A Different Sort of Camelot

 

Morgan came to at the heavy sound of footsteps approaching, the back of her head cracking painfully against a stone wall.  Her eyes began to focus, the sights about her none too encouraging.  She was in a dungeon, that much was obvious from the sputtering torch, the dank windowless cell and the realization that she was practically dangling nude from the ceiling.  Metal shackles encased her small wrists, and were attached to a hook in the ceiling causing her to stand on tiptoe.  Despite the clearly dangerous situation she was in, Morgan still couldn’t bring herself to believe it.  The last she remembered she had been engrossed in screwing her paramour, Accolon, and plotting the downfall of her moronic brother Arthur, and that doddering fool, Merlin, the man who had helped Arthur’s father rape her mother.  Whoever has betrayed me shall pay dearly, she thought.

As her mind raced to clear itself, the footsteps stopped outside, followed by the loud grating of metal against stone and the entrance of two individuals.  “Well, old man, it seems you’ve kept your word, you shall indeed have your reward.”

The figures emerged from the darkness, “Arthur,” Morgan hissed, instinctively knowing the bent figure behind to be Merlin.  Of course, who else, but, how? 

“My dear sister,” Arthur said, cupping her delicate face in his rough hand, then tracing a line down her throat to knead her firm round breast, before finally backhanding her with a loud, thwack, bringing a dribbling of blood to her full lips.  “It has been entirely too long.”  A wicked smile lit his strong handsome features, and for a moment, Morgan saw the young king that she had loved beyond all reason, despite the fact that the two shared a mother.  It had mattered not a whit to Morgan; Arthur had burned with the fire of a young golden god.  He would free their people from the threat of the Saxons and bring unity to the Britons under the old gods.  But, then Arthur had betrayed them, outlawed the old ways, and banished Morgan in a guilty fit after their one night together.  It would seem Arthur had not forgotten that night anymore than she had though.  He took in the lovely sight of her petite form strung taught before him, the thick black curls flowing to her waist, the pearlescent skin, her green eyes that burned into him.  Even the blood on her lips seemed to enhance her beauty.  He wanted to fit himself perfectly to those curves, to meld with that white skin, to love her as he once had.  But that was over now that she had declared herself an enemy and betrayed his trust.  She’d be punished like the whore she was, while at the same time providing king and country with the most desired gift of an heir.  Bred by Morgan, raised by Guinevere, no one need ever know.

Morgan glared at her brother, trying not to show the unwanted effect he was having on her:  his mere presence made her flush.  “What do you want Arthur, to kill me?  And you,” she yelled at Merlin, “I suppose you’ve come to fuck me!” Please, just kill me, she thought, it’d be better than whatever else he has in store.

“For now,” Merlin said, “I believe I’ll just watch.”

 Her breathing and heartbeat had quickened at Arthur’s touch, and at the taste of her own blood, she knew to her mortification, that she was wet.  If he stayed much longer it would be short work to have her begging for a release.  No one had ever pleased her as Arthur had, no one had ever excited her as he did, and now, after all these years of holding the reins of so many lackluster men, to be at the mercy of this king, it was almost too much to bare.

“No, my love, not kill you” He laughed then and roughly wrapped his hand around her throat while the other again found her breast, the nipple erect, betraying her arousal.  “I want to humiliate you, fuck you,” his lips were at her ear, “break you.”  His hand left her throat for her tousled curls, tangling in them, pulling, and forcing Morgan to an opened mouth gasp.  Arthur’s mouth clamped down on hers, his tongue finding easy access as his left hand teased Morgan’s nipple, brushed against her flat middle, her softly flared hips, probing her slit and finding it wet.  Morgan jerked her face away, her disgust filled glance taking in Merlin standing in a corner, a twisted smile on his lips.  Arthur smacked her again and then his hand was at her throat.  He could feel the hot pulsing of her blood beneath his fingers.  Such a slender neck, he thought, so easily broken.  Morgan struggled for air as his grip tightened, Arthur’s gaze locking with hers.  What a glorious sight, the pain and fear evident, but perversely mixed with a sort of ardor and daring; as if she was challenging him to do it, to end the waste that had become of her life. 

He let go of her then and returned his attention to her dripping cunt.  Even in her tormented state she couldn’t deny his skill.  He was pinching her throbbing clit, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, little gasps bursting periodically from Morgan.  “I fucking hate you!”  She managed to scream.  She winced in pain as Arthur’s grip tightened in her hair, even as a finger continued to ease in and out of her hot slit, soon followed by a second. 

Arthur laughed then and said, “I wonder, did that boy ever make you wet like this?”

“The boy?”  Morgan was confused, between the exquisite pain and pleasure coupled with the very nearness to the man she loved and hated in equal measures, her mind had ceased to function properly.  He kissed her again, his tongue and teeth finding the split in her lip, the taste of her blood salty in his mouth. “You mean Accolon.  What has he to do with this?”  A little moan escaped her lips as his fingers rubbed again at her swollen clit.  “He’s just a boy Arthur.  It was you who banished me from court, remember.  What concern is it of yours who I take up with?”

