Cautionary Tales (12 page)

“But I still may have trouble with the Queen of Hearts?”

“You still may. It depends how tolerant you are.”

“I can't imagine anything farther out or more enjoyable than what we have been doing.”

She kissed him on the mouth. “You're so sweet. But I can't keep you. I have a Knave of my own, not to mention the King.”

He joined her in her huge bed. But he couldn't find a pillow. “It's not that I'm a fussy man,” he said. “But I can't sleep without a pillow.”

“Oh, I forgot! We have no pillows. We don't need them.”

“But—”

“I'll show you.” She turned around and put her legs up by the head of the bed. “Here are your pillows.” She patted her buttocks.

Oh. “If you don't mind…”

“Mind? This is the way the King always sleeps. He says I'm better than any dead cushion. Try it.”

Somewhat dubiously he laid his head on her plush rear. It was indeed a marvelous pillow. But her cleft was right there by his nose. “What if I—stray, in the night?” he asked.

She laughed. “You can kiss my ass. I love it. Go ahead, put your face in there. Lick it, if you are inclined.”

He was inclined. He had been admiring that butt all day. He nudged his face between her buttocks until his mouth found her cleft. It felt great. He licked it. “I could do this all night,” he said, half embarrassed.

“Welcome.” She slid her head down beside his groin, and licked his penis. “So could I.”

So they settled down, with his cheek against her buttock, his mouth against her cleft. His penis was comfortable in her slowly sucking mouth. Neither of them were ready for another orgasm; it was merely a mildly pleasurable aftermath on the way to sleep. This was another completely new and exhilarating experience. The last thing he remembered was kissing the warm wetness of her ass.

He woke in a riot of flowers as dawn was breaking. He was naked but not cold; he seemed to be in a warm greenhouse.

His bladder was full. He got to his feet and looked for a bathroom, but there were only plants: potted, shelved, grounded, climbing trellises, flourishing everywhere.

“Hello, Knave,” a dulcet voice said behind him.

Jack turned to see the Queen of Spades, in a black robe with a black crown binding her black hair. She was regal and beautiful, of course.

He bowed his head, belatedly trying to remember his manners with royalty. “Hello, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, don't bother with that,” she said, slipping off her robe to be splendidly naked. She had the best breasts he had seen so far, full and erect and perfectly shaped. “We have other business.”

He tore his eyes from her chest. “Uh, yes, I guess. But I need to—” He didn't know how to express it in this company.

“To pee,” she said helpfully.

“Yes. Is there a bathroom?”

“Don't bother with that either. This is my garden; my plants all love nitrogen fertilizer. Here, honor my royal poinciana.” She indicated a lovely small flowering tree.

With her watching? “But—”

“Here.” She took him firmly by the penis and drew him toward the tree. “On the ground beside, not on the foliage.”

Of course the touch and her nudity instantly stiffened his member. “I can't.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry! Did I complicate things? How thoughtless of me.” She squeezed his penis, which she still held. Thoughtless? She had done it on purpose, the conniving wench.

“Maybe if I could have some time alone,” he suggested.

“No need. It just needs softening.” She angled her head, glancing obliquely at him. “You do comprehend the protocol?”

“I'd really rather just—urinate—first.”

She went to a vegetable plot and pulled up a small turnip. “This should do.” She rinsed it off under a tap that projected from a rising pipe.

“But my bladder is sort of full,” Jack protested. “I don't think--”

She sat on a park bench, leaned back, spread her legs, and applied the turnip to her opening cleft. “So is mine. We'll both relieve ourselves soon.” She pressed on the turnip, but it balked, being too big and dry. “Help me, Jack; I need to get it in.”

He realized that further protest was useless. She had her agenda, and his best course was to facilitate it so as to hasten the moment when he could finally pee. He knelt down before her, his face close to her belly and divine breasts, and put his hands to the vegetable. It was hanging up on the lips of her vagina, trying to pull them in with it. It needed lubrication.

