This erotic short story is meant for english language audiences.
If you want to read our Norwegian erotic short stories («erotiske noveller») you will find those here.

The Jester’s Gambit

The great hall of Castle Veyrith was loud with the king’s feast, a mess of clinking goblets, rowdy laughter, and trenchers piled high with roast pheasant and spiced roots. Torches flickered on the stone walls, throwing long shadows that jumped with the party, while a trio of minstrels strummed lutes in the corner, their music threading through the noise. Lady Seraphina of House Drayce sat stiff at the high table, her back straight as the corset squeezing her emerald gown. She was 26, pale as the moon, with auburn hair pulled into a tight knot that matched her sour look. A noblewoman with a spotless name, she’d earned her place through blood and a reputation for being cold, untouched by gossip, unmoved by fun. Her lips pinched as she sipped watery wine, her gray eyes sweeping the room like a hawk looking down on a muddy pen.

Across the hall, weaving through jugglers and tumblers entertaining the lower tables, was Puckrin, Puck to everyone, the king’s jester. He was a skinny guy, maybe 30, wrapped in a red-and-gold motley, bells jingling at his cap and wrists. His face was sharp, high cheekbones, green eyes glinting under a tangle of chestnut curls, and his grin was quick, like a knife with a laugh behind it. Puck had been with King Alric five years, his sharp tongue as handy as his flips, tossing out jabs that danced close to trouble but always got a chuckle. Tonight, though, his eyes kept flicking to Seraphina, a spark brewing in his smirk. He’d caught her earlier, brushing him off to a handmaid as “a fool good for nothing but racket.” It stung, and Puck never let a sting slide.

He flipped across the hall, landing with a twirl right in front of the high table, bells ringing as he dipped into a big bow. “My lords, my ladies!” he shouted, voice cutting through the clamor. “A bet for you! I’ll make the grumpiest face here laugh before the feast ends, or I’ll dance bare through the bailey at dawn!” The crowd hooted, ale splashing, but Seraphina’s lips barely moved, her stare cold enough to chill the torches. Puck locked eyes with her, tossing a wink. “And moan, maybe,” he muttered low, just for her, and her quick blush, there and gone, said she’d caught it.

The king clapped, grinning wide. “A gutsy call, Puck! Who’s your target?” Puck spun around, pointing his jingle-bell wand at Seraphina. “Lady Drayce, sire! Stone turned human, let’s see if I can break her!” Laughter boomed, bets buzzing among the nobles, but Seraphina’s jaw went tight, her fingers gripping her goblet hard. “Fool’s game,” she snapped, voice sharp as frost. “You’ll flop, and I’ll enjoy your morning shame.” Puck bowed again, deeper, his grin stretching. “We’ll find out, milady. Night’s just starting.”

The feast rolled on, servants dodging around with trays, the minstrels kicking into a livelier tune, but Puck was a shadow, moving with a plan. He juggled apples, “accidentally” dropped one near her chair, and scooped it up with a roll that sent his bells tinkling right by her skirt. She didn’t budge, but her eyes tracked him, cautious now, a little chink showing. He pushed again, reciting a limerick about a sour knight and a frisky squire, loud enough for the table to laugh, but he aimed the dirtiest bit just for her ears. Her cheeks went pink, a small win, and Puck’s heart sped up. This wasn’t just a bet anymore, it was a chase.

As the hall got rowdier and the torches burned low, Puck went for it. A huge tapestry hung behind the high table, covered in hunting scenes and fights, its thick folds brushing the floor. He snagged Seraphina’s sleeve as she got up to refill her goblet, a bold tug hidden by a servant’s tray. “A quick word, milady,” he whispered, nodding to the tapestry’s edge. She paused, pride wrestling with curiosity, then followed, her gown swishing like a storm. The crowd didn’t clock it, too deep in their drinks, and the minstrels’ noise covered their steps.

Behind the tapestry, the air was dusty and smelled faintly of old wool, the stone wall cool against Puck’s back. Seraphina stood stiff, arms crossed, her gray eyes narrow. “What’s this nonsense, fool?” she hissed, but her voice wobbled, just enough to catch his attention. Puck leaned in, close enough to smell her lavender and the wine on her breath, holding his bells still. “No nonsense, milady. A dare. I’ll make you laugh, and more, before the last dish. Or I’ll be the fool you call me.”

She snorted, but didn’t step back, her blush growing in the dim light. “You’re cracked.” Puck’s grin turned sneaky, his hand slipping into his motley to pull out a silk scarf, probably nicked from some lady’s room. “Cracked, sure, but clever. Want to play?” He twirled the scarf, letting it graze her wrist, and her breath hitched, a tiny sound that rang loud to him. The feast roared on outside the fabric wall, clueless, but here, in this little hideaway, the game was starting, and Puck was set to come out on top.

