Connecticut Vampire in King Arthur's Court

by Hall, Ian

  “The tower was built by the Normans,” Arthur began. “Some time in the eleventh century. The King says it is attributed to Hugh De Lacy, whoever he was. The Knights Templar would have worshipped here before and after the crusades.”

  I noticed again that he spoke of his own father as ‘the King’; so impersonal a relationship from son to father.

  “The Normans invaded us in 1066, Frenchmen in our history.” I stood in silence, just grateful for more information, however pertinent to the current situation. “The King lived in France for a while, exiled to that barbarous land. One day I will ride at the head of an army and take back what is rightly ours. I will invade France.”

  Once again, he spoke the correct words, but his voice held little conviction, almost as if he practiced the phrases to impress his father. I couldn’t see him leading a procession, much less an army.

  “Shall you join us at dinner tonight, Master DeVere?” he asked, leading me out of the chapel.

  “I would love to.”

  “Then join us in the main hall when Cookie rings the bell.”

  I bowed as he walked away across the cobbles. He didn’t look back.

  “What are your first impressions?”

  I turned to see Thomas Linacre standing close, looking up from a book. I wasn’t certain of the political situation here, and it seemed impertinent to offer anything. “It’s early days.”

  “Hmm, an interesting turn of phrase.”

  I looked at the book, still open in his hands. “Enjoying?”

  He offered it to me, and I glanced at the pages. I recognized Greek verse. “Where did you learn Greek, Master Linacre?”

  “In Italy,” he answered, accepting my returning the book. “Florence and Genoa. How about you, Richard, where were you educated?”

  “Arnhem,” I said, quickly remembering my World War Two movies. “And in Remagen.” I hoped that he hadn’t been to either town. But it seems I needn’t have worried; he closed the book and again asked me my first opinions of the Prince.

  “He’s intelligent, yet withdrawn,” I began. “And I’m not certain that the King’s idea of keeping him wrapped up in cotton wool won’t come back to haunt him or the country at a later date.”

  “Ah, yes. I have also noticed a reticence within him. I only started as tutor two months ago, so our relationship is not as solid as it could be.”

  “Princess Margaret had news of their being called to London.”

  “There have been rumors in the past. There are flutterings that Catherine, his intended, will soon sail from Spain. The wedding and the nuptials will be the talk of the country for some weeks.”

  “And will we accompany the Prince to London?” I asked, quietly thrilled at the prospect.

  “Oh most certainly; it will be in the days before the ceremony that we will be required most. We must see to it that their majesties are fully congruous. If you know what I mean.”

  I tried to think of poor Arthur in the act, but my mind couldn’t get round the prospect, and I didn’t think it proper to make the joke to Thomas.

  “We shall have to see what develops.”

  “Indeed.”

  Late July, 1501

  Dinner and a Date

  Picture a very long trestle table, a few saw horses to keep it level, and no tablecloth. Picture seven boring men, four hungry children that have been forced through ‘politeness school’, and five ladies in waiting trying not to flirt, but not having much luck, and you’ve got the mood of the dinner at Ludlow Castle.

  Oh, that and the seven small courses; the soup, the various meats, the sweetmeats, the pies and the cakes.

  Man, by the time I’d reached the end, I swore off human food for the next few years. Well, apart from a certain lady directly across the table.

  From conversation, I learned that the Lady Jane Winterbrooke had been the first lady in waiting to the Princess Margaret for only three months. From a Norfolk family, she had been hastily dispatched upon the death of the previous lady, who’d been by the girl’s side for ten years.

  Lady Jane looked about nineteen, and although pale-skinned like most of the women I’d seen here in 1501, she had quite a lovely smile. She spoke eloquently of her family and her work with the Prince, and we swapped travel stories, although admittedly most of mine I got from Hollywood blockbusters.

  She had blue eyes and freckles, which I found very intriguing, and her lips looked full and very kissable. By the end of the meal I’d already been promised a walk in the castle grounds near sunset. I looked forward to it.

