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err !!?@!! ( How annoying, I’d typed lots more, then lost that disc, and then saved a second file and it came up with ÇFúK é´ ÿvðšÏ, sounds to me like the P.C.has taken a dislike to this!) |
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“Well, I don’t see how your going to get around it” Richmond sighs “Yes, he is your son, but you are also the king. And it’s tradition.!” The king turns and looks at me, muttering “Yes I suppose you are right, but . . .” He reaches out his hand and strokes the top of my head. He seems content to keep me poised half kneeling, unaware that a cramp was spreading up my left leg. I am extremely grateful when my mother hurries out to pester the king, and frees me with the words “Oh, do get up child, you’re spoiling your dress”. “Lord Sawdust and Count Running are fighting again, You must speak to them. I will not have them ruining my daughter’s wedding” With these words I was pushed into the oppressive air of the inner rooms, never learning why the king had requested my presence. It’s two days on and I’m keeling again, this time with cramps running up both my legs. I’m dressed in white, and the heat from the candles are wilting the white lilies. The priest is droning on and on, and I’m sure I can hear my two uncles snoring. My mind is daydreaming, wondering if they and the king managed to sort out what they were talking about on the verandah. “In the eyes of the farther, the son, and the holy ghost, this joining of two great houses. . .” and then all I hear is “Rise” and I’m pulled to my feet, out of my daydreams into the world of wifedome. I’m smiling as I’m carried off by this man I met today for the first time. He drops me in the side room of the church and I’m quickly surrounded by my maids. They seem to be saying something, chirping in the high pitched chicken speech. I try and catch another glimpse of the king’s son, my husband, but he has disappeared. I give into the women’s pestering and let them change my clothes. I am allowed one hour to myself before I must appear for the wedding dinner. Sitting in my room now, it seems strange to be writing this as a married woman. I wonder how my life has changed. I suppose a new person has control over my life, and I’m only 20. But, well there is not that much to change. Is there? Help I’m late. . . .It was a panic to get dressed, as always, well nothing much has changed there. They served duck for dinner. Apparently it’s he loves wild game, and he is married to me, a wife who loathes meat. The flowers were wonderful, white and blue all around the hall. He is quite handsome. “See who that is, Debs” The kings voice makes me turn, I had not expected anyone at this hour, especially not him. “Sire” I drop to my knee. He moves in front of me, reaching out to touch my hair. “Rise” and I do. “There is something which we need to discusses” The look on his face is strange. “You have been like a daughter to me and I know you better than my own son. He was always at school.” I’m puzzled “And Sire, you have been more than a farther to me” At this he looks strained. He clears his throat and continues “See, there is a tradition, Goddess forgive me, that the first night of every wife is spent with the king.” My mind was blank, I’d spent many dark hours with this man, we discussed politics, played chess till the cock crowd. Then something twigged and I must have blushed and I did not know where to look. “I’ve discussed it with your uncles and they think I must follow tradition. There are people who would not accept the wedding if it does not follow tradition curs their hidebound hearts. Do you understand, this is not my choice?” I nodded. “Look, I must just be seen to be here, nothing will happen.” I nod again, and finally find my voice. “Would Sire care for a glass of wine?” “Oh Mary, drop the Sire, we have both become too close for such in privet” I can finally look at his face again, and grin. “Game of chess?” “I’ll set up the board, you go and pour two glasses of wine, your a woman now, and you can at least try this wonderful grape nectar!” We spend much of the next three hours frowning over the black queen and white king. In the middle of our third game he beings the conversation again. “Is there anything that you would care to ask, you’ve had no guiding man in your life, and this really is why the bloody tradition was in place-so that a woman’s first night should be a good introduction.” I blush, and try to control my shaking hands. “No, mother told me what to expect.” I don’t expect him to laugh, but he does, great big bellows. “God I can just imagine what she has said” “Your mother is not known for being the most passionate person. No I had better see if I can undo her damage.” “Did she tell you men are the ones who want sex?” He reads my expression and continues “Well that’s not true. Women like it just as much. Some even more than men. Women of course get pregnant, and so they need to deal with the consequences. But I know there are methods and ways of preventing things like that. You must go and talk to Shela, she can tell you more about women. I will stick to the man’s area.” He moves his pawn and