She had put him in this position for a reason. He got on with it. He withdrew the turnip, put his face to her cleft, and licked it, spreading saliva copiously. Her own juices flowed now, responding to the stimulation. Then he licked the turnip, and brought it back to the hole. “Hold it open, please,” he said.

She put her hands down on either side and drew the labia wide apart. He applied the turnip, pressing it firmly in. Slowly it entered, wedging the hole wide, until finally it was inside except for the stem and leaves. “Now close,” he said.

She released the labia and squeezed her vagina tight around the stem. “That does it,” she said. “Now it is in me. Thank you, Jack.” She leaned down forward, those breasts dangling evocatively, and kissed him.

“You're welcome,” he said. Of course his penis was almost painfully turgid. He had never had such contact with female genitalia prior to his encounters with the Queens, and the novelty still seriously excited him. As well she knew.

She took hold of the stem and gently worked the turnip out. It was now slickly lubricated with her fluid. “Your turn.”

What could he do? He got down on hands and knees and let her lubricate his anus with more of her juice and press in the turnip. It was too tight to fit. Then she leaned over him, her breasts touching his back tantalizingly, held a herb before his nose, and its acrid odor put him into a paroxysm of coughing. By the time he finished, his eyes were watering, and the turnip was lodged well within his colon, only the foliage projecting behind like a tail. She had known what she was doing, again. But the pressure of the vegetable intensified the imperative of his bladder. There was too much in him. “Now it is in you.”

It certainly was. No further words were necessary. She took his place on the turf, on hands and knees, then lowered her shoulders so that only her bottom was projecting up. He dropped to his knees behind her and jammed his swollen member in, jetting before he even achieved full depth. He continued thrusting, pumping madly, feeling the passage of the discharge as it surged past the pressure of the turnip. It was uncomfortable, in respects, but also wildly satisfying.

Then he was spent, and withdraw, again aware of his bladder. He lurched to the poinciana tree and aimed his detumescent member at the ground. Nothing happened.

“Relax,” the Queen said. She put her hand on the stem of the turnip that dangled between his legs and pulled.

Oh. He relaxed his sphincter, and slowly the vegetable emerged. It had filled his colon so thoroughly that it prevented the urine from flowing.

He let go, but it took a moment for the flow to start; he still hadn't shrunk enough.

“Like this,” the Queen said with a naughty smile. She squatted beside him and jetted copiously into the ground. She was right: she had had as full a bladder as he. She must have liked having sex that way, maybe for the novelty.

Finally he got it started, and peed. It was an enormous relief.

“You are an excellent sport,” she said as he finished.

“I must be,” he agreed, bemused. She had put him through the wringer, in her fashion, forcing him into actions he would never normally have done. Jamming a turnip in his ass? Peeing before a Queen?

She stepped into him close, pressing her fine breasts against him, and kissed him. “There is a reason,” she murmured. “One day you will understand.”

“So you're not just strangely turned on by sex toys?” For of course the turnip was such a toy.

She laughed. “That, too.”

“You know, all I did was answer an ad. I thought it was a job.”

“It is a role. If you care to fill it, it will be quite rewarding.”

“To have sex with the lovely Queen of Hearts? Why wouldn't I care to do that?”

“She has her little ways.”

“As Clubs, Diamonds, and you do? Things in you, then in me? It's weird, but I guess I can handle it. The sex is great.”

“Thank you. Now let's do some gardening.”

They gardened. There were myriad plants to water and fertilize, and a number to transplant. She was expert with a spade, by no coincidence. Each plant had its name and nature, and the Queen was happy to describe them all. Jack would have lost interest, being no gardener, were it not for the way her full breasts moved as she talked. He wished he could stroke and kiss them.

“You're looking,” she said.

He blushed furiously. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I love having you fascinated by my assets. It is time for another round.”

“But I don't think I can—get stiff yet,” he said. He had had a lot of sex in the past two days, and his body was getting slower to respond.

“No problem. Taste this.” She proffered a leaf.

