Lacie awoke. What would be her new ‘task’ for the Sultan? Guiding a reluctant prince through sex had been an odd task, even had it not been her own ‘first time’.
What could Captain Sindwell and the Sultan demand next? And what depended on its success? Would this coarse, revolting Sultan ‘have his way’ with her, as her ‘reward’, or would he execute her? Was it to be bedding or beheading?
Lacie was taken to the palace of King Al Mikahil, where she was to meet the heir to his throne, Prince Russlan.
At last, her ‘task’ was explained, by an ancient vizier. ‘Just like a gaunt, oriental Polonius’, thought Lacie.
“You have heard of the ‘Droit de Seigneur’? The right of the King to bed every new bride on the night before her wedding? Such was the custom here for many centuries. But an ancestor of our King Al Mikahil, after bedding three such maidens was overcome by shame. In reparation, he instituted a custom honoured to this day. The heir to the throne, on his wedding night, must share his joy with his people. He must consummate his marriage before an audience of guests, men and women.
“At first, brides were severely punished should they not show a glad countenance. But King Al Mikahil is more humane. The present bride has expressed such shyness that we looked, with the help of your captain and Queen H’adĭn, for someone resembling her enough for the audience to accept her. The Princess belongs to a pale people beyond the Caspian Sea. Naked and without face-paint it will never be known that you are not the new Princess Ludmila.”
“What must I do?”
“The nuptials, Les Noces, are an old ritual. You will be bathed and perfumed by four maidens. Then you will be taken to the Prince Russlan in his bedchamber where you will both dance naked and slowly before the guests. In the chamber, we have arranged for a string quartet and a ravishing player of the flute to accompany your dance. We thought the lilt of a gentle, quiet waltz would be pleasing. To help you, you will both be given that to drink which will gladden your hearts with voluptuous sensuousness. The bed will be as much a pleasure to you as watching will be for the guests.”
The four Persian maidens were exquisite in their dusky beauty. They treated Lacie like a sweet flower. They undressed her as if stripping tender leaves from a precious bloom.
They bathed her in water fragrant with the scents of the rarest oriental blossoms. They washed her with the softest materials, tending the most secret places, ready for the offering she was to make to the Prince and his audience.
They massaged her with oils of the same heady perfumes they had bathed her in. Her senses reeled as two pairs of hands pampered her thighs and tended to her softest secrets. They infused her innermost parts with unguents, specially prepared to blend with the oils of her arousal, to intoxicate the Prince.
Then, without dressing her, they led her to a deep, plush couch. Here she reclined and drank. The taste was of rose water with aniseed and some fragrant herb never encountered outside Persia. As she drank she seemed to sink deeper into the couch. Then it became as though she were floating amongst clouds, so happy.
Soon, the maidens, reading something in her eyes, took her by the hands and led her to meet the Prince. The large bedchamber breathed the same aromas as the bath she had left. The four posts of the bed were of pure gold beneath a golden canopy. Its open curtains were of purple velvet, patined with gilt stars. The soft, thick mattress was low and bore no sheets. The twelve guests were to miss no detail of the lovers’ union.
In a corner of the chamber sat the string quartet and the player of the flute. The splendour of their oriental costume would have been an embarrassing backcloth to Lacie’s nakedness had her senses not been prepared by potion and perfumes.
As in a dream, she faced the onlookers before turning to be greeted by young Prince Russlan, as naked as herself. She had to stop herself exclaiming, “He’s gorgeous.” After an hour of feminine contact with the four young maidens, Prince Russlan’s young, slender form exuded not just masculinity. Even nude, everything spoke royalty. Here was all the assurance and confidence that Prince Igor had lacked.
She had had to lead Igor, but surely Russlan would be her guide.
He took her by the hand and almost silently mouthing: “Thankyou,” led her into a dance. The music was a sensuously subtle waltz, with hints of the serpentine arabesques of Lacie’s Scheherazade tune. The Prince held her close, bringing out all the smoochiness in the music. She looked down, to see if he was aroused. No, his penis hung heavy, dormant with who knew what possibilities, but this moment was, for him, not sex; it was pure romance and, wonderfully, he knew how to treat it as such. Whoever Princess Ludmila was, she was going to be deliriously lucky in her choice of husband. Lacie was relieved that, with his tight hold of her, spectators could see neither his cock nor her pussy. She felt protected by him. Of him, the audience was merely shown a male ass which she was only too proud to be seen with.