The tapestry wrapped them in a dusty quiet, dulling the feast’s noise to a far-off hum, laughter, clinking cups, and lute strings fading into the background. Puck stood close to Seraphina, the torchlight sneaking through the fabric’s gaps to splash her in bits of gold and shadow. Her emerald gown caught the glow, the corset hugging her tight, but her breathing was fast now, giving away the crack in her cool front. Puck’s green eyes sparkled, his bells quiet as he held them still, and his sly grin grew as he dangled the silk scarf, teasing her with it. “Ready to lose, milady?” he murmured, voice soft and playful, a hint of a dare tucked in.

Seraphina’s gray eyes flared, her mouth opening to snap back, but Puck was quicker, slipping the scarf over her eyes with a jester’s flair, tying it behind her head before she could argue. “What?” she gasped, hands jumping up, but he caught her wrists, soft but steady, easing them back down. “Shh,” he whispered, leaning close till his breath brushed her ear. “Trust the fool, just this once.” Blindfolded, she felt everything sharper, the rustle of his motley, a faint jingle from a bell he couldn’t hush, the warmth of him right there. Her blush spread, pink creeping down her neck, and Puck’s heart thumped with a win.

He grabbed the jingle-bell wand from his belt, a silly stick with tiny bells, and spun it in his fingers. “First, a laugh,” he said, voice light and teasing. He ran the wand’s tip over her collarbone, barely touching, then down her chest, circling her nipples through the gown’s stiff top. The bells tinkled, a little taunt, and Seraphina bit her lip, a giggle slipping out despite herself. “Cut it out,” she hissed, but it broke into a snort, and Puck cheered, “One down!” Her laugh was small, grudging, but it sparked something in him, a thrill at seeing her loosen up.

“And now,” he said, voice dropping low and warm, “the moan.” He let the wand clatter to the floor, hands sliding to her neck, fingers brushing her pulse as he kissed her there, slow and careful, lips grazing the soft spot under her jaw. She went stiff, then softened, a shiver running through her as he murmured a filthy limerick against her skin: “A lady so proper in her keep, met a fool who’d make her weep…” The words faded into a chuckle, his tongue flicking out to taste her, and a quiet hum slipped from her throat, half moan, half fight, all giving in.

Puck grinned against her, pulling back to tug her gown’s neckline down, showing the pale curve of her chest above the corset. He grabbed a goblet he’d nabbed from the table, warm mead sloshing inside, and tipped it over her, pouring a slow trickle onto her skin. The mead ran down, soaking her top, pooling at her waist, and she gasped, the warmth surprising her cool skin. “You crazy fool,” she started, but he dropped to his knees, cutting her off as his mouth found her through the damp skirts, licking the mead that had soaked in. The taste was sweet and tangy, mixed with her own scent, and he went at it eagerly, tongue pressing firm against the fabric. Seraphina’s hands shot to his head, fingers twisting in his curls, and she moaned, louder now, a raw, needy sound that bounced in the tapestry’s nook. Her hips jerked, and he felt her let go, a rush soaking through, wetting his chin as he lapped it up.

“Gods, you’re a mess,” he laughed, standing up, wiping his mouth with his hand. She was breathing hard, blindfold slipping, and he pulled it off, her gray eyes burning with a mix of anger and want. Before he could toss another quip, she grabbed his motley, yanking him close, and dropped to her knees, a noblewoman coming apart. Her hands fumbled with his breeches, freeing him, hard and ready, and she took him in her mouth, no holding back. She worked him with a fury, giggling through the mess, the bells on his cap jingling faintly as she moved. Puck groaned, hands bracing the wall, the sight of her, prim Seraphina, going at him, shoving him close to the edge.

“Ride me,” he rasped, pulling her up, turning her so her back pressed against his chest. She hiked her skirts, straddling him backward as he sank to the floor, her knees framing his hips. The tapestry brushed her face as she lowered onto him, slick and tight, taking him in one smooth drop. She rode him fast, hips rolling, a beat born of bottled-up need, and Puck gripped her waist, pushing up to match her. “Faster, milady,” he teased, voice rough, and she did, her moans starting quiet, then breaking loose. The feast’s racket covered them, but he felt her snap, her grip tightening as she finished, a hot wave soaking his thighs.

He followed, pulling out just in time, finishing in thick streaks onto his jester’s hat, tossed aside in the scuffle. The bells jingled as it hit the floor, streaked white, and Seraphina slumped against him, breathless, her gown wrecked with mead and sweat. Puck chuckled, brushing a wet strand from her face. “Laughed and moaned, milady. I win.”

She glared, but her lips twitched, almost a smile. “Fool,” she muttered, voice scratchy, but she didn’t pull away. Outside the tapestry, the feast was winding down, the king’s toast ringing out, and Puck knew they’d have to sneak back soon. But for now, in this little corner of Veyrith’s madness, he enjoyed the win, and the noblewoman shaking in his arms.