  When dinner broke up, I walked to the schoolroom to meet Arthur, but got waylaid near the minstrel gallery by Princess Margaret. She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out of the main corridor.

  “Kiss me,” she said, pushing herself against me.

  My hands flew away to the side, almost as if I were afraid of touching her at all. “Your Majesty?” I shook my head as her hands went round my neck. “It is not seemly!” I hissed.

  Her face looked serious. “Kiss me or I shall scream and tell the guards that you attempted to ravish me.”

  Twelve years old, for goodness sake! “But, madam, you are far too young!”

  “I am the same age as my grandmother when she became with child with my father, the King!” she hissed at me between clenched teeth. “Now kiss me! I command it!”

  Somehow with her arms pulling me down, and her standing on tiptoes to reach me, her lips found mine, her tongue immediately trying to slip into my mouth. “Kiss me, damn you.”

  Well, come on, I know she was only twelve, and it probably had been the youngest girl I’d ever made out with, but in this day and age, these chicks grew up fast.

  My resistance crumbled. I put my arms around her, pulled her to me, and let my mouth devour hers. Something felt wrong, yes, but somehow her eagerness made up for any doubts I’d had initially. In my mind, here in my arms lay an illicit embrace, the delightful touch of a forbidden fruit. But for the age it had proven to be the norm.

  We kissed for perhaps a minute. And yes, I did get an erection, and yes she noticed, and yes, she did grind herself onto it. Quite deliberately.

  Then I heard the approaching crunch of feet in the corridor, and pushed her more forcefully away. Thankfully she allowed me to do so, and stood in front of me, panting, smiling wickedly, and slightly bleary-eyed.

  “Why thank you for telling me, Master DeVere,” she loudly announced as a guard passed by. “That was most informative. You must tell me more some time.” She leant closer, her eyes sparkling. “And don’t dally too much with Lady Jane; she’ll have you married before you can say ‘God save the King’.”

  And with that rejoinder, she turned on a dime and marched off.

  I’d just made out with a Princess of England, and my head still lay firmly situated on my shoulders.

  And no shimmer.

  I’d already planned the ‘lesson’ with Arthur, so I set off to the schoolroom. When he arrived, we sat at our desks, and I asked him to recite a poem to me.

  The rhyme had been written in the form of a love letter, but he stammered, never found the rhythm and the words lost all meaning, totally ruining the effect.

  I asked him to read it again, but he stopped. “Why must I do this?” he looked forlorn and exasperated.

  “You will soon be married, Your Grace, and it would suit you well in the wooing of your betrothed if you can recite something romantic.” I looked at page over his shoulder.

  My bosom doth delight, and my heart overflow.

  “What do these words mean to you?” I asked.

  Arthur shook his head. I couldn’t help but think of his sister, just minutes before, rubbing her belly against my hard-on. Little minx. “My bosom doth delight,” I said, “What’s inside the poet’s head here?”

  Arthur looked at me as if I’d asked him question on particle physics.

  “When you kiss a girl, Your Grace, she gets a little, eh, excited. You know.” Still the blank fa
ce. “You have kissed a girl?”

  He shook his head.

  Oh, my sainted aunt.

  Here sat the most important teenager in England, betrothed to a Spanish Princess, would be married before the year was out, and his knowledge of the opposite sex seemed to be absolutely nil.

  Zero. Duck eggs in a line.

  I tried not to show my disgust in his lack of ‘training’, but I believed that if Arthur was to make a proper show of this marriage, he’d need to be brought out of his shell a bit. Heck, this teenager didn’t even know how to kiss.

  For the remainder of the lesson, I went through the rest of the poem mechanically, but my mind searched for possibilities. I would find a way to bring the boy into the sixteenth century.

  I dismissed myself after a reasonable time, and walked out through the courtyard to the castle grounds. The sun settled low over the west walls, and I could see the silhouettes of the soldiers on the ramparts.

