Authors: Roxie Noir
The next day, Klea put the now-clean icon in a bag, and set out by ship for the Amazon kingdom. Last night she’d done some thinking. The king had sent her on eight missions now, and every one of them had ended in sex; not being an idiot, Klea had some suspicions that he might know about this, and also might expect this one to end in sex as well. Thus, given her status as “diplomat,” and her possession of a “sacred” dildo, she came to one conclusion: it was her job to seduce the Amazonian queen out of her belt. Literally.
This made Klea nervous. As the guards’ total disinterest in her belied, she wasn’t great at seduction. Previously, she’d never had to go further than, “Hey, wanna fuck?” and nothing else had ever worked. She was especially not sure how to seduce a woman. Were they different, somehow? Was she supposed to wine and dine, and then lay her down on the bearskin in front of the fireplace?
It was all terribly unclear.
The ship reached harbor late one afternoon, several days later, and Klea rode up to the Amazonian city just before dinner. She was surprised to find that the king had told the Amazons she was coming—usually, he seemed to forget about formalities like that. Instead, she was seated next to Queen Hippolyta the whole time, and right across from another high-ranking Amazon. Both women were beautiful in a stately way and at least twenty years older than Klea. They wore the traditional Amazon outfit: one shouldered linen with one breast exposed.
Klea did find the breasts a little distracting. For one thing, both those of the Queen and her high-ranking friend were surprisingly buoyant and round, particularly for their age, with a fullness and weight that Klea thought just begged to be touched. Whenever the women moved, that single breast would wobble and sway, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Great
, she thought.
I’m seducing her by just staring at her tits. I don’t think that’s how it works.
Finally, near the end of the dinner, she realized her plan wasn’t working when the queen said her name, twice, before Klea finally looked up from her bosom.
“What’s your mission here?” she said in a low, melodious voice.
Klea cleared her throat. “The king sent me to suggest a trade, your highness.”
“What’s the trade?”
“Your belt for an icon.”
The two women exchanged glances, both looking amused.
“My gold belt?” the queen asked.
“Yes, your highness,” Klea said. She wondered what she’d done, already, to amuse the two of them so much.
The women looked at each other one more time. The queen raised her eyebrows and the other woman shrugged. They both looked at her one more time, then at each other. The other woman nodded. Klea wasn’t sure what was going on.
“Come to my quarters tonight,” the queen said. “Bring the icon. We’ll see what we can work out.”
The other woman smiled, and took a deep drink of her wine.
A few hours later, Klea was at the queen’s door, cock-icon in hand. She thought there was no way the queen would actually want the ugly stone thing, but maybe she was supposed to fuck her with it, she thought, and she remembered the odd but arousing way it had felt in her own cunt: wrong and hard, and all the better for it.
The door opened and the other woman stood there, topless, wearing only a belt with two long strips of cloth hanging from it, one in front and one in back. Klea tried not to stare at her stunning chest: two round, firm globes, the nipples like pert berries, just begging to be licked.
Unable to think of anything to say, Klea curtsied.
“Come in,” the woman said.
Heraklea walked through the door.
“You’ve probably forgotten my name since the formal introductions,” she said. She had long, black hair with a single gray streak down one side of her face. It only served to make her more striking. “Phoebe, spear-woman to the queen.”
“There you are,” said a voice from inside, and Klea and Phoebe walked through an entryway and into a larger room. There were two couches and three chairs all arranged around a plush bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire.
The queen was also topless, wearing the same belt-and-fabric combination as her spear-woman. She had light brown hair with no hint of gray, and only a few fine lines around her eyes belied her age.
“You have the icon?” she said smoothly. She crossed her legs, right over left, and the strip of fabric hanging from her belt fluttered. Klea could see the crease where her thigh met her pelvis, that crinkle of soft skin.
“Here it is, your majesty,” Klea said, holding it out and curtsying.
Please don’t let this be a joke the king is playing on me
, she thought.
“Ah, yes,” the queen said. She took the icon and held it in both hands, in front of her face, turning it this way and that. “An ancient symbol of all my people have lost.”
