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From: Wayne Mitchel <thetechnician1001@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Bound Queen - A Halloween Story     Fantasy, Halloween, Anal, Spanking, Flogging, Semi-historical setting
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Date: Fri, 09 Oct 2015 06:10:02 -0400
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The Bound Queen - A Halloween Story

   by The Technician

   Fantasy, Halloween, Anal, Spanking, Flogging, Semi-historical setting.

    = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

   An Irish-American Lass Proves She is a Descendant of Royalty

   Each year as I write my Halloween stories, I depend upon the pixies to
bring me inspiration for one with an Irish/Celtic theme.  This year they
led me to the myths and legends surrounding the last of the great Celtic
queens.  Some of this story is factual.  Some is Celtic/Irish legend.  And
some is created just for this story.  I leave it to you to determine which
is which.

    = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

   WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18
ONLY.  Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All
people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons
living or dead is purely coincidental.  Actions, situations, and responses
are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

   If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference
between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province,
nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in
these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that
exists in the twenty-first century.

   Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if
acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included
with the article.  This story is copyright (c) 2015 by The Technician (
Technician666@Gmail.Com.  )

   Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story
for personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies of this
story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

    = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

   Published eBooks by Wayne Mitchell (The Technician}

   Senior Project http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=7753

   Handcuff Island http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=8160

   I, Masochist http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=8263



    = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

    * * * * * * * * * * * *

   I was in Ireland in mid-October because I'm an Italian-American author
whose book, "Tracing My Italian Bloodline" sold enough copies to put me
into that very select club of people who could actually make a living from
what they wrote.

   "Then shouldn't you be in Italy?" you are probably asking.  And the
answer to that is, "I was."

   For over a decade, I spent a bunch of my own money and several years of
my vacation time in Italy tracing my family bloodline as far back as I
could.  Actually, I already had some pretty complete records.  The oral
tradition of my family backed up with some old journals traced things all
the way back to around 775 AUC.  That's "ab urbe condita" which means "from
the founding of the city." The city, of course, is Rome.  In our modern
system of dating that is somewhere around 20 AD/CE.

   The family story claimed that I was a lineal descendant of the famous
Gaius Suetonius.  Once I started investigating it, the details of that oral
tradition corresponded amazingly well to actual extant records including
origins of modern family names and all of that.

   The only problem, or in my case, perhaps I should say the great
blessing, was that the family oral tradition disagreed as to which famous
Gaius Suetonius it was from whom I was descended.  One branch of the story
claimed Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus, who was a historian that wrote a bunch
of books about the life and times of the Roman Empire in the first century
including one that is still around that chronicles the life of Julius
Caesar.

   The other Gaius Suetonius wasn't quite so tranquil.  Gaius Suetonius
Paulinus was a bad-ass Roman general who is primarily known for being a
bloodthirsty son of a bitch and for ruthlessly putting down the last of the
great Celtic rebellions against Roman rule in the British Isles.

   To my amazement, and to my eventual publishers' great joy, it turned out
that both sides were apparently right.  These two guys weren't at all
related to each other, but I was related to both of them.  That plot twist
was evidently really great stuff to the genealogy crowd and my book sold a
gazillion copies.

   OK, not quite a gazillion, but enough to crack into the bottom of the
best selling non-fiction lists and enough to give me a very precious "take
this job and shove it" moment with an asshole of a boss I once worked for.

   The problem now was that my publisher wanted a sequel a sequel that
would appeal to the same audience.  A sequel might not be too difficult for
a fiction writer, but I had sort of exhausted my family tree in the first
book.  Luckily, my wife wasn't Mediterranean-Irish, she was Irish-Irish
with the flaming red hair, blue eyes, and temper to prove it.

   So as the wet and cold fall weather of the Emerald Isle became wetter
and colder, Katie and I were traipsing all over central Ireland attempting
to track down her bloodline.  The big problem was that she did not have a
strong oral tradition backed up with parish records giving her family tree.
The only ancestral story in her family was that they were Celtic royalty
and if the Celts ever rose again, she could claim the throne as a rightful
queen.  I soon learned that this same story was the basic stock and trade
of almost every family in Ireland.

   To quote my publisher, "Don't put too much stock in stories like that.
Everyone says they came over on the Mayflower but neglect to tell you that
Mayflower was the name of a broken down cattle boat hauling refugees from
the extreme poverty of Europe in the late 1800's."

   So far, we had traced parish records back to the mid-1700's and were
still dealing mostly with ordinary Irish farmers and peasants.  It was
slow, tedious work that often involved a lot of begging and pleading just
to be able to look at the ancient records.

   I wasn't complaining about being on the oulde sod, though.  The Irish
countryside seemed to be having a marvelous effect on Katie.  She was
bubbling and happy and energetic, and perhaps most surprising, as horny as
a nymphomaniac on Spanish fly.

   The longer we stayed in Ireland, the more wanton she became and the more
wild our nightly with occasional morning and afternoon sex became.  I
wasn't quite to the point of seeking out a source for some little blue
pills, but I was starting to wonder how long I could keep this up without
medical assistance.

   Then it happened.

   We were in a quaint little bed and breakfast, taking advantage of the
fact that everyone was eating breakfast in the dining area at the other end
of the house when, just as I was reaching orgasm, Katie changed.  I don't
mean that her face got all red which it normally did as she approached
orgasm, or that her eyes rolled back slightly which they normally did, or
that she began to quiver and shake so hard that she almost threw me off the
bed which she only did when she was going really, really high.  She
physically changed!

   Her hair got darker more like a red-bronze than her normal carrot top.
Her skin got paler if that was possible.  And her eyes became a much more
intense blue.  Then she said in a heavily accented voice, "Dark Night is
coming soon.  That is when it will happen.  Make sure that you are at
Dersingham Heath on Dark Night and be sure that you are making love at
midnight when the veil is thinnest."

   Once or twice in my life, I've had things happen that caused me to
"deflate" when I wanted my little soldier at full attention, but I'd never
before lost an erection in the middle of ejaculating.  I ended up against
the wall at the end of the bed, standing on my knees between Katie's legs.
She was back to normal and was looking at me really weirdly.  "What's
wrong?" she asked in a slightly frightened voice, and I explained what I
had just seen and heard.