takes a sip of wine. “Traditionally this night is to teach you how to enjoy sex. As a rule, if you don't enjoy something the first time, don't do it the second time. . . and don't feel pressurized into doing something your not sure about. . . but all the same, imagination is your best tool. I have heard some women say that anything is possible with a little imagination and catgut. I don't know what they mean by catgut . . .” He leans forward and his concentration returns to the board. I finally find my voice “All mother would say, was that I had to lie still” My eyes are firmly fixed on my queen and I shrink as I hear him stand up swearing. “Oh I’m not anger at you, just these prudish maids that think things take care of themselves.” He brings back a new bottle of wine, and fills my glass. He rests his hand on my shoulder, fingering my pleats, and I hear myself say “They are very tight, I should really take them down, they are giving me a headache.” He moves behind me and works his fingers into my hair. “If you move your horse to take my pawn . . .” I lean forward to study the chess board. “Hmmm, and then move my knight to mate your queen” I have to concentrating to stop myself loosing yet another game. I lean back and feel pressure at the back of my neck. I move my head, caressing, as his hands move to my shoulders. He is unaware that he is pressing my body tighter to his. His hands become more fluid and lower till he sinks to his knees and turns me to face him. The word “Child” is all I hear before his mouth takes mine. I’m aware of his hands moving. I’m aware that mine are still. I have no idea where to put them, but he does not seem bothered. At least his tongue is easy to learn from, and the kisses become deeper. Our clothes have gone, where I don’t remember, but we are naked, lying together on the floor. My king without his robe seems a different man. He is younger, less tired. This is the first time I have seen this man move in haste. He seems so intent, maneuvering me beneath him, kissing me, stroking my breast, bowing his head, licking his tongue over my nipple, opening his mouth as if to swallow, his hand cups my hip, runs over my thigh, moves up between my legs, touches me. The rest is too much for words, I faint from pain. At the end he picks me up and puts me in the bed. He is anxious, and I wonder how many women he as played this role for. My king lies with his bodie fitted into my back, stroking my skin. I can tell he want’s to talk. “Are you sore?” I nod my head “a little”. “It will pass . . . I did not mean for this to happen.” I know he want’s my forgiveness, and it’s the least I can give. “It’s tradition, nothing’s wrong.” But he is still worried “My son . . . he will not understand.” I give up and say “There is nothing to understand’ and move my pelvis back into his crotch. We maneuver and I feel him entering me. His hand presses me from the front, but it’s not needed to make me move back faster. He lies still as his hand opens my wet lips. I don’t recognizes his hoarse voice “this time it’s your pleasure” His hand moves faster and I don’t know what to do, or when to do it. In the end I have no control, act without thinking, role into a ball, pressing him deeper into me. My movement makes us both come, uncaring for the other’s feelings, selfish in our pleasure. I think I fell asleep, or it could have been a moment later, I felt him turn me around. His fingers running over my nose, mouth, throat, down my chest. I have no wish to lye still, and I stretch like a cat, pushing, demanding attention. My own hand runs over his back, pulling him towards me. He laughs “Ahn na na,” pushing me back onto the mattress, he bends his head, letting his mouth move in a slug’s trail over my body. He stops at my hip bone, nibbling. He moves his body down, lying on his side he traces the inside of my thigh. Looking up at me he says “If you want me to stop, just say . . .at any time.” I have no idea what is about to happen next. He moves his hand in-between my legs and I automatically open them. He then moves his body into the gap between my legs. I lye stiff. He does not allow me more time to worry, swiftly licking the path his fingers took. I grip the bed sheets to keep control. Soon my hands are gripping his hair, praying his tongue never stops. I’m aware that he is laughing. I open my eyes, and view him, rolled over on his side, watching me recover. I pounce. Flicking him onto his back, sitting with my wetness on his chest, I pause wondering at what to do. His arms move to pull me down to kiss him, but I move away, down his body. I don’t delay my deception. I run my tongue over the tip of his manhood and follow his mumbled directions as best I can. In the end it gives the desired outcome. I wake up in the bed alone. My maids are buzzing round, happy and content. I stretch, get out of bed, and I’m partially dressed before my mother enters. She shrews way the women, and when we are alone she asks “So?” That one word conveys years of hope and worry. “It went as you told me it would.” I wonder what to add, but she looks at my face and finds her answers. “It’s for the best. . . They called the King and your husband away early