Pulchria

Notes: This is set in something between a historical and a fantasy world, and the main character is bound by noxious and pervasive misogynistic social norms. She gets her own, in her own way, but this isn't a fantasy where a woman gets to have everything she wants and deserves. Maybe next time I'll write that? :-P Also, since I'm told some readers are specific about such things, note that there's a little bit of very unsatisfying M/F early on, but only in the context of a building F/F attraction and relationship. You can safely skip it.

Pulchria

From the first moment she'd arrived in Pulchria, Queen Belle was glad she'd accompanied her husband the King on this diplomatic trip. Theirs was a marriage of alliance, and most of her days in their castle were spent sitting in cold, stone halls, trying to think of additions to her wardrobe she could get the seamstresses to create, finding new ways to be more-elegant-than-thou when other ladies attended the court. She wore satin, taffeta, and crepe, and brocades of silk and gold, set at angles and curves and shapes that were often geometric with starch, her crinoline extending out into the room, making it clear that the spaces in which she stood were the important ones (though her body itself was thin). She was a master of this game--anything to relieve the boredom. She probably didn't even really care much about the fashion itself. But she definitely didn't care about nothing, and this elegance was at least something, and she was good at it.

When their traditional allies over their northern border had been invaded by Pulchria with its woman warriors, Belle found herself inwardly rooting for Pulchria, wishing they'd invade her country, too, and just get rid of these obnoxious men who surrounded her, razing this boring castle to the ground. She was just a gift exchanged for an alliance, a foreigner, what did she care? But the reality was that as the queen, a violent transfer of power was likely to be dangerous. When she heard that the army was close to her country's borders, she was afraid. But though her husband the king may have been inattentive, he was no idiot. Rather than defending their northern allies, he smelled the opportunity of a new alliance with a bigger power, and he sent his admiring congratulations to Tara, Queen of Pulchria, with vague implications of some future service.

And so, once the war died down, Belle and the king took a carriage to Pulchria, and while the king talked incessantly with his advisor, acting as though Belle wasn't present at all, she listened to the creak of the wheels and the clip clop of the horses and drew back the little red curtain, watching the foggy green hills roll past them as they made their way. When they arrived, they were immediately greeted with diplomatic fanfare, whisked off to a luncheon on a table arrayed with enough honey and coriander and meats and aspics to impress anybody. Players had come into the castle (an all female cast portraying men and women characters alike), and that night they'd put on a little play. Nobody would actually mention the alliance for a week.

She wouldn't have called the play a masterpiece. There was a war, and some peasant girl lost her family as her manor was overrun by strong woman warriors. (Not officially Pulchria, but it was a little obvious wasn't it?) The peasant girl was taken as a slave (it was ostensibly a less progressive country or era or whatever), but she escaped right as they'd pulled into the central town. The whole play was full of her performing clever bureaucratic tricks on everyone, making contracts with double meanings, that sort of thing. She wondered what this seeming self-deprecation of Pulchria meant. But then again, these little mock victories did not actually diminish the sense of its power. At one point the peasant girl seduced a cinnamon merchant--a man (played by a woman)--and that was quite a scene to behold. The Pulchrians had no compunctions about nudity on stage, apparently, and the peasant girl wriggled around on her knees on a prop bed, naked, topless, her big tits rolling around wildly with her exaggerated mock gyrations. Her seducee was there below her, naked but with a skin colored cloth binding her ("his") chest, saying "oh, oh, oh" in a comically lowered voice. All the while, the smell of cinnamon wafted over the audience from the prop sack. Belle didn't know what it was about the scene, poorly performed as it was, but it really turned her on.

