Et Voila!

“…et Voila!”

The bouquet of bright paper blossoms just appears in his hand, as if by magic. He presents them to her with a flourish.

“You are the most unusual fairytale King I’ve ever met,” Claudia laughs, taking the flowers from Hal. The patchy bits of sunshine feel indescribably wonderful on her face, and the air smells freshly-washed, briny even. Astringent.

“Well, yanno dat King of dah Swamp is just a story dat I tell when I’m feelin’ silly,” Hal confides. “S’really a little more complicated dan dat.”

“More complicated than being a king?” she asks.

“Well, my ancestors are dah Chitimacha Nation. We have clans — mine is Dog. And in dah old days we had nobility, but not kings, exactly, dat’s kinda Euro-centric thang.”

“But it’s very fairytale for a Frog Prince to become a King.” Claudia is smiling so much that her face muscles ache.

“Yup, and dat’s why I use it. S’funny.” He makes an outrageous face. “Remember, I’m–”

” –a weirdo. Yeah, how can I forget? You keep reminding me. So what would the Chitimacha call what you do?”

“Not sure — our language’s been lost. I think da last known Chitimacha who could speak it died in the 1930’s or somethin’. Dey think da word was ma’ta.” He shrugs. “I knew an Anishinaabe Medicine Man who gave me lotta great advice when I was a kid. He called me an ogimaa — said dat it meant “Speaker” and dat I was gonna speak for my people.” He shakes his head. “An’ den I find out dat my people want me ta speak to them, too. Ya don’t get to be dah speaker without bein’ dah leader too.”

“Ogimaa,” she rolls the new word on her tongue, then looks at Hal.

He nods. “Yup, you’ve got it.”

She reaches out, traces his cheekbone with one finger. “I like that. Maybe I’ll use it. Is that okay?”

“Sure, baby. I’ll answer ta anythin’ you want ta call me. But why not just use Hal?”

“Hmmm,” Claudia says, “on the other hand, I could use Harold.” She nods. “That would work.”

“Ok, almost anything. I love Auntie Frog, but dayumm…”

“Hmmm, I’m looking for something that conveys a little more… respect.” She mostly manages to suppress a smile. “Of course, that doesn’t mean that I’ll be forgetting what your name is.” She lets the smile grow, leaning in to murmur throatily in his ear. “Mmm, Hal.” She rakes his earlobe with her teeth before leaning back. It makes him go silent for a moment; fun to watch him come back from wherever he’d gone off to.

“Your Majesty?” Hal looks anything but majestic at the moment, wearing a lop-sided smile, and blinking in the sunlight. “My majesty, I mean. No, umm… how come it’s my lord, and your majesty?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because the majesty belongs to the king, and he’s the lord of the vassal– hence the my…” So why is she thinking, quite suddenly about all the nasty things she could do with her king? Perhaps Aunt Frog put something in that bottle of cranberry juice she’s been drinking. Or perhaps it’s just Hal, sitting on the back porch, the last of the storm wind ruffling blue and green highlights out of his long black hair. Or maybe she’s just drunk from the sunshine. She lifts her hand, lets the breeze carry his hair across her arm, the palm of her hand. Mesmerizing.

He shifts closer to her, lifting his face, and takes a deep breath. He leans closer still, eyes closed, until he can rest his face against her cheek, breathing in quick little puffs, sliding down to her collarbone. She feels goosebumps raise on her arms, feels her nipples tighten. He’s scenting her. It makes her shudder hard enough for him to notice; she can feel him smiling against her throat.

Then he tilts his head and very deliberately takes her throat in his mouth, closing just hard enough for her to feel his teeth, then almost hard enough to bruise, but not quite. A hot flush starts in her throat, runs fast down her front to settle in her groin, and she relaxes into his grip. She murmurs, knowing he’ll feel the vibrations, encouraging him to — ooh, yes– scrape his teeth gently across the skin, and giving her a sharp little nip before he releases her.

