The Dark Chronicles Ch. 04

Morgayne pushed back. Artur forced his tongue deeper, pushing, fucking, a deeper fuck all up into her dark swollen core. With a guttural moan deep in her throat, "Unnh huh, more," she fell forward and took Artur's cock into her mouth, and they were coupled and circled onto each other. The rich, cloyed smell of their arousal filled the room, Morgayne's ass licked deep and her cunt spread wide, and her juice slick and shining on Artur's lips and nose and sucked hard into his mouth. Artur the king ate from his sister's cunt and ass, and Morgayne his sister suckled and spat and thrust her mouth to his cock.

Little brother, I've always got you. Gayne, Gayne, I know I know it's always us us us. Quick, quick, fly away. Don't go, uhh, uhh, sweet brother, I'll....

Artur's cock lurched and thrust twice without warning. Morgayne moved her head back till just the end of her brother's cock was in her mouth, his cream pumping, spurting. She drank his seed down and thrust her swollen cunt hard to Artur's face and came, hard; five times she shuddered upon his lips and tongue and face. She drank him down, squeezing up the last surge with her hand gripped round his cock, slowly, slowly. The mess of him was all around her mouth. Morgayne licked her lips and savoured his taste. "My brother, my sweetness, my king."

She sat back, her fecund sex hot and swollen, trapping his sucking mouth and probing tongue. Morgayne looked down upon her brother's long cock. The heat and the blood of her suckling hunger had engorged Artur's cock so full, so thick and hard, his cock was still high and proud. The blazed birth mark was clear now, a vivid stain on the shaft. "Ah yes, the king's mark on the king's rod. I am convinced, dear brother, 'tis true." She let him breath, but remained crouching over him, her thick black haired cunt for Artur's eyes to see.

"The queen's cup too, sucked up into mine mouth, drunk deep."

"The queen's cup, Artur? I'm not your queen, oh brother, not your queen." She circled her hand in a slow, writhing movement around, releasing the hex on his binds. The gossamer lines on Artur's wrists and ankles crackled and broke, a tiny snap as the spell shattered. Artur rubbed a wrist and looked up at his sister, a memory on his face, a realisation that he had been bound before, in the night. Around his cock, the last coil of her hair vanished, a shimmering haze rising from his heat.

"I bind the king to me, Artur, when thick and hard and a lord's work doing." Morgayne stroked a long, slow finger all down his body, over the tip of his cock and along his shaft. "Yet I release my brother. I cannot sit by you as queen, Artur. I am your sister first, not queen. Don't think it."

The heat in the room swirled and dropped, and they curled around each other with the innocence of stolen children, Morgayne's hair all around in a circle protecting them from the storm. As she had so often, Morgayne held Artur's sleeping head to her breast and crooned a low, soothing song, stroking the soft skin of his cheek.

"You be their dangling puppet, little brother, the white bitch and her spawning fool; but Gayne's here, I'm always here."

Her long fingers stroked and stroked all upon his sleeping skin. Artur slept, and twitched in his dream like a dog. Morgayne stroked slowly, circling round, her fingers curled, her pale flesh inside her silken web of midnight hair.

* * * * *

Artur saddled up the horse and rode away from the valley, breaking a solitary path in the snow that fell overnight. Reaching the high ridge with its line of skeletal trees, the round masses of the rook nests heavy on their spreading boughs, he looked back. The long trail ran straight back down into the valley and was lost in a far mist. Of the stone dwelling with its carved wooden door, he could see nothing. It might never have been there. Artur leaned forward to horse's ear, murmuring settling words. They could have been murmured to himself.

He rubbed his wrists, and held them both up before his eyes. The finest line of red was marked upon his skin, on both wrists. No dream then, or I'm dreaming still. The horse was solid and steady beneath him, and he thought it not a dream. As Artur rode nearer the Camlann hill the beast's pace quickened, keen to be home, warm and sheltered.

The night remained a blurred thing, Morgayne vanished in the morning, all gone. Some food was there, and dropping heat from the hearth and stove, but Artur did not tarry. As he rode, his mind flickered back and all he could see was the dark swell of his sister's cunt, all he could taste was the spicy tang of her asshole, puckered and tight on his tongue.

Artur stopped the horse, sitting quite still until he felt the pulse of his heart in his chest. He shook his head as if saying no, then spurred the horse on. He rode fast and made a swift gallop, thundering on 'till he saw the fort ahead of him, smooth white embankments circling it all around.