   I expected her to freak out, but instead she went all travel guide on
me. "You know she was referring to Halloween, don't you?" she asked.  And
then without waiting for an answer she continued, "Halloween is really a
Celtic festival, but you Italians screwed it all up when you took it back
to Italy and combined it with a harvest festival.  For some reason, the
church ended up using your wrong Italian date."

   She crossed her arms over her naked breasts and said, "True Dark Night
is the dark of the moon following the fall equinox." She paused to think
for a moment and said, "This year that is a week from Monday, nine days
from now.  "

   "Doesn't it bother you that you changed into someone else while I was
making love to you?" I stammered out.

   "Oh, that," she answered calmly.  "It runs in my family."

   Evidently she could see the shock and fear on my face because she added
rather petulantly, "Don't worry.  It only happens in the weeks leading up
to Halloween, and it doesn't happen to everyone in my family."

   "But it happened to YOU!" I sputtered.

   "Yeah," she answered.  "I guess that means I'm the chosen one in this
generation."

   She then went on to explain that in every generation in her family,
there was one daughter who seemed to occasionally transform while making
love in the weeks leading up to Halloween.  "Actually, it gets more intense
as Dark Night approaches," she explained.  "But it's always gone by the
time your mis-dated, modern Halloween actually arrives."

   "That's nice to know," I replied.  "Perhaps you could have even
mentioned it to me sometime while we were dating."

   She gave me a very dark look and continued in her travel guide voice for
a moment, "This year Halloween will be almost three weeks after Dark
Night."

   She then looked slightly embarrassed and looked at her feet for a moment
before continuing.  "I was starting to sort of suspect I was chosen when I
started getting hornier and hornier as we got closer and closer to Dark
Night."

   She shrugged her shoulders and said, rather matter-of-factly, "That's
another part of whatever happens.  It hasn't happened to any of my cousins,
so we didn't know who the chosen one was in my generation.  I guess it's
me."

   She smiled, then looked at me very intently and asked, "What exactly did
I she say?"

   I answered, "She said to be sure that we were at Dersingham Heath on
Dark Night and to be sure that we were making love at midnight when the
veil was the thinnest."

   "Well then," she replied, "you know where we will be and what we will be
doing a week from Monday night"

   I searched all over my map of Ireland for Dersingham Heath and couldn't
find it.  Finally I gave up and Googled it.  Dersingham Heath isn't in
Ireland.  It's way the hell over on the other side of England in Norfolk.

   "Looks like you've got some non-Celt in your background." I said
jokingly.

   Katie flushed with anger and replied rather heatedly, "That is the heart
of the last, great Celtic rebellion.  I can understand you not knowing
Celtic history, but don't you know anything at all about your own ancestors
in the British Isles?"

   "What do you mean?" I answered, getting a little huffy myself.  "My
ancestors aren't Celt."

   Her eyes widened as she drew herself up to her full five-foot seven. 
"No," she almost yelled, "your ancestors are who they rebelled against! 
Queen Boudica led the Celts in one last, great war against the Roman
invaders.  Her armies were eventually defeated, but not before she had
wiped out several Roman cities, including Londinium, and killed 80,000
Romans.  When it all fell apart, she and her two daughters were either
killed in battle or took poison to prevent being captured alive."

   She then got rather quiet and said, "Your ancestor, Gaius Suetonius
Paulinus, was the general who finally defeated her.  He was also
responsible for her being publicly flogged and her daughters being publicly
raped right after her father died."

   She shrugged her shoulders again and added, "I guess that is sort of
what caused her to go all Celtic revenge on the Romans, but no one has ever
been able to figure out how she got away in the first place to raise her
armies."

   "Oh," I replied.  "Sorry about that."

   "I don't hold it against you," she replied with a smile.  "It's not like
he was your dad or grandfather...  or even great-grandfather.

   "Besides," she continued, her voice getting weirdly soft, "we seem to
have been interrupted in the middle of something."

   She pulled me back to the bed and dragged me in with her.  I won't say
that it was my best performance as a lover, but how would you react if
every minute you were making love, you were waiting for your partner to
turn into somebody else.

   ***

   We stopped twice overnight on our way over to Dersingham Heath.  I
wanted to check some of the parish and civil records along the way to see
if any of Katie's family names popped up.  They didn't.

   Katie did, however, get even more horny as we got closer to Dersingham.
And each time we made love, she transformed.  Each time it happened, it
wasn't quite as shocking as the first time.  It is amazing how fast you can
get used to something even that weird.  Whoever this phantom person was,
the last three times she appeared, she gave me three messages.

   The first said, "She must be willing...  and she must be prepared for
what will occur."

   The second said, "She is blood of my blood and will take my place on
Dark Night."

   The third message said, "You are blood of my enemy but will be my
savior."

   When I told Katie the third message, her eyes snapped wide open.  "My
God!" she yelled out.  "It's Boudica, herself.  I actually am a descendant
of Queen Boudica."

   ***

   We rented a rather picturesque country cottage a little east of King's
Lynn on the edge of the Dersingham Bog National Nature Reserve.  A little
conversation with some of the locals gave us the information that there was
one area of the heath that everyone avoided in the weeks leading up to
Halloween.

   The local legend was that you could hear screaming and moaning coming
from the trees on the western edge of the heath during that time and that
women who were brave or stupid enough to spend the night on the heath
experienced something that nearly drove them out of their minds.  None of
them could remember exactly what occurred, but they definitely knew that
they never wanted to experience it again.  Men who were with the women and
stayed the night had no memory at all of what might have occurred, but all
had the strong feeling that they had engaged in sexual activity of some
sort.

   Once we were settled into the cottage, Katie became even more insistent
concerning sex.  And she started getting kinky.

   In all the years of our relationship, we had never done anything but
standard missionary position sex.  Once or twice she had given me head, and
we had tried some other positions once or twice, but the "back door" as she
called it was strictly off limits.  Now she was telling me, "I want it in
the ass."

   When I asked her if she was sure and why the change, she answered, "I
have to be ready.  I have to know that I can take it."

   "What the hell does that mean?" I asked, hoping to keep the anger out of
my voice.

   "You will know on Dark Night," was her only response.

   I don't know when or where she had purchased lube, but she had some in
her suitcase and handed it to me before going over to the bed and getting
on all fours.  She wiggled her ass at me and asked, "Are you coming?"

