The King and Northern Beauty Vol.1

Chapter 1

The Empress Dowager  made a quick, imperious gesture with one hand, the soft jangle of the golden bracelets adorning her wrist sounding a compelling note through the long room. Slowly silence spread on both sides of the table as one of the gorgeously plumed ladies hovering behind the seated women rustled forward to help the old empress to her feet.

 Cassandra swallowed, and carefully placed the piece of fruit she had been peeling on the shimmering plate in front of her. Absently, she noticed that she had managed to carefully remove every piece of the skin and white pith from only a quarter of the orange, in what had to be a record for the slowest peeling in the history of oranges. She had been purposefully drawing out removing the skin from the fruit, knowing that if she ever reached the stage of placing a segment in her mouth, she would look like a cow endlessly chewing the cud as she attempted to pulp it enough to squeeze down her tight throat.

Helene's hand under her elbow steadied her as she rose on her shaky legs. 'I will not look at him', she vowed silently to herself, while Helene shook out the soft, silken folds of her gown, but her eyes betrayed her, darting shyly across the table, to where the men remained seated.

The Great King was seated cross-legged, lounging on his cushions with the graceful posture of one who spent most of his life on horseback. He was leaning forward, one wrist resting on his knee, supporting the goblet of wine cupped in his right hand. His half-closed eyes met hers, and the gleam in them made a faint tinge rise in her cheeks. She blinked, looked down, and tried to distract herself from the future by concentrating on stilling her hands, making herself carefully arrange them in a graceful pose clasped before her thighs, so that she could not fidget.

As the other ladies rose around them,  Cassandra's gaze remained slightly unfocussed, directed at the floor, while her mind carefully replayed, again and again, the sharp-cut memory of those lean, strong fingers cupped in a casual embrace around the curve of the wine goblet. The gleam in his dark eyes. The curve of those cupped fingers. That gleam.

A faint tingling seemed to heat the ends of her nipples and  Cassandra took in a long breath, turning obediently to the Empress Dowager , who was clapping her hands for attention.

Across the table, a soft, sibilant, "Hagl-at!" of appreciation was murmured by several of the men, their eyes fixed on the swelling curve of the girls' breasts. King Aurther's mouth twisted slightly in acknowledgement of the approval voiced by his lords, even as he felt a quick pulse race down his cock, watching those soft mounds press against the bodice of her gown.

"A pair of fresh young buds
Now swell to golden peaches,
I would that I could gather
The sweet harvest with my lips!"

Makhar, on his left, softly sang the chorus of the verse lamenting the coldness of the beautiful Northern lady, which had first caught the attention of the King. Em Feliz, further behind, leaned forwards to sigh, "Our poor Aurther. Sweating over the harvest all afternoon."

The King cracked a grin as the four friends around him broke into wicked laughter, and felt another sweet pulse down his hardening cock. He could see that her nipples were already slightly erect, and he imagined sliding his fingers inside the front of her gown, to gently tweak the swollen nodes. The girls' cheeks were scarlet now, and she trembled slightly as she gathered her dress to follow the empress. Although she couldn't know the words in Zanim, she must surely know the tune to her own lament, and the soft male laughter was hardly innocent.

'She will grow accustomed', Aurther thought, amused at her evident embarrassment. He had heard that in the Northern kingdoms, women were hidden away and a man was not encouraged to covert another's woman, a strange custom. How was a man to show his strength, if he dared not display his wealth, daring his rivals to attempt to touch what was his? Only a weakling would hide his wife away, fearing another would steal her. Only a weakling would tolerate a plain wife who woke no envy in the breasts of his fellows. Which this one wasn't, he smiled to himself, lifting the glass to his lips. His eyes caught and held hers over the rim as he savoured a small sip, lowering the goblet and slowly licking the last drop off his lips as he dropped his eyes to the soft, full curve of hers.

She swallowed, and the tip of her tongue was briefly visible as she moistened her suddenly dry lips, causing his cock to swell still further. He lifted his eyes back to hers, but they shyly flickered away, the hot colour in her cheeks deepening. However, her chin was held high in determined pride, and despite her embarrassment, the graceful roll of her hips as she followed his mother from the room was stately. And enticing. He would enjoy this one.

The door closed behind the women, and Aurther clapped his hands to bring out the port and the dancing girls, his mind lingering on the memory of the inviting lift and fall of her chest, soft mounds pressing against the front of the gown to the rhythm of her quick, shallow breaths.

He could tell from her reactions that she was an innocent, one who had never felt a hand glide over her breast or fingers tease her nipple; never shivered to the soft brush of kisses along her neckline or over her belly. However, he also suspected that she had never been coached in the ways to please a future husband, and possibly had no idea what was expected of her. She had never seen even a model of a rigid cock, never been shown how to glide her fingers over the shaft and gently milk, never been encouraged with fingers tangled in her hair to kiss the tip and ease it between her lips.

His smile grew. Then a sixth sense caused Aurther to glance down the table, to find the Lord Sambar leaning far out across the plates, having angled himself to watch the swaying hips of the new King-Maia as she left. Aware of Aurther's gaze, the old lord turned his eyes to his leige, almost glaring at him, licked his lips, swallowed, and growled, "You lucky dog."

The King's eyebrows snapped together and he stiffened, staring coldly along the table into the hot black eyes. Sambar was one of those who was not good at showing envy appropriately, and had once been caught in the Water Garden thrusting between the legs of one of the King's concubines. Unfortunately, as she had been a lesser girl of no family who he hadn't summoned for months, and the Lord had not broken into the Perfumed Garden to take her, Aurther had only been able to exile Sambar for a period instead of beheading him. The girl had been executed. She had left the perfumed garden without a single Zalmat to guard her, and Lord Sambar had pleaded that the heat of lust at the chance encounter with the dark beauty, ignited further by the tantalizing sakeen the girl had danced for them, had burned away the memory of his duty to his King. The loss of face had been due to the girl's actions therefore, as finding a girl unguarded was a perfectly reasonable excuse for mounting her, even without taking into account the sensuous sakeen. Bethim had repeated the same story, as had the Zalmat who had watched the display from their guard posts on the walls. At least Lord Bethim had not been stupid enough to return to court, although he had not actually had his cock in the girl when they had been surrounded. His come had been in her stomach, and running down her legs.

