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The Only One
And the Divine Spirit didst say thusly, unto the wise men,
concerning a young man and woman.
“And shall a young man take his young woman into his newly built house,
And shall both find carnal delight as he sows his seed in her bounty.
And shall his be the plow with which he tills her fertile soil.
And shall his plow be the instrument of her pleasure.
And shall her fertile soil be the instrument of his.”
Thus did the Divine spirit say unto the wise men,
and they did see that it was good and true.
Peace be with you, young man.
A blessing on thy house.
The book of the Divine Spirit, Verse CCX, line 14.
They rutted one of two ways, with almost no alteration.
The first was what she had read was called “The Lover’s Cradle,” and they partook of it almost exclusively in the mornings after the rare nights he slept in her bed. On these few occasions, the same things would happen, like clock-work. They would make love, or fuck, as he called it, in the evening. After finishing, they would fall asleep with her body wrapped in his arms before him. Like spoons, she liked to tease, nestled together in a drawer. Yes, he would reply, though the smaller spoon doesn’t moan so, as you do.
In the morning, she would awake to the feeling of his erection, pressing its way sleepily between her buttocks. Smiling, tired, she would arch and work her rear in such a way as to wiggle his cock closer to her womanhood, brushing past her light blond pubic hair. The tip of his cock would push every so slightly between the lips of her pussy, just enough to stimulate it and begin to moisten its passage. She would move her hips gently, wettening herself further against his stiff erection, until at last he awoke slowly and kissed her back absent-mindedly. Then, she would reach between her legs and guide him inside her, the first thing he felt upon waking his entry into her tightness, and he would proceed to fuck her gently until she reached the “Peak of Sun and Stars,” as she had read that the climax of love making was called.
By some vagary of physiology, he found himself almost incapable of reaching this point himself in the morning, though he assured her that he enjoyed “The Lover’s Cradle” nearly as much as she. One those few occasions he did “come,” as he less poetically called it, she always knew minutes before-hand. He would reach his leg up around hers to gain purchase against the bed, adding depth and power to his thrusts. He increased the tempo greatly, his cock pushing into her tight passage and spreading it around him, and then sliding it back out as her pussy narrowed where he vacated it. Because of the angle of their bodies, and the speed and fervor with which he stroked in and out of her, a small, sharp pain accompanied her growing pleasure. It was as if one part of her womanhood, a small mound on the outside, collected all the pleasure from his lust, and another part, somewhere deeper inside of her, sieved out the smattering of pain. Then, finally, when he came, pulling out of her, she would often still feel her pussy throb in time with the imagined rhythm of his love-making as she felt his hot, sticky seed thrown against her buttocks and back.
From him came a sharp inhalation of breath. A soft moan would soon follow, and she would herself would become greatly excited by his climax. She often, then and there, reached the peak of sun and stars on her own. At that point, the feeling of his seed striking her bare back, his moans, the phantom throb of his cock inside her, and the slight pain of the whole process was all it took to push her over the edge.
She did not mind the pain. True, it forced her to moan as he fucked, escort sincan a major risk as her mother’s guards often patrolled the stairway that lead up to her room in the west tower. But she took to covering her face in blankets or pillows in order to prevent too great a sound from escaping, and they had thus far gone undetected. She even grew to like her muffled moaning, as she learned quickly that it seemed to excite him and make his climax more explosive and pleasurable for both of them. But best about the pain was that it remained with her as a constant, satisfying soreness, sometimes for as long as days at a time.
This soreness was useful, and desirable, because sometimes he was gone for a long time, and it served as a constant, never-too-painful reminder of their secret trysting while he was away.
The other way they rutted, the more common, had no name in the books she had read. He called it simply “rutting like cats.”
Depending on their urgency, they partook of it slowly or quickly, but either way the beginning was the same.
He began to remove his clothes, and as he did, she would slip her undergarments off from beneath her silken dress. She would lay face down on her bed, sometimes with her legs hanging slightly over the edge (bent over, as he said. A variation called “rutting like dogs”), but more often she lay all the way on the bed. He came to her then, naked, his clothes a heap on the floor. She spread her buttocks open with her hands, presenting her flower for him. He would drape her dress to the side, licking her pussy with his tongue and playing with it with his fingers until she was, in his mind, acceptably wet. Then he would enter her from behind, and they would rut until both were exhausted.