   "Not yet," I answered with a laugh, "but I soon will be."

   For an anal virgin, she responded very intensely to my gentle
preparations.  I planned to take my time and get her highly aroused first
so that she would be ready, but that wasn't really necessary.  She was
groaning and panting heavily as soon as I touched her ass.  I worked one
finger into her rosebud and she immediately started pushing back against
me. By the time I had progressed up to three fingers to make sure that she
was loose enough, she was writhing and bucking against me.

   I positioned myself between her legs and lined myself up between the
mounds of her ass.  I intended to enter her slowly and carefully, but as
soon as the tip of my prick touched her ass, she impaled herself on me and
started slamming back against me.  I was a little afraid of what the
neighbors might be thinking as she started into a high-pitched keening
wail, but there was little I could do about it.  I had also planned to pace
things so that I would last longer, but with her sphincter pulsing and
squeezing around my prick as she bounced against me, again there was little
I could do about it.

   Finally, she lowered herself down onto the bed, pulling me with her.  I
lay more or less on her back slowly stroking her fiery hair.  Finally she
said, "You can move now."

   Then, as I was shifting myself over to be alongside her on the bed she
murmured, "Maybe we will have to try that again when this is all over and
it's just me.  I think I could get to like it."

   There are times when your mouth wants to ask something but doesn't
because there is a voice screaming at you from the very back of your mind,
"You really don't want to know." I didn't ask what she meant by "just me."

   Thursday night, she ratcheted things up another notch and asked me to
spank her.  I had playfully whapped her ass a couple of times during
foreplay, but she always objected.  Now she was telling me to hit harder
and to use a hairbrush.  Again I asked, "Are you sure about this?"

   Her answer, once again, was "I have to be ready." Then she added, "I
have to know that I can take it."

   I was about to tell her that I couldn't do it, but she suddenly got her
Irish up.  "You WILL do it," she said firmly.  "Your ancestor started this
and it is up to you to stop it." She paused and then added, "Besides, she
said that this is the only way."

   I don't know if a light bulb appeared over my head, but I am sure that
there was suddenly a very loud "Click!" inside my head.  "She's talking
directly to you now, isn't she?" I asked.  Actually it was more of a
statement than a question.

   She looked down slightly like she normally did when she was a little
embarrassed.  "She comes to me in my dreams," she said.  "I think she is
kind of inside me now.  She told me that her priest had betrayed her when
her father died.  He threw in with the Romans and not only removed the
protection that had been cast over her family while her father ruled, he
cast a terrible spell on her so that she couldn't escape from them.  There
was another spell that was even more terrible.  She wouldn't tell me what
it was, but she said that you and I were the only ones who could break the
spell so she could get her revenge."

   "And breaking the spell involves beating you and screwing you in the
ass?" I asked.

   She scrunched up her face and raised her eyebrows.  Then with a shrug of
her shoulders she said, "Yes, it does."

   She threw herself over my lap and ordered, "So get spanking.  And after
I'm good and red, take me in the ass."

   She looked up at me before I started and said, "Then, turn me over and
make regular love to me.  Take me high...  take me very, very high."

   I did everything she requested.  She screamed and yelped as I slammed
the long wooden hairbrush into her ass, but she never told me to stop. 
Then, when her asscheeks were starting to turn purple, I said, "That should
do it," and she stumbled up from my lap and knelt at the end of the bed
with her body lying over the mattress.

   Surprisingly, she became very aroused when I entered her and even had a
small orgasm when I climaxed into her ass.  We lay there for a few minutes
with me still pressed against her from behind.  I slowly shrank down and my
limp penis eventually fell from her backside.

   She turned and pulled herself up onto the bed and pulled me up with her.
"Now," she said, "take me higher than I have ever gone before in my life."

   She smiled slightly and added, "She said it would help take away the
pain."

   I spent a lot of time stroking her body as I tried to take her as high
as I could.  Her skin got all red.  Her eyes rolled back.  And she began to
quiver and shake so hard that she almost threw me off the bed.  Then Queen
Boudica showed up.  "You will have to do even more to me on Dark Night,"
she said seriously.  "And your precious Katie will have to endure much more
as she takes my place."

   She then described the exact point where Katie and I were to be on Dark
Night.  It was the same place the locals claimed was haunted by evil
spirits.  She also described exactly how Katie was to be bound between two
of the trees.  I was to give her 100 lashes with a rope whip and take her
both in front and from behind.  "Make sure that you spurt in her ass
exactly at midnight," was her final order as she faded away and Katie
reappeared.

   Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, Katie was her normal self, meaning that
she was no longer insatiable.  In fact, she had no desire for sex at all.
Monday evening, just before dark, we parked in one of the lesser-used
parking lots for the reserve.  I left a note in the window that said,
"Would not start.  Tow will pick up in the morning," and we began walking
across the fields toward the edge of the heath.

   Twilight was past by the time we reached the proper place.  Katie
stripped out of the heavy dress that was her only clothing and stood
between the trees which the Queen had designated.  Her nipples stiffened
almost immediately in the cool, night air.

   As I approached her with the ropes, she slipped something up over her
legs.  She had been holding it in her hand since we left the car and I
thought at first it was perhaps a thong of some sort, but she explained,
"It's a butterfly vibrator.  I've got it pulled up above my clit right now,
but after you take me from the front, pull it into place so it will keep me
excited through the rest of it."

   She looked at me a little sheepishly and said, "The Queen was right. 
Being totally turned on does really help with the pain."

   I desperately wanted to know where she had gotten the vibrator, but
instead I asked, "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

   "No," she said in a slightly quivering voice, "but we have to do it."

   I gave her a deep kiss and then pulled the ropes taut so that she was
held in a tight X between the trees.  I admit that I have read a few OK
more than a few bondage fantasies, and they make it sound so simple to fuck
a woman who is tied standing up, but it is actually a lot of work.  You
can't lift her up and she can't really move, so you end up having to
half-way crouch down just to enter her.  Then your legs are bent at an odd
angle and you can't get the proper muscle action to thrust.  Maybe if she
were suspended slightly higher in the air, or if I were a lot shorter it
would have been easier.

   The tension on her limbs did, however, greatly increase the sensations
for both of us as I thrust in and out.  Soon she was moaning and crying
out, but still, because of the awkward position, I couldn't seem to get to
the right spot for either of us to finish.  Finally, she started trembling
and shaking in orgasm and I spurted within her.

