Countess's Right

Wedding bells played melodiously the whole afternoon in Elmwood Village while I polished my collar in the silver mirror. I caught a glimpse of my own smile, not a diplomatic one from court, but a private one of simultaneous joy and acknowledgment of the beautiful tradition.

Tonight the ancient right of another bride to my bed would be exercised, giving a chance to raise her lineage, and another chance to assert the distinction which counted for the Countess of Westmere for generations.

"Your ceremonial sword, my lady," said Gregor, my steward, presenting the ornate weapon with practiced deference.

I inclined my head in acknowledgment and took the silver-hilted blade, attaching it to my belt. This sword was largely symbolic, representing futanari noble power throughout the Queendom of Lunaria. Just like all others of my kind presiding over these lands, at my disposal was the strength of a warrior, along with the biological power to produce life-a dual gift that had cemented our sway since before recorded history. "The groom's family?" I asked, pulling on one glove.

"Anxious, as always," Gregor replied, rare amusement in his voice. "Lord Thornfield has apparently been drinking heavily since morning. His son seems resigned to the custom."

I laughed and smoothed my midnight-blue doublet. "As well he should. His bride shall be returned by dawn, though perchance forever altered."

Thus it was with our realm, when a commoner or minor noble married, the ruling futanari of their region had right of first night with the bride. Some called it prima nocta; others, however, called it the Sovereign's Claim. The practice served to inter-mingle our blood with that of the queendom's peoples, thereby strengthening our grip over them with each generation.

The husbands may have resented us, but few would deny that children conceived by futanari seed grew strong, healthy, and often, prosperous.

"Your mount is waiting, Countess," said Gregor, gesturing to the courtyard below my chamber window. "I have taken the liberty of dispatching the traditional gift basket to the bride's preparation chamber."

"Excellent," I said, giving him my full attention. The basket, to calm her nerves, should include a few soothing oils, a bottle of our finest wine, and a small vial of relaxation draught; these were the small courtesies extended to nurture the bride's anticipation of what awaited her. I was not unkind in spite of my claim's so rigorous a nature.

Less than an hour-long journey took me to Elmwood Village, giving me ample time to cherish my lands bathed in golden afternoon light. The fields of ripe wheat sang in the breeze, orchards abundant with summer fruit lined the hillsides, and the occasional peasant would kneel in respect as I passed. My county prospered, thanks to my administration, and I boasted of that prosperity much as I did of the children who were the output of some of my midnight visits; many, now grown, had spread far and wide throughout my domain.

As I neared the center of the village, the celebrations were in full swing. Colorful banners hung from thatch-roofed cottages, musicians were playing lively tunes on their pipes and drums, and the villagers danced with wild abandon--all carefully designed to came to an unceremonious halt on my arrival. The sounding of the horn by the village elder put an end to the merriment, parting the crowd to expose the wedding party.

Lord Thornfield stood with his son, Edwin, the reasonably attractive young man of twenty summers, his face betraying the turmoil of conflicted emotions. Set beside him was Miranda, his beloved bride, with hues of honey-golden hair and that figure that not even her modest wedding gown could conceal adequately. Her eyes grew wider as they met mine, that blend of fright and curiosity I had seen far too many times.

I smoothly dismounted, all movement practiced and deliberate. With my towering stature of six feet, I was a good five inches or more taller than most women and barely shorter than a bevy of men in these grounds. My dark hair was cut short in the current fashion of futanari nobility, the strong lines of my jaw being thus accentuated, and the emerald sparkle in my eyes being very pronounced. I took the liberty of dressing differently from the usual-wearing women of the realm in fitted men's attire that accommodated my dual nature while observing the elegance requisite for my rank.

"Thornfield," I said with a guarded nod. "Young Edwin. I come to honor your family's celebration and to fulfill the ancient custom."

Lord Thornfield bowed stiffly, hiding somewhat less than his disdain. "Countess Aleksandria. We are... honored by your presence."

I now turned toward the bride, stepping slowly toward her. Close-up, Miranda seemed only more lovely, with her fair complexion, clear blue eyes, and a trembling mouth as I took her hand.

