A Twisted Bard’s Tale

Selena Kitt A TWISTED BARD’S TALE

Lady Capulet heard her daughter’s footsteps fading down the hall. Fair Juliet was going to marry Paris. It was settled-her husband had decided the match. He had left for town to brag this morning, leaving it to her to bring news to the girl, and she had done it as well as her own mother had delivered the news to her at such a tender age.

She could still remember her mother’s hand against her cheek, imploring her to consider. “Elizabeth, he is a fine match!” She had been Juliet’s age when she had married into the house of Capulet and she knew what it was to be given into such service.

Although, Juliet was a great deal more headstrong than she had been at that age, she thought. Her daughter was young, and would outgrow it, but her heart led her now. Her heart-and the steady, throbbing pulse beating between her gentle thighs!

Lady Capulet smiled. Ah, to be that young again! But no, she wouldn’t trade it. She was a lifetime away from the young girl who had lain trembling beneath her husband’s sweaty, thrusting body on her wedding night.

She shuddered at the memory, hearing the old nurse knocking at her door.

“Anon, m’lady!” the woman hissed, knocking again. “She is arrived!” Lady Capulet stood, straightening her gown. She was not so different from her daughter, she realized, even now. She still led with her heart. “Enter.” The old nurse was giggling and smiling, her eyes bright as she opened the door.

A woman whose radiant beauty rivaled Lady Capulet’s, a bright sun to her dark, full moon night, swept into the room wearing a smile, her eyes burning with something warm and rich.

“Catherine,” Lady Capulet murmured, taking the woman’s hands and leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Elizabeth.” Lady Montague turned her cheek slightly, so the kiss found the corner of her soft, smiling mouth.

“Montague and Capulet will be joined anon.” The nurse giggled again.

“Leave us, pray.” Lady Capulet nodded toward the nurse, still holding the other woman’s hand in hers. “We do not wish to be disturbed.”

“Years upon years I have kept you both aloft, with no man to find you, your secret mine alone to keep.” The nurse sniffed, crossing her arms over her ample bosom.

“Enough,” Lady Capulet held up her hand. “You have done so, sweet nurse, with gracious goodness in your heart, and I beg you to do so now-with much haste.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

When the door closed, the two women looked at each other and smiled. It had been wholly near a season since they had had occasion to meet. It was treacherous enough, a Montague being seen within a Capulet’s walls, but for the lady of the house?

They both knew what risks they were taking. And still, nothing could keep them apart.

No man-made walls-no man.

“Nurse sent word your husband was to town for the day,” Lady Montague lifted the other woman’s hand and kissed her palm. “I heard about Juliet and knew I had to come hence.”

Lady Capulet shivered, her breath catching. “He is gone and you are here, as I wish it were so always.” She pulled Lady Montague close to her, rubbing a soft cheek

against hers. Their breath mingled as the two women sought and found the sweetness of each other’s lips, their kiss a tender re-exploration after months long apart.

The Lady Capulet still wore only her dressing gown in the early morning hours.

The Lady Montague had come dressed for an outing-her long gown sweeping the floor, her full breasts pressed up as an offering in the tightly laced bodice. Their hands found one another, the thin material of the dressing gown giving one greater access than the other, to which Lady Capulet’s moans could attest.

“These damnable garments.” Lady Capulet pressed her cheek to her lover’s bodice, her fingers groping along her back. “Turn.”

Lady Montague turned and leaned against the bedpost while the other woman began to unfasten her gown. “Oh, Elizabeth… hurry,” she whispered, aching to be skin to skin with her lover. Her gown fell to the floor in a bright puddle of color and she couldn’t wait any longer, she turned and they kissed again, less clothing between the heat of their bodies now.

“Catherine, it has been longer than I can bear!” Elizabeth Capulet, mother of Juliet and wife of the House of Capulet, sank to her knees before the wife of Montague and worshipped at the only temple she had ever known to move her completely.

Untying her petticoat at the waist and wiggling it down her hips, Catherine Montague bent for a moment to kiss the other woman, breathing in her scent as she stood, leaning back against the bed post for support and spreading her legs wide. She was wearing just her corset now, her blonde curls tumbling over her bound breasts.