In another corner of the chamber, in near darkness, sat the source of the exotic perfumes. Some sort of tall pipe or hookah was being smoked by a wizened old Persian, sitting cross-legged on a velvet pouffe and almost bent double, like a little caterpillar of a man. Whatever was in the hookah was no vulgar tobacco, it smelt like a flower, intoxicating in its fragrance. Perhaps it was the unknown ingredient of Lacie’s drink. At intervals there rose an ethereal, perfect smoke ring, dispersing the perfume and vanishing. Each time, the flute or one of the violins imitated it with a sinuous scale, lingering at the top, before descending back to earth. ‘My’, thought Lacie. ‘If those are scales I’d be happy to practise them all day long. Only I think they’d make me feel far too sexy. I would have to pleasure myself after every half-hour’s practice.
The music came to an end. Only now did Prince Russlan allow his partner’s body to be fully exposed to the gathered guests. The Prince and the supposed Princess stood side by side to give a regal bow. Hypnotically she followed his every move and was aware of the spectators’ sighs of approval. The men, and the women too, liked their naked princess.
The Prince led her to the bed and they sat at its edge, facing the audience. He put an arm around her shoulder and they kissed. First a light romantic kiss. How well the Prince had prepared the mood. It was Lacie who could no longer hold herself. She turned the smooch into a deep-throated passionate kiss. His tongue tasted so sweet and aromatic, and surely hers must.
She could feel moisture collecting in those secret parts the Prince had protected so well. Even they were suffused with those unknown but potent oils. She was beginning to realise just how potent they were.
Could it be that she had reached out to touch his cock? That it was hardening and swelling? That romance was turning to raw sex? That she was kneeling in front of him as he sat? Her head between his parted legs? Her ass flaunted before people she didn’t even know? That she was avidly, greedily kissing what had stayed chivalrously unaroused throughout the dance? Now it was wildly rising, at her instigation.
What was she? She didn’t care. All she knew was that she held this hard mystery in her hand, between her lips, in her mouth. And yes, it tasted of rose-water; it tasted musky, of sandalwood, and that subtle unknown influence. Oh, how she enjoyed that influence. She ran her tongue around the tip, traced the glans, thrust the shaft deeper into her mouth; tasted, tested, teased the throbbing, swelling wonder.
He motioned for them both to stand again; side by side, in full frontal. The Prince now sported a full, rigid erection. Lacie shamelessly made no attempt to cover herself.
He stood behind her, presenting her front to the audience. He held her hips, kissed her from behind, starting at the tingly back of her neck, finishing at her ass. In movements deliberately designed to arouse both the audience and herself, he stroked her ass and reached forward between her thighs. He touched her pussy, expertly stimulated her labia, and found her clitoris. She was moaning now, but so happy.
Her mood was becoming playful. She leaned back against him; stretched her arms behind his neck; fully aware of the exposure it was giving her young breasts.
Everyone must see how happy her body was making her. This body. Sinuously she swung her hips to show the guests her mound.
She felt light-hearted and skittish.
With her arms behind the Prince, she swung around. The Prince, his hands busy working their magic, was never going to be able to keep from falling with her onto the bed. She sensed a sigh of delight from the guests.
She rolled on top of him; lay along his body, pecking kisses over his face.
She knelt by him, took his penis in her hand. She felt its throbs and knew what he yearned for. But she made him wait; played with his erection; showed it to the guests, teasing him and them. Then her kisses were for his cock. She told herself it was the most kissable of all cocks. She felt the stir in the audience as she put the kissable item into her mouth, enjoyed again that bittersweet taste, melded with the aromas of love and mystery.
Her head was in a whirl. She was being given free rein to show to these people all the exhilaration the body can bring; the joy of being human, the wonder of being female, the ecstasy of being united with the male.
They lay together, he on top, gently, gently penetrating.
They held tight, still, while Lacie’s mind was anything but still—whirling around Heaven. The shaft she had kissed now seemed to fill not just her secrets but her whole body and soul.
And now she was on top. As she rode his cock she lifted her breast so she could look down on his serene face. The audience saw perfectly the curve of her pale breast over his tight olive chest. Her nipples felt the glow of their admiration. She could feel the love of the men appreciating her. She could feel the women empathising with her, and loving the prince.
Of course, after last night she realised there would be women admiring her and men appreciating the prince. Either way, the atmosphere of genuine love was as fragrant as the exotic perfumes; so different from the lust of the sailors of the Coq d’Or.
Soon it was his turn to look down on her. She had heard talk of positions but had no idea there were so many, nor that each had its own magic. The Prince knew. And he knew that in each different position his cock would light up a different spot in her vagina. One moment he was sinking deep, drinking of her softness. Then, in another movement of the ballet, his tip sought out her clitoris in a way Prince Igor had only hinted at. The prince’s penis controlled Lacie’s pussy with the same artistry with which Lacie’s bow controlled her strings, drawing ever more ecstasy.