Something in the way she said that made Klea suspicious that she was being made fun of. The queen put the icon down on the side table and exchanged a look with the spear-woman.
“I know you’re foreign to our lands,” the woman said. “But here, it’s impolite to wear more clothing than the queen.”
Klea looked at Phoebe’s face and then her breasts, and then the queen’s, not exactly sure what to do. Did that mean strip, or leave?
“Here,” Phoebe said. She stepped forward and took one of the ties of Klea’s dress in her hands. “Let me help you.”
Her fingers were warm and soft on the tie at Klea’s shoulder and she caressed the girl as the strings came loose, brushing her hair off of her neck, her breath warm and close on her now-bare shoulder. Deftly, she moved to the other shoulder, untying that as well but holding it in one hand as she brushed Klea’s hair back. Still holding her dress up so it covered Klea’s breasts, she looked the queen in the eyes, lowered her head to the girl’s neck and pushed her lips against it softly, leaving a trail of kisses down to Klea’s shoulder.
I thought I was supposed to be seducing them
, Klea thought, but she closed her eyes and let the soft caresses swirl along her skin.
Only then did Phoebe let Klea’s dress fall to her waist, where it was cinched by her belt, exposing her breasts to the queen as Phoebe looked over her shoulder. The queen settled back a little in her chair, a smile playing around her eyes, as she looked at Klea hungrily.
Phoebe slipped her hands around Klea’s waist and moved her fingers up, rippling them over the swell of her breasts, running them one at a time over Klea’s nipples, still standing behind the girl. Every so often she bent her head to the girl’s shoulder, softly kissing and licking the sensitive skin there. With each hand, she began to draw circles around Klea’s nipples and Klea felt them come to attention quickly, hardening with the attention.
“I think she’ll do,” Phoebe said to the queen.
“I think she will,” said the queen. Then the gestured for Klea to come closer, and when Klea was in front of her chair, for Klea to bend over.
The queen took one of her nipples in her fingers and rolled it, then took her jaw gently in one hand, and pressed her mouth to the girl’s, her tongue exploring Klea’s mouth deeply, stroking the girl’s tongue, leaving Klea breathless when she pulled away.
Klea felt dazed, unfocused, not entirely sure how to respond, but as if of their own accord, her hands were reaching for those magnificent breasts. With both thumbs she touched the sensitive skin at the crease along the bottom, then explored upward, over the swell until she reached the other woman’s nipples.
A hand with a grip like iron closed over her hip, and Phoebe leaned forward, over her shoulder. The queen kissed her deeply, their combined faces inches from her own, Phoebe’s sure hands on her breasts again. As the two older women kissed, suddenly Klea felt her belt and dress fall away, to the floor, leaving her totally naked in the middle of the two. A hand slid up her thigh, from her knee to the crease just between her thigh and pelvis, and she shuddered involuntarily.
Another hand traveled down her stomach, trailing past her bellybutton, tracing down her mound and stopping just shy of her clitoris.
Despite herself, against what were probably all the rules of decorum, Klea let out a tiny moan.
“You’ve been with a woman before,” the queen said.
Flushed and beginning to feel a familiar ache in her loins, Klea nodded.
“I told you so,” Phoebe said behind her.
“More than once?” the queen asked. Sharply, she pinched one nipple.
Klea gasped, and nodded again. The fingers at her crotch ran lightly over her swollen lips, and then left.
“Good,” the queen said, and then smiled.
She took Klea’s head in one hand and then the other and pushed downward, at the same time splaying her knees far apart.
Klea could smell the hot musk of the queen’s arousal, a scent that turned her on even more. The queen’s hands still on her head, she sank to her knees in front of the older woman’s cunt, both hands on the inside of her thighs, the flower of the queen’s cunt open before her.
Carefully, with her tongue, she traced the very outlines of the queen’s lips, swollen with desire, tasting the musky perfume that was on them. The queen made a deep groan, a noise of approval, and Klea did it again, this time licking upward to end on her clit.
The queen groaned again. Klea flicked her tongue out, lightly touching her clitoris once, feeling the queen’s muscles jolt at the light touch, and so she traced her tongue back down the slick folds, plunging her tongue into the queen’s entrance and feeling the thick, strong muscle there before darting out to lap at her clitoris again, closing her lips around it and suckling, gently, swishing it back and forth with her tongue.
