Tudor Sex: Margaret and the Wild Scot
By: Adriana M
Tags: Erotica Series, Sex, Historical Fiction, Erotica, Tudor Sex

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

Margaret Tudor looked around her wedding banquet, a mix of prudeness and desire churning in her entrails. After barely reaching womanhood, she was sent away from her home, where she was a Princess of England, to wed James the IV of Scotland and become Queen of the Scots. Her royal parents and her lady grandmother could never have imagined the rampant debauchery in the Scottish court. She knew that the Scots were considered a brutish lot by most English folk, but no one had mentioned how they would express their savagery. Apparently, when they were not pillaging the villages of the border, the lords of the land liked to feast and to fuck in plain sight.

“You need to finish your dinner, my lord,” a woman says, sitting on the dining table and spreading her legs wide, pulling the man in front by the hair, shoving his face between her legs. The other lords cackle loudly, celebrating her antics, many a hand going under their clothes to the crotch, moving in a jerky motion that Margaret did not understand. Her baffled face made her new husband laugh.”

“I’m sorry, lass. Catherine Gordon was supposed to get you out of here if the banquet went wild. Where’s Cate Gordon? Cate!” He calls loudly, but there is no sign of the woman.

“She can’t talk right now, your grace,” a man answers, “her mouth is full, see?” The man pulls up by the hair a woman who is kneeling between his legs. The woman gasps for air, drool falling down her chin. Margaret can’t help but lift herself to look down at where Cate’s face was. There, stiff as an iron rod, is the man’s pulsing cock. The first one that the new queen has seen in her life. The king barks another laugh at her astonished face.

“Oi! That’s not the cock ye’re here for, little lass. This is the one you should concern yourself with,” he says, releasing his hard thick sausage from his breeches. “Go on, touch it. It’s yours. ’Tis the prick that will breed you many sons.”

Young Margaret looked down, fascinated. The royal prick stood proud, clear juices spilling from its bulbous head. Her eyes moved to find the gaze of her roughed husband, his long hair falling over his face in disarray, his eyes full of lust, fueled by the mixture of wine and debauchery. He held her small hand and guided her gently to touch the throbbing meat. She obliged, squeezing it. The king moaned in pleasure, lacing his fingers on his bride’s hair.

“Go on, lass, kiss it. ’Tis crying for your touch,” he says, using her fingers to spread his precum around the mushroom head.

The girl indulges her lord and master, eager to learn more about these newly discovered sensations. As her face goes down, the smell is musky. When she ventures a lick, it tastes salty, but a force stronger than her senses takes over, and the young queen opens wide to engulf the thick cock as good as she can.

“Atta, that’s a good lass; swallow that cock, my little whore.”

Margaret pulls back, astonished by his words.

“What did you just call me?” she asks, enraged.

“I called ye my little whore. ’Tis what a wife should be to a husband. ’Tis what you are here to be, Margaret Tudor: a queen on the streets and a whore in the sheets. And how much fun will we have then.”

For a few seconds, Margaret looked at him, a thousand thoughts racing inside her head until her mouth opened up in a grin.

“No sheets here, my lord.”

“Aye. Time to bed ye, my young fresh mare.”

Margaret slapped him in the face. James smirked and hit her back. A firm smack but certainly not to hurt. This was not a fight. It was Scottish love. Margaret looked stunned for a second before responding with a double slap. Her husband countered by standing up and throwing her over his shoulder.

“Aye lads, ’tis time to breed this mare,” James bellowed, spanking his bride’s ass. I bid you goodnight.” The guests answered with cheers.

“My lord, the priest needs to put you to bed,” someone cried urgently.

“The priest can wank by the door,” the king answered, making Margaret crack laughing. “I have all the love of God right here,” he said, spanking some more.

Margaret fell on the bed, screeching and laughing. She had never felt more beautiful or desirable. She had always been a bulky, big-boned girl, never a delicate princess like her mother had been. She had frequently asked God why. Now she understood. It was because she was born to be bedded by a Scot. Her rugged husband would crush a delicate flower. But Margaret, with her sturdy built, could take and give as good as him.

“So what, are you going to pillage me, you brutish Scot?” the queen teased.

At that challenge, the king grabbed her by the corset, unsheathed the knife from his belt, and ripped her gown wide open.

“You fucking savage!” she screamed, watching the embroidered silk dress torn to rags. “You owe me a fucking dress.”

“Ay, ye married a savage alright,” he said, grabbing her by the throat and spreading her legs open. “I’ll buy you a thousand gowns, lass. Ye’ll be the fanciest whore in Scotland.”

Margaret laughed at that. She could get used to her husband’s wild ways, so different from the uptight, prudish education that her sanctimonious grandmother tried to drill in her rebellious brain. In her mirth, the young queen lowered her guard. The king’s rock-hard prick ripped through her tight pussy, ripping apart her virginity in one swift push. Margaret gave a piercing shriek, feeling like she split in two. The king held her lovingly, kissing away the tears that rolled down her face.

“Hush, little lass. This one’s the one that hurts, I promise. It gets better from here.”

“It hurts so much,” she whimpered, feeling the thick meat stretching her out to an impossible width.

“Shush, me love. This will make it better,” the king offered, guiding her hand to show her how to touch her clit. She brushed it in a tentative caress. The pounding pain started to give way to some pleasure. James kissed her, eager tongue exploring her mouth. Margaret felt her body relax, and before she knew it, the pain had blended with delight, and a strange urged curled inside her womb, making her hips roll, suddenly craving more of that cock. The king obliged, pounding her until she screamed, pussy clenching in orgasmic waves. The royal cock followed suit, spilling loads of hot jeez inside his bride.

James rolled to the side, pulling his wife to him.

“Alright, little one?” he asked.

Margaret chuckled.

“Yes, my lord. I realize now that my lady grandmother is a stiff cunt because she never had a good fuck. For who could have this and still be mad?”

The king let out a hearty laugh.

“Aye. Got me a smart queen, I say. Com’ere, little lass, give your king a kiss.”