The King scowled, his eyes glinting with a different light, and Sambar lost colour, quickly straightening his posture to retire into the shadow of his neighbour. Aurther kept his cold, steady gaze on the vacant spot where the lord had been for a few moments longer, then dismissed him from his mind and turned to watch Bezella shimmying towards him as alluringly as she could. Her full breasts were quivering under the gauze veil, the nipples rouged and spiced to tautness. His memory flicked back to the slightly peaked tips under his new wife's gown and Aurther's smile returned as his cock stirred back to attention. He was not sure which flavour would taste best on her skin. But he would find out. Soon.

Chapter 2

The bedchamber was huge, and beautiful, with many wall ensconces holding flickering candles, warmth brightening the gleaming tapestries and rich rugs, despite sunlight blazing in squat, dazzling squares through the slit windows.  Cassandra's eyes were inevitably drawn to the huge bed with the King'm arms emblazoned on the bedspread, raised on a dais, dominating the centre of the room.

She swallowed against her dry throat, and heard the Empress Dowager  beside her snap out several orders in their liquid language, clapping her hands to the ladies surrounding them. Two shimmered forwards, and carefully folded back the heavy bedspread, revealing an expanse of soft white fabric loaded with white cushions.  Cassandra felt a smooth tightening in her stomach and a rush of heat between her thighs as her heart speeded up further. She was barely aware of the ladies around her freshening her face and washing the slight stickiness from her fingers, her awareness was inward as she remembered the gleam in the King's eye and realised with a slightly panicked feeling that this was the end of her journey. Two weeks' travel over mountains, sea and desert, and she was about to be deposited on the bed of the Great King, selected because of a suggestive poem by a lovelorn troubadour.

Another lady touched perfume to her nape, wrists, and, with a giggle, cleavage, and  Cassandra lifted her chin slightly, blush burning in her cheeks. She focussed on her friend, the Lady Helene, who was advancing with a small bowl that had been placed on an ornamental table beside the bed. The pleasant, musky scent, a gentle background presence in the large room, emanated more pungently from the slices of strange fruit, glistening with juice, in the bowl. The scent teased at  Cassandra's nostrils and she enjoyed the heady fragrance, feeling the scent soothe her senses as she took a long inhalation.

Feeling slightly divorced from reality,  Cassandra put out a hand to lift one of the slices from the bowl, and was stopped by the firm grasp of the Empress Dowager 's fingers at her wrist. With a little mimed guidance, she instead obediently opened her mouth for Helene to place one of the segments on her tongue. Chewing carefully and swallowing the slippery, tart, yet sweet segment,  Cassandra was briefly distracted from the strange ebb and tide of heat and cold within her veins. Then she stopped breathing as all the ladies stepped back to form a ring around her, smiling.

A soft, thick cloth suddenly descended over her eyes and she gave a choked cry , lifting her hands, but again felt her wrists grasped and held gently but firmly as the knot was pulled tight and secured. The ladies holding her hands with speaking soothingly in King'mese, she knew not what, while Helene stuttered, "It's only a.. a bl- blindfold, my Lady. Just a blindfold. The .. the queen is tying it. Must be one of the customs here."

With her vision removed,  Cassandra suddenly became acutely aware that her sensitive nipples were still aroused and aching, brushing teasingly against the bodice of her gown as she was guided up the steps to the edge of what must be the bed, and pressed to sit by the murmuring ladies around her. The King'mese obviously knew how sharply a person became aware of the other senses when blindfolded; she blushed again, and felt the hot tingle in her stomach shimmer softly down to the junction of her thighs.

The bed was higher than she had expected, and she was guided, by giggling ladies, to slide back among the cushions until her feet left the floor. Her shoes were removed, and a damp, scented cloth stroked over her feet as they arranged her on the mattress. With no floor support, they coaxed her hands behind her and pressed her to lean back on them.  Cassandra flushed again as the position pressed her nipples firmly into her bodice, and a twinge of heat caused them to ache even more fiercely, partly from the sensation of the fabric against her sensitive flesh, and partly due to the knowledge that she was being arranged, displayed, with her breasts pushed out towards the door through which the King would enter.

Damn him. This was so blatant.

A tap to  Cassandra's reddened cheek, and the Empress Dowager announced something, satisfied. The jangle of her bracelets as she again clapped her hands was echoed after a short pause by the soft shimmering rhythm of a cymbal, soon joined by a muffled drumbeat sounding to the beat of  Cassandra's heart. The sounds seemed to come from under the bed, and  Cassandra started, jerking upright in shock and embarrassment on a gasp.

'Musicians under the bed!' she thought incredulously, "to play envigorating tunes while... while...!' The flush in her cheeks was crimson, and her heart was fluttering in her throat. The sudden shift in her weight caused her to begin to slip, and only the sudden pressure of many hands prevented her from sliding forward off the edge of the bed and rolling ignominiously down the carpeted steps of the dais.

A flautist joined the percussion beats emanating from beneath her, and suddenly a ripple of harpstrings played a delicate counterpoise to the flute melody. As she was pressed back into her display,  Cassandra became aware of Helene whispering to her, the words slowly penetrating the pounding of half-angry, half-panicked blood echoing in her ears. "There is a pipe system to carry the music from underneath, Al. They can't see anything, it is only the sound travelling through the pipes. Just sound."