Catherine moaned as Elizabeth’s mouth met her flesh, parting it with a gentle, side-to- side tonguing, and she reached behind her to grab onto the bed post, her knees weak at the sensation.

“Catherine!” Elizabeth gasped between her thighs. “You are like heaven’s own scent.”

Elizabeth’s tongue was as familiar with the other woman’s body as a fruit-bearing tree was familiar with the sun. She drank her in as if she had been winter-starved for her, her own body ripening like fruit against the heat of her lover’s radiant light.

Catherine’s gasps and moans filled the room, her juices flowing thick and copious, soaking the front of the other woman’s gown, her knees growing so weak she began to sink to the floor.

“The bed,” Elizabeth offered, pressing their bodies together and her mouth to Catherine’s, letting her taste her own sweetness. There was the matter of their clothes, and they both paused, smiling as they unfastened one another, freeing their bodies to the cool air and to each other’s warmth.

The Lady Elizabeth Capulet was a dark-haired beauty and while her daughter was a growing likeness, this woman was no bruised or withered fruit. She was still a ripe plum, with a fleshy, juicy center, and a firm, supple skin. She was only eight and twenty this year, and although she had been a wife and mother long that time, she felt to be still fully blooming open.

The Lady Catherine Montague was her bright twin, and though others rarely saw the woman smile and laugh the way she did here, in these chambers, there was no mistaking the golden beauty she once was and the still glowing beauty she was now. A sweet, ripe peach-she was slightly older than the other woman, and had been wed and bed before her as well. It wasn’t too long after they each had their babes in arms, Romeo toddling at Lady Montague’s feet, Juliet suckling at Lady Capulet’s breast, the women had met and become fast friends.

“Do you remember?” Catherine slid her body along her lover as they found their way under the coverlet. “Do you remember the first time?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth smiled, cupping the other woman’s face in her hands and kissing her mouth, her cheeks, her chin. “And I have long since thanked the stars for that day.”

“And I,” Catherine closed her eyes as she remembered watching the young Juliet suckle her mother’s breast, just as Elizabeth was suckling at hers now.

Oh, the memory of how she had felt a wet heat between her thighs as she watched the fat, pink bud of her friend’s nipple wet with milk and saliva! How Elizabeth had given her babe to the nurse, her eyes dreamy and half-closed in that sweet, pleasant after-nursing trance.

That early morning, when Catherine had watched Romeo toddle off, holding the nurse’s hand, and had somehow found her mouth latched there, suckling the other woman’s breast, lifting her skirts and touching her between her legs.

It had been the first time, but it would never be the last. She would move heaven and earth to be with her lover now. Oh, how hungry they had been then. Two young women, wed to older men who seemed to know or care nothing for how a woman was meant to bloom open in delicious pleasure.

How hungry they still were.

Elizabeth’s hands knew her body well, after long years of delightful exploration.

There was no hesitation, no fear, no holding back. They were eager still, greedy, but each knew just how to please the other, and they did, as often as they could, as many ways as they could find. Catherine moaned and spread her legs, rubbing herself as Elizabeth dipped her tongue into her navel, teasing her way downward. She was wet and ready and wanting.

“Yes.” Catherine felt her lover’s fingers probing inside, her tongue exploring the soft, wet folds. There was nothing quite like this-Elizabeth’s full breasts pressed against her thighs, her tongue tracing soft, rounded patterns again and again over the tender bud of flesh between her parted lips, her lover’s hand cupping her breast and pulling at her nipple, making her writhe and moan. Nothing could compare to the soft, gentle, tender lapping lusciousness of the two of them together.

“Oh!” The Lady Montague’s thighs spread wide, trembling and quivering with her impending orgasm, and the Lady Capulet knew it. Elizabeth’s mouth worked faster, her tongue a relentless urging, her fingers a rhythmic encouragement. There was no stopping it, and they both wanted just this. Catherine’s hands curled against the coverlet, her cries filling the room as she came, flooding her lover’s mouth with her juices. Elizabeth moaned, too, eager to taste more, and lapped at her quivering flesh.

They collapsed together, their cheeks flushed, and Catherine kissed Elizabeth’s mouth, licking at her chin, tasting herself, her body still riding the wave of her climax, a dreamy, slow-moving rush.