“I know what you like,” he says. His expression is smug as all hell, and it makes her love him a little for it.

“Yes,” she tilts her head, offering her neck and shoulder once more. Instead, his hands travel down her arms, and she murmurs again when he takes her wrists, moves her hands to the small of her back, and tightens his grip.

Little nipping kisses, that make her squirm and grunt, and he growls playfully; “Hold still, woman,” while making it nearly impossible for her to do so. “Mmm, ya taste goooood,” Hal’s tongue is rough, licking at her neck, pushing wetly into her ear. Now she has a cold, wet ear, and an attack of the giggles that she can’t control, no matter how many warnings he gives her.

“Yer not so good at obedience after all, are ya?”

Her stomach lurches, but Hal is looking beautifully smug, and completely happy, and she settles once more into his warm regard.

“No, Ogimaa,” she says. It’s the first time she’s said it to him. It works; his eyes go half-lidded in an animal smile, and his body relaxes against hers– she feels boneless and melting herself.

“Let’s get some practice in.” Hal stands them up and walks her back a few steps. There’s a pause while he transfers her wrists into one of his hands, and runs his knuckles over her face. “Yep,” he says, “Love at first sight, baby.”

Then she’s walking in front, down the steps, and into the tall lush grass. it’s cool, and soaking wet on her legs. Hal is talking as they go —of course— she smiles to herself.

“See baby, ya said you’d be my straight man, and dat kind of makes me sad. I got a whole swamp full of dose. I want ta have a lover, I wanna own a pet, I wanna be with a woman who needs me, so bad she can’t stop herself– and that’s what you’re gonna be. That Derleth guy, he never played with you, did he? You got a lot of hard work ahead of you, baby.”

“Yes, Ogimaa.” She can hear her voice tremble.

“Yes?  He did play with you?” Hal says sharply and very close to her ear. He’s jerked her to a stop, near the line of cypress that mark the west side of the house’s yard.

“No! No, Ogimaa, he never — played with- with me.”

“What was the yes, then?”

“Yes,” Claudia says, through threatening tears, “Yes, I have a lot of hard work ahead of me.”

“C’mere, baby.” Hal turns her around to face him. “Ain’t no reason ta cry, it’s gonna be dah best hard work ya ever done.”

“I know, that’s why… oh, Hal!”

“Shh, baby, shh.” He never lets go of her wrists, even while his other hand is smoothing over her shoulders and back. He licks at her lips, more of that wet, sloppy dog-licking, that runs up and even into her nostrils, making her gasp and jerk away. “Uh-uh, baby, you hold still.”

His free hand holds her head, and she’s treated to more of his tongue bath, over her cheeks, swirling into the orbits of her eyes. It’s gross, such a boy-thing to do, and she has to struggle not to wince or screw up her face. He takes her chin in his teeth. The hold is gentle, but she knows that if she moves she’ll be bitten. After a moment of stillness, Hal releases her.

She follows him past the cypress. Hal walks into the meadow, and circles himself into the sparkling grass, creating a round nest, and gestures for her to join him. She shivers at the brushing of wet leaves on her bare arms. The world smells like water and clean mud– the sourness of the wetlands has been flooded away– and greenness.

“You can lick me, too, yanno.” he offers. Claudia wonders if she can decline to lick him, but she already knows better; “Stick out yer tongue, cutie,” Hal orders her. “You lick everything, like I did to you.”

“You licked into my nose!”

“You do too, then.” Hal grins. “Come on, call it one of your new chores.” he lays back heedless of the squelching mud, pulling her over him. Claudia tries to ignore the soft earth cooling her kneecaps and shins, and protects her hands from the soil by propping herself on his shoulders.