The play had the same effect on her husband, too, apparently, as that night a chambermaid showed him into Belle's room. In the darkness, without a word, he pulled down his pants and pulled up her shift. Belle quickly spat on her hand and moistened her pussy before he could shove it in there dry, then pinched her nipple hard to try and get herself working quickly. He banged her forcefully, really horny apparently, shoving the royal dick deep into her, and pushing, pushing. She ignored the initial discomfort, squeezed her nipple harder, and imagined the scene from the play, those wild tits rolling around. Then she imagined that she was the peasant girl, or the actor, or something, there on top, gyrating wildly in front of an audience, with the man/girl below her, and maybe the girl had a cock to push into her but her imagination was not consistent, and she was grinding on that body, stance wide to accommodate the wide hips below her. In the here and now, the discomfort had finally lost to the pleasure, and she angled herself to direct the unusual energy of the royal cock at a bundle of nerves, gasping with every pointed thrust of his hips. She had just started to feel the energy building in her chest when she heard a little grunt and all the action stopped. Ever the gentleman, the king thanked her and knocked for the chambermaid to take him back to his room. "Oh well," thought Belle, and reached to touch herself. She drew her finger along the slit, alone in the darkness, feeling the wetness of her own desire. Then she began rapidly flicking around her swollen clit while brushing down over the sensitive lips of her opening until she came, quietly gasping into the pillow. Through the night, she slept fitfully, waking every few hours feeling like the air was heavy in her chest, her skin prickling and sensitive. She then masturbated before returning to sleep, imagining that she had bigger tits that could really roll around for an audience, and that as she pushed down on the cock or reached her fingers into the woman below her, she would cry "oh oh oh" in a deep voice, a voice filled with so much more honest pleasure than the bad actor could possibly have conveyed.

* * *

Belle had met the queen, Tara, on that first day, as she had joined them for the lunch and the play, but it had all been "splendid castle" this and "your majesty's fine lands" that, and nothing really of substance was spoken between them. But the next morning Tara insisted on giving her a tour, alone and separately from her husband the king "to spend some time as ladies"--probably to convey to the king his unremarkable status in her large and frequently changing court, or Belle had thought so anyway at first. She smiled at the way Queen Tara was able to toy with her husband. The King would be annoyed, but he was shrewd enough to realize he was the lesser power seeking the alliance here.

Tara brought her to the garden, planted on a hill in an inner courtyard. Everything was green with sprays of little white orange blossoms, purple wisteria hanging off trellised arches, and soft river rock interspersed with tiny blue forget-me-nots forming the path. Rather than a single towering expression of wealth, as in Rome, the garden was filled with many smaller, modest fountains, quietly burbling and tinkling to accent the occasional chirp of a bird. The sun shone bright, and as Tara climbed up the hill in front of her, striding with the power of ten thousand Pulchrian soldiers in each toe, Belle noticed just how finely woven the fabric of Tara's green dress was, as the sunlight brought out the curved shape of two strong legs. Each shadow overlapped at the top with a perfect arc, and a gap of light in between. She was beautiful, Belle thought, and the direct way she stepped in that simple dress made everything that Belle was wearing--even with the much reduced crinoline for the garden stroll--seem like excess rather than poise.

Tara asked about Belle's kingdom, and Belle found herself describing her comparably drab castle. She felt self-conscious doing so, but the words flowed out. Tara listened conscientiously, asking her questions as if Belle's little gossipy world of elegance and isolation was a matter of vital importance. As they talked, Tara strode at her side, just an eighth of a step in front of her, and Belle listened to the swish of her dress and the confident motion of strong, shapely legs that it implied. They kept a little distance between them, but every now and then their skirts would touch in a waft of air, as if these fabrics knew and participated in a freer community where touch was frequent and uncomplicated.

It was at that point that Tara looked at Belle with what could only be described as a mischievous expression, and asked her if she wanted to see the pleasure room.

"The... what?" Belle swallowed, not sure how it was that she was having this conversation.

"I don't mean to disrespect your country's traditions, whatever they are, but in Pulchria we aren't squeamish about women getting all the pleasures life has for laid out for us. It's entirely up to you."

"Um, but, just, what is it?" Belle stammered.

"Oh, Belle. Just follow me," and Tara's face glowed with a sweet smile for one moment before she turned.

Belle followed.