"Gentle bride," I said softly, only for her to hear. "Tonight, thou shalt perform two duties: one to thy husband, which thou hast sworn already; and one to thy countess, which shall be paid ere dawn."

Her curtsy was determinedly steady, perhaps to convince "I have accepted my duty, Your Grace."

The ceremony per se was brief yet filled with tradition. I broke bread with the newlyweds; I drank from his cup, and I bade run silver medallions, etched with my family crest, for their protection, so that if a child were ever born of this union, it would be definitely under my guardianship. Edwin maintained a perfectly straight face through the short ritual; and yet his knuckles turned white when I pressed my seal to his bride's wrist, an impression in red wax that temporarily declared my claim.

It was creating an atmosphere as the sunset waters, so I stood, I arose from the feast: "I am retreating to the chamber prepared for me," I said to the wedding party, not looking at Miranda but at the air above her head, "she will join me once the moon climbs over the eastern hill."

The dates, as so often, were proper--allowing the couple some precious hours together before the claim of the countess was exercised. Grooms would use this interval for a quick consummation, an exercise in futility since the futanari seed would always take precedence over any preceding coupling. Some grooms, however, would spend their teeth-clenching moments with Edwin in deep sorrow and desperate embrace, awaiting the moment when the bride would be handed to another.

The room set aside for me was the finest in the village, being on the upper floor of the elder's house, newly cleansed and fragrant with wildflowers and candles. A large bed with fine linens dominated the room, and beyond a screen, a bath was prepared. Upon a small table rested my gift basket, unopened.

My hours of waiting were filled with the study of county documents I had brought along with me: tax records and land improvement proposals requiring my attention. Ruling was not a matter of all pleasure and privilege; responsibility accompanied my rights. When the faraway church bell struck the hour, I put away my papers and prepared for Miranda's arrival.

Off came my formal doublet and ceremonial sword, followed by the boots and belt. The fine linen shirt I wore underneath would stay on till the arrival of the bride; small courtesies counted in such delicate dealings. I called for wine and poured two glasses from the basket, putting a few drops of relaxation draught into one. Not enough to cloud her mind, just enough to relieve some tension.

Soft knocks sounded at the door, upon which I called for her to enter. Miranda appeared at the threshold, still in her wedding gown but sans her crown. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, and her reddened eyes told a story of recent tears, whether of fear, bitterness, or some ambivalent goodbye farewell to her new husband, I could not say.

"Do come in, Miranda," I said, gesturing to the chair opposite mine. "This night need not be unpleasant for either of us."

She closed the door behind her and came forth with a surprising earnestness. "My mother explained what would happen," she said, her voice steadier than I had expected. "She bore a child of Countess Marielle, your predecessor."

I was happy to hear such information. "Then you understand that it is not merely tradition but the very strengthening of our realm: progenies of my line grow mighty and capable." I handed a cup of prepared wine to her. "This shall help with any discomfort she may experience."

Miranda, after taking a sip of wine, looked directly into my eyes. "Will my husband be allowed to raise the child as his own?"

"Of course," I answered. "Though the child will carry the mark of my protection and may, if they possess certain qualities, be called to serve at my court when they reach maturity." I motioned to the bath behind the screen. "Would you care to bathe first? It really helps most brides to prepare."

She nodded, downing whatever wine she had left in one single stiff swallow, much to my surprise. "I think I'd like that."

The rumble of her wedding gown dropping onto the floor came to me as she disappeared behind the screen. It stirred the very first hints of desire within me-a reaction I now had learned to curb but never quite suppress. Whereas some of my fellow futanaris agedly tackled pleasure or simply denied it to their partner, I insisted upon reasons to claim those nights beyond mere rigmarole.

"Shall I disrobe now?" she asked almost subliminally.

"Not yet," I told her, stepping behind her while collecting her wet hair in my hands. "No need for haste. Dawn, after all, was at least many hours away."

Slowly, I dried her hair, standing so close to her that she could feel the warmth radiating from my body. Futanari nobles were trained since childhood in courtship and seduction-not simply for sheuring pleasure but because it formed part of ruling. If a bride could experience pleasure on the wedding night, she would be less resentful toward the child bred therefrom-the concerned bride would never speak ill of the ruling noble within her community.