   Suddenly Queen Boudica was hanging before me.  I hate to admit it, but
it no longer surprised or shocked me at all.  I had evidently gotten so
used to Katie changing that I was now jaded to the whole experience.  What
did startle me, however, was the fact that she was totally naked.  That
meant that the butterfly had somehow gone with Katie to wherever it was
that she had gone.

   "The lash," the Queen cried out.  "Use the lash.  One hundred strokes."

   As I started striking her, she grunted in pain and then said, "You have
to hurry.  This must end at midnight."

   I sped up my lashing and through clenched teeth she asked, "Do you know
why this must be done?"

   "Not a clue," I replied.

   "My priests betrayed me," she explained.  "When I told them I would get
revenge if it took a thousand years, the chief priest replied Then the
punishment will have to last two thousand years.' He cast a spell over me
that would trap me in that day of flogging and rape for that entire time."

   She screamed slightly when the knotted ropes of the lash accidently
slipped between her legs.  Then she forced out the words, "But blood calls
to blood across time.  I reached out magically to all my descendants,
seeking an escape.  I found I could reach them in that instant of
nothingness just before an orgasm...  and at Dark Night." Another shriek as
a wayward cord found a nipple.  "Finally I found you and Katie.  Not only
was she my descendant, you are a descendant of that bastard Suetonius.

   "As you flog me and rape me tonight," she continued, "it is the same as
if he was doing it.  And since it has been more than the two thousand
years, the spell will be broken.  I will be released.  Then I will be able
to use my own magic to escape so I can lead my people against the Romans
and get my revenge."

   "But you will lose," I said softly.  "I have read the histories, you
will lose."

   She laughed and said, "If you have read of me in the histories, then I
have not truly lost...  and many Romans will die before they destroy me."

   The count I had been keeping silently in my head finally reached one
hundred.  It was nearly midnight, and I stepped behind her to complete the
strange ritual.  Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately flogging a naked
woman with a knotted whip of ropes doesn't come close to turning me on.  I
was less that ready.

   "Push against me," she said desperately and I pressed my almost limp
member against her ass.  She began clenching her muscles and gripping me
between her asscheeks.  My little soldier responded immediately to that and
stood at attention.

   Her sweat, and perhaps some oil that was on her skin, was sufficient for
lubrication and I entered her.  She thrust back against me almost
violently, making soft "uh" noises with each thrust.  Soon I was thrusting
against her as forcefully, or more so, than she was against me.

   I'm not sure how we managed it, but just as the clock from a distant
town square struck the midnight hour, she screamed out in orgasm and I
erupted within her.  There was a soft flash of light and she was gone. 
Katie was in her place.  Her back was bleeding and she was crying in pain.

   I pulled out of her and said, "It's over, baby.  It's over."

   She replied, "Let's go home."

   I untied her, leaving the ropes hanging from the trees.  Let the locals
wonder' I thought.  Maybe it will even add to their legends of the heath.'

   We staggered back across the heath.  Katie did not put her dress back
on, but instead carried it draped across her arm.

   Dark Night was truly dark.  If it had not been for the small pocket
flashlight I had with me, we would never have been able to follow the path
back to the car.  Luckily, it was still there.  I was afraid the local
constabulary might have discovered it and had it towed away.  Maybe even
they don't venture into this area on Dark Night.

   We drove back to the cottage in silence.  Once there, I applied salve to
her back and put her into bed.  I offered to sleep on the couch, but she
said, "No, hold me." Then she added quietly, "very gently."

   The next morning her back was much better.  It was bruised and sore, but
the cuts were already starting to heal.  "There are two things I still
don't understand," I said to her over breakfast.

   "Only two things?" she replied with a laugh.

   "Boudica said that the spell bound her for two thousand years," I
continued.  "But that all happened around the year 60.  That means it
hasn't quite been two thousand years since then.  How did we break the
spell?"

   "The spell must have been tied to the Celtic calendar," she replied. 
"It has only 354 days and had to be corrected regularly with an extra
month. Two thousand of those years would be many years shorter than our
calendar.  So, when you flogged her and raped her last night, two thousand
Celtic years had passed.  It completed the spell and she was released."

   "There is a second thing," I added.  "The history books say that her two
daughters were killed along with her.  They were virgins until the Roman
soldiers broke their maidenheads so that they could legally be publicly
punished and possibly executed." I looked up at Katie and asked, "How can
you be a descendant?" "She told me there was a third daughter," Katie
replied.  "She had been sent to live with the Iverni tribe Boudica's
mother's family in southwest Ireland.  I think if we go to that area, we
can finally trace my ancestors."

   ***

   It took several more months, but we were able to trace or guess Katie's
complete lineage through the Iverni Celts.  It wasn't one hundred percent
complete, but it was at least enough to write my sequel.  It sold OK, but
wasn't quite the hit that my first book had been.  It did create quite a
bit of a controversy, however, because of the cover image, and that gave it
a very needed sales boost.

   While we were combing through libraries and ancient records in Ireland,
we happened across a painting that was entitled, "The Flogging of Queen
Boudica." It was in a storeroom in some little village library and had been
there for centuries.  The head librarian said that it was older than the
building which was over twelve hundred years old.

   "For all I know," he said with a laugh, "it could have even been here in
the village since Roman times.  But it's not really good art.  And there's
no way to verify the dating.  It's probably just someone's crude attempt to
imitate some old Roman mural, so it just stays here in the storeroom."

   I was able to purchase the painting and bring it back with us to
America. It shows the naked queen bound between two trees while a Roman
officer of some sort flogs her with a whip made of knotted rope.

   The painting is surprisingly realistic for a Roman era painting, but
it's not really a very good likeness of the Queen.  The hair is way too
orange.  The wide open eyes are not quite an intense enough blue.  And the
skin is slightly darker than the Queen's alabaster tone.

   None of that is what caused the controversy, though.  The intense
argument, which swirled across the net almost as soon as the book came out,
centered around exactly what object the artist had inserted into his
painting to hide Boudica's sex as she hangs naked between the posts.

   Various people argued vehemently for this or that Celtic emblem or other
powerful ancient symbol.  Katie and I, however, know exactly what it is. 
If you look very closely at the image especially the original painting that
hangs in our den you will see that it is actually a bright, pink, plastic
butterfly.

