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"'When the troopship's on the tide my boy,'" Uther chanted to
Tommy, "'the troopships on the tide, O it's "Special train for
Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.'" Julie had been right,
these two enjoyed each other's attention. Even Keda, who usually
gave her Aunt Julie all her attention when she was in her lap,
was watching this stranger with the deep voice.

Uther had followed her into the nursery dressed in a preacher-
black suit still buttoned after an hour in the Great Hall. The
instant Tommy raised his arms, Uther had shed the coat. "Don't
want wool scratching you, do we?" he'd said. Since then he had
swung Tommy, and chanted to him.

Now he pulled his attention off the babies and back to Julie.
"This looks like a young man who is about to decide that he is
hungry. Is there something we should do?"

She turned the baby-monitor back up. "Pat, I think your son
needs you."

"'Why single men in barracks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an Tommy that, an ...'" Uther swung Tommy
up in the air and then down to a soft landing on the changing
table. "Let's see if we can get you back to mommy dry."

"You didn't have to do that," Pat said when she saw what he was
doing.

"When I play with a baby, My Lady, I give him back dry. Call it
rent..." Tommy swooped through the air to be held an inch above
his mother's lap. Seeing his mother, he decided that he was
hungry. He gave a single cry to complain about their starving
him. Pat settled him on her breast. Unfortunately, Keda was
deciding that she was as hungry as her brother had sounded.

Uther reached for her. "And are you as wet as your brother?" he
asked. After a brief check, he turned toward the changing table.
"K K K Keda, B B B Beautiful Keda," he sang. Pat looked at him
and waggled her eyebrows at Julie. She shook her head "no." Pat
smirked.

Damn it, sometimes Pat was totally obtuse. Julie liked Uther
well enough, except for his continual pretense that he was more
than a thousand years old. Even ignoring the impossibility, and
impossibility was easy to ignore in this castle, the beard gave
him away. The long white hair might have marked an ancient, but
the grey of the beard was obviously transitional.

Uther was very GWK, a category which had become important to her
since the twins were born; but not even Pat-the-mink could go to
bed with every man she met who was good with kids. Julie liked a
little Tabasco in her bed; she wasn't inviting the most
notoriously vanilla author on alt.sex.stories there. She had
just decided that Uther and the kids would enjoy each other, and
she'd been right.

"That's right, lass. Aunt Julie is soft and smooth and smells
pretty, but *she* doesn't have a beard to play with. 'When the M
M M Moon shines over the C C C Cow shed, I'll be waiting at the K
K K K K K Kitchen door.' Leave a few whiskers for the next
babe ... Pshaw, that lusty cry was quite superfluous, we were
heading motherwards anyway." Julie and Uther watched the first
gluttonous nuzzle. Pat, oblivious to her audience, hummed to the
babies.

"I think," Uther told Julie, "that we have been dismissed. I
shall follow wherever M'lady leads." Julie considered the two
doors, one led back toward the crowd, the other into a bedroom.
To her own surprise, she went into the bedroom. He was right
behind. Lord Malinov hadn't assigned any beds to adults, but the
Allens' diaper bag laid claim to one next to the nursery. The
room contained four king-size beds, as long as Pat had the one
closest to the nursery door, the rest of the family could use
what beds others weren't using, or join Pat.

Uther used both hands on her cheeks to tilt her head back. "I
was right," he said. "You are marvelously soft and smooth."

He, on the other hand was all ticklish beard. His kiss was
gentle until she opened her mouth, and then demanding. She
tangled both hands in the beard, and pulled him into the kiss.
When they broke from the kiss, his eyes were dancing.

"Aren't the twins the cutest babies in the whole world?" she
asked.

"In this world, certainly."

"You know, you're much too diplomatic to have begun life as an
absolute monarch." She wondered if she could persuade him to
drop persona. Mostly, she wondered what Julie Allen, who
preferred a frisson of danger and more than a touch of kink in
most of her relationships, was doing with him.

"Everyone in a democracy exaggerates the power of a high king,"
he responded. "It is all persuasion. The question is whether I
can persuade you?"