When they loved slowly, they would talk. There was little urgency in this, until one came close to the peak of sun and stars and would let the other know by moaning softly. Often, neither came at all, but both simply reveled in the feeling of closeness, of the rightness of it all.
When he did come during their slow love-making, he would tell her he was close by whispering into her ear. She would smile, and as he lifted his cock out of her, she would turn around and slide deftly below it. He would lower back down then, and she took it in her mouth, one of her favorite guilty pleasures. The sight of her virginal lips sliding up and down along his shaft was usually enough to force him to empty his seed into her waiting mouth, where she eagerly swallowed it down as it came. Both feared to have his seed spill inside her womb, as a pregnancy would damn them both. But, secretly, she desperately wanted to know what the spurt of his seed felt like inside her maidenhood, and she took guilty pleasure in feeling him burst in her mouth, as it allowed her to better imagine the feeling of him coming in her womb.
This pleasure was guilty because she knew, even with her limited knowledge of the outside world, that what her books called “fellatio” was dirty. Whores, concubines, women of ill-repute did it. A good, god-fearing noble women would not take her husband’s length inside her mouth, nor would she beg with her tongue for her his seed to erupt upon her tongue as she felt his buttocks clench in her hands, so she might gulp the sticky substance hungrily down.
Nor would a good noble wife’s imagination run wild when, as her new husband’s tongue prepared her maiden-head for love, his fingers meanwhile prodded and explored her anus, her back-passage. She had never thought of this place in terms of sex before her young lover had begun caressing it before their rutting. He had yet to actually push his finger in, but when he was gone, or when he slept next to her, her imagination would take to pondering what it would ankara escort feeling like to have his finger slip inside her rear, or perhaps more than his finger. There was more friction there, it was tighter to be sure. Would it hurt? Yes, she imagined, but so did normal love, sometimes. Would there be pleasure as well? Would it feel different? Perhaps one day she would work up the courage to ask him to try. She knew with a grin he wanted to.
She was being terribly naughty, she knew. This young man was not her husband. He was not even a nobleman’s son, but a wandering, handsome rogue who stole into her chambers one night and had his way with her. But she had been willing. She knew, with a little regret, she was not a “good,” nor a “god-fearing” noble woman. She was a lusting, man-hungry harlot in a noble-woman’s garb.
When they loved quickly, urgently, often times he did not even wait until all his clothes were off. His tunic would remain on, and brush lightly against her back as he stooped low over her, and she would not have had time to removed her undergarments. He simply pulled these to the side, just enough to allow his cock entry. The familiar, pleasing pain came at the beginning, as her pussy had not yet had time to moisten, but because the angle was better, the pain subsided as she grew wetter and wetter with each stroke, until she was moaning unabashedly into her pillow.
When he came like this, it was sudden and explosive. He would pull out of her and place his cock between her buttocks, so that it lay along the length of the crack. His hands would clench her hips and he would buck wildly, fucking between the cheeks, but usually only for a moment, until he burst. His seed leapt out with such force that it left a dappled, pearly trail along the entire length of her back and a small pool below his quivering tip. Sometimes it would have enough force for a few drops to fall into her hair and lay their glistening. But always, he would stoop low and bite the back of her neck as he came. Like cats, he said. When the male comes, he bites the female’s neck so she can’t escape.
Escape, she moaned breathlessly. Why would I ever want to escape that?
She took to living for these bites, day by day. She imagined them vividly on the nights he was gone, touching herself until she reached the peak of Sun and Stars. It was not the same without him. It could never be the same without him.
One night, the evening after her nineteenth birthday, exactly one year after he had begun visiting her, sometime wonderful happened.
They rutted like cats, as usual, slowly, talking as he slid gently in and out of her.
“You shouldn’t have come tonight,” she whispered. “Mother may try to surprise me with another birthday gift. She might find you here.”
“The door is locked,” he moaned. “We’re safe.”