“Yes, Ogimaa,” she puts as much irony into the words as she can, and runs her tongue over his lips– no chore there! His eyes close, waiting for her laving, and she obliges, sucking gently at the shifting eyeballs hidden under such thin lids. She licks up each cheek, and then without giving herself any time to think about it, over his nostrils, finding– only a faint taste of salt there, and the sensation of the delicate cartilage curves that frame each opening. His hand at the back of her head moves, cradling her, and she probes daintily into one of them, before she finishes with a wet swipe up the bridge of his nose.

“Such a good girl, such a good girl.” Hal rubs his damp forehead against hers, smiling into her eyes. It’s such a ridiculous thing to feel proud of– but his tone of voice rings true; the approval is unmistakable. His arms close around her waist, like any boy making out with his girlfriend.

And then she yelps, feeling the world swing over her; Hal has rolled her, straight into the sopping grass at their side, and onto her back. His hard body presses hers into the mud; she can feel wet seeping up the back of her head and over her scalp. Hal kneels up over her, and yanks at her shorts, and makes her yelp again.

“Shush, now, a little mud won’t hurt ya!” Hal bursts out with his braying laugh at her outrage.

“We were clean!”

“Still clean, dis is the cleanest mud you ever gonna see. I swear, but you’re a pretty woman, take that shirt off, I wanna look at your titties, too.”

“Dang it, we used up the last of the hot water, showering!” But she’s laughing right through her sense of propriety, and her beautiful man is standing, pushing Pen’s old sweats down his finely-sculpted legs. Naked and erect, he steps between her feet, and nudges at them to open. Claudia is looking up at a statue– some fantasy, an art deco figure, his sturdy legs with those thighs that belie the skinniness of the rest of him. His body can float above those legs, while they carry him tirelessly along.

She struggles out of her tank top, letting her knees sprawl open, feeling the silky smooth mud invade her butt crack. She rolls her spine a little to keep the stuff out of her vulva, she doesn’t care how clean he tells her it is. Hal looks down at the subtle movement.

“Pretty little clam,” he tells her, and drops to his knees between her thighs– she pulls them open wider, in alarm,– and splashes mud over her skin. He spits on his fingers, slides them slick over her labia and clit. “God, look at you, you’re beautiful!”

No one has ever told her that. Her former master never said anything about her genitals, when he’d command her to expose herself. He talked about the shame she must be feeling, and her squirming– neither of which were ever true. Claudia felt no shame having him look at her, and she was well-trained in holding still.

His fingers slide along into the mud on her skin, rub it around as if he’s finger-painting on her thighs, and then he pushes her knees wider apart, and he puts his forearms down right in the mud under her lifted thighs, and he leans his face in and his tongue strokes across her pubes in slow long strokes, as if he’s got all day, as if he’s not going to tire out, as if he could lick her to climax in moments, as easily as not, and he’s not. Yet.

His fingers stroke more mud gently onto her buttocks and her hips and her sides, and his tongue slides all round her crotch as if he’s seeking out the taste of her. He licks her pubic hair down in ranks, he lays his whole mouth down on the soft fold where her thigh meets her belly, he licks down her belly, and then he slides his tongue into the private places straining for touch, opening themselves to it.

Shock slaps Claudia, like a blow to the face. She jerks and cranes her head to stare at Hal in amazement. Nobody — ever — has done this to her. No shame at looking, no embarrassment, but this? She’d heard the men talking at the clubs when she and Master used to do demonstrations, arguing about whether eating pussy is nasty or not. She’s heard men rhapsodize about it, and others screw up their faces in disgust. But there he is, her prince, his face buried between her labia. She burns, and can’t tell how much is mortification and how much is lust. But she just can’t get over how good it feels, and she slumps back onto the ground, not even caring how the mud coats her scalp.

He licks in deep to feel the innermost textures and the shapes receding inward. He pauses now and then to look at her, and smile, and dive in again, eagerly, rubbing his nose and his chin on her clitoris, and licking down the cords of her thighs, and down onto the slopes of her buttocks. “Rock your cunt into it, baby,” he murmurs then, a buzz of vibration on her clitoris, and she groans. It sure seems like he’s having a good time. Screw embarrassment, she decides.

