Guinevere was born to be a warrior, that much was certain.
You could tell by the fire in her eyes when she argued, and by the lean and muscular build of her body. Or, mused Lancelot, you could tell by the way she dominated fiercely in the skills of the bedroom. When they lay together, she was the predator, and he was the prey. There was nothing he could do but succumb to her wishes.
And that night, she wished to use ropes.
She was firm with her request, but he wouldn't have expected anything else. "Lie on the bed, Lancelot," Guinevere purred, spreading his limbs apart. "I shall tie you to each bedpost so that you may not move freely. Your fate on this night will be entirely in my hands." She grinned wickedly, and began to tie his arms to the top.
"Isn't it ironic, my lady, that we found you trapped in the dungeons, and now it is I who have become your prisoner?"
"Our world is full of irony, Sir Lancelot. There is nothing you can do but continue to live with it." She finished her task, and sat up, admiring her work. "I am a genius." Lancelot frowned, and pulled with his muscular arms against the bindings. They did not move.
"You are not a genius," he quipped, "but a devil in the form of an angel."
Guinevere leaned in close, and kissed his mouth firmly. Her tongue moved within the cavern of his mouth, wickedly fast and sensual. He groaned as she pulled away. "Sometimes it is necessary to use force to silence you, my love. Arthur is not nearly so noisy in our love-making."
It was a bitter reminder that her flesh would never be his alone; that the beautiful smile she bore when sleeping after their union was not meant solely for him. He was but a knight, and Arthur was the hero. The hero was the one who would walk away with the woman, not the knight at his side.
Another heated kiss broke his thoughts, as all the blood rushed from his brain. Guinevere smiled at him benignly, and then began placing kisses down his bare chest. Her lips left a trail of saliva down his muscled body, and Lancelot struggled against his bindings. He longed to take her right then, as her head and well-practiced mouth dipped into the lower region of his body. "Patience, my love," she whispered, "you will have your relief."
"Wicked, wicked woman," he gasped as she teased him with her tongue. Lancelot pulled violently on the ropes that held him, but could not escape. He longed for her so much that it was painful. "Any battle, any war, any torture is better than what you are doing to me now, Guinevere!"
She let her hand wander up his legs. He moaned again. "This is but another battle, Lancelot, and you have fought well. Mayhap it is time to release you from your bonds, so that you may put up a true fight. I do love a challenge." Eyes smoldering, she reached to untie the ropes.
Guinevere was born to be a warrior.