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 the 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.
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.”
“Home front?”
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 stabbed the dagger into oak table. “Stop fucking with me, Lance.” I stood from my chair. “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 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 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.”
 
Guinevere’s Story
Arthur, the bane of my life. If it wasn’t for the castle, his riches, and the fact he is easier to walk over than a bearskin rug, I’d have run over the draw bridge long ago. He moans, complains, and whines like a cat stuck in the rain. His days are spent moping around the royal quarters looking like someone has just slaughtered his dog. Argh! Just thinking about him makes me want to jump into the moat.
It’s not just Arthur, it’s England.... Why did I choose a man who lives in a land where it rains more than a drunk man pisses. Let me answer that, I didn’t. My Pops married me off as a gesture to Arthur’s old man who had saved his arse in some ancient battle... If only he knew what he was going to put me through.
Anyway, back to the story. Now that Arthur and the rest were smashed, I wanted an early night. I leaned forward and pressed my lips on Arthur’s cheek. “I’m off to bed, Love.”
“Want me to join you?”
“No, you enjoy yourself with your friends.”
“That’s why I love you.”
“Promise me to be back before midnight.” I don’t need to tell you that I wasn’t being sincere, I could sleep more than fine without him. I’m merely playing the caring wife.
“Of course.”
Walking up the spiral staircase my head was filled with thoughts of Lancelot. Now, he is what I call a man, a warrior, a real knight in shining armour. He takes shit from no one and gives it by the spade full. His toned muscles, chiselled chest and smooth looks get me flowing like a tap. In fact, just talking about lovely Lance made me want to stop and finger myself right here on the cold stone steps.
Now there is a thought.
I hitched my dress and sat down on steps under the flickering light of the flaming wall touch. Spreading my legs I touched myself. The fact someone had stolen my panties actually worked in my favour. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the damp stonewall. My first and third finger spread my outer lips, while my second finger rubbed against my doorbell. I was ringing it like a determined Jehovah’s witness.
My breathing gathered pace and my free hand groped my left breast. In my thoughts Lancelot was working me over as if I was a backstreet whore. He pulled at my hair, and whispered his devilish intentions.
In between moaning and groaning, I called out his name while I continued to flick my naughty bean. I could smell him, taste his skin, feel his every touch. My heart raced and pumped lust through my veins, causing my finger to turn my clit into dust. I then plunged my finger deep, imagining Lancelot had just speared me.
My focus was on my orgasm, and not the steps of the oncoming Merlin.
“Oh, hello.”
I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to come up with something quick. “I tripped and fell.” I winced as I pulled my finger out of my pussy. “I fell on to my fingers which got stuck in my vagina... Oh the perils of not wearing underwear.”
“Lancelot?”
I hung my head. “Yes.”
“What a man.”
“Quite.”
“If you want I could pretend to be Lance?”
“No, you’re OK, Merlin.” I climbed to my feet, and wiped my fingers dry on my dress. “Thanks for the offer.”
Inebriated as usual, Merlin swayed liked a boat in a storm. His smile was more of a leer. “What are friends for, Guin, if you can’t offer your services?”
“Goodnight, Merlin.”
“Want me to tuck you in?”
“No... Just to fuck off. That will do.” Tired of dealing with the drunk, I continued to climb the steps to my bedroom.
“To think what you could do with that dirty mouth of yours... No wonder Arthur loves you so much.”
“I’m not in the mood to deal with you, Merlin. Just go and have your piss, and leave me alone.”
“Sorry, I’m just a lonely old man.”
I opened the bedroom door. “Night, Merlin.”
“Just a hug?”
“Goodnight.”I slammed the door shut in Merlin’s face.