With the hair merely damp instead of wet, I turned her toward me. "Now, you shall help me take off my clothes," I said, immediately guiding her hands to the fastenings of my linen shirt.

Her fingertips trembled slightly as she did off the buttons, to reveal a fitted binding compressing my breasts beneath. Unlike some futanaris who boldly flaunt their only dual aspect in everything, I tend to keep the lines sleek while dressed--though behind closed doors, not one bit of my unique self is hidden.

As the shirt came off, Miranda's gaze widened a bit. Under my direction, the cloth of the binder came off, revealing breasts that, while nowhere near as full and round as hers, are certainly feminine. Her sight trailed down to the fitted breeches concealing the other face of my dual being that was already responding to her proximity with barely concealed interest.

"You may continue," I encouraged her, smiling faintly while she gathered courage to undo the laces of my breeches.

As the garment loosened, I let her push it down onto my hips while her wide-eyed gaze took in my entire nature. Like all futanari, I possessed complete reproductive organs of both sexes. However, it was the prominent phallus demanding attention at the moment-it was larger than that of most men, a thick shaft of bulgy veins visibly pulsating with my arousal. The head was broader and more defined than a mere male organ, with a slight but present iridescence distinguishing futanari from common men. Below it hung the large scrotum that contained the power of my lineage-swollen, heavy spheres visibly cradling the potent seed that would very much be at home in any fertile woman.

"It's... much larger than I expected," whispered Miranda, almost in fear, as she stared at my naked form.

I smiled reassuringly. "Your body will take me in." With some preparation, this is why we do not rush. I reached for the ties of her bathing sheet. "May I?"

Nodding in response, I undid the simple knot, letting the damp linen slip off her and surrendering her to the world. She truly was graced by feminine beauty-full breasts with pink nipples that tightened with exposure to the fresh air, a narrow waist flaring to broad hips, and soft golden curls between her thighs, hiding almost nothing of her secret treasures.

"Beautiful," I whispered, slowly circling around her to take in her form from every angle. "Your husband will truly be a lucky man to have such a bride--though, for now, he must share her for a single night."

I then led her toward the bed and arranged her therein against the pillows, before positioning myself beside her. Contrary to some persons of noble quality who would have followed some fleeting gratification with an ignoble departure, I firmly believed in establishing a memory--one that could be recalled with astonishment and laughter in the good years to come.

"I will touch you now," I said, my hand floating just above her skin. "If any kind of pain or fear should present itself, you must tell me. This is my right tonight, yet I do not wish to bring pain to you."

Starting from the throat, my fingers made their way delicately along her collarbone, traveling downward to cup a breast. The softness of her skin and the firmness underneath made my palm caress gently as her nipple stiffened; the flesh was so tender I gave it a gentle massage. Miranda's breathing grew faster; her eyes half-closed as I proceeded with the exploration.

"Surprisingly, many brides find pleasure in this night," I told her while slowly descending down her smooth stomach, my voice growing low and soothing. "Your body was made to respond to touch, regardless of who provides it."

Miranda gasped under my touch near the juncture of her thighs, a little sound that spoke of her limited experience, even with her new husband. I eased my way with slow motion, parting soft folds to find the elusive bud inside, which was already responding to my gentle circular movements with increased wetness.

The care was extended as I watched her face change from apprehension to a gradual realization of pleasure. They started to subtly grind against my hand, seeking more pressure and touch. When I fingered her finally, the thin membrane of her maidenhood confronts me halfway, showing some activity by her husband during their brief time, but not full consummation yet.

"He tried to claim you first," I said without anger. "And oftentimes it is so, but it changes nothing. Futanari seed will never be denied."

"He wanted something to be his alone," Miranda whispered, opening her eyes to look at me with defiance and growing desire. "But we hadn't much time before..."

"Before you were called to your countess's bed," I finished for her. "I understand the sentiment if I do not honour it. Tonight you belong to me by ancient right and tomorrow you return to him as his wife. Such is the way of our realm."

I continued my ministrations, now using two fingers and increasing pace until her ragged breath and trembling thighs announced the arrival of release. Just before her climax, I pulled away, garnering a slight whine she tried to suppress instantly.