Hearing the noises the queen was making, low moans of pleasure, little gasps every time Klea’s tongue traversed her clitoris again, she probed harder, dragging her tongue down to her entrance, tasting her juices, plunging her tongue in and out again and returning, always, to lavish ever more attention on the queen’s clitoris.
The hand on her head tightened in her hair, pressing Klea’s face into her harder, the close-cropped hair on the queen’s cunt tickling at Klea’s face.
She opened her eyes briefly when she felt a weight settle onto the couch, tilting the queen ever so slightly to one side, and saw that it was Phoebe, legs akimbo, one on the floor and one flung over the back of the couch. She had both hands on her own breasts, and the queen’s fingers were deep in her cunt, her thumb on the other woman’s clit.
Suddenly Phoebe arched her back and cried out. “That’s it, baby,” she said. “Oh god, that’s the spot. Right there. Don’t stop, baby.”
She panted and moaned, and as Klea watched, still licking the queen, face firmly buried in her cunt, Phoebe came with a long keening wail, tremors moving through her body again and again, until finally, she was still. Even then, the queen kept her fingers inside the other woman, moving her attention again to Klea’s mouth.
Inspired, Klea put two fingers inside the queen’s opening, now lapping and sucking furiously at her clitoris, face pressed hard against the other woman. The queen moaned as she moved her fingers, crooking them upwards, harder and harder, until the queen began jerking with a long, low moan. Klea felt the muscles in her pussy contract around her fingers, hard, almost to the point of pain.
When the queen released her head and she moved it back, still kneeling on the floor, the queen pulled her fingers out of Phoebe’s cunt and brought them over to her own face, smelling deeply. Then she put the hand in front of Klea.
“Would you like to taste her?” she asked. Klea was already bursting with arousal, her cunt feeling that full, swollen feeling, and smelling Phoebe on the queen’s fingers only made it worse. Obediently, hoping she’d have a chance to get off, she licked the queen’s hand slowly, going one finger at a time, enveloping each with her mouth and sucking. Both women watched her, seemingly fascinated. When she was done, they exchanged a glance, the queen still sitting on the couch, Klea kneeling in front of her, Phoebe splayed wide, pussy on display to both.
As they watched, Phoebe reached down and found her own clit, then began masturbating. The queen smiled.
“You still want more?” she said.
“I always want more,” said Phoebe.
“You’re a monster,” the queen said, teasingly.
“You love it.”
The queen moved on the couch, climbing onto her hands and knees in front of the other woman, then spreading her cunt with one hand, bending her head, and beginning to softly lick with practiced strokes. Right away, Phoebe began moaning.
“You know how to lick me right,” Phoebe said, head back and eyes closed. “Oh, baby, you have the best tongue,” she said, and squeezed the plush couch in both fists.
The queen licked and licked steadily, alternating strokes. Klea watched carefully: she’d go fast, and then slow, hard, and then soft, all as Phoebe’s moans and wails mounted, reminding Klea of her own throbbing need, still unsatisfied.
“I’m coming,” Phoebe said. “Lick me until I come. Just like that.” She broke off with a shout as her body jerked again, the queen holding her by the thighs and licking steadily under the tremors subsided, and then slowly sitting up.
Phoebe turned her head to one side. “Do you like watching?” she asked Klea.
Klea could feel her own cunt practically gushing, desire pounding through her. “I’d like participating more,” she said.
The two older women smiled.
“Hey baby,” said Phoebe, still on her back, to the queen. “Fist me.”
The queen, kneeling between Phoebe’s legs, stroked her cunt gently, sending tremors through the other woman. “You’re ready?” she asked.
“You know I’m always ready,” Phoebe said.
The queen reached for a bottle of olive oil sitting on the side table. “She’s unstoppable,” she said to Klea, who was still kneeling on the floor. “And she likes showing off.” She poured the olive oil onto her hand, then plunged a few fingers into the other woman, smearing it around her channel as well. Phoebe arched her hips to give the queen the best possible entrance.