'Sound travels both ways', thought Al. And flushed more deeply. But she nodded abruptly, and stopped resisting the hands against her, obediently allowing them to arrange her back in her posed position. It was not as though she had had any choice in this anyway. She was a very long way from home now, and even in the safety of her father's castle, the Great King had been able to click his fingers and demand that she be sent to him. To here. His bed.

She remembered his graceful pose across the table from her at the meal, the easy lounge of a predator watching a prey he knows cannot escape. Even as she felt a surge of anger at being treated as a plaything - and so openly - she felt a different flush of heat run through her as she recalled the strength of that graceful pose, the taut muscles of his thighs outlined against the silk trousers, the column of his throat. The pounding in her heart picked up and the ache in her nipples intensified.

'If anything he's ugly', she thought crossly to herself, reminding herself of his blunt cut features, the scar creasing his temple. 'Ugly', she told herself firmly, ignoring the tingle at the base of her spine whispering of another reading of that scar. Lean, a fighter, and very powerful. Not just politically. Liquid heat shivered in the pit of her stomach.

The rustle of skirts descending the steps and receding towards the door intruded on her jumbled thoughts, telling her that the ladies were leaving, whispering and still giggling among themselves. A swift kiss on her cheek was Helene saying goodbye, as she whispered, "My Lady". A quick breath, half-sob, " Al.", and Helene kissed her again before hurrying after the others.  Cassandra heard the door close, and the ladies sweeping away down the corridor.

She swallowed, and eased her slight frame on the bed as much as she dared. So, here she was, sitting, blindfolded on the side of the bed of the damn Great King, waiting for him to come and do – whatever he wished to. Her family had been in no position to argue, not after the prolonged war with Vinkorg. Despite the King's reputation with women, his vast court of concubines and list of previous, annulled marriages, the proposal of alliance against a common enemy obliged her father to listen to the bittersweet offers from the ruler of the vast Empire to the south. That March Kjeldahl had a beautiful daughter had come to the King's ears, and, consequently, she had been brought to his bed.

The terms, for her, were humiliating. As for all of the King's previous wives, she would only become a true wife if she produced offspring. If she did not perform, he could return her after one year of enjoying her body. Only his first wife had become pregnant, the fabled Hajima, and it was common knowledge that the King had buried his heart with her when she died giving birth to their son. With the succession secure, he had since wedded fifteen other ladies of impeccable beauty, and each had been sent home childless after one year. "An interesting way of securing alliances", had been her father's dry comment. She was glad of the blindfold that absorbed her tear, as she recalled the bleak expression on his face when he had said it. He had given her the choice, but he, like her, had known there was no choice.

Enjoying her. She swallowed again, as she heard footstep advancing down the hall, male voices rumbling, the occasional crack of laughter. The King was approaching, with his lords.

Desperately,  Cassandra tried to straighten her spine to look as dignified as her position would allow. Which was insignificant, lost on the edge of the huge bed, her breasts peaked towards the door as she had to lean her weight on her hands behind her to prevent herself from sliding and rolling down to his feet. The latch clicked, the hinges creaked, and suddenly the chords and drumbeat sounding beneath her stopped, only the soft shimmer of the cymbal echoing in the silence caused by the sudden halt of the male voices. A light draft of air whispered over her exposed shoulders, brushing over her skin, telling her of the door held wide. In the heavy, shimmering silence she could hear only her own breathing, soft pants, half of fear, half arousal.

She could feel their eyes upon her.

The silence lengthened until she could feel it drumming in her ears, and her breasts swelled, arching against the fabric, pushing hard to escape the prison, throbbing with her swift, shallow breaths. The King cleared his throat and gave a gruff order, and the men around him responded with teasing comments and back-slappings. The door closed, and she could hear the escort retreating down the corridor again.

The silence continued.

Chapter 3

'Oh gods, where was he?' The shimmer of the cymbals muffled any noise that may have been made by footsteps on the thick floor rugs. The lack of footfalls seemed to press upon her, the knowledge of his presence, without knowing exactly where he stood, and  Cassandra squirmed slightly, easing upright, squeezing her thighs together against the faint ache between her legs.

A soft chuckle came from in front of her – not at all far in front – and she gasped, sitting bolt upright. Abruptly she was sliding helplessly forward, fingers clutching unavailing at the smooth sheet, when she heard two swift steps and strong hands clasped her waist and lifted her to steady her, placing her back on the bed. A knee nudged between her own, twisted, and before she knew how,  Cassandra's thighs were open beneath her skirt, and the King had advanced between them, up against the edge of the mattress, spreading them further.

Shocked by the sudden advance, she recoiled backwards, but was restrained by the hands holding her waist, and found herself bent, bow-shaped, over his firm clasp, breasts thrust upwards toward his face. Before she could react and jerk upright, he muttered something husky in his own language, and she sensed his body leaning closer over hers. One arm swiftly shifted to support her lumber, and he entwined the fingers of the other in her hair, holding her still in the arch. Aurther then pushed against her back, lifting her belly and breasts further towards him, perfecting the curve as he bent her over his arm. He watched the ripe, perfect globes heaving repeatedly against the fabric to the time of those short, panting breaths and could feel his swelling, surging cock aching with the need to pound into her, to make those breasts bounce to a new rhythm, set by him.

Zjama, Aurther cursed himself, he should have taken Bezella before he came in, he was going to split this girl in two with his lust. But for once the dancer hadn't interested him. He wanted this one. Zjama!, but he wanted this one. A slight, twisted smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Half the world wanted this one. And he was going to have her.

His fingers tightened in her hair as he tried to ignore the enticing rhythm of those breasts, to remember that she needed arousing, that she was new to this, and untrained, and she would be sore for weeks if he did what his body was urging and just pushed up the skirt, freed himself, and took her. Now.