"There are other experiences before that one," I told her as I slid up, kneeling between her parted thighs. I was very proud of my arousal, the veined shaft visibly pulsing on each heartbeat, the broad head glistening with the first drops of my excitement. "But first, tradition decrees you pay homage to that which shall soon claim you."

Her eyes widening, Miranda seemed to be waking up to perception as she looked at my impressive endowment. "You want me...?"

"Usually, in the presence of noble power, the bride acknowledges it before being fully joined with the nobleman," I said as I brought my face closer to hers. "Outer joining has a lubricating effect that happens naturally, so it makes what follows easier."

Little by little, Miranda rose up on her elbows, bringing her face just about level with my throbbing shaft. From this close vantage point, she could see an intricate network of veins that wrapped around the great length. There was a faint glimmer in the vast head that set futanari apart, and a heavy, pendulous sack sitting just below, violently churning out seed to carry on my bloodline.

"I... I don't know how," she confessed faintly.

"Start with a kiss," I urged softly. "Follow your instincts thereafter."

Nervously, Miranda leaned forward and gave a tentative kiss to the side of my shaft. That contact triggered powerful waves of pleasure along the length of my rod, making it twitch almost involuntarily. Her kisses gained momentum, and she kissed along my shaft gently before carefully licking the smooth skin.

"Yes, very good," I praised as I tried coaxing her with one hand through her golden hair. "Take the head between your lips."

With wide-eyed concentration, Miranda obeyed, her soft lips parting to engulf the broad head of my aroused member. The pumps of pleasure from the warmth and wetness of her mouth sent waves through me, tightening my swollen testes visibly below.

"I want your tongue," I directed now hoarse with desire. "And your hands on everything that doesn't fit in there."

My instructions were followed with remarkable heedfulness, with her tongue exploring the sensitive underside while her small hands wrapped around the considerable shaft that would not fit into her inexperienced mouth.

The contrast of her golden beauty against my more imposing form created a timeless tableau of submission that satisfied ancient proscriptions while giving real joy.

"Now attend to the source of my lineage," I ordered, pointing downward. "Show proper reverence to that which will soon fill you."

There was a flicker of momentary confusion on Miranda's face before the comprehension dawned. With delicate motions, she let her attention sink onto the weighted sac hanging beneath my shaft, filled to the brim with the seed that likely would quicken within her before dawn.

Her kisses increased in confidence as she learned to her pleasure how such attention was affecting me; my breathing deepened, and above her steady hands, my shaft grew even firmer.

"Completely full," she uttered in wonder, her hands cradling with reverence the weight of my gonads. "I can feel the movement inside."

"Of my bloodline," I echoed, savoring her stroke and enjoyment of the growing wonder. "Completely prepared to assure that the line of my being may pass through you."

The machines of filling the empty void her hands and mouth moving with spiraling motions in between my shaft and swollen sac fastly became an impatient lure of arousal.

I could have allowed it to end in her mouth, as some nobles liked their first taking, but I preferred the completion of the joining in tradition. Gently, yet firmly, I withdrew her from her ministrations and pushed her back against the pillows.

"You have done this homage," I said, sliding between her parted thighs, "Now the ancient right will be fulfilled."

The pulsing tip, smeared with the impediments of my arousal and her attentions, pressed against her entrance, something too large to be comfortably coped with by her body. Miranda's eyes went wide with fresh apprehension as she felt the enormous pressure lining up at her gates to enter."

"Breathe deeply," I told her as I stayed still against her. "Your body will accept me. The moment you fight, it's when tension and discomfort arise."

She nodded. Although visibly struggling to relax, I was finally able to start joining our bodies together. The first push encountered resistance. Her body was tight against my considerable size despite all of the preparation. I withdrew halfway before pushing again, working my way slowly into her welcoming heat, establishing a nice, gentle rhythm in the process.

"Good," I praised as her body gave more. "You're doing well, Miranda."

Afterward, when the moment of discomfort came the moment my size came fully into her partial maidenhood. Miranda cried out softly as her fingers dug themselves into the bedsheets. I stopped immediately so that her body could adjust to the new fullness.

"The impasse is momentary," I comforted, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead with unanticipated tenderness. "Breathe through it."