* * *

In the antechamber, a chambermaid started disrobing them both. Belle's heart was beating rapidly. It seemed that this was really happening. Belle looked over at Tara. When her corset came off, it revealed the softest tits, drooping perfectly and complementing her almond eyes, black hair, and olive skin. Belle herself barely had any bodice to speak of, or anyway it was all whale bones and silk. Her hair, reddish brown like the fiery leaves of Autumn, was worn in a tight, elaborate bun her maids had devised, and now the long tendrils of hair that had been left out to frame her face were sitting next to her nipples on her slight, rounded chest. Fully naked, looking over at Tara, she noticed her cunt was hairless, feeling self conscious for looking, but letting her heart skip a few beats before averting her eyes. It was so defined this way, an economical slit contrasting with her soft body. She wondered if this was something she'd had done, or whether all the ladies of this country looked like this. Her own bush had never been trimmed, but was still light and modest, with a bit more red than the auburn of the hair on her head.

While they were being undressed, Tara had been explaining to Belle about the special tile they had used for the room, as strong as iron, not remotely self-conscious about her increasingly bare body. Now that they were naked, Tara came close to her, closer than Belle expected, until Tara's body was brushing up against her. Warm. Skin touching skin. Belle felt a little shiver in the small of her back. Tara leaned in and smiled, whispering "follow me" and stepped ahead of her. Belle felt the chill of the room return with the absence and found herself wishing Tara had moved even closer to her instead, covering her all over with that soft body. She shook the thought away, unwilling to think through its implications just yet. Anyway, she quickly followed Tara through the doorway, and felt a blast of warmth and steam on the other side.

The mosaicked tiles were beautiful, just as promised, but when Belle recounted the room she couldn't have said what patterns they made. Of course what she noticed were all the little holes with lips fashioned out of some kind of marble or very smooth plaster, and out of the darkness of the holes, human tongues came up, squirming around. "Um... wha..." she said, unmoving from where she stood.

"Oh Belle," said Tara--it was the second time she had oh-Belled her and Belle found her usual headstrong offense more than tempered by a fascination for this woman who was able to make her feel so small--"Oh Belle, there are no rules here. You can do whatever you want. What-ev-er. But take your time, there's no rush here, either. Whenever you're ready. OK?"

Tara turned away from her, and Belle found herself admiring her backside, with her rounded hips with little dimples above them. Then Tara bent fully over--a little acrobatically, really--and let one of her tits dangle into a hole set on a bench. Inadvertently--was it inadvertent?--she put her pussy on full display, right in front of Belle, and Belle found herself thinking of how soft her body had been next to her just a moment ago, and how that silky skin continued uninterrupted all around her and then right into this hole, with slightly parted lips, like an endless river of satin to slide your fingers and arm along and... She interrupted the thought with a renewed awareness. Belle listened to Tara, who was making little "mmm" noises as the tongue circled her nipple. Nothing excessive, just little "mmms" repeated.

Tara shifted her body to let the other tit into the hole, and her vulva squirmed vertically. Belle felt her breasts grow heavy and sensitive, and the moistness that had been developing inside of her began to brim the surface of her cunt and wick onto the soft hair around it. Still nervous, she decided that really she had to start. What kind of person just sits around watching in a room like this? What imagination and power, to make this room, to draw, well, whoever these tongues belonged to, from around the kingdom. Or queendom, she guessed. Unable to bend so low, and having not much to dangle, she'd have to lay down on the warm tile. Nervous, unwilling to go any faster than her companion, she carefully plotted a space without tongues, and put her nipple next to a hole. The warm tongue came out of it and circled around her areola, then gradually started flicking the cylinder of her nipple itself, now rock hard. With each flick, pleasure moved through her body in accented waves, like a rowboat knocking against a dock on a choppy day. She wordlessly drew in a little air. This place was so fucking magic. She let her nervousness recede a little, and felt her body melting with the pleasure, the anticipation, the presence of the queen, everything, the whole of Pulchria.

Looking over, Tara had moved, placing her back against a wall, letting her legs part slightly as she lifted her right foot and extended her pointed toes towards a tongue. She moved her foot back and forth, letting the tongue lick around and between each and every toe, then pushed half her foot into the hole, letting those inner, human lips engulf each toe and suck on it. She let out a long, relaxed and satisfied mmmmm at this.