  My thoughts still revolved around poor Arthur when a voice startled me.

  “Deep in thought, Master DeVere?”

  I turned to see Lady Jane, her face lit by the red sunset, her sandy hair given an auburn tint, her freckles spreading from her face to her bosom, looking dark and beguiling. “Why, yes, my lady. I ponder the life of a young man who has not tasted the lips of a woman.”

  She seemed to blush, yet, for the redness already on her face, I could not properly tell. “And is this an allegorical boy?”

  I shook my head. “Madam, it is not me. It is the Prince. He will wed in a matter of months, yet has no inkling of romance or womanhood.” I shook my head in vexation. “He doesn’t even know where to start.”

  At first I thought she wasn’t really getting what I spoke about, but soon her eyes told me something different. “And how would you ‘start’ with me?”

  Oh boy, right to the point.

  “Why, I’d take you by the hand, and pull you towards the stables.” And I did just that. Her hand felt small in mine, but I imagined it holding my erection, and smiled deeply into her eyes. “And I’d tell you that you have the deepest blue eyes in the whole of England; eyes so lonely, yet so hungry.”

  We exchanged smiles as we crossed the grass, heading for the stone arches of the stables.

  “I’d tell you that your freckles are the most wonderful things, and I wonder if they cover you from head to toe.” I pulled her inside the archway, into the darkness beyond, then pushed her gently against the cold stone wall within. “I’d ask if your nipples are sensitive to a man’s lips.”

  I could hear her panting against me.

  “I would kiss you, and tell you that I cannot last the evening without having you.”

  “Oh, my,” she whispered.

  Then I covered her mouth with mine and slid my hands to cradle her face. Man it had been a while since I’d gotten any, and I felt way in the mood for some serious loving.

  I dropped my hands to her breasts, encased so securely within a thick covering of hard material. I rubbed my thumbs where I thought her nipples would be, and got the desired gasp into my mouth.

  I also wasn’t in any mood for refusal, so as I kissed her, I let my vampire breath cover her face, telling her over and over again that she had to have me, that she loved me, and that nothing would prevent her having me between her thighs that night.

  Then I stood back and enjoyed the look of my handiwork.

  She looked startling; heady, in heat, and panting with lust.

  “We need a bed,” I said, running my fingers under her ear.

  “I share a bedroom with Lady Meacham.” Her voice had almost reduced to a rasping hiss. “It would not be seemly.”

  “Then it shall be my room.” I took her by the hand and pulled her out of the archway. I wanted to run, to throw her over my shoulder and ravish her, but I determined to take my time and savor the fruit.

  Once we neared the gate, I walked ahead to give us a sense of propriety, should anyone see us. Once inside my bedchamber, I threw the curtains to the side of my lone west-facing window, then turned to watch the door.

  Moments later, she opened it, and walked into my arms.

  Then it started.

  Boy, they don’t show these parts on the Tudors on HBO, I tell you.

  It took ages to get her out of her clothes. I wanted her totally naked, but the light from the window had gone before I’d gotten near there. I had to take my candles to the corridor to be lit. What a process. I thought it might be like the butterfly leaving the chrysalis, but reality proved a bit longer and far more boring.

  There were straps, ties, stays, and the layers. Oh, my God, the layers.

  And I had to untie every bit of it. If I didn’t have the absolute knowledge that I’d soon be fucking her, I’d have given up ages ago.

  However, when we’d eventually divested herself of all her layers, she had a really good looking body. Slim, with small firm breasts, and a light brown downy covering between her legs.

  So basically, only once she’d gotten completely naked, did I start to get interested again.

  And yes, her freckles flowed from her face, covering every part of her quite beautiful body.

  I preceded her onto the hard surface that Tudor England called a bed, and watched her walk slowly across the room to me, her tits bobbing delightedly.

  She approached from the base of the bed, slowly climbing past my feet, always keeping eye contact with me, licking her lips. As she neared my groin, she looked down for the first time. Oh boy, seems she was going to go down on me; I hadn’t expected that.