Angrily, and a little fearful,  Cassandra squirmed to escape the tightened hold on her hair, and heard the sharp intake of breath above her as her movement caused her breasts to bounce free from the encasing fabric, the intense arch of her spine curving them from the top of the stiff bodice cups. Aurther cursed something, and barked out a bitter laugh, before bending forwards to fasten his lips fiercely on the delicate skin of her neck, suckling hard as he yanked her up towards him, hauling her hips in to cradle his while he surged urgently against her.

'Slowly. Slowly', he cursed himself, struggling against the pulse of lust that washed over his senses as the girl whimpered, a mixture of fear and fervour. 'Control measures the man.' Quoting proverbs at himself was not helping.

But he gentled, his fingers brushing delicately over the aching peaks of her breasts as his lips explored her neck and shoulders, nipping and licking over her sensistive flesh.  Cassandra could feel the shiver of his fingers over her nipples causing sensation to ripple down into her belly, to tighten and tease the molten ache within her. The shiver of apprehension at being touched so intimately, awareness of the barely leased fierceness, was swiftly followed by an ripple of pure want.

Separate, sensual touches teased at her skin, and she had a feeling of being tugged slowly into a vortex, her senses beginning to spin out of her control. Lips against her pulse; teeth grazing her jawline; fingers plucking at a taut nipple as his other hand caressed her naked back. Gods, he was good at this. 'He should be, the number of times he's so-called married', Al reminded herself, trying desperately to hold onto some vestige of herself, of dignity, against this onslaught. She was a Kjeldahl. She would remain a proud Kjeldahl, and he would return her in a year.

She gasped and arched involuntarily as his nails grazed an aching peak, but then she stubbornly dragged her thoughts back from the edge she could feel looming. He had had her brought here only to be a plaything in his bed and she was damned if she was going to act the part to his satisfaction, she reminded herself faintly, trying to ignore the intoxicating tingle of his fingers on her skin, pulse leaping at his touch. He had even had her blindfolded so she wouldn't be reminded how ugl...

His skilled lips whispered down her collarbone toward the valley between her breasts, and her breathing hitched, heartbeat staccato thundering in her chest, as her defiance was shrouded in a shimmer of blind heat. She was surrounded by the musky scent of him, the sense of him, and no longer noticed that she could not see, as her other senses were slowly overwhelmed.

Stroking slow laps to frame her full, sensitive breasts, circling, nearing, but never reaching the peaks; blowing gently on the taut nipples, nipping at the soft flesh surrounding them, his hands caressed down the back of her bodice, and teased apart the hooks.  Cassandra sank into a tide of lust, skin tingling fiercely from the onslaught of his possessive teeth and tongue, moaning gently as he grazed along the edge of her breasts. Suddenly she arched involuntarily, a cry escaping as his mouth closed fully over an exposed mound, swirling his tongue in a circle once, twice, before sliding back to tease her tingling, aching nipple with his teeth. He lapped at the taut bud, his hands on her forearms and weight across her thighs holding her steady as she writhed, whimpered, and thrashed her head.

Aurther closed his eyes, savouring the squirms of the girl beneath him as he tormented her exposed breasts. He had been aching to expose them since she had first been presented to him yesterday, and the perfect spheres of smooth white flesh, the small red peaks, were begging for his touch. His raging cock was pressed firmly into the crease of her hip as he arched over her, and he experimented to see what would make her arch and writhe most fiercely, masturbating his member between their bodies until he had to retreat to regain some control again. He had seen her resistance in the proud jut of her chin, a silent defiance, and it had aroused him, amused him. Now he wanted her molten; not wet – molten, begging yet incoherent, when he finally mounted her.

Aurther lifted his head, and pulled  Cassandra upright again, her bodice falling to her waist, knees still held wide around his thighs. He admired the tousled blonde hair, escaping around her shoulders, tendrils framing her flushed cheeks with the delicate, slanted bones disappearing under the blindfold. But her heaving breasts drew his gaze back and his mouth watered, cock throbbing as his eyes stroked over the proud peaks. He would have her painted like this, a stray thought passed, as he stepped back, narrowing his eyes, following the curves of her waist down to the folds of golden silk. Wanton, aroused, slightly bewildered; a beautiful white lily in his rich bed. His eyes dropped lower, to where her thighs were spread wide under the shimmer of cloth. Even through the silk, and muffled by the scent of the kora whispering from the bowl by the bed, he could smell the first slight musk of her arousal, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. A responsive wife; a blessing from the gods. Then, drawn, his eyes lifted back to her breasts. His cock throbbed.

 Cassandra whimpered slightly – he had lifted away, and paused, and the maelstrom of feelings were slowly cooling, awakening her to awareness of sitting exposed before her new lord on the bed. She felt strangely lopsided. He had paid much more attention to one breast than the other, and the one breast was aching fit to burst, swollen, her nipple throbbing fiercely as it poked its hard tip towards the man in front of her. The other breast was also aching, but the throb was of neglect, echoing through the plump mound as it yearned to feel as fiercely as its twin.  Cassandra could barely think beyond the coupled, opposing aches in her breasts, although she was dimly aware of how wanton she must look, spread legged and half naked, with her wet nipples poking forward. She knew that he was looking, standing over her, appreciating his view, but she ached too much to care. She lifted one hand, without thinking, and moved it to soothe that throbbing, neglected breast.

Her wrist was grasped and he laughed, huskily. "No", he admonished her, one of her few words of his language, and she writhed to hear it, shame blushing her cheeks as she realised she had been about to fondle herself in front of him.

And he wouldn't allow it.

He leaned forward and she was pulled to her feet, guided firmly but gently to the post at the corner of the bed, then both wrists were pulled up above her head and swiftly tied to some kind of fixture with a soft cloth.