"Artur king returns," shouted the watch. "Make way for the king."

Artur rode up the zig and zag of the entry path, the horse's hooves in a high prancing trot.

"Artur, hail. We did not expect you gone. Art' well? No harm?"

"No harm, Maer. We found shelter for the night. You know it, the long clear valley down Rhyadder way."

"Rhyadder, Lord? There's no clear valleys there, sire. 'Tis wooded, wooded all round." Maerlyn looked askance at the young king. "Are you sure of it, sire?"

Artur pondered a moment, then replied, "No. Not sure of it at all. No matter."

Only later did Artur realise that Maerlyn had not asked with whom he sheltered. He thought it curious, but not surprising. Maybe I am a puppet truly, and can do no thing unbidden. He shook his head, smiling to himself in wry amusement. It be what it be, dingle dangle.

"Rednock, how be that pig of yours? Has it been saddled and ridden yet?" Artur walked into his usual life. No matter.

* * * * *

"Wake, Artur, be awake." Her voice was a low caress, lost silences whispering in his head, all time lost, moments long yet fleeting still. His fingers gripped the heavy covers, and again he threw them from his body, away from the bed. Artur sat up against the carved wooden headpiece and steadied his breath. He looked down, and again his erection was hard like iron, a dull ache deep in his balls. He didn't touch himself.

"Gayne," he whispered, "you lied." You said you'd always be here. He touched himself. Quick strokes would satisfy the urge and ease the ache, but would not silence Morgayne's voice in his head. A longer time, urging up deeper visions from deep within, would bring back the taste of her slick sex, the scent of her musky asshole. But he couldn't mimic her slow hands.

"Ah fuck, I need to solve this." Artur spoke out loud to the silent room. He let go his cock, and pulled the coverlets up to warm himself. Mayhaps I should take one of the girls from the village, he thought to himself. Young Emmelyne is pleasing fair with her round apple breasts and her long thighs. She's looked up at me with a certain look, when she thinks I do not see.

Artur pictured the girl and imagined his fingers undoing the ties on her blouse, pulling the coarse woollen skirt from her hips; and the girl crouching down on his upright cock, a questioning look of eager surprise in her eyes as she took him all in. Artur smiled at the thought of her freshness, the pretty Emmelyne with her hair all curled up in a bonnet, closing her eyes in her pleasure.

She's a pretty thing, brother mine, with her softest fluff, but she never compares to this. And in his mind the curling darkness of Morgayne's lush cunt and the thick petals of her lips splayed in front of his eyes, before covering his face with their wetness and her earthy scent. Artur gripped his shaft and started a slow slide, long and slow, along his cock, along his cock, and the darkness of his sister engulfed him.

In the morning, a raven's feather lay on the snow, just outside his door. Trailing from it, impossibly long, were several fine black hairs. Artur looked down at his wrists, but they were smooth and unmarked. Pausing a moment, he turned back to the door, and flicked the locking lever up and down a number of times. Ah yes, he thought, I need to invite her in. This is my domain, not hers.

Several nights later, at the height of the moon, silent midnight settled over the silver snow, a deadened hush all around, something drawing near. On a distant wind a wolf howled, and another, and one more, their song coming closer, heralding a journey made in the night. In a line of trees low against the horizon a rise of rooks, unnaturally awake at night, startled and flew, arcing across the eye of the moon, then dropped and settled.

Artur stirred from his chair, moved to the door and lifted its long wooden latch. He pushed the door an inch open, and the golden flicker of a single candle inside shadowed and flickered on the snow outside. Afar, he heard the dull click of the iron latch on the postern gate. She comes, he thought to himself, and I invite her in. This is my dominion, and this night she will wonder the dream, not I. He silently moved behind a long falling tapestry, and was hid. Deep in his gut, muscles tightened and blood thickened, and his cock began to rise.

Silence ushered at the door, and it swung slowly into the room, its hinges greased with the fat of a lamb, making no noise. A hard shadow cast by the light of the moon fell on the stone floor and was broken up and shimmered by the low glow of the candle. Morgayne silently entered the room, the long black swirl of her cloak, all of black feathers, swallowing up the light. The candle fluttered, dipped, and the flame flickered then steadied. She pushed the door behind her, and the latch fell. The cloak settled around her like wings after flight.

"Artur, are you here?" Her voice was a soft whisper. "Brother?"

Artur stood silent, wondering what she would do. Always as a child, and always in his dreams, it was he who stood by the door and she who would hide inside; Gayne playing her games, but always holding him close. She stood unmoving, but was that uncertainty in her voice?