“You are the most beautiful woman who has ever been alive,” Elizabeth murmured against her throat, her dark hair falling over them like a curtain. “I am ever going to love you, no matter what tries to come between us.”

Their eyes met and they both remembered being in this bed chamber so many years ago, verily like this, when Lady Capulet’s husband came home early from his journey. It had been a cruel twist of fate, an ill-timed thing, and both women had sobbed at their husbands’ feet and begged forgiveness. They had been long separated that first time. Both husbands had put their heads together and had been quite successful in keeping the families apart.

“You are the beauty.” Catherine pulled the dark-haired woman onto her and kissed her full on the lips. “My dark beauty.”

Their breasts, full and soft, pressed together as they rolled on the bed, kissing and touching each other, all hungry hands and mouths. There seemed no sating their desire for one another. They had tried.

Elizabeth rolled to her belly and lifted her bottom in the air, looking back over her shoulder at her lover. Catherine chuckled, slipping between her thighs and spreading the other woman’s lips. Her hair here was dark and curly, her center appearing even more pink in contrast when she was parted like this. So wet! Catherine could smell her, and longed to taste her.

But she knew Elizabeth wanted something else first. Catherine knelt between her thighs, slipping first one, then two, then three fingers into her crevice, making her lover moan and press back against her hand. She began moving her fingers, slowly at first, in and out, putting her hips into the motion, giving them more force. Catherine used her own thighs to spread her wider, working her hips and pelvis against the other woman’s bottom as she shoved her fingers deep, again and again.

“Yes!” Elizabeth arched her back, rocking with each thrust, her fingers searching underneath and finding the tender nub of flesh that could send her to heaven and back, rubbing it fast and hard. Her cries and moans grew louder with every push forward, and she met each thrust with her own until Catherine’s hand was drenched to the wrist, her fingers puckered like a prune from the wetness.

“Are you ready?” Catherine plunged her fingers in deep, holding them there with her hips.

Elizabeth groaned, nodding, whispering, “Yes, yes, yes!” Without removing her hand, Catherine wiggled beneath her lover, who spread her thighs wider, enthusiastically opening her lips up with her own hands, eager for a tongue. Catherine groaned when Elizabeth sank down against her mouth, rocking her hips, forcing the fingers still buried inside her to move back and forth.

“Oh!” Elizabeth moaned and rocked, rocked and moaned, her hands cupping her full breasts, her thumbs rolling over her nipples. Catherine held onto her hip with one hand, using the other to push into her flesh, again and again, as her tongue made fast little circles between her thighs.

“Oh! Catherine!” Elizabeth shuddered and moaned, slipping a hand beneath her lover’s head as she came, grinding herself into the tongue and face between her thighs, riding it, each wave more delicious than the last. Catherine slowly slipped her fingers out, hearing Elizabeth sigh.

The two women found their way back under the coverlet again, their foreheads pressed together, breathing in each other’s scent, tasting each other in their mouths.

There were no words for a long time, just the soft, rounded press of their bellies together, their breasts rising and falling with their breath.

“He will come home this night for the feast.” The Lady Capulet opened her dark eyes and saw Catherine’s blue ones looking back at her. She brushed a golden curl from her fair cheek. “I wish you could stay and celebrate with us Juliet’s forthcoming wedding. I so wish for us to be as we once were.”

“I cannot,” the Lady Montague replied, her eyes sad. “You know as well as I that this feud between the houses keeps me from coming here most days, even disguised and veiled.”

“Yes.” Lady Capulet kissed her, swallowing hard, feeling tears stinging her eyes.

“It is you and I, my love… we are the feud between the Capulets and the Montagues.”

“I will not be parted from you.” The blonde woman’s eyes blazed with love and lust, like a blue fire.

“We will long love this way, if we can.” Lady Capulet closed her eyes, thinking of her daughter’s new life with Paris. She hoped for great happiness, great love between them. She wanted more for Juliet than stolen moments like these.

Lady Montague touched her lover’s cheek. “Love will not be denied, no matter from whence it came.”

“Never where it is bidden, it seems.” Lady Capulet sighed, pulling the other woman close.

They closed their eyes and slept together for a while, a Capulet and a Montague, with a plague creeping toward both their houses.