Watching her, Belle thought her feet were beautiful and shapely, but found herself following them up the curved calves, the soft, strong thighs, to their conclusion at the slightly parted lips of Tara's vulva. The tongue by Belle's nipple was flicking it as she watched, sending little periodic shocks down her body. Belle again followed Tara's lead, looking behind her and repositioning her toes to find a hole without moving her tit from the hole next to it. As she did this, she turned on to her belly and pushed her nipple down into a welcome mouth that sucked on it, pulling it between pressed together lips. She also inadvertently put her pussy right above a hole, and as a tongue licked it up and down, she stifled a yelp of surprise and began to breathe heavily.

The nerves firing like this, before she had prepared herself, gave her an overwhelming array of sensations, and she rolled over. Not that they weren't pleasant and welcome sensations, but just--not yet. Lying on her back now she sat up, and discovered she'd rolled right onto another hole. Her cheeks spread slightly in her sitting position, a tongue was licking around the button of her ass. This... this was pretty alright, Belle decided. The whole thing was an absurd and beautiful game.

While Belle relaxed and let the soft tongue tenderly lick her ass, she watched Tara get into full swing. Tara had positioned her hips over two adjacent holes, one leg in front and the other behind, moving the whole of her pussy from tip to tip, lingering and pressing down to get the tongue inside her. She was so comfortable with this, so nonchalant about Tara's presence in this intimate moment, maybe even encouraged by Belle's gaze. Every moan Tara made, Belle felt that moan inside her, in her body three inches above her clit, vibrating with the sound waves as they touched abdomen, a warm bellows stoking a furnace. An ache grew inside her. She watched the little contortions of Tara's face, with her black hair messy around her shoulders. The opening wide of her mouth, the squinting of her almond eyes, the glisten of sweat on her cheeks. Right in front of her. Right there.

Watching Tara, Belle responded to the ache, wanting her own pussy to be licked. She leaned forward slightly, pulling her legs beside her in a kneeling position, and pushed her now dripping red bush against the hole. The tongue below her was gentle and knowing, beginning around the edges, and gradually working its way to the hole, where it plunged in and pushed itself in and out. Belle gasped. It was so long and strong. She wondered if the person to whom it belonged knew they were licking the pussy of a queen, and whether that titillated or scared them. Probably a bit of both, she decided.

She leaned further, moving the tongue to the top of her pussy, and the tongue moved through the folds of her labia, circling her clit. This lean brought her face only about 20cm from Tara's. Whoops? she couldn't really sustain the notion that this closeness hadn't been a part of the idea. As Belle felt the tongue flick her clit, she was so full of electric pleasure, watching this woman in front of her work her body. Tara had her eyes closed, oblivious, with an expression of intense focus. She was moving precisely, getting the tongue to just the right place, holding her breath, then letting it out, holding it again, scrunching up that beautiful face. Then she let her voice go, and her gasp became a noise that plunged upwards. Tara moved as fast as she could over the tongue, then pushed it inside her, and her legs trembled a little as she came.

Beads of sweat covered Tara's soft tits and Belle wanted to feel their warmth and wetness and softness. Fuck it, she'd said "what-ev-er," hadn't she? Her heart beating even faster--but how was that possible?--Belle leaned forward and cupped Tara's cheek, meeting lip to lip in a gentle kiss. Tara's eyes flew open in surprise, but then she smiled and reached her head over to kiss Belle's neck. As Belle rocked her pussy over the tongue below, she let her hand wander lower, feeling Tara's immeasurably soft olive-toned boob in her hands, feeling around the little brown nipple. With her lean, she'd angled her pussy just right, and the tongue below her slid deep, then rapidly lapped at her clit. Tara bit gently on her ear, then brought her lips to hers, and Belle found herself moaning into her mouth as she came.

Without a word, Tara stood up, and Belle could see her pussy, blushed with excitement, there right next to her lips. But Tara drew her up by the hand. Belle followed her dark brown eyes, unable to look away, until Tara turned in a flurry of dark, sweaty hair and led Belle back to the antechamber. A maid powdered them and dressed them, buttoning on the crinoline, the petticoats and skirts, the stomacher and coat and hennin that Belle had worn into the antechamber, her starched, angular fashion which somehow seemed so much more ridiculous than it had before.