He changed his mind. She needed comfort. "Sister, you come to me this night, and I welcome you in." He stepped forward and held his palm to her cheek. He stroked his thumb down onto her lips and held it there, a gentle touch. "Gayne, you're cold. Shed your cloak and come within. A fire burns and mead warms, honey sweet as you favour it." He took her hand, and Morgayne, unaccustomed to courtesy, followed on. "Sister, how you, this cold night? Come, the fire will comfort you."

In a second chamber, walls covered with long draped cloth all finely embroidered, and a great bed carved and high, Artur lead his sister to a wooden settle in the nook of a fireplace and made her sit. He took her hands in his. "Morgayne, so cold. You come a long distance cold and lonely." It wasn't a question, but a statement. "Alone no longer, heart. I'm here, now."

Artur's natural, practical command took over. He didn't question why his sister made her long journey, nor how. Her presence was sufficient, and she was cold. He poured for her a goblet of mead, warmed in a jug on the hearth. Morgayne wrapped both hands around it, and slowly the gentle heat eased the chill from her hands, and a faint flush of pink rose to her cheeks. She looked younger, of a sudden, as if their ages were reversed. Artur stood by her side, a companionable silence, and he watched a tension fall from her shoulders, a subtle shift. Morgayne looked up at him, and was that a lost quietness in her eyes?

"Why did they pull us apart, Artur? You should have been just a brother, my brother, our Morgayse's brother. But they tore us all apart." She spoke the words and her voice cracked. "And now I'm painted witch, and I do it all alone."

"The goddess calls us to our fates, Gayne. We can't fight nor question it. I am king, but did not ask it." He placed another log on the fire, and pondered her. "And you do it alone because there is no man your match." He placed his hand on her shoulder, and held her there. "Besides, Gayne, you scare men."

Morgayne looked up at him. "Do I scare you, Artur?"

"No. But then, I'm no ordinary man."

He dropped the cloak from his shoulders and stood before her naked, his cock thick between his thighs, dropping long. "Remember?"

"By the goddess, yes. I remember." Morgayne's fingers went to her throat, and the faint blush was deeper there, a tell-tale red. "Who could forget you, brother?"

"And king, sister, don't forget. King, here." Artur spoke lightly, but there was no doubting his intent.

"D'ost command thy sister, sire, all naked there and strong?" Morgayne's words were but a whisper, as she heard the intent.

Artur's cock thickened at the sound of her words, and her cunt bloomed. King and high priestess then, duty bound and duty called. A ceremony was about to begin.

"Which hex, brother, that you command it?"

His cock thickened more and began to rise, and Morgayne saw the king's mark dark against his flesh. His movement was untouched, stirred only by the call and response of their words. Her black pupils dilated and the flicker of her tongue passed her dark lips.

"You know it, sister. You've always known it."

"Ah king, I give it, I give it to your will." Morgayne stood, and her feathered cloak spread wide as she turned. She was tall before him, the black shimmer of her cloak contrasting black to Artur's pale flesh. With her eyes fixed on his, the high king's shaft a certainty now, rigid and hard against his gut and no need for slow hands, she deftly unclipped a catch from about her neck. Morgayne cast the garment onto the bed, where it spread wide, the feathers fanning like some bird's huge wing.

Morgayne was clad in a clinging black, velvet black gown which hugged every part of her tall thin body. She kept her gaze high on Artur's face, holding his eyes with hers, her intensity matching his command. With a single high movement of her arm reaching up, she swiftly pulled a single cord from the front of the dress, and the whole black sheath split like some fantastic cocoon and her white skin shone and the black dress fell. Morgayne stood naked before him, nipples hard and dark on her small breasts. Her ribs shadowed and she was tall and gaunt before him, the long fall of her hair coiling all around, twisting and turning like a live thing.

She pulled five long hairs from the top of her head and gave them to her brother, the king. "Your will, brother, and you know it." Morgayne fell backwards onto the bed, all within the circle of her feathered cloak, and her limbs spread wide upon the bed. The dark place of her sex widened before Artur's watching eyes, and his cock lurched at the promise. "My blood is upon me, brother, my magick is strong with the high moon. Be careful what you wish."

"Best not fuck then, sister, if your blood is rising strong. No matter, the king can mix his seed with his sister's blood and make a strong anointment, flesh on flesh. The goddess' will be done, yet we not see it and must wait."