Her blush deepened as she was left there, gown about the waist, while he stepped back and walked around her, murmuring appreciative words she didn't know the meaning of, but did understand. His fingers or lips occasionally tweaked her nipples, so that she moaned, aroused, and a little frightened of this man's power over her. The dampness between her legs had spread so far that she could feel it sliding onto her thighs, and she surreptitiously pressed her legs together to ease the ache, rubbing sinuously. Another husky laugh, and he stepped away to return a second later. A soft, oily dampness slipped suddenly over her neglected nipple and she gasped, arching towards the sensation, rubbing against the item he was teasing over her flesh. He ran it around and around, in tantalizing slow curls, then teased her jaws open with his fingers. The slippery piece of pungent fruit left her nipple and was placed in her mouth. Obediently she chewed, then swallowed abruptly, half choking, as his smooth lips enclosed the aching peak of her breast. It seemed to swell to double in size, treble almost, as he suckled gently, then harder. Sharp little cries escaped  Cassandra, and she rubbed herself sensuously against the pole behind her, pushing into his mouth in time to his rhythm.

Another piece of fruit was traced around the other nipple as he sucked and played, lapping at the first. She begged him to put it in her mouth so he could then lick the juice off her aching peak, and heard another husky laugh as instead he dropped his hand to push down her gown slightly, and tease the segment into her belly button to swirl in slow, tortuous circles.

Chapter 4

"Please, please, please",  Cassandra could hear a husky little voice begging, before the piece was placed on her tongue and she had to chew. It slipped down her throat on another sharp inhalation as his tongue thrust suddenly into her navel, fingers plucking simultaneously at her hard nipples. She moaned. He lifted his head, and started to suckle on her breasts, altenating between the two, and she writhed as she tried to stop him teasing, to force one or both of her nipples into his mouth. He drew back as the sensation began to fire deeper within her, and then leaned down again to swirl his tongue around and dip into her belly button. She cried out and arched her back, lifting her hips and belly toward him, and he retreated again, leaving her gasping, pleading. Abruptly his lips were back at her breast, suckling, then lifting to allow his teeth to graze her nipple, taunting one then the other, while a finger teased along the edge of the fabric resting on her hips. He was driving her crazy, playing with her until she thought she would burst with the pulsing, pulling sensations shuddering through her.

Then he stopped, and stepped back.  Cassandra leaned against the post, writhing, panting, and a second short word in his language flashed across her heated brain, "Please!" Another grunted laugh, and he responded, "No". He chuckled again as she moaned, tugging at the bonds above her head. She knew she was only here for his pleasure, but did he have to keep stopping? Did he get some torturous delight from denying her full satisfaction, tightening the ache in her belly gradually, softly, oh so slowly, causing meltdown in the waiting?

"Please, pleease", she tried again, and was rewarded by a feather kiss on each nipple, leading her to cry out and arch her back, reaching for the sensation.

"Please please please please please!"

"No." His deep voice amused. And then a second word, which she didn't understand.

Through the drumming of the blood in her ears,  Cassandra heard the soft brush of cloth, felt him step in close, and soft hair and warm, smooth flesh rubbed briefly against her aching nipples. She cried out and arched again to repeat the sensation, but he had straightened, and the thrusting movement brought her belly up against a hard mound which throbbed through the material of his trousers. The pulse, the heat, the power of his shrouded cock made her throat tighten, and she swallowed. Then the heat pooled in her loins swelled, and gently she rubbed her breasts against the down on his chest, her hips circling to make her belly roll against his throbbing member, while Aurther reached above them and swiftly undid the bonds at her wrists. The soft friction of his hard body against hers was torture, stoking the melting ache between her thighs. Urgently, freed, she pressed forward to rub more firmly, one aching surge of excitement, and she was lifted away again and stopped, his hand on her shoulders.

"No", he said again, his voice firm, although the note of teasing remained. Frustrated, and stubborn,  Cassandra lifted a hand toward the sound of his voice, found and pressed her small fingers across his full lips to hold back his unwelcome answer, then struggled again to press herself forward against his grasp, whispering, "please, please, please". His mouth opened on a bark of laughter, before teeth nipped her fingers, and she was abruptly tumbled onto her back on the mattress, legs kneed apart for his advance, and her breasts pressed together with his palms so that he could bend and suckle both peaks simultaneously. She bucked, crying out against the twin stabs of fire, while his heavy body held her hips against the bed. He continued to kiss and lick her breasts as he pushed the heavy skirt of her gown up around her waist, exposing her thighs and the trim thatch of golden hair between. He quickly grabbed both ankles and pushed them up the bed to just below her buttocks; her knees fell open and suddenly  Cassandra gasped as she realised she was naked from the waist down, legs wide, the dampness glistening between her thighs as her exposed slit poked up at the man above her.

He stopped moving. She could tell he was just looking, hear his breathing deepening as his eyes stroked over her glistening mound. Hot with a flush of embarrassment, she writhed up the bed, pushing away from his clasp on her ankles, twisting towards her front and closing her knees .

He reacted swiftly, flicking her skirt out of the way and raining down one sharp open-handed slap on her buttock with a deep growled, "no!", no teasing this time, before he turned her back to face him, pushing her knees wide and bunching her skirt back around her waist, out of his way. Quivering, left buttock on fire,  Cassandra again lay exposed to him. The blindfold had slipped, and was now digging into her left eye, but she wasn't sure she dared tell him. She was so aroused, she didn't want to distract him, she just wanted to please him, even if what he was doing made her shiver in embarrassment. It also made her shiver in anticipation, and she could feel her insides melting and tightening further as his deep breaths began to get harsher as he looked down at her.