“Give me dhat woman in you,” he says. “Give me dat honey. I can taste it, ya want me in there. Show me you want it, let me lick it, let me taste how much you want to be fucked. Rock, baby, gently, just bump it up ta reach me, and I’ll suck it for you. You want yer clitoris sucked up like a dick? Ya want it? Say it, baby. You gotta ask. You can’t just lay there and be pretty and dainty and clean–but we’ll do that too, I promise–all lace and straps and little tight panties for spanking–but now you in the mud, with my face up your cunt, and I am tongue-fucking you, and I might lick your ass too. I might rim your little mud-covered ass like a dog. Dog don’t mind. Dog lick your ass till you come,” and his fingers grip into the cheeks of her buttocks, and his tongue is stroking deep into her pussy, flicking up at the tip on her clitoris, his whole body rocking absurdly into her. She arches her back and parts her knees as wide as she can and presents herself harder, and then he starts drawing back, not diving in as deep, he draws softly back, softer yet, drawing her after him, so she’s panting.

“Ask for it, baby,” he says. “Tell me what ya want. Tell us both what ya want. You’re wet, I can taste woman in there beggin’ for something, but yer strangled, ya can’t talk, that Derleth guy tied your mouth shut like a muzzle or somethin’?”

“Yes, Ogimaa,” she says, in a gasp.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” she groans.

“You don’t wanna talk to the Dogboy who’d lick ya all over? You don’t wanna tell me what your cunt wants from me?”

She wants to tell him, but she can’t force the words out. It’s too much. Something less, then. “Bite,” she gasps. “Bite me. Bite my neck, bite all over–”

“You want me to bite your cunt too?” He takes her vulva in his teeth, and they’re sharp teeth. He worries at the meat there, tugs at the hair with his mouth, until she wants to scream. But she can’t, someone might hear, it’s not allowed, so all that comes out is a thin wail. Then his muddy body slithers up hers, and he’s got the thin skin of her throat in his teeth. Just so, he nips. And again. She twists urgently, feels the mud squelch up between their bodies.

She groans. “Tell me, please…” she begs.

“No, you tell me when you’re going to give me your cunt,” he says, and he bites her shoulder.

She wails. “I can’t!”

He raises both muddy hands and he rubs his muddy hands across her belly and her breasts and her arms, and then he bites her nipples, more gently. “You can,” he says. “Maybe not now, but you will.”

And then he lowers his head between her thighs, and he drives in his tongue, and draws out. With the tip, he squeezes her clitoris hard against his front teeth, and releases it to push his tongue into her, and then presses it hard, and then pushes into her vagina again, over and over. Her brain stops, just like that, and she doesn’t have a mind, just a body that arches in time with his tonguing, slaps back into the mud.

She’s groaning in time to it, panting to catch her breath, when he stops completely. “You gotta ask,” he says then, looking over her, and kissing her nipples instead. Nipping all around them, licking even into the mud he’s put there, as if mud doesn’t bother him at all.

“Please let me come,” she pleads. “Please, Ogimaa, please.”

“Nope,” he says. “That’s not you telling me what your cunt wants. Being stubborn, that cunt is. I think I need to fuck your ass for a while. I know you got to keep your cunt pretty clean, can’t get shit for drugs in this swamp, but I can swampmud all over the rest of you. My hands are dirty, you put the condom on my cock.”