this morning.” I try to be worried for their safety, but all I can think of is the politics which draw them both away. Breakfast is passed with the queen and my mother both trying to find a pleasant topic of conversation. Over her egg the queen studies my face but does not fined any guilt. At the end of the hour proceedings life is back to like the pre-wedding days and as I predicted nothing much has changed. It’s a year and a half before the king and my husband return. Due to developments in the palace a rumor spread that on my wedding night the king was the first to visit, followed by his son. For everyone it has been a hard time. The country has been at war, the place hounded by traditionalist and revolutionaries. Even the present of a new child in the palace has not totally dispelled the tragic air. However when the army and court arrives back celebrations are in full swing. I stand beside the Queen to greet the men. I bow my head to Sire and my husband. I keep my eyes low, and hold my child’s hand fast. But my voice is strong as I introduce my daughter. My husband looks disgusted, while her farther glances way ashamed. We both follow behind as they move into the hall. I send my daughter way with her nurse, while I sit down for dinner. Most of the talk bores me and I wonder if I will be included in the political talk. Bit when the call for privet discussion is made none of the women are included, and we sit waiting for the men to return. I become bored and retire early. The next day is sunny, and I take an early morning ride. As I return a page boy hands me a note requesting I meet my husband. I knock on his bedroom door and I’m bade enter. “Ah, so at least I see my wife, who amazingly gave birth to my child with out so much as a kiss.” I have had months to prepare myself for this. I walk three steps into the room, and as the door closes, I fall to one knee “Sire”. Both my mother and the queen thought this the best method of appeasement. I was not able to scan the room and with my bowed head I’m only aware of him coming towards me. Without a word, he undoes the front of his trousers, lifts my head and forces his manhood into my mouth. I have no choice but to complete his task, blushing. A woman is laughing behind me and I’m panicking. The woman’s laughter stops and she becomes angry “My God, Your a spoilt brat. This woman was fucked by your farther and your blaming her for having a child?” My husband pulls me up, and hugs me. My legs have gone weak and blood is rushing to my head from standing up too fast. He sits me down on a chair, and answers the woman “No. I’m not blaming her, just I am showing her that she is mine. From now on she only has sex with me, or those that I want.” I’m staring at him, still stunned. He caresses my face “My admiration to you, my farther is a good teacher.” He walks off behind me, and I turn, watching him moving to meet the woman. She is slightly older than myself, taller with red brown hair which my husband clutches in his hand. They kiss, and as I watch I see the woman’s eyes open. She watches me as she moves her tongue deeper into my husbands mouth. I can feel the movement of her searching tongue as if she is explore me. The break apart and my husband sees me staring. “Come on lets have some fun” I know this is another test, one which he thinks is spontaneous, but one which the queen did not know the players off, but knew would happen. I focus on my husband. My body moves for his eyes, my hands caress his skin, my tongue searches his mouth. And when he finally takes me, I moan. Maybe a little too loud, maybe a little too much, but this too was discussed between the queen and my mother with a silent me. Once he is finished he runs a hand over her skin. She is naked in bed with us. I do not know what she did while I concentrated on my husband. She might have watched. She might have touched him. But I know she did not touch me, I would have felt it, remembered it. He puts his fingers between her legs and withdraws them, wet and glissading. He holds them up to me, making me smell her, pushing her wetness into my mouth. His fingers encircle my throat flipping me over onto my back while he speaks to her in French. His hands open my legs as she moves in-between my legs. As she passes over me I can feel her breasts on my thigh. I am panicking again. “Shhh, Lie still and keep your eyes open, I want to see your face when another woman takes you.” His hand is still holding my throat, but I bend my neck and look at her face between my legs. It sends shivers through my lower body to see her red mouth so close to me. She winks. I’m close fleeing, till I recognize I saw her wink at me. Her right eye closed while her left stayed open, she winked. Not at him, at me. “Stop wasting time, and put your mouth to some use!” I feel her head rest part of it’s weight on my pelvic, reassuring me. I feel her hair move on my skin, but no tongue. It takes me a while to relies. A while before I start to moan. But not that long before I come. The knock at the door, startles us three. My husband springs from the bed, cursing. He gets dressed staring at us. I see the rise in his trousers and wonder at who I married. The