He put it in his mouth and chewed on it. Suddenly blood surged to his penis, lifting it high. Oh—it was a herbal stimulant.

She squatted by the garden and pulled up a sizable carrot. She washed it off, then fitted it into her vagina, which remained slick from their prior effort. He was surprised that she was able to get the whole of it in. Then she inserted it into his anus while he stood facing her. When he clenched involuntarily, barring the way, she gently bit his penis. The sheer surprise caused him to relax, and she slid the carrot in past the resistance. It was not as big across as the turnip, but was longer, and he felt its rigidity deep within him. But at last he was able to close his sphincter around its stem.

She lay on the turf, spread her legs, and drew him down to her. His turgid member spewed desperately into her.

“Very good,” she murmured.

Then he realized that she had not climaxed herself, either time. “You—you aren't with me,” he said.

“Patience, Knave. I will get there in my own time and fashion.”

Mystified, he let it be. He would surely find out soon enough. He got up and worked out the carrot.

“What, no questions?” she asked.

He set the spent carrot aside. “I figure you'll explain when you are ready to.”

She considered. “I like you, Jack. So let's do it now.”

“You can't mean sex. I couldn't possibly—”

She held a flower to his face. “Smell this.”

He sniffed. The fumes instantly intoxicated him, transported him, empowered him, and in moments he found himself addressing her as she bent forward over a bench, only this time it was not her vagina into which he thrust. She had directed him to the other aperture and taken him eagerly in. And as he pumped, he felt her throbbing with her own orgasm, longer and stronger than his. It was like plunging into a waterfall, the surrounding turbulence swirling him into further effort.

They wound up on the turf, she prone, he lying on top of her, still embedded. “Oh, that was marvelous,” she gasped.

So that was her secret. She liked to climax anally. Well, he could hardly argue with that, considering how she had obliged him either way. He had discovered that both apertures had their sexual uses, along with the mouth.

They disengaged, got up, and showered together under an outdoor spray. Then he remembered what he had overlooked in the throes of his flower-stimulated passion. “The—in you, in me—we didn't do it!”

“Are you sure?” she inquired, glancing at his groin.

Then he became aware of his tail. He reached down, grasped it, and slowly pulled out a fine black radish. He had been more zonked out that he had realized at the time.

As they resumed gardening, he inquired cautiously. “You—you don't get your orgasm from normal sex?”

“Any mutually satisfying penetration is normal sex,” she said.

Oh. “Of course,” he agreed quickly.

“But it is true. I have nerves in my ass I lack in my cunt. The King understands. So does my Knave.”

“And so do I, now,” he agreed, taken aback by her particular words. He had somehow supposed that a Queen would not even know such terms. “I was just curious.”

“And you deserve honest answers,” she agreed. “It is all part of the process.”

The process of preparing him for the Queen of Hearts? “She—she likes it that way?”

“Not exactly.” And that was all she would say, to his dismay. What was there about the Queen of Hearts?

As the day declined, they cleaned up, dressed, and had a nice buffet dinner on a corner patio. This garden greenhouse seemed to be most of her world, and she was quite satisfied in it. “The only thing I really miss is the sex,” she confessed. “When the King is away on business. This time he took the Knave with him. After a while a diet of vegetables gets dull.” She glanced down at her crotch, so that he knew she meant sex and not food.

As night came, they settled down together on a bed of pungent moss. “Are you ready?” she inquired.

He remained depleted from the savage double session of the afternoon. “I'm not sure.”

“I proffer a trade: do me my way, and you can have all of these you want.” She stroked her own breasts.

He was tempted. So far he had had a lot of sex, but mostly of the genital variety. She had really nice breasts and he wanted to get closer to them, for a change of pace. Still, he was cautious. “I'd like to—to have them longer than the few minutes it takes me to climax.”

“No problem. Drink this.” She handed him a thimble sized cup of elixir, surely another aphrodisiac.

He shrugged and drank it. His penis stiffened, but did not seem ready to ejaculate. Maybe that aspect took longer.