She sits up, trembling, finds his shirt pocket, and in this better light, it’s simple to roll it on. “Get the lube too, I brought some,” he says. “Lube it up. Lube yourself, show me your fingers lubing your ass. God, that’s one helluva a fine, fine woman ass. I could just bite dose butt slopes, and kiss yer sweet asshole all night. Now get on yer knees, get yer boobs down in it, lift your ass.” And he bites her there, too, wherever he can find a grip for his mouth, although mostly his teeth scrape across the slopes of her butt without finding purchase to pinch her. “You don’t like having me kiss mud off your ass? Believe me, baby, there’s worse every day. Lickin’ mud off a woman’s gorgeous white butt, I can do dat all day. Get some more lube on dere, put yer fingers in and open yourself up for me. Did Derleth ever ask you to show off dis pretty little asshole? Did he ever have you pleasure yourself, front and back? Did he ever stretch you out and let you feel something nice coming up your ass? No? Well, ain’t the same for a girl, but it’s one of dah nice things in life, gettin’ fucked by somebody who cares how ya feel when yer fucked!”

And then he’s inside her, his penis driving in, slick and hot and slow. So exquisitely, maddeningly slow.

She gasps out. “Yes. More — please –” God, it burns with heat, a welcome invasion. She keens at the first pull and stretch, making him pause. “Nonono…” She pushes back, driving herself onto him roughly. “Please… don’t stop.” It’s hot and slippery and wonderful.

“Gettin’ fucked by somebody who likes doing what pleases you. Fuckin’ you. Findin’ where you like it, doin’ you until you scream it out, it’s so good. Now you put yer fingers up your cunt, and you pleasure yourself, and I’ll feel you shakin’, I’ll know if you’re doin’ it right. I want lots of that woman honey coming out on yer fingers. Droolin’ and messy and no mistake what ya want.” And he bites her on the shoulder, on the nape of the neck gently, nipping in tiny little pinches down her back. “Yeah, baby, you’re wired this way, ain’t you?”

“Please –” she’s almost weeping with sensation. “Yes. Oh god, oh god, bite me more –”

“Yell it out, baby, I ain’t done with you,” he says, with his hips driving into her in a faster rhythm, and he bites her on the shoulder, and then he says, roughly, “Now, baby. Come when I’m fucking you up the ass. Come now,” and she does. He’s wound her up, and she bucks, and mud flies, and he doesn’t stop thrusting into her ass. “Come now,” he says again, and again she does, twisting under him, biting her own arm to keep silent. He grips her hips hard, and she feels him break rhythm, feels him bury himself inside as far as he can. He slumps over her to whisper against her shoulder.

“Come now.”

And she screams, spasming around his dick.

Hal brays with laughter at her exclamation, and it sounds joyful and glad and free. Maybe someday she’ll sound like that when she laughs. “Good girl,” he croons. He rolls then, so that he’s the one wallowing in the squelchy mud. “You’re mine now, baby, and I ain’t gonna ever let go. We’re gonna be happy, never mind dah bugs and problems and whatnot.” He regards her seriously for a long moment. “And to celebrate, you’re gonna get a new name, too, just like you gave me Ogimaa. “You move like a dancer, so I’m gonna call you Grace. You like dat, baby?”

She giggles, completely flustered. “Yes, Ogimaa, I like that. I like it a lot.”

Then Hal leaps to his feet in a spray of mud and water. It’s started to rain again, a mere drizzle now. “C’mon, baby, pick up our clothes and I’ll show ya somethin’ useful for a change.” She scoops up their muddy clothes and flip-flops, and lets the mud drip down her front. Everything else is covered in mud, so why not? Hal slides a hand through her hair and settles it on the nape of her neck. “Walk,” he demands, and the hand at her neck steers her toward the outbuildings.

Where do you go when you’re happy and naked and covered in mud? Out behind the barn, apparently.

He kisses the top of her head, oblivious to the mud, and steers her to the outhouse and its shower. He yells under the hard cold spray and pulls her in after him. Thirty shivering seconds later, their bodies and clothes are clean enough to reunite without scratching them raw. And then they’re off to feed the animals.

===

I had help, lots of help, from Stella Omega and Nagasvoice on the pr0n. Thank you!

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