“She-” she gasped, interrupted as his cock pushed deeper inside her and pulled a vein of pleasure along her pussy as it came back out. “She has a key. Eric, she’ll kill you if she finds you. I worry for you.”
He slid himself back down inside her. “She won’t find me, Livia” he said. “I’m clever.”
“I’m serious,” she said, looking back. Her eyes were wide and shining with worry and pleasure, flushed with love. The sight made him increasingly excited, and with a sharp inward breath he could smell the scent of her in the air.
“She tells everyone what will happen if she catches a man in my bed,” Livia continued.
“She’ll kill him, yes,” Eric replied.
“No!” Livia said, more a moan than a word. “She says she’ll have him stripped naked and whipped till the skin on his back is gone. She says she’ll have his eyes plucked out and his lips torn off, and he’ll be gelded and have his fingers broken. Then she’ll etimesgut escort bayan torture him personally for three days with knives, until her soldiers take him from her chambers and parade him in the city as a lady-taker and rogue. And then she’ll just let leave him, bereft and alone, to suffer life as an outcast.”
He suddenly increased the tempo of his strokes, moving from slow love to furiously fast. The quick change surprised her, and she hadn’t time to gather her pillow before a moan escaped unbidden from her lips. It echoed across the room, but she didn’t care. He had never fucked with such intensity before.
“Fuck your mother,” he said, and then, “fuck this tower, fuck this room, fuck being quiet, fuckpulling out.” He stroked deeper and deeper with each curse. “You’remine!”
His hand gripped her hair and tugged it fiercely, the slight pain it caused intensely pleasurable. She felt her climax building. His other hand grasped her hip, and pulled her rear up, allowing him to go deeper inside her. Suddenly, he was gasping, on the edge of his climax, and his hands scrambled desperately for any purchase on her body that would allow his cock to push deeper into her. Her breasts, her shoulders, her hips. She opened her buttocks with her hand and help him go deeper by arching her rear this way and that, her pleasure building to fevered intensity. Before she knew it, he was far deeper inside her than he’d ever been, deeper than she thought possible.
He released then, a spurting orgasm of such force that she could feel his sticky semen strike the inside wall of her pussy. His cock twitched inside her, squirting semen in long, sensuous spurts in time with his heartbeat, so many times she didn’t believe it possible. And it was met, on her part, by an intense tightening. She squeezed his cock with her pussy, and each spurt of his seed was met by her immense, pulsing climax, a peak of sun and stars of such intensity her vision blurred.
Her entire body shook, quivering uncontrollably, impaled on his cock.
As usual, he stooped low, but did not bite her neck. His lips touched her ear, and he whispered:
“You’re worth it, you’re worth it, you’re worth it, you’re worth every bit of it.”
With spasms of pleasure still quaking in her body, she began to weep with joy, and he held her in his arms and kissed her sweating brow.
She was in love.
“I’m in love!” her tears screamed to the world. “I’m in love I’m in love I’m in love!”
There was the only one.
There were many boys who wanted her. Since her flowering, she could feel their eyes on her wherever she walked, the few times her mother let her out of the tower. Stableboys, guards, cooks, visiting nobles. Men, of all kinds, even some few women. She had not known at first how beautiful she was. When she was young their lust-filled eyes had made her timid. But by eighteen, she knew the truth of the old adage “No one truly knows they are attractive until they attract someone.” She was a beautiful young daughter of the nobility.
All these men wanted her, she could practically see them stripping off her clothes with their minds as they watched her walk by. And in her youth, as crazed for men as she was, she would have taken any of them, had they enough daring to come to her.
But only her lover, only Eric, would risk the punishment her mother set. Only he was willing to risk his very life to take her. This, in the end, was why she loved him. Not his handsome face, nor his smooth, muscled body, nor even his consummate skill in bed, the pleasing and generous way that he fucked her.
She loved him for his courage. Because she was worth it to him. Her mere presence was worth death to him. He was the only one. The only one in all the world.
This, in the end, was why she left. Why she ran away, after he stopped coming to her.
She loved him.
She knew, with the certainty that only lovers have-
He was in terrible danger.
He needed her help.
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