She’d expected the Prince to take the lead, and now he did. As indeed he should, if only because Lacie had had no inkling of any of the positions he could master. On the bed beneath the golden canopy, to the audience’s wonder, he led her through a voluptuous choreography of the senses. He guided her gracefully into pose after pose; lying, crouching, kneeling; many positions no doubt familiar to the reader, others known only to those who have studied the ancient ‘Persaphrosudiae of Al Nen Drowd’.
The ballet became faster, and also lighter. Now the Prince was, in turn, becoming skittish. His movements inside her, his guiding her from position to position was always with a light, considerate touch. He was without heaviness nor callowness.
All was suave, practised, elegant. Right up to her last, exuberant climax.
The watchers were silent, every one of them overwhelmed. The waves of approval were to Lacie better than the biggest applause. They knew as well as Lacie did, that something beautiful had been shared. They sensed, as Lacie divined, that the prince had done everything with them, and of course Lacie, in mind. He had not cared about his own feelings.
It was only later that Lacie realised Prince Russlan had not climaxed at all. How had he held back so chivalrously? Was it for the sake of the real Princess Ludmila?
How different from last night. Then, in her ‘healing’ of Prince Igor, everything she’d done was about him. Tonight everything Prince Russlan did had been about her.
She lay beside him gratefully until the last guest had departed.
The four maidens returned, led her out to be bathed again. They dressed her in a long diaphanous silk nightdress and led her to what she supposed to be her own bedchamber. But she was not alone. In the bed, there was another woman already asleep. So like Lacie was the head upon the pillow that she knew this must be the real Princess Ludmila.
The silk made her nightgown slide easily between the sheets. She could join the Princess without waking her. But half an hour later, she was still musing over the curiouser and ever curiouser nature of events.
The Princess spoke first, as a princess should, even in stories.
“I am sorry you had to do that, Lacie. But thank you. Did he look after you?”
“Princess, he looked after me beautifully. You’re going to be so happy with him. It was extraordinary; he made me happy, but he didn’t seem to care whether he was happy or not. I think he was saving his true feelings for you. He is going to look after you so beautifully.”
“You’re very kind, Lacie. I was so hoping you wouldn’t feel like a victim.”
“Not at all, Princess.”
“Lacie? Will you do something for me?”
“I’d love to.”
“When I’m married to the Prince I shall have to be faithful to him. But I have never yet loved a woman. Will you show me how? So I can know I have done it. Just once?”
Lacie said nothing. She put an arm around the silk of Ludmila’s nightdress and held her. Ludmila’s arms responded and soon the two were tight in an embrace. Lacie felt Ludmila’s shoulder blades beneath the silk. All too inviting, the silk drew her arm down towards Ludmila’s feminine ass, smooth as the silk itself. The hand that caressed her own ass was tentative but warm. Neither girl wore anything below the silk, and for a time the two simply enjoyed the sleekness of each other’s contours.
Lacie was the first to slip the gown over her head. Ludmila watched the dance of her breasts and then joined her in her nakedness. How alike they were. Tenderly, Lacie started to play on the Princess as she had learnt to play on her own body. In this extraordinary land she had learned many techniques. She played not only on the Princess’s body but on her soul.
The Princess was entranced. “Ahh. This is what I wanted,” she whispered. “You know so well what you are doing. Yes. Yes, just there. That is beautiful.”
Lacie felt the lightest of touches between her legs. She looked up and saw Ludmila contemplating her mound. “That’s good,” encouraged Lacie, and then felt compelled to say. “Yes, you can go inside.”
So strange it seemed to Lacie. People had been right, the two looked alike. It was as though Lacie had been given her own body to play with outside of itself. She pleasured the Princess as though she were pleasuring herself, and gave herself over to the Princess’s royal, elegant but thirsting hands.
Ludmila needed no more instruction. It was as though each were rediscovering her own body. Fingers sought, worshipped, ministered, were held tight with vaginal muscles. Hands were invited in between widening legs. Thigh was pressed close against thigh, legs intertwined, bodies moulded, minds riding the Heavens together.
Music poured through Lucy’s soul again. Her Scheherazade tune was reaching a consummation. Now her spirit heard, not the violin but an orchestra playing. Over the orchestra her bow had sprung wings, was flying from string to string, scattering notes like jewels, like stars over the music’s romantic night. But the stars and the jewels were all in Lacie’s head, flashing in the light of a princess’s spell. Magic to magic; woman to woman; moist depth to moist depth.
In the morning, the two girls, musician and princess, woke, entwined together, one looking forward to a night’s consummation with her prince, the other trying not to dread an encounter shortly to come.
