A Twisted Bard’s Tale

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.”