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   END OF STORY
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   ----------------

   The Bound Queen - A Halloween Story



   by The Technician



   Fantasy, Halloween, Anal, Spanking, Flogging, Semi-historical setting.



   = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =



   An Irish-American Lass Proves She is a Descendant of Royalty



   Each year as I write my Halloween stories, I depend upon the pixies to
bring me inspiration for one with an Irish/Celtic theme.  This year they
led me to the myths and legends surrounding the last of the great Celtic
queens.  Some of this story is factual.  Some is Celtic/Irish legend.  And
some is created just for this story.  I leave it to you to determine which
is which.



   = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =



   WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18
ONLY.  Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All
people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons
living or dead is purely coincidental.  Actions, situations, and responses
are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.



   If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference
between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province,
nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in
these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that
exists in the twenty-first century.



   Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if
acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included
with the article.  This story is copyright (c) 2015 by The Technician (
Technician666@Gmail.Com.  )



   Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story
for personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies of this
story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.



   = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =



   Published eBooks by Wayne Mitchell (The Technician



   Senior Project http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=7753



   Handcuff Island http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=8160



   I, Masochist http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=8263







   = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =



   * * * * * * * * * * * *



   I was in Ireland in mid-October because I'm an Italian-American author
whose book, "Tracing My Italian Bloodline" sold enough copies to put me
into that very select club of people who could actually make a living from
what they wrote.



   "Then shouldn't you be in Italy?" you are probably asking.  And the
answer to that is, "I was."



   For over a decade, I spent a bunch of my own money and several years of
my vacation time in Italy tracing my family bloodline as far back as I
could.  Actually, I already had some pretty complete records.  The oral
tradition of my family backed up with some old journals traced things all
the way back to around 775 AUC.  That's "ab urbe condita" which means "from
the founding of the city." The city, of course, is Rome.  In our modern
system of dating that is somewhere around 20 AD/CE.



   The family story claimed that I was a lineal descendant of the famous
Gaius Suetonius.  Once I started investigating it, the details of that oral
tradition corresponded amazingly well to actual extant records including
origins of modern family names and all of that.



   The only problem, or in my case, perhaps I should say the great
blessing, was that the family oral tradition disagreed as to which famous
Gaius Suetonius it was from whom I was descended.  One branch of the story
claimed Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus, who was a historian that wrote a bunch
of books about the life and times of the Roman Empire in the first century
including one that is still around that chronicles the life of Julius
Caesar.



   The other Gaius Suetonius wasn't quite so tranquil.  Gaius Suetonius
Paulinus was a bad-ass Roman general who is primarily known for being a
bloodthirsty son of a bitch and for ruthlessly putting down the last of the
great Celtic rebellions against Roman rule in the British Isles.



   To my amazement, and to my eventual publishers' great joy, it turned out
that both sides were apparently right.  These two guys weren't at all
related to each other, but I was related to both of them.  That plot twist
was evidently really great stuff to the genealogy crowd and my book sold a
gazillion copies.



   OK, not quite a gazillion, but enough to crack into the bottom of the
best selling non-fiction lists and enough to give me a very precious "take
this job and shove it" moment with an asshole of a boss I once worked for.



   The problem now was that my publisher wanted a sequel a sequel that
would appeal to the same audience.  A sequel might not be too difficult for
a fiction writer, but I had sort of exhausted my family tree in the first
book.  Luckily, my wife wasn't Mediterranean-Irish, she was Irish-Irish
with the flaming red hair, blue eyes, and temper to prove it.



   So as the wet and cold fall weather of the Emerald Isle became wetter
and colder, Katie and I were traipsing all over central Ireland attempting
to track down her bloodline.  The big problem was that she did not have a
strong oral tradition backed up with parish records giving her family tree.
The only ancestral story in her family was that they were Celtic royalty
and if the Celts ever rose again, she could claim the throne as a rightful
queen.  I soon learned that this same story was the basic stock and trade
of almost every family in Ireland.



   To quote my publisher, "Don't put too much stock in stories like that.
Everyone says they came over on the Mayflower but neglect to tell you that
Mayflower was the name of a broken down cattle boat hauling refugees from
the extreme poverty of Europe in the late 1800's."



   So far, we had traced parish records back to the mid-1700's and were
still dealing mostly with ordinary Irish farmers and peasants.  It was
slow, tedious work that often involved a lot of begging and pleading just
to be able to look at the ancient records.



   I wasn't complaining about being on the oulde sod, though.  The Irish
countryside seemed to be having a marvelous effect on Katie.  She was
bubbling and happy and energetic, and perhaps most surprising, as horny as
a nymphomaniac on Spanish fly.



   The longer we stayed in Ireland, the more wanton she became and the more
wild our nightly with occasional morning and afternoon sex became.  I
wasn't quite to the point of seeking out a source for some little blue
pills, but I was starting to wonder how long I could keep this up without
medical assistance.



   Then it happened.



   We were in a quaint little bed and breakfast, taking advantage of the
fact that everyone was eating breakfast in the dining area at the other end
of the house when, just as I was reaching orgasm, Katie changed.  I don't
mean that her face got all red which it normally did as she approached
orgasm, or that her eyes rolled back slightly which they normally did, or
that she began to quiver and shake so hard that she almost threw me off the
bed which she only did when she was going really, really high.  She
physically changed!



   Her hair got darker more like a red-bronze than her normal carrot top.
Her skin got paler if that was possible.  And her eyes became a much more
intense blue.  Then she said in a heavily accented voice, "Dark Night is
coming soon.  That is when it will happen.  Make sure that you are at
Dersingham Heath on Dark Night and be sure that you are making love at
midnight when the veil is thinnest."



   Once or twice in my life, I've had things happen that caused me to
"deflate" when I wanted my little soldier at full attention, but I'd never
before lost an erection in the middle of ejaculating.  I ended up against
the wall at the end of the bed, standing on my knees between Katie's legs.
She was back to normal and was looking at me really weirdly.

   "What's wrong?" she asked in a slightly frightened voice, and I
explained what I had just seen and heard.



   I expected her to freak out, but instead she went all travel guide on
me. "You know she was referring to Halloween, don't you?" she asked.  And
then without waiting for an answer she continued, "Halloween is really a
Celtic festival, but you Italians screwed it all up when you took it back
to Italy and combined it with a harvest festival.  For some reason, the
church ended up using your wrong Italian date."