woman moves closer to me, putting her arms around me. He grins as he opens the door, poking his head back through “Have fun.” She holds me close. Putting her mouth to my ear she whispers “He is a shit, pays the bills but is a royally shit. I heard what he was planing to do and decided I’d wait around till afterwards, give you a fair chance” I have no idea what to do, so I nod and say thank you to her neck. In our position my lips help touching her skin. She does not shy away, I don’t know why I thought she might. This woman is my husbands mistress, I begin to think nothing would phase her. Still holding me with her right arm she grabs the thick bed cover and pulls it over our bodies. She pulls me down into the darkness, gently moving me on to my back. Tilting my face upwards she looks me straight in the eyes. “Tell me what you want.” To run away, as far as possible. But she knows this. What she is asking is whether I want to flee alone. The air is hot and dark. I wait for her to move, till I’m worried she never will. I see my hand move up to her face. I see my fingers move along her jaw. I see her mouth grinning till it moves too close to mine. Her lips are cool and dry, biting in little nips opening mine. I can tell she want’s to take time, to saver this. I want the experience not the process, I’m still scared. She has pined me with her weight. Her hair floats down on to my face. I can see her eyes flash looking at my face. She nudges my head to the left and starts to kiss my neck. My left hand moves to her back, caressing her skin. It’s like touching silky velvet, the soft hairs running up her backbone playing on the tips of my fingers. I run my hand down to the nape of her back, and her pelvis pushes against my right leg. Our legs intertwine, my right leg moving in-between hers, my hand holding her hip fast and I feel her wetness against my thigh. Her body curves, pressing my thigh, bring her breasts forward. I follow her moment, tasting the softness of the white skin of her breasts. “Marrrrry! where are you?” I hear the door opens and look into my mothers face over the edge of the blanket. “Comealong!” She’s holding up my dress, as if I’m a unruly child needing to be dressed. “The cloth has arrived from town, and you need to have your clothes fitted, oh do hurry up, I don’t have all day!” She totally ignores my company, and I only manage one glance at the women who is still in bed. She isn’t looking at my face, her eye’s are focused lower down, watching my body being dress. Then I’m rushed out of the room. The next time I see her is in the main hall for dinner. Three tables were set out in a horse shoe fashioned, and the doorway I enter from looks out on the backs of the high table. I recognized her straight back at once, but that was not what pauses my pace. She is seated on my husbands left, traditionally in a chair which should been mine. My brain is working over time for where to move my body to. In the days before my wedding I would have sat with the king or queen, but the birth of my daughter has strained the relationship. My mother was not dinning, but I do have uncles seated with the soldieries. I become composed again, finding a purpose. As I start to move, I become overcome with mischievous. I walk along the back of the main table, passed my husband, and then passed the king. I finally bend down to stroke the dogs waiting for their dinner from leftovers. The greathounds roll over to have their stomachs scratched. Even after the three years I had been giving them soapy water fights their coats are still missing patches of fur, a legacy of flees. I sense my husband turning, and a bone lands near the dogs. They look at it, and then turn back to me. I am not stunned by this loyalty, I’ve come depend on their company during my daily rides, as much as they value me as their caring master. What does touch me is the mirror of actions as I stand and they rise. It’s then I’m able to neglect the hall and walk to the opposite door followed by my court. I head to the kitchens. When I enter the conversation stops and resumes when then see who I am. I throw the dogs some bones, grab some bread and dip it into thick brown gravy. Munching, I walk out into the yard. The dogs have settled in front of the kitchen fire, and I’m alone in the night air. Looking around I see the stable building, and I head in that direction. In the door way the cool air becomes laced with smell of horses, and I turn to my right and enter the saddle room. Striping off my heavy dress I pull on a shirt and trousers. Grabbing a bag of brushes I head back into the gloom to disturb some horses. A few hours later, I’m standing on a stool in the middle of the gangway. The huge draft horse is standing peacefully munching hay as I sweat over his winter coat, specifically his left haunch which has occupied me for the last hour. Right hand’s brush twice, then brushes against left hand’s grid. I twist to pound another white shadow from the grid onto the wooden beams, and I see a figure watching me. There is only the moon light to see by, but I still recognize the female figure. “I don’t even know your name.” “Some people call me Demimonda. But I’d like you to find