In the far distant days of Celtic myth, each season was ruled over by
different gods and spirits, by the Kings and Queens of the great cycle of
the year. The warmth, time of plenty, was ruled over by the Queen of Summer
whose reign began with the crowning of the May Queen and ended as the
harvest was taken in. The Queen of Summer's consort was the King of the
Harvest, ritually married at May. The King's end was not so gentle as the
Summer Queen's gentle fading into falling leaves- his blood was shed over
the harvested fields to ensure the fertility of the crops for the next year.
But this year things were different in the spirit world. The Queen, sitting
in state on her bed of flowers, was shocked when the King of the Harvest
burst into her throne room, red spear dripping gore in his right hand,
magical shield seized from the sleeping Queen of Winter in his left.
"This year, I will NOT fall at harvest time! This year, there will be no
falling leaves! For I have the power of winter, against which you must give
The Queen of Summer was gripped by a great fear, and turned to flee from the
dreadful spectre of her ritual husband defiling the ground with spilt blood
and wielding forbidden magics.
The force of winter picked her up and threw her back upon her bower, and
bonds of white, ropes of ice, began to freeze around her wrists...
The magical ropes twist and turn, their icy grasp stinging her skin. She is
forced and pulled back down onto her bower. The flowers begin to move and at
first she is relieved- surely her flowers will help her, twist with the
strength of roots splitting rocks, break the bonds, set her free. But the
stems just wind tighter about her wrists and ankles, joining the bonds of
winter and holding her tighter still. The King's spells have even turned the
blossoms against her.
The King and his men seize the Queen's ladies-in-waiting and drag them off
into dark corners. The Queen's horror turns to outrage as her handmaiden's
shrieks quickly turn to moans and their pretended protests and struggles
turn to gropes and lustful fondling. The King himself is ploughing the
furrow of Brigit, Lady of Music. Brigit's golden tonsils are not producing
their usual honeyed song- they are lavishing a honeyed caress on something
In the midst of the orgy, the Queen is quite alone. She fears what the King
will do to her once he's finished showering his blessings all over her
handmaidens. With a huge bellow, the King's ecstasy reaches a peak... and
for a moment, his concentration slips. The spell is weakened, just for a
second. The Orchid, the Queen's favourite, breaks free and slips its roots
into the bonds. Ice crackles... and she can move. Hastily she tries to make
good her escape, slip her bonds and gain freedom while her husband is still
Perched un-noticed on her throne above the heaving, sweating orgy below her,
the Queen of Summer slips free of the ropes around her ankles. The she bites
at the ropes around her wrists, pulls the rope clear. She is free!
But only for a mere moment. The King has switched positions and is now
sounding the depths of Lady Brigit's roundly presented ass. He is fairly
preoccupied with squeezing something very large into somewhere very tight.
But Brigit is looking right at the Queen. When she sees that the Queen has
got free, she shouts a warning. The King, not to be distracted at this
fairly critical juncture, grabs hold of Brigit's hips and thrusts very
deeply into a hole that really shouldn't be getting this sort of rough
treatment. The King bellows a great roar as he deposits his seed deep into
her; Brigit howls as she feels the huge volume of liquid shoot up inside her
like a fountain; the Queen yelps and tries to make good her escape.
But it is too late. The King recovers from his climax very swiftly and
immediately spots her, trying to slip away. He doesn't bother withdrawing
from Brigit, just charges forward with her still impaled. He doesn't even
bother to hold her up; with his huge member still deep inside her she's not
going to fall off.
He catches hold of the Queen's arm, twists it, forces her to the ground.
"And where do you think you're going? We haven't finished with you yet!"
"Let me GO! You can't hold back the seasons forever! You'll get yours when
He wrestles her back to the throne
"Maybe I can't hold back the seasons forever, but I damn well have a bit
more fun before the leaves fall!"
He rips off her clothes and reties her, naked. With a wet squelch, he
withdraws from Brigit and dumps her at the foot of the throne. She has a
wicked look in her eyes.
"My liege, might your humble servants perchance be permitted to partake of
the fruits of summer?" Brigit says, and licks her lips.
The Queen shudders.
The King laughs a huge, hearty laugh.
"And why not, indeed? So, you're her handmaiden, better get your hands
working, hadn't you?"