger. “Is everything alright?”

“So, so.”

“Are the borders of the realm intact?”

“My sadness relates to matters on the home front.”

“Look, the Jester was bad, but...”

“It’s not the bloody Jester.”I rested my elbow on the solid oak, and held my head in my hand. “Give it to me straight Lance, are you fucking Guin?”

“Lord, no.”

“Blow job... licked her out?”

“No.”

I twirled the dagger on its stabbing point. “Please, you’ve at least given her a good fingering.”

“Not even a friendly bum slap.”

My anger swelled inside and I stabbed the dagger into oak table. “Stop fucking with me, Lance.” I stood from my chair and glared at the man who I wished I was. “You can’t keep your hands off Guin... and rather worryingly she can’t keep hers off you.”

“I’m gay... remember the dungeon in Calais, France?”

That was a memory that came home to bite. “Yeah... but that was just passing time.”

“I have a pink shield and my horse’s mane is bleached and permed. Arty, I’m not interested in Guinevere, never have been. Never will be.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.” Lance opened his arms. “Now come here for a manly hug.”

I glanced away, trying to act hard to get. But as Lance walked around my table, I couldn’t resist receiving a hug from my battle winner. “Sure. Why not.” I suddenly felt Lance’s hand on my arse cheek. “Lance!”

“Still have a bubble bum, don’t you? Must be all that venison.”

“Go on. Sling your hook.”

“Not coming for a beer?”

“I promised Guin, I’ll be back before midnight.”

“Who wears the crown?” Lancelot lumped his muscular arms over my shoulder. “Come on, the lads managed to wake Merlin up... Last time I saw him he was shooting thunderbolts from his arsehole.”

“I can probably squeeze a quick one in, then.”