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.