The weird thing is that he had persuaded her, or she had
persuaded herself. She trusted her instincts, she just wanted to
understand them. He was such vanilla guy, she was sort of a
Rocky-Road gal. "Another question," she said, "is why The Kitten
and her parents are not in this world. Surely the invitation
included them."

"This is hardly their sort of party." Suddenly the smile was
gone from his voice and from his eyes. That it remained on his
lips merely added menace to his manner. She saw what the
hardness was under his soft demeanor. He was a guard-dog, a
great shaggy mastiff of a man. He was perfectly willing to play,
even to play fetch; but it was unwise to threaten those whom he
considered under his protection. Then his expression eased.
"Besides," he said, "you are an aunt. Would you deny Catherine
Angelique's aunt and grandparents a Christmas visit from her? I
really think my question was more germane."

She nodded. "And how would you go about persuading me?" She was
happier now. A mastiff was more to her taste than a lap dog.

"Well, I would start like this." The kiss was deep and
satisfying, and longer than the last one. He followed it with
kisses to her face and neck and ear. The combination of the
beard on her neck and the lips on her earlobe was ticklish, but
deliciously so.

Uther stood back to unbutton her blouse and bare her to the
waist. She knew better than to wear a brassiere to an orgy;
they were always so hard to sort out afterwards. He helped her
off with the blouse like a gentleman. Then he picked her up by
her back and legs. "Is the far bed yours?" he asked. She
nodded. Before taking her there, he lifted her high enough to
tickle her breasts with his beard.

"Don't." She kicked.

He started walking. "Do you want my kisses to make them feel
better?" he asked. She did, but she was damned if she were going
to ask him for them. So he ambled and tickled while she kicked
and, the last half of the journey, giggled.

He set her on the bed, but she bounced right back up. "You," she
said, "are overdressed." He was wearing the suit pants and a
white shirt. The tie appeared to be of precisely the same
material as the suit.

He hung his coat and her blouse over the back of a chair, before
turning to her. He took the shirt and tie from her hands and
placed them on the chair with the rest of the clothes. "Is there
a hyphen in 'anal-retentive?" she asked.

"Why, yes. There is. But did you really lead me here to discuss
punctuation?"

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She reached for his buckle, but he caught her hands. A brief
struggle later, they were on the bed. Each of her wrists was
clamped in one of his hands. "But I want you naked," she said.

"Actually, I had figured that out; but thanks for telling me
anyway." The spread of her arms left her almost no maneuvering
room, but he had a fair amount for himself. He tickled her
breasts with his beard again, concentrating on her nipples. Then
they had a long kiss during which he explored all of her mouth
that his tongue could reach.

After he had sucked each of her nipples into aching rigidity, he
sat back up without letting go of her wrists. "This is going to
be a problem," he said. "Oh, I think I see." He covered one of
her legs with both of his, and then rolled so that he was between
her thighs. She started kicking, but he ignored that. He pulled
both of her wrists down to her waist and held them in one hand.
The other arm snaked under a kicking leg and grasped the two
wrists from that side.

After repeating the maneuver, he lay between her legs with his
head and shoulders on her lower torso. He had each of her wrists
in one of his hands again, but now his arms reached under her
legs. "Let's see if this works," he said. He raised himself and
moved her skirt up with his mouth. "A garter belt! You're
almost as anachronistic as I." (She wasn't going to wear panty
hose to an orgy, was she?) Then "Great, I don't much care for
the taste of panties." (Well, as a student counting her pennies,
she wasn't going to wear panties anywhere they were likely to get
lost.)

Her kicking had become pro-forma by this time. He began kissing
her just above the knee, but reached the stocking tops quite
rapidly. There he slowed down. He also tickled. His beard
reached places his tongue didn't. She struggled a little more
sincerely, but his grip wasn't going to be broken.

Where she had hair, oddly enough, his beard wasn't ticklish.
When he finally settled down to the serious business of
cunnilingus, only her bottom cheeks were tickled. He pushed her
thighs upward and apart with his shoulders, and he used the
access that gave him to part her outer lips with his nose. It
took him some time to work her inner lips apart with just his
tongue, but Julie enjoyed every minute of it. When he settled
down to licking her valley, she stopped struggling. The first
touch on her clitoris thrilled her, and she pushed up to hint
that she wanted more. Uther took his time before returning
there, however.