'Oh Mihla, am I going to enjoy this', thought Aurther, his breath roughening as he traced his eyes over the glistening entrance. 'I don't even need to touch her there, her breasts are so sensitive she is molten and ready.' He could feel the pulsing tide of blood surging through his cock, rising through his veins, beginning to make him lightheaded, as the base of his spine tingled. Firmly, he reminded himself, 'she is a virgin, and you are damn large.' A virgin. He could imagine how her tight, hot, wet passage would feel about his member as he thrust into her, and felt a little spurt of pre-cum surge from his tip as a flash of lightening heat shot down his spine to the tip of his member. 'Steady.'

 Cassandra felt him lift her hips, and slide his left arm under her, working what felt like a large cushion beneath her raised buttocks. Her lower back arched slightly so that she was bowed over the bolster, and her lower lips glistened and parted as her raised knees fell a little wider. He placed a hand beside her waist, and then  Cassandra felt another piece of fruit slide between her hot lower lips. She moaned, lifting her hips as it slid gently along her clitoris, teasing, tantalising, and then he leaned over and pressed it to her lips. She didn't want to eat this piece, the musky scent mingled with her own arousal made her insides squirm, but she didn't want to displease him and opened her mouth, sucking it in. As she chewed and swallowed, licking the juice from her lips, a shaft of heat seemed to stroke between her open thighs. More sounds – the clicking of metal and soft brush of cloth, and suddenly he was there, up on the bed, over her. His knees were between hers, heat against heat, and she felt the mattress dip on either side of her head as he lent his weight on his arms. She could hear his heavy breathing, and the sense of his hard, strong body held taut above hers made her tremble even more, feeling a flush of hot dampness trickle from between her legs.

One of his arms lifted from beside her, and then his hard, smooth member rubbed teasingly between her lower lips. She gasped as the head of it brushed over her throbbing clit, making her jerk and lift her hips off the cushion as he stroked against her. The head brushed again, and again, soft swift pushes against her bud, before sliding lower as she lifted her hips, pleading silently. He placed his cock against the entrance to her pussy and slowly, ever so slowly, pressed the tip against her moist, tight vulva, right arm returning to rest beside her head. The hot, heavy sensation of him almost breaching her with his throbbing hardness made  Cassandra cry out in frustrated arousal, writhing beneath him, lifting her hips. Her surge as she pressed her hips towards him stretched her passage entrance against the very tip of his cock, and she felt a flush of heat pulse through her groin, dragging a soft moan from her. She felt his weight leave his arms, and she cried out at the sensation as his cock tip shifted against her. He stilled, kneeling above her, and she groaned.

'He isn't stopping to look now?' she thought, anguished, and tried to lift up against him. He bit out something harshly, and his hands grabbed her hips, holding her steady. Aurther pulled up slightly, and rubbed the head of his cock against her pussy mouth, fingers digging into her flesh to hold her as she lifted and tried to thrust against his movement.  Cassandra was overcome with feeling, and almost wailed. "Pleease!" she gasped, wanting more, much more. She wanted it all. She wanted him. Now. Right now. NOW. And he was making her wait. She struggled against the hands holding her, and gasped as he eased back, sliding his member sensuously up and over her throbbing, erect clit, before nudging back down and pressing again, opening her slightly further. Torture. She arched back up to meet him, and heard another satisfied chuckle, the hands steady on her hips, holding her immobile, though his tongue lapped over her nipple, teasing her for bringing them within reach of his mouth. She moaned, sobbing as she collapsed back against the bed, lifting her legs to wrap against his back, trying to pull him in. He chuckled again, and pressed gently, then withdrew and slid back up to rub against her clit.

He teased her with three of four more almost-penetrations, each pressing slightly further into the mouth of her passage, punctuated with rubbing her clit with the cock head, soaked with her juices. She writhed and begged, struggling against his hold, before suddenly his hands left her hips and he leaned forward.  Cassandra felt the girth of his hard, throbbing cock slowly, smoothly penetrating her passage. She was stretched by the weight, the size, the pulse and heat of him, and barely felt the sharp tear of her vaginity as he surged through, to the sound of his satisfied grunt. He paused, and she caught her breath, then his cock pushed deeper, deeper. She sighed. Another pause, then he thrust further, pressing on her walls, stretching her, her gasps, whimpers and sighs encouraging him on through each incremental advance, until his balls came to rest against her buttocks and he stilled.

 Cassandra lay unmoving, her breath held in her full lungs as her whole body centred on the feeling of his large cock fully embedded, forced so deep she felt she could feel it pressing against her lungs. She couldn't breathe, couldn't believe the feeling of fullness, completion, the tingling of her skin as every fibre seemed to shimmer with sensation and, moaning, she turned her head to kiss her lips softly against his inner wrist. He felt so good. She was poised, waiting, savouring the stretch, the friction, the gentle pulsing of her taut inner muscles about his hard length as they slowly adjusted to the invasion.

Chapter 5

Aurther's breath hitched briefly, and then a hand lifted from the bed and his fingers tugged at the blindfold where it had slipped and dug into her eye - she had all but forgotten about it, the stretched, sated sensation penetrating deep between her thighs obliterating all else. Then his fingers moved to the knot and he carefully unwrapped the binding. As she blinked her eyes open, she swallowed at the sight of the lean, powerful body of the man looming over her, inside her, the muscles of his upper arms tensed to hold him poised above her. His intoxicating musk surrounded her. His chest was heavily scarred, white puckered lines ripping over the muscles, and her eyes traced wonderingly over the toned lines, tight belly and hard thighs, down between them.

She stopped and blushed, and quickly looked up into his face, but his gaze had followed hers and was fixed at the juncture of her thighs, where his body hair mingled with hers, and the shimmer of her juices coated them together. She felt a heavy throb run through the member buried within her, and the glitter in his eyes made her blush more fiercely as he glanced back at her face. She closed her eyes again. He softly began to rock his cock within her tight, molten pussy, slowly, gently stretching her as she murmured and turned her head, reaching for him, reaching for something. She arched and whimpered, trying to drive him faster, meeting his slow rhythm with urgent, untutored thrusts of her pelvis.