  Despite my need to look at the beautiful creature, as she sank her moist lips onto my hardening penis, I closed my eyes in rapture. Her mouth felt unbelievable, and I lay under her devotions for many minutes.

  Then, suddenly my senses were on alert. I heard the creak of old hinges as the door to the room opened slightly.

  Instantly on guard in these primitive times, I glanced at the door, now pushed fully twelve inches.

  Lady Jane proved to be far too engrossed to hear.

  Then, I lay shocked beyond reason when the silhouette of the Princess Margaret appeared in the doorway. Despite my initial revulsion at her age, I could do little else but lie back on the pillow and continue to enjoy Lady Jane’s oral ministrations.

  Despite our audience, it seemed that some of the original lust had indeed returned to me, and I threaded my hands into Lady Jane’s hair, and pumped her head down onto me. Then, satisfied that I’d ravaged her throat enough, I pulled her from me and dragged her up my body. With her legs straddling me, and our tongues dancing together, I reached down between us and touched her cunny, delighted with the abundant juices which she’d shed.

  My fingers parted her warm folds, and she gasped into my mouth as I probed her gently, her wetness allowing my fingertips easy entry.

  I’m not sure if I felt lazy or if I wanted to keep one eye on our observing Princess, but I decided to let Lady Jane ride upon me, and positioned my dick at her slippery pussy, pushing myself upwards to meet the pushing of her insistent backside.

  Once I pressed inside, she abandoned all her kisses, and arched her back away from me, riding me like a pony. I saw Princess Margaret’s mouth open in surprise as her lady in waiting used me like a toy, scratching that itch deep inside herself.

  For many minutes I let her fuck me, my hands busy on her breasts, pulling her nipples and squeezing them between finger and thumb.

  Then with one eye on the figure at the door, I rose from the bed slightly and pulled her head to me.

  “Come for me now, my Lady,” I whispered, certain that my words could not be heard across the room. Then I positioned my head on the hidden side of her neck and bit deep.

  The blood from her arteries flooded my mouth and I drank deeply, sucking the thick warm liquid down my throat, firing my emotion to greater heights. I knew that my penis engorged further, and Lady Jane screamed as she rammed her hips onto me, milking every ounce of pent-up lust from my
enlarging member. She rocked in my embrace, her body racked with spasm as she too erupted on the bed, her juices joining mine in wonderful union. Then slowly, she began to subside, her motions slowed, and she collapsed, her panting body limply lying on top of mine.

  The door softly closed, and I licked Lady Jane’s neck, cleaning the spilled blood and sealing the small puncture wounds.

  Thrilled I lay back, my shrinking penis still inside her, and with her body covering mine, fell delightfully asleep.

  Early August, 1501

  London Calling

  “We are to travel to Richmond Palace.” Linacre grinned as he gave the news to Prince Arthur and me. “Gruffydd Rhys will be invested by the King on the same visit; Knight of the Garter.”

  Arthur’s face held a mixture of emotions as he processed the update. I could see excitement, obviously, but there lay a deeper reticence in his features that I watched come to the surface. When the emotion broke, his face looked flushed with fear.

  Linacre had seen none of it, and had already left the schoolroom to pass on the news elsewhere.

  “Talk to me, my Prince,” I said, approaching the gaunt figure. I realized I already cared for the young man, despite my recent arrival in the times, I already wished for his survival and success, and felt determined to build up what had been undermined in this young man for so long. “Tell me of the thoughts that flow through your mind.”

  He forced a smile. “It is naught.”

  Then I stepped intimately closer, the first time I’d done so. Breathing over him, I asked him again to tell me of his thoughts.

  I watched as the vampire pheromone worked on him. “I’m clearly happy to get out of primitive exile and back to the capital,” he began. “But I’m not looking forward to seeing The King again, nor his expression of expectation that always is directed towards me.”