Soon, this roving around her vulva began to frustrate her.
"Uther," she said, "I need ..." He lifted his face from her to
make his response.

"No, lass," he said. "You *want* a climax now. You *need* a
little more time to charge your capacitors."

She realized that the bastard was doing it deliberately. She
struggled in earnest for a minute, but she couldn't free her
hands and jostling her groin was counterproductive. Then she lay
quiet, willing his tongue to touch her bud, willing it to stay
there long enough. In the end, it didn't. Uther attached
himself to the top of her valley despite the motions which, by
then, she couldn't possible control. He sucked her gently until
she began spasming. Then he sucked more firmly until she stopped
screaming.

He gave a farewell kiss to the top of her mound, but he didn't go
far and didn't release her arms. When she caught her breath, she
tried to jerk her right wrist loose. That didn't work. "Come
*on* Uther, it is my turn this time," she said.

"I don't see it that way. You have an absolutely beautiful quim.
I can't decide whether the sight, the odor, or the taste is best.
I have already eliminated sound, but getting it down to one sense
might take several more trials. The other problem is that touch
hasn't had a fair chance. I'm thinking about that one."

"Don't I get a vote?"

"Democracy? It's a passing fad. But If you raise your hand, I
might recognize you." She tried, he held her down.

"I bet I give better head than you have ever experienced," she
said. He had the muscle mass on her; men had the advantage
there. If he didn't play fair, she needn't either. She would
use her wits.

"I'll bet you do. But I'm an author."

"I know that."

"A character," he continued while she was still speaking, "can
come all night and dance all the next day. As an author, an
orally-induced orgasm now would mean that I couldn't swive
anybody for hours. I was hoping that a little more fanning of
your flames like we did just now would get you eager for my
swiving."

"I'm eager enough already."

"You said the same thing a few minutes ago. You keep forgetting
whose wrists are in whose hands. But I'll make a wager with
you."

"What sort of wager?" she asked.

"You have nice wrists, but I want to hold other parts of you.
I'll let you go. For one hour, I make the decisions while you
keep quiet. If you can get through the hour without saying an
intelligible word, you can control me from the end of that hour
until midnight. Unless you throw me out first. Moaning or
screaming like you did a few minutes ago is quite acceptable, but
you can't say a word, even in orgasm. You're still wearing a
watch. If you agree, say 'agree,' look at your watch and state
the time. Those will be the last words that you say."

She thought that sounded easy. Uther was projecting. He was the
author; he was the one who couldn't go for an hour without giving
a speech, much less without saying a word. Besides, it was a new
sort of bondage game, really. "Agree," she said. Instantly, he
freed her wrists. "Nine twenty three."

Uther unhooked her right stocking and peeled it off. He turned
it right-side-out before laying it on the chair back. He
repeated the process with her left stocking. He sat on the chair
to unlace his shoes. Why did such an anal personality
concentrate on oral sex?

"Turn over," he said. When she did, he lay over her legs with
his head close to her feet. He began to kiss her left leg at the
Achilles tendon. By the time he had worked his way up the calf
to the inside of her knee, she was writhing and whimpering. She,
however, wasn't even tempted to speak.

"Little sister," called a voice from the door, "have you been
enjoying yourself?" Oh shit! This would be a little hard to
explain. Maybe Uther'd tell them about the bet. Yeah! Right!
The tooth fairy appearing to deliver the message was more likely.

"She certainly *sounded* like she was enjoying herself," Pat
called from the other room. Sisters! And she had absolutely
worshiped Pat all through grade school.

"This is Susan," he continued. From her position, she couldn't
see; but she waved toward the door.

"The name is Uther Pendragon," Uther said. "Susan and I have
met."

"Nice to meet you. But, Julie, you didn't answer. Are you
having fun yet?"

"Not yet," said Uther, "but she will."

THE END