   She crossed her arms over her naked breasts and said, "True Dark Night
is the dark of the moon following the fall equinox." She paused to think
for a moment and said, "This year that is a week from Monday, nine days
from now.  "



   "Doesn't it bother you that you changed into someone else while I was
making love to you?" I stammered out.



   "Oh, that," she answered calmly.  "It runs in my family."



   Evidently she could see the shock and fear on my face because she added
rather petulantly, "Don't worry.  It only happens in the weeks leading up
to Halloween, and it doesn't happen to everyone in my family."



   "But it happened to YOU!" I sputtered.



   "Yeah," she answered.  "I guess that means I'm the chosen one in this
generation."



   She then went on to explain that in every generation in her family,
there was one daughter who seemed to occasionally transform while making
love in the weeks leading up to Halloween.  "Actually, it gets more intense
as Dark Night approaches," she explained.  "But it's always gone by the
time your mis-dated, modern Halloween actually arrives."



   "That's nice to know," I replied.  "Perhaps you could have even
mentioned it to me sometime while we were dating."



   She gave me a very dark look and continued in her travel guide voice for
a moment, "This year Halloween will be almost three weeks after Dark
Night."



   She then looked slightly embarrassed and looked at her feet for a moment
before continuing.  "I was starting to sort of suspect I was chosen when I
started getting hornier and hornier as we got closer and closer to Dark
Night."



   She shrugged her shoulders and said, rather matter-of-factly, "That's
another part of whatever happens.  It hasn't happened to any of my cousins,
so we didn't know who the chosen one was in my generation.  I guess it's
me."



   She smiled, then looked at me very intently and asked, "What exactly did
I she say?"



   I answered, "She said to be sure that we were at Dersingham Heath on
Dark Night and to be sure that we were making love at midnight when the
veil was the thinnest."



   "Well then," she replied, "you know where we will be and what we will be
doing a week from Monday night"



   I searched all over my map of Ireland for Dersingham Heath and couldn't
find it.  Finally I gave up and Googled it.  Dersingham Heath isn't in
Ireland.  It's way the hell over on the other side of England in Norfolk.



   "Looks like you've got some non-Celt in your background." I said
jokingly.



   Katie flushed with anger and replied rather heatedly, "That is the heart
of the last, great Celtic rebellion.  I can understand you not knowing
Celtic history, but don't you know anything at all about your own ancestors
in the British Isles?"



   "What do you mean?" I answered, getting a little huffy myself.  "My
ancestors aren't Celt."



   Her eyes widened as she drew herself up to her full five-foot seven. 
"No," she almost yelled, "your ancestors are who they rebelled against! 
Queen Boudica led the Celts in one last, great war against the Roman
invaders.  Her armies were eventually defeated, but not before she had
wiped out several Roman cities, including Londinium, and killed 80,000
Romans.  When it all fell apart, she and her two daughters were either
killed in battle or took poison to prevent being captured alive."



   She then got rather quiet and said, "Your ancestor, Gaius Suetonius
Paulinus, was the general who finally defeated her.  He was also
responsible for her being publicly flogged and her daughters being publicly
raped right after her father died."



   She shrugged her shoulders again and added, "I guess that is sort of
what caused her to go all Celtic revenge on the Romans, but no one has ever
been able to figure out how she got away in the first place to raise her
armies."



   "Oh," I replied.  "Sorry about that."



   "I don't hold it against you," she replied with a smile.  "It's not like
he was your dad or grandfather...  or even great-grandfather.



   "Besides," she continued, her voice getting weirdly soft, "we seem to
have been interrupted in the middle of something."



   She pulled me back to the bed and dragged me in with her.  I won't say
that it was my best performance as a lover, but how would you react if
every minute you were making love, you were waiting for your partner to
turn into somebody else.



   ***



   We stopped twice overnight on our way over to Dersingham Heath.  I
wanted to check some of the parish and civil records along the way to see
if any of Katie's family names popped up.  They didn't.



   Katie did, however, get even more horny as we got closer to Dersingham.
And each time we made love, she transformed.  Each time it happened, it
wasn't quite as shocking as the first time.  It is amazing how fast you can
get used to something even that weird.  Whoever this phantom person was,
the last three times she appeared, she gave me three messages.



   The first said, "She must be willing...  and she must be prepared for
what will occur."



   The second said, "She is blood of my blood and will take my place on
Dark Night."



   The third message said, "You are blood of my enemy but will be my
savior."



   When I told Katie the third message, her eyes snapped wide open.  "My
God!" she yelled out.  "It's Boudica, herself.  I actually am a descendant
of Queen Boudica."



   ***



   We rented a rather picturesque country cottage a little east of King's
Lynn on the edge of the Dersingham Bog National Nature Reserve.  A little
conversation with some of the locals gave us the information that there was
one area of the heath that everyone avoided in the weeks leading up to
Halloween.



   The local legend was that you could hear screaming and moaning coming
from the trees on the western edge of the heath during that time and that
women who were brave or stupid enough to spend the night on the heath
experienced something that nearly drove them out of their minds.  None of
them could remember exactly what occurred, but they definitely knew that
they never wanted to experience it again.  Men who were with the women and
stayed the night had no memory at all of what might have occurred, but all
had the strong feeling that they had engaged in sexual activity of some
sort.



   Once we were settled into the cottage, Katie became even more insistent
concerning sex.  And she started getting kinky.



   In all the years of our relationship, we had never done anything but
standard missionary position sex.  Once or twice she had given me head, and
we had tried some other positions once or twice, but the "back door" as she
called it was strictly off limits.  Now she was telling me, "I want it in
the ass."



   When I asked her if she was sure and why the change, she answered, "I
have to be ready.  I have to know that I can take it."



   "What the hell does that mean?" I asked, hoping to keep the anger out of
my voice.



   "You will know on Dark Night," was her only response.



   I don't know when or where she had purchased lube, but she had some in
her suitcase and handed it to me before going over to the bed and getting
on all fours.  She wiggled her ass at me and asked, "Are you coming?"



   "Not yet," I answered with a laugh, "but I soon will be."



