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Head (Again)

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'Swear it. On your knees, Edmund! You must swear it on your knees.'

'I will swear it on any part of my body,' quipped Edmund Blackadder. 'You are the fairest queen that England has ever seen.' Privately he was thinking back to Queen Mary, who had frankly been hideous. At least he was not lying as far as he knew.

She cooed happily. 'Silly boy, I meant you should get on your knees and swear. Nursie, leave us.' She gestured impatiently at Bernard, who raised her eyebrows, collected her knitting, and glided out by the side door.

The Queen stood up daintily in front of her throne. 'Now,' she commanded. He dropped on one knee and bowed his head.

'I swear the like of my queen in grace and figure has not been seen this age, nor any other.' He trusted his powers of poetry no further, and glanced at her to see if he was still to keep his head.

'Better,' she said, and lifted one jewel-and-silk covered leg to wrap around his shoulder. 'Come then, my paramour,' she said, attempting a low seductive voice and failing miserably.

Knowing he was a dog for it – a villain or a poodle, made little difference - but not caring one whit, he grinned up at her and slid her hands along her legs. She squealed in pleasure, tittered, and gathered her own skirts up to let him duck under.

She fell back on her throne, legs spread wide around his head, her fingers pressing her dress' jewels painfully into his scalp. He found her soaped and clean for once, and buried his nose gratefully in the moist hair on her mound.

The Queen squealed in pleasure and pushed his nose in deeper, and with difficulty Edmund managed to breathe long enough to lick her open with rough strokes of his tongue. The Queen's hands left his head, grabbing the arms of the throne instead, and she swayed her hips up instead, her ankles crossed at his back.

She groaned and whimpered and squealed her way through his attentions, at the end squeezing her thighs so hard Edmund thought she'd pop his eardrums. She fell limp after a little joyful shriek, and he emerged from under the suffocating weight of her skirts, a little light-headed, his nose dripping.

She sat on her throne flushed and crumpled, but happy. He produced a napkin and discreetly wiped his face.

'Oh, Edmund,' she purred. 'I find I simply cannot execute you.'

'Madam, that is indeed most kind of you,' Edmund said, getting back on his feet and giving her a courtly bow. If giving head on occasion meant keeping it, he could make no objection.