Artur stepped towards Morgayne, and coiled one long hair from her head about and around one ankle and tied it to the bed. She moaned, deep in her throat. Artur moved to her other foot, and bound it too, coiling the hair all around. She sighed, soft like the wind. A bead of bright fluid shone on the tiny lips of his cock, the conjure rising up his essence. Artur moved to the head of the bed and pulled Morgayne's wrists up high, circling the third hair and the fourth about in a single twist, and bound her to the bed. All in her cloak of feathers, Morgayne quivered on the bed and moaned with her caught up lust.

Artur returned to the base of the bed and studied his work, looping the fifth hair between his fingers. "Ah, Gayne, it's always you and me, and now I bind us." He spun the silken fine length of the last hair five times around his shaft and looped it around his tight balls, tying him to the spell. Morgayne's hair was so long, Artur still had a long length to turn and loop and bind. He looked down upon his sister tied in her magick weave to the bed, then fell between her legs, his fingers opening up her dark haired cunt and spreading her lips gently wide before sucking up her whole cunt into his open mouth, sealing her lips with his.

Morgayne shuddered, and thrust up her centre to his mouth, her fingers helplessly twisting and stretching above her head, tied tight. "Aah, fuck, eat me, drink me in, sweet fuck of mine, my king, my brother." Her body rippled and twisted, the pleasure from her heated cunt spreading through her limbs like silver from a forge, hot and dangerous. Her finger tips tingled with wild energy, stretching and gripping on the air. A shimmer of blue heat flickered in her aura and Morgayne's spirit spun within a vortex of flickering colour.

Artur's mouth and tongue sucked and thrust in her sex, the tang of her blood like metal, and his colours too spiralled up from the pit of his spine and looped like a corona to the base of his neck. The air shimmered and a faint susurrus, a crackle of ether, could be heard, humming soft and low. Some elemental thing was being made from their blood and lust, their love and life.

Artur lifted his head from her dark centre, and crawled up beside his sister, his mouth a smear of her redness. He placed his finger on his lips and drew a dark line of blood and smear up around his cheek, around his eye in a circle, until the mark faded on his brow. He dropped his finger to his mouth again, and licked the tip of it wet. Artur dipped the finger to Morgayne's sex and again anointed it with blood and lust, then spiralled it the other way on his cheek and down around his chin. His look was serious, for he painted old sigils found on rock and stone, and made long connections. They would awaken spirits, take care in what you ask for.

Morgayne gazed up at him, her eyes black lust and narrowing to sharpen her sight and to see him clear. "Tie us, brother, bind us in a circle. My hair, my single strand of hair."

Artur looked to his groin, and his cock stood thick and hard, deep red with his own blood and its head rich purple like a bruise. The thin dark circle of her hair looping around was a shadow line at the base of his shaft. He found the loose tail and stretched it out between his fingers to find the furthest end. Morgayne's nipples were hard and long, and Artur looped turns first about one nipple and then the other. The nubs darkened, and Morgayne gasped as her senses connected with his, tied through the long fine line between them.

Artur leaned down to his sister, and kissed her hot and warm upon the mouth, tasting her there. She returned the kiss, deep and hard, sucking on his tongue and biting on his lips. Above her head, the fingers of one hand entwined the fingers of the other, and she laced her hands together.

Artur lifted his head from the kiss, and moved down her body, sucking up one nipple and its spin of hair to his mouth, then the other, pulling up her shallow breasts in a hot suck so hard she gasped. Tight pain. More, my other hard tit. Morgayne pushed her body up to his mouth, to ease the pain and to make him bruise her again with his mouth. Artur trailed his tongue down the dark seam of her belly, following a thread of soft hair from her navel to the tip of her cunt, where he peeled apart her thick lips, throbbing with heat and her lust. He sucked up her clitoris deep into his mouth, swirling his tongue all around. Morgayne shuddered and writhed, jerking her core up from the bed, thrusting her pleasure into his heated mouth, meaningless sounds crooning from her throat.

He pulled his head away from her sex, a last lick and flick of his tongue. Finding the final length of the binding hair, Artur pushed back the folds of flesh from around her high clitoris, and spun the hair around. They were linked together, the ties that bind, from his thick long cock to her hard little clitoris, and through the heat of her nipples. Their auras merged and spun together in one single spinning thing. The conjure bloomed around them, and they were no longer king and high priestess, far beyond sister and brother, much more than a man and a woman. High magick, and the goddess called.