True to my promise, her expression relaxed, as the sharpest pain faded away. When I felt her going limp around me, I filled her up again, gliding gently the last few strokes until I came fully seated within her--our bodies conjoined to the greatest extent. The enjoyment arising from that union was huge, her tight warmth stroaking feelings that ignited a primeval satisfaction.

Starting to move within her, slowly setting a paced rhythm, Miranda's discomfort visibly metamorphosed into something else. Her breath quickened again.

Uncertain hands went up to my shoulders and then slid to my back, as if looking for something she could grasp against the growing sensations. I changed the angle slightly to make sure every thrust would stimulate the sensitive spots I had located earlier.

The chamber filled with the very sounds of our joining the rhythmic slap, deep-thrust one after another, of my swollen gonads against her. This, coupled with wet sounds of her body accepting my considerable girth, and her verbal responses, which were steadily growing in volume as she struggled to suppress.

With every heavy slam, my sac would swing forward to audibly slapping against her tender flesh in a most primal beat that heralds the delivery of my seed.

"Many find their first time with a futanari to be... memorable," I said, my voice now heavy with lust. "We are uniquely formed to provide what others cannot."

As we continued our mating, she begged in all innocence at first, but her gasps soon deepened into moans as her body adjusted to transforming what pain there had been into waves of pleasure.

The hot embrace around my shaft was exquisite, and the sheer sight--the smaller form of her accepting the larger endowment of mine, something that should have been an insult to her, yet with posterior glee was an insult to none--was the satisfaction of an instinct common to the nobler sort of futanari.

When she began to tightly clench her inner muscles around my presence-signaling release, I reached between our bodies to assist her. I circled the sensitive nub just above our joining with skilled fingers.

"Allow yourself to feel everything," I told her as she worked herself into ever-more furious movements beneath me. "This night comes but once in a lifetime, so take whatever it wishes to give you."

When finally being claimed by her release, the cry was muffled against my shoulder: a shuddering and gasping surrender, contracting her body around my shaft with rhythmic pulses. The feeling hit me in the same way, nearing my own climax; my tormenting self-control finally breaking under this primal need to finish our act of joining."

With more than a few deep thrusts, I filled my heat one last time as pleasure burned inside me, arching my back in the moment of release. The pleasure was long and persistent, spawning the rhythmic spurts of my deeply planted seed within her, seemingly without end.

From each spurting pulse emanated my thick swelling gonads, visibly contracting and emptying their profuse load upon her fertile depths far beyond any common human could ever boast. Still, I was fully sunk inside her as I relinquished my ancient duty, leaving not a single drop to waste.

The feel of my seed flooding her depths brought out a smaller release from Miranda; her body so instinctively responded to the potent delivery with welcoming contractions intended to ease the path to conception.

For long moments, we remained fully joined as my shaft still pulsed a few diminishing spurts of seed and her entire body trembled in aftershocks of pleasure.

Upon my withdrawal, I witnessed a stream of pearly seed trickling down her."So much had been delivered that her body could not contain it all;" it was another example of futanari nobility-the means by which nature had intended for us to make sure the successful continuation of our bloodlines.

"Rest now," I said, almost tenderly pulling a thin cover over her nakedness. "But do not sleep too deeply. The night is young, and one joining rarely ensures conception. My right continues until dawn."

Indeed, the very sensation had registered bodily preparation for repetition; confirmed were the few uncrossed paths of the futanari manifestation for multiple couplings with little window for recovery. I was already thinking of having her at least two more times within the night in order to ensure the continuation of my bloodline through her womb.

As Miranda lay down in post-coital lethargy, I filled our glasses with water from the pitcher beside the bed; my thoughts began drifting to the prospects of succession. My seed hardly ever failed to take root, especially in young and healthy ladies such as this.

In nine months from now, there will probably be a child of my bloodline born into this world, to be raised by Edwin and Miranda but marked forever as one sired by none other than the Countess of Westmere.

The night was set before us, full of primal purpose and continuation of traditions that had once been set into motion by the passing of centuries in our realm. At my own right of prima nocta, I would see that there were children sired to carry on the name; one bride, one night, one living heir.