your own name for me.” “And what do you call yourself?” I laugh before she has time to answer the question, “I’m being stupid today.” I turn back to my work. “I thought the act with the dogs was very clever. I’m sorry for taking your seat.” I glimpse back to see if she is mocking me, but I can’t tell. “I think I’ll call you ‘Pusca’. I nod and continue the rhythm of grooming “after a cat I once knew.” Tom is the first one to hint he’s getting fed up. I’m bent down brushing his right foreleg, and he nudges me in a gentle request for sleep or more hay as a bribery for the disturbance. I run my hand over his shining black coat, clap his neck and his metal shoes clip on the stone floor till he’s in his box. His door swings shut with a metal clang. When his large face comes around again, and I feed him a piece of carrot. I make a mental note that tomorrow I’ll have to have the grooms out working under my eyes. I grab the bag of brushes and head towards the corridor where she is standing. Inches from her I look into her green eyes. “What are you thinking, Pusca?” It’s her lips that give in first, and when I regain my breath I laugh “I think I’m a little young to be making out in stables!” I am happy, and I don’t want to admit that it’s because she feels the same pull I do. Pusca walks with me through the corridors of the place. Rounding a corner we look out into the main hall. The music is loud, the wine’s been flowing fast. We both scan the area for danger, and find my husband sitting in his chair. A teenage actor is performing in front of him, and my husbands eyes are locked on the young man’s body. I wonder how his mistress feels, and glance to read her face. The corners are softened, as if she understands my husbands fascination, and I am reminded that I am swimming slowly out of my depth. She leans into the shadows, drawing me back with her. I come to stand caught in her arms, both of us watching my husband. The young man has finished his skit, and is performing his bows. Brown hair flops over his eyes as he bends, while flourishing his right hand in circles. He is wearing a white shirt over red trousers which tighten over his thighs and buttocks as he moves. I can’t make out details of his face, but his lean body betrays no nervousness, or unease. There is no hesitation in his bare feet as he goes to sit at the side of my husbands chair. The entertainment goes on, and I’m getting fed up. I go to move forward but Pusca’s arms tighten, and I wonder at her motives for wanting to stay. “Wait a while” so we stand there, engulfed in the shadows. She starts to play with the hair on the back of my neck, which makes me even more restless. There is movement at the soldiers table, and a man unknown to me rises drunkenly. “Na, why should I sit and watch that?!” The solder’s words are slurred and I feel Pusca’s body tighten. “Why should I be quite, . . .ruled by a boy like that?” I try to judge the age difference between the two men, but it’s hard to see which is older. The soldier looks haggard, the scar running down the side of his face lends him years, but my husband rising from his seat looks the part of a king. This picture is destroyed as his voice quivers “Stefan, hold your tongue!” Pusca shoves me into the light, and the effect is water thrown on a fire. “Sire.” My husband looks from me to Stefan, letting his eyes rest on my face. As he sits down again, he says “Ah, Mary, do come and join us.” I walk over, taking the seat to his left, leaving Pusca standing at the doorway. “Have you eaten? I seem to remember you did not join us for dinner.” He does not wait for an answer, but claps is hands and food is placed in front of me. I scan the hill of meat for any sign of greenery and pick up the crystal glass full of red wine. Pusca sits on my left and leans over me to talk to my husband. I feel like a little child dwarfed by my elders. I lean back into my chair and begin to pick at the food. Once I find a bit of chicken I think of throwing it at the dogs but now Pusca’s mouth is directly in front of me and as it opens in conversation I add the chicken. Her eyes tell me that she even more annoyed with me, but I am past caring. She chews on the meat and turns to look at me, but I’m aware that she is too concerned of not making a scene. I smile sweetly to her, and turn to my husband. “So how was your day, Dear?” I try to make the sarcasm drip. “Oh very tiring, I will have to retire in a moment. I hope you will join me?” “I’d love to, but I need a bath” as I rise to go, my arm is pulled down by my husband. “Stay for a little while longer.” “Sire, I really should change.” My voice is betraying how much I want to leave, and his eyes rolling over my body does nothing to carm me. “But your clothes are so very becoming.” “I smell of horses!” But I know that logic has no place in this conversation, and I look at Pusca for help. Any mercy I could have gained was destroyed by the chicken, and she is enjoying my embarrassment. “We will all retire then!” and he claps his hands, motioning to the actor. I’ve as frozen as a statue and I only move when Pusca takes my hand and leads me after the king. |
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