He gently pressed into her as she writhed, urging him with more and more fervour to a faster pace, then suddenly he stilled, sat back, and lifted her legs.  Cassandra felt him arrange them around his hips, her ankles crossed above his buttocks, before he abruptly leaned forwards again and began to thrust hard, each penetration bouncing her on the bed, causing her to gasp and lift her hips enthusiastically to his rhythm. She opened her eyes as he continued to pound her and saw him gazing at her breasts, watching them bounce as he quickened his pace, the gleam in his eyes sharpening.

She moaned and turned her head, burning with the feeling of his hard cock thrusting, thrusting into her, the knot in her belly tightening with each forceful penetration, then suddenly she froze in astonishment, her small hands coming down to grasp his wrists on either side of her head.

There were other men in the room.

 Cassandra moaned again, closing her eyes against the King's pounding, feeling the knot in her belly tighten and twist as he thrust into her relentlessly, again and again.

Glazed, her eyes fluttered open again. The vizier, and some other nobleman, were standing silent, still as statues at the foot of the dais, two metres back from the bed, watching with seeming disinterest as their King thrust hard into his latest bride-elect. The red tinge along their cheekbones and the glitter in their eyes belied lack of arousal, however, for all their stillness.

Aurther quickened his pace further as he saw the girl's realisation, and watched with satisfaction as her lids closed again on a moan, her grasp on his wrists tightening with the tightening sensation in her belly. She twisted against him, uncaring of her audience, arching her back from the bed and thrusting her breasts towards him. He thrust more swiftly, savouring the exquisite friction of her tight, wet passage yielding to his hard cock with each penetration, the tingling at the base of his spine intensifying as he pounded her, watching her breasts rise to his hard rhythm.

The knot in  Cassandra's belly was so tight she thought she would burst, or scream, and he was pounding against it relentlessly. He ground against her clit with each thrust, and she could feel the low moan building in her throat. A swift glance told her that there were two men on the other side of the bed also, watching with gleaming eyes as she arched her breasts up to their King and pleaded with him huskily. She didn't care about anything except the thrusting cock in her body, and her eyes were open but she was unaware of the men watching, blind as she raised herself to each rough penetration with moaning pants, voice cut off to only grunting gasps as he continued to pound her.

Her fingers dug sharply into his wrists as the knot in her belly burst, and her body shuddered beneath him as she screamed out a long cry. She ground her hips hard against their juncture, feet pressing into his buttocks in an attempt to hold him in, hold him still as the sensations rocked her. Aurther stopped thrusting, panting lightly with his eyes nearly shut as he watched her beneath him, writhing up against him, his whole being concentrated on the exquisite sensation of her orgasming passage massaging around his hard member. He groaned with the sensation, closing his eyes fully as he dropped all control and began to pound without mercy.

 Cassandra couldn't bear it, she was strung out, suspended on a mixture of pleasure and aching, rising tension and he wouldn't stop, wouldn't let her come down. Her voice rose as she tightened and came again, begging him to stop, begging him to continue, begging, as he pounded on, lunging hips thrusting her up the bed, relentless, and the knot began to build again. She writhed and felt her head fall over the edge of the bed, hair dropping to the floor and her eyes opened, glazed, to see the young noble before her watching with parted lips, fists clenched, his panting timed with the pounding thrusts of the King.

Aurther shifted his weight abruptly, rearing to grasp her breasts in both hands, squeezing the plump, firm flesh to ooze out between his fingers, arms and back straight.  Cassandra cried out, fire shooting from her sensitised breasts to her belly, rippling through her loins as she climaxed again, drenching his cock in a further deluge of her juices. He stiffened over her, a low, growling roar growing more forceful with each ramming slam into her before he threw back his head, a howling cry erupting from his throat as he bucked, took a few last intense thrusts, and stilled, grinding his fully-embedded cock against her, eyes shut, as he shot spurt after spurt of his hot sperm up into her belly, milked by her convulsing pussy. As the last drops were massaged from his softening member, Aurther sighed a long sigh of satisfied release and relaxed down onto her.

The room was silent except for the harsh, heavy breaths of the man crushing her to the bed. Her ears ringing with the pounding of her cooling blood,  Cassandra noticed distant, faint sounds of the city creeping inside the heavy floor-to-ceiling shutters in the far corner of the large, shaded chamber.

Her cheeks were glowing red. Her head was hanging off the end of the bed, hair brushing the ornate, colourful covering on the floor. She kept her eyes screwed tightly shut, trying to regulate her breathing, trying to throttle back the singing blood pelting joyously through her veins. Her skin everywhere was glowing with vibrant delight, excruciatingly alert to each brush of warm air.

Her mind couldn't compass - what had just happened?

A light tremor crept under her skin.

The dead weight lying atop her abruptly rolled away, and air chilled the sweat sheen on her exposed breasts, belly and thighs. Aurther slid off the side of the bed and landed lightly on the balls of his feet, making some heartfelt remark that was met with muted laughter from the four other men in the room, and a murmured comment from the one beyond the foot of the bed.

The other four men.

Blood crashed a fresh wave across  Cassandra's fair skin, and she jerked over onto her face, trying to smother herself in the deep mattress, hands either side of her burning cheeks, pressing them together. She forced back the sob that rose in her throat, gritting her teeth against her hoarse breathing.

She couldn't believe she had been so wanton. What happened?

Cold and hot flushes were darting across her limbs, the shiver increasing, when some silken, stiff material covered her from the neck down. Calm hands lifted her motionless body and rolled her, folding and wrapping the clean fabric around her under her arms, tucking it in across her breasts. She flinched and her eyes flashed open as that hand folded the cloth inside, sliding across her excruciatingly sensitive flesh. Aurther's dark eyes were looking down into hers, a hint of amusement in their depths. Beyond his shoulder, one of his lords was visible, standing looking firmly at his own feet.