   For an anal virgin, she responded very intensely to my gentle
preparations.  I planned to take my time and get her highly aroused first
so that she would be ready, but that wasn't really necessary.  She was
groaning and panting heavily as soon as I touched her ass.  I worked one
finger into her rosebud and she immediately started pushing back against
me. By the time I had progressed up to three fingers to make sure that she
was loose enough, she was writhing and bucking against me.



   I positioned myself between her legs and lined myself up between the
mounds of her ass.  I intended to enter her slowly and carefully, but as
soon as the tip of my prick touched her ass, she impaled herself on me and
started slamming back against me.  I was a little afraid of what the
neighbors might be thinking as she started into a high-pitched keening
wail, but there was little I could do about it.  I had also planned to pace
things so that I would last longer, but with her sphincter pulsing and
squeezing around my prick as she bounced against me, again there was little
I could do about it.



   Finally, she lowered herself down onto the bed, pulling me with her.  I
lay more or less on her back slowly stroking her fiery hair.  Finally she
said, "You can move now."



   Then, as I was shifting myself over to be alongside her on the bed she
murmured, "Maybe we will have to try that again when this is all over and
it's just me.  I think I could get to like it."



   There are times when your mouth wants to ask something but doesn't
because there is a voice screaming at you from the very back of your mind,
"You really don't want to know." I didn't ask what she meant by "just me."



   Thursday night, she ratcheted things up another notch and asked me to
spank her.  I had playfully whapped her ass a couple of times during
foreplay, but she always objected.  Now she was telling me to hit harder
and to use a hairbrush.  Again I asked, "Are you sure about this?"



   Her answer, once again, was "I have to be ready." Then she added, "I
have to know that I can take it."



   I was about to tell her that I couldn't do it, but she suddenly got her
Irish up.  "You WILL do it," she said firmly.  "Your ancestor started this
and it is up to you to stop it." She paused and then added, "Besides, she
said that this is the only way."



   I don't know if a light bulb appeared over my head, but I am sure that
there was suddenly a very loud "Click!" inside my head.  "She's talking
directly to you now, isn't she?" I asked.  Actually it was more of a
statement than a question.



   She looked down slightly like she normally did when she was a little
embarrassed.  "She comes to me in my dreams," she said.  "I think she is
kind of inside me now.  She told me that her priest had betrayed her when
her father died.  He threw in with the Romans and not only removed the
protection that had been cast over her family while her father ruled, he
cast a terrible spell on her so that she couldn't escape from them.  There
was another spell that was even more terrible.  She wouldn't tell me what
it was, but she said that you and I were the only ones who could break the
spell so she could get her revenge."



   "And breaking the spell involves beating you and screwing you in the
ass?" I asked.



   She scrunched up her face and raised her eyebrows.  Then with a shrug of
her shoulders she said, "Yes, it does."



   She threw herself over my lap and ordered, "So get spanking.  And after
I'm good and red, take me in the ass."



   She looked up at me before I started and said, "Then, turn me over and
make regular love to me.  Take me high...  take me very, very high."



   I did everything she requested.  She screamed and yelped as I slammed
the long wooden hairbrush into her ass, but she never told me to stop. 
Then, when her asscheeks were starting to turn purple, I said, "That should
do it," and she stumbled up from my lap and knelt at the end of the bed
with her body lying over the mattress.



   Surprisingly, she became very aroused when I entered her and even had a
small orgasm when I climaxed into her ass.  We lay there for a few minutes
with me still pressed against her from behind.  I slowly shrank down and my
limp penis eventually fell from her backside.



   She turned and pulled herself up onto the bed and pulled me up with her.
"Now," she said, "take me higher than I have ever gone before in my life."



   She smiled slightly and added, "She said it would help take away the
pain."



   I spent a lot of time stroking her body as I tried to take her as high
as I could.  Her skin got all red.  Her eyes rolled back.  And she began to
quiver and shake so hard that she almost threw me off the bed.  Then Queen
Boudica showed up.  "You will have to do even more to me on Dark Night,"
she said seriously.  "And your precious Katie will have to endure much more
as she takes my place."



   She then described the exact point where Katie and I were to be on Dark
Night.  It was the same place the locals claimed was haunted by evil
spirits.  She also described exactly how Katie was to be bound between two
of the trees.  I was to give her 100 lashes with a rope whip and take her
both in front and from behind.  "Make sure that you spurt in her ass
exactly at midnight," was her final order as she faded away and Katie
reappeared.



   Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, Katie was her normal self, meaning that
she was no longer insatiable.  In fact, she had no desire for sex at all.
Monday evening, just before dark, we parked in one of the lesser-used
parking lots for the reserve.  I left a note in the window that said,
"Would not start.  Tow will pick up in the morning," and we began walking
across the fields toward the edge of the heath.



   Twilight was past by the time we reached the proper place.  Katie
stripped out of the heavy dress that was her only clothing and stood
between the trees which the Queen had designated.  Her nipples stiffened
almost immediately in the cool, night air.



   As I approached her with the ropes, she slipped something up over her
legs.  She had been holding it in her hand since we left the car and I
thought at first it was perhaps a thong of some sort, but she explained,
"It's a butterfly vibrator.  I've got it pulled up above my clit right now,
but after you take me from the front, pull it into place so it will keep me
excited through the rest of it."



   She looked at me a little sheepishly and said, "The Queen was right. 
Being totally turned on does really help with the pain."



   I desperately wanted to know where she had gotten the vibrator, but
instead I asked, "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"



   "No," she said in a slightly quivering voice, "but we have to do it."



   I gave her a deep kiss and then pulled the ropes taut so that she was
held in a tight X between the trees.  I admit that I have read a few OK
more than a few bondage fantasies, and they make it sound so simple to fuck
a woman who is tied standing up, but it is actually a lot of work.  You
can't lift her up and she can't really move, so you end up having to
half-way crouch down just to enter her.  Then your legs are bent at an odd
angle and you can't get the proper muscle action to thrust.  Maybe if she
were suspended slightly higher in the air, or if I were a lot shorter it
would have been easier.



   The tension on her limbs did, however, greatly increase the sensations
for both of us as I thrust in and out.  Soon she was moaning and crying
out, but still, because of the awkward position, I couldn't seem to get to
the right spot for either of us to finish.  Finally, she started trembling
and shaking in orgasm and I spurted within her.