Again he jerked her head back, exposing her pale throat, his mouth immediately going to it; his teeth bruising and biting  “Why, it’s unseemly, you are the sister to the King after all, and it becomes my concern especially when my life is threatened.”  She felt three fingers being plunged inside of her.  Morgan’s eyes widened at both her brother’s actions as well as the knowledge he had just divulged.  She and her brother had spared for years but this had been a clear cut assassination plot, known only to herself and…She closed her eyes and bowed her head, shaking it slowly.  At the same time her thighs squeezed tightly about Arthur’s hand, her muscles sucking at his fingers, wanting more.  Arthur removed his fingers from her slit, her juices making his hand sticky.  “Come now, Morgan,” he said, raising his fingers to her unyielding lips, “Don’t you want to know what you taste like?”  Morgan tried to turn her head, but his other hand shot up, forcing her mouth to open.  The thought ran through her mind that she ought to bite him, but she could feel his hard prick through the fabric of his breeches.  She tilted her pelvis towards him rubbing herself against the hot bulge.  She knew how wonderful it would feel to have him in her, riding her hard.  Her lips closed around his fingers, sucking, and tongue licking; she knew how she tasted and wished for more.

She moaned as Arthur pulled away from her and slowly began to unlace his breeches. “Accolon, he betrayed me.”  Morgan’s body was visibly shaking with need now and Arthur fought to keep his composure.

“He may be young, but not nearly as foolish as you thought.”  Her breathing was heavier now, a faint sheen on her skin, her teeth clenched.  “You’d be amazed at how few men when truly faced with death, are unwilling to die for love, or in your case, a good fuck.”  Morgan went flush as Arthur pulled his prick free from his breeches, remembering that one other time with him, how wonderful and pure it had all seemed.  She hadn’t been his first, but he’d still been so young, and he had looked at her with such awe.  All she saw now in this advancing man was hatred.

He was close to her now, his prick hard against her belly, his hands massaging her breasts.  Morgan let her head drop back in rapture, hoping that the end was near.

“Do you want me Morgan?  Hmm?”  There was a cold smile on his face.  “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“No! No!”  She whispered, “I hate you!”

“Well, your body seems to be telling me otherwise. Tell me, Morgan, what is it that you desire, besides my prick inside you?”  His tongue flicked over her nipples teasing and sucking.  Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at the low stone ceiling, feeling her juices leak onto her thighs.  “Hmm?  Tell me sister, what do you want?  Just tell me, and I’ll give you release.”

She tried to blink back the tears, wishing for a free hand to wipe them away.  “I want you to acknowledge Mordred as your heir.”  She cried out as Arthur sunk to his knees, took her round ass in his hands and found her slit with his tongue. 

He paused, “Our son?” He asked, smacking her ass before going back to his task.  Her body convulsed in ecstasy, the sound of Arthur sopping up her juices adding to her excitement.  His tongue had found her clit and was rolling it about in his mouth. 

“Oh, gods!  Yes,” she was finding it difficult to speak, the words coming in bursts, “Our son,” his tongue was flitting in and out, circling and sucking at her clit, “You know that bitch Guinevere will never give you a child.”  Arthur knew she was close to coming and stood, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic before taking it off and throwing it into a corner of the room.  His cock was totally erect now, the veins throbbing.  There was no question he had grown into a glorious specimen of manhood, and that Morgan wanted him inside of her. 

“You’re right, Morgan, Guinevere will never give me a child, but don’t worry, everything’s been taken care of, and I will have an heir to my kingdom.  Our son.”  He said and kissed her deeply and more gently than before, and this time she responded.  Her tongue meeting his hungrily.  She wished her arms free so that she could wrap them about his broad shoulders.  This must have all been some sort of a test then, she thought.  She felt herself being lifted and pushed against the cold stone wall.  Her legs wrapped tightly around Arthur’s waist as his prick entered her at last.  Amazing that she could feel this elation while still being chained in a dark dungeon.

His prick plunged in and out of her, harder and harder, there was nothing sweet and innocent about it.  Morgan’s breasts slapped against his chest, his mouth occasionally finding a nipple to draw on.  Morgan felt only the constant, insistent pistoning prick driving into her, obliterating all else.  Suddenly, she felt him pull out of her, repositioning himself behind her.  With a squelching sound, his prick was once again thrust into her.  She caught a glimpse of Merlin in the corner, his hands under his robes, a jerking motion evident beneath the fabric.  She squeezed her eyes shut at the sight.  The only man she hated more than her brother was the old conjurer.

“Tell me you want me.  Tell me you love me.”  Arthur’s breath was hot in her ear.  She could feel her muscles tightening around his prick, feeling herself on the threshold of coming.  His hands were at her breasts now, squeezing, hurting, making her cry out.

“Yes, gods, yes, I love you Arthur!”

“Beg me.”

His hold on her breasts tightened, bringing on a fresh wave of pain.  “Please, please.”  She was crying now in earnest, but from what emotion she had no idea.  Morgan only knew that she wanted release.

“That’s a good girl,” Arthur said hotly and begun to pump harder and harder into her until at last, his seed exploded into her, both of them crying out with release.

Arthur rested his head on her back, pulling his now empty member from her.  Morgan smiled, totally sated and content for the first time in years.  A thread of hope wound its way through her mind; he’d said their son would be his heir.  Perhaps now that he’s spent his anger, things could be as they had been before.  “Oh, Arthur, I do love you.  Everything I’ve done has been because I love you.”

He patted her ass softly and gave a snort of laughter, not a flicker of reconciliation in his thoughts, “What a fine whore you’ve become my love.  I’m going to take great pleasure in fucking you these next few months.”

She felt as if a fist had been driven into her gut, his voice still dripped with hatred and disgust.  “But, what about Mordred, you said he’d be your heir?”

Arthur pulled away and laced his breeches back up, then found his discarded shirt and threw it on.  He then looked her square in the eyes, that smile back on his face, “I never said anything about Mordred.”  And with that he opened the door to her cell and walked out, a thoroughly amused Merlin behind him.