Chapter 6

 Cassandra's eyes instantly screwed shut again, teeth clenched against a surge of anger and tears. The lords hadn't been looking at their feet earlier.

She was swung up in Aurther's arms and carried smoothly across the room, wrapped securely in the cloth. Her brain had noted the pattern of the fabric in the split second of her peeking, and now hunted down the faint spark of recognition, trying desperately to evade memories of what had just happened, or speculation as to what was to happen next.

She was wrapped in the light silk that had covered the bed when she had been led in, a beautiful ornately-embroidered cloth emblazoned with the King'mese royal coat of arms.

While her head swirled in speculation, Aurther descended the steps from the dais which held the bed. He perched on some piece of furniture and sat  Cassandra across his lap, one arm sliding around her shoulders to hold her steady. He made another remark, the undertone of amusement clear, but  Cassandra kept her eyes shut. He smelt of cooling sweat and hot sex and male, and the reminder of the overpowering sensations he had just wrought in her made her head swim and her lip tremble.

There was a faint tinkling noise, and something cool pressed against her lips. The rim of a cup, holding some chilled liquid. Thirst grabbed  Cassandra by the throat, and she lifted eager hands to balance the heavy goblet. Aurther's left hand lifted from her waist, his fingers tangling through hers, and he drew both her hands back down into her lap, still holding her tucked within his arm.

"No," he said gently. Then three or four more words. With his other hand he tilted the goblet against her lips.  Cassandra sighed quietly, and took a small sip.

It was delicious - a cool, refreshing taste of fruit and warmth and sun, crushed in ice and dusted with some faint spice that made her head spin.

 Cassandra swallowed eagerly, and bent her head forward, trying to take a second mouthful. Aurther laughed and withdrew the cup, nudging her admonishingly with the shoulder behind her head.  Cassandra sighed a second time and relaxed back against him, parting her lips faintly. Aurther let her drink again. Slowly he fed her the whole, delicious cup, except for a few sips which he took himself.

His chest was bare against the back of her arms, fine hair brushing against the sensitive skin. However, beneath the cloth wrapped around her bottom,  Cassandra was sure she could feel another layer of material, and she flashed a quick look down when Aurther was drinking. Loose trousers hung low on his hips, a brilliant, rich blue.  Cassandra breathed a sigh of relief, skin burning again, and took another sip as the cup reappeared at her lips.

Disappointment roiled in contradiction in her stomach. Her blood, stomach and skin were trembling in longing for the feelings he had stoked in them. Something hot clenched between her thighs.

She shut her eyes again, tightly.

Behind them,  Cassandra became aware that the quiet noises she had been ignoring from the top of the dais, noises of cloth and soft footsteps, had ceased.

Several pairs of feet were approaching down the marble steps. Her stomach tightened in fearful anticipation. They passed to the side of the area where Aurther was seated, and with a sound of a wooden shutter hitting stone, the background rumble of the city grew louder. Bright light burned against  Cassandra's closed eyelids.

Aurther leaned forward and put down the empty goblet. He stood up, swinging her up in his arms, and stepped forward into the blazing sun.  Cassandra's eyes flashed open, realisation hitting as the heat slammed into her. He was stepping out onto a terrace. Three small trees rose above their heads, spaced in huge, ceramic pots along the length of the wide, rectangular expanse of smooth stone paving, dark green foliage offsetting bright orange fruits. In front of the central tree, two unadorned square stone blocks were set, each about waist height. Aurther angled left, toward four wide steps running the length of the terrace that led down to a six-foot deep balcony. The blue mosaic balcony floor was surrounded by heavy stone columns supporting the balustrade, intertwined with a large-leaved vine flaunting huge, deep pink flowers.

 Cassandra swallowed, and straightened her spine as well as she could in her current position, lifting her chin. Beyond the pink flowers, beyond the thick palace walls visible below the balcony, was a vast, open square. It was crowded, packed with people crammed into every inch despite the hot afternoon sun, more figures squashed atop the fountain spraying in centre, or hanging from the window ledges of the distant buildings. The faces were too far away to pick out clearly, blending in a colourful, seething mass, but their feelings were clear as a mounting roar of approval greeted the Great King. He stepped forward, carrying his latest bride down the steps, and the roar rose to a shout. The King had wrapped her in the national colours.

 Cassandra's cheeks were still tinged pink, but she felt her tremor subsiding. Carefully, she held her chin at the correct angle - proud, not arrogant, head angled slightly to signify her secondary status to the man carrying her. She was March Kjeldahl's daughter, and had grown up to public life.

Aurther lowered her to her feet.  Cassandra stifled her inward flinch in anticipation of the burning stone on her bare soles, but despite the merciless heat beating off the surrounding surfaces, the spot he carefully set her on was cool. And damp. She was barely aware of her own faint relaxation, her thoughts caught, reassured and fascinated by the outpouring of feeling as the voices in the square swelled into song. His people adored their King, but their sound was coloured with a wistful longing.

The emotion in the voices soothed her toward peace. Aurther's arm slid around her bare shoulders, and he turned her so that they were facing half toward the crowd, half toward the terrace. The four lords who had been in the bedchamber had emerged after them, but they remained on the terrace, poised in front of the twin pedestals she had noticed earlier. Two were carrying a long roll of blindingly white cloth, which they held stretched between the square stones.

The noise of the crowd dropped to a muted hum as the two younger lords leapt up onto the plinths.  Cassandra watched with increasing trepidation as the pair still on the terrace reached to pass up the white cloth. Theatrically, the two aloft held the folded material stretched taut between them, silhouetted against the dark green of the tree. The crowd held its breath. With a practiced flick, they unrolled the billowing expanse, while the pair below leapt to catch the lower corners and within seconds the white sheet was stretched taut between them.