   Suddenly Queen Boudica was hanging before me.  I hate to admit it, but
it no longer surprised or shocked me at all.  I had evidently gotten so
used to Katie changing that I was now jaded to the whole experience.  What
did startle me, however, was the fact that she was totally naked.  That
meant that the butterfly had somehow gone with Katie to wherever it was
that she had gone.



   "The lash," the Queen cried out.  "Use the lash.  One hundred strokes."



   As I started striking her, she grunted in pain and then said, "You have
to hurry.  This must end at midnight."



   I sped up my lashing and through clenched teeth she asked, "Do you know
why this must be done?"



   "Not a clue," I replied.



   "My priests betrayed me," she explained.  "When I told them I would get
revenge if it took a thousand years, the chief priest replied Then the
punishment will have to last two thousand years.' He cast a spell over me
that would trap me in that day of flogging and rape for that entire time."



   She screamed slightly when the knotted ropes of the lash accidently
slipped between her legs.  Then she forced out the words, "But blood calls
to blood across time.  I reached out magically to all my descendants,
seeking an escape.  I found I could reach them in that instant of
nothingness just before an orgasm...  and at Dark Night." Another shriek as
a wayward cord found a nipple.  "Finally I found you and Katie.  Not only
was she my descendant, you are a descendant of that bastard Suetonius.



   "As you flog me and rape me tonight," she continued, "it is the same as
if he was doing it.  And since it has been more than the two thousand
years, the spell will be broken.  I will be released.  Then I will be able
to use my own magic to escape so I can lead my people against the Romans
and get my revenge."



   "But you will lose," I said softly.  "I have read the histories, you
will lose."



   She laughed and said, "If you have read of me in the histories, then I
have not truly lost...  and many Romans will die before they destroy me."



   The count I had been keeping silently in my head finally reached one
hundred.  It was nearly midnight, and I stepped behind her to complete the
strange ritual.  Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately flogging a naked
woman with a knotted whip of ropes doesn't come close to turning me on.  I
was less that ready.



   "Push against me," she said desperately and I pressed my almost limp
member against her ass.  She began clenching her muscles and gripping me
between her asscheeks.  My little soldier responded immediately to that and
stood at attention.



   Her sweat, and perhaps some oil that was on her skin, was sufficient for
lubrication and I entered her.  She thrust back against me almost
violently, making soft "uh" noises with each thrust.  Soon I was thrusting
against her as forcefully, or more so, than she was against me.



   I'm not sure how we managed it, but just as the clock from a distant
town square struck the midnight hour, she screamed out in orgasm and I
erupted within her.  There was a soft flash of light and she was gone. 
Katie was in her place.  Her back was bleeding and she was crying in pain.



   I pulled out of her and said, "It's over, baby.  It's over."



   She replied, "Let's go home."



   I untied her, leaving the ropes hanging from the trees.  Let the locals
wonder' I thought.  Maybe it will even add to their legends of the heath.'



   We staggered back across the heath.  Katie did not put her dress back
on, but instead carried it draped across her arm.



   Dark Night was truly dark.  If it had not been for the small pocket
flashlight I had with me, we would never have been able to follow the path
back to the car.  Luckily, it was still there.  I was afraid the local
constabulary might have discovered it and had it towed away.  Maybe even
they don't venture into this area on Dark Night.



   We drove back to the cottage in silence.  Once there, I applied salve to
her back and put her into bed.  I offered to sleep on the couch, but she
said, "No, hold me." Then she added quietly, "very gently."



   The next morning her back was much better.  It was bruised and sore, but
the cuts were already starting to heal.  "There are two things I still
don't understand," I said to her over breakfast.



   "Only two things?" she replied with a laugh.



   "Boudica said that the spell bound her for two thousand years," I
continued.  "But that all happened around the year 60.  That means it
hasn't quite been two thousand years since then.  How did we break the
spell?"



   "The spell must have been tied to the Celtic calendar," she replied. 
"It has only 354 days and had to be corrected regularly with an extra
month. Two thousand of those years would be many years shorter than our
calendar.  So, when you flogged her and raped her last night, two thousand
Celtic years had passed.  It completed the spell and she was released."



   "There is a second thing," I added.  "The history books say that her two
daughters were killed along with her.  They were virgins until the Roman
soldiers broke their maidenheads so that they could legally be publicly
punished and possibly executed." I looked up at Katie and asked, "How can
you be a descendant?"

   "She told me there was a third daughter," Katie replied.  "She had been
sent to live with the Iverni tribe Boudica's mother's family in southwest
Ireland.  I think if we go to that area, we can finally trace my
ancestors."



   ***



   It took several more months, but we were able to trace or guess Katie's
complete lineage through the Iverni Celts.  It wasn't one hundred percent
complete, but it was at least enough to write my sequel.  It sold OK, but
wasn't quite the hit that my first book had been.  It did create quite a
bit of a controversy, however, because of the cover image, and that gave it
a very needed sales boost.



   While we were combing through libraries and ancient records in Ireland,
we happened across a painting that was entitled, "The Flogging of Queen
Boudica." It was in a storeroom in some little village library and had been
there for centuries.  The head librarian said that it was older than the
building which was over twelve hundred years old.



   "For all I know," he said with a laugh, "it could have even been here in
the village since Roman times.  But it's not really good art.  And there's
no way to verify the dating.  It's probably just someone's crude attempt to
imitate some old Roman mural, so it just stays here in the storeroom."



   I was able to purchase the painting and bring it back with us to
America. It shows the naked queen bound between two trees while a Roman
officer of some sort flogs her with a whip made of knotted rope.



   The painting is surprisingly realistic for a Roman era painting, but
it's not really a very good likeness of the Queen.  The hair is way too
orange.  The wide open eyes are not quite an intense enough blue.  And the
skin is slightly darker than the Queen's alabaster tone.



   None of that is what caused the controversy, though.  The intense
argument, which swirled across the net almost as soon as the book came out,
centered around exactly what object the artist had inserted into his
painting to hide Boudica's sex as she hangs naked between the posts.



   Various people argued vehemently for this or that Celtic emblem or other
powerful ancient symbol.  Katie and I, however, know exactly what it is. 
If you look very closely at the image especially the original painting that
hangs in our den you will see that it is actually a bright, pink, plastic
butterfly.



   = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =



   END OF STORY



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