Tara spoke in a manner as comfortable putting on the formalisms of office as she had just been setting them aside: "Lovely to spend time with you Belle. I'll see you at dinner," and she turned with a slight swish of her thin, green dress, leaving Belle, dismissed, watching her stride away (the power of her walk! the little involuntary sway of her hips!), with the chambermaid quietly saying "your majesty?... your majesty?" then bowing slightly and leading Belle back to her room when she at last reluctantly broke her stare and responded.

Back in her room, Belle ordered the chambermaid off with an excuse about feeling tired. What had just happened? Was that real? She rubbed the fingers of her right hand against the thumb in a little circular motion, staring at them, letting the fingertips remember what it was like to touch--specifically what it was like to touch Tara's soft breast. She pictured herself kissing Tara again, and remembered how she had moaned into her mouth, giving this barbarian queen her orgasm, pouring it into her mouth, as if she could feast on it like any of her other conquests.

Disrobing and slipping under the covers of her bed, she let her left hand find her nipple, and her right drift down to her pussy, wet again (or still?). She imagined beautiful lips and a tongue, pushing its way softly inside her, moving up and holding her clit, but this time she knew exactly to whom that tongue belonged, those imagined deep brown eyes staring up at her from below, over her naked, writhing body.

She came quickly and then really did fall asleep, there on the pillow. She dreamed of a huge, maned lion, knocking her on the ground with a flick of its nose. Tumbling helplessly under the beast, the lion trampled her and licked at her with its enormous tongue, shoving her clothes aside like scraps of tissue paper. She was frightened, seeing its great teeth a few centimeters from her face, hearing the rumble of its voice, as it pinned her to the ground with its enormous weight, licking with its huge cat tongue up her neck and cheek. Then the fear became something else, and the lion's head was below her wet and naked body, heaving its breath at her in slow, hot gusts that rolled over her belly, as she opened up her legs.

* * *

A knock pulled Belle back to consciousness. "Time for dinner, your majesty." The chambermaid entered, helped her into an ornately embroidered but modestly sized dinner gown, and led her down the corridor.

At the table, she sat at the left of her husband, across from a prince from the lands south of hers. To the right of her husband was Cada, Tara's favorite knight, who was picking up bits of steak with her hands when she thought no one was looking, while her black, unbrushed hair hid her face. Next to Cada was Tara, and Belle felt this separation of two persons was altogether too much. Belle angled her chair slightly to her right, not enough for anyone to notice, just so her looks at Tara could seem more natural.

Tara was coiffed in elegance, her hair braided with lace and flowers and diamond silver pins that formed a crown that was half a part of her. As the light from candles above her reflected on the diamonds, Tara spoke with the flow of an aqueduct, even and effortless and without texture. The formal Tara, not the other Tara that Belle now knew. Still, she was framed in a radiance that told all but the least observant just how much more of this woman there had to be. Belle's husband, the King, had just said something inane about silver mines, and Tara started to explain to him, unbidden, about the dangers of debasing one's currency. Even with this polite nothing, she worked her power.

Across from Belle, Prince Whatever was making eyes at her when the King wasn't looking. And when he was looking, the prince would push his peas on to the back of his fork with a ridiculous expression of intense focus. How on earth could he think this vapid stupidity would be the way to win her? Still, Belle felt desired, desirable, an abstract quality that might transfer to someone else, perhaps someone who headed the table, someone that Belle watched, perched as she was two seats away behind a king and a knight. Prince Whatever upped the game, reaching at Belle with his stupid cloth-booted toe, and Belle drew back slowly, leading him forward, then brought her heel down hard while smiling toward Tara. Hiding the yelp, the prince started coughing uncontrollably, then drank some water from the pitcher. Why yes, he was ok, thank you for your concern--the little shit.

As the evening drew to a close, Belle could feel the weight of her silence before her husband, and how much she wanted to speak directly to the queen, to catch her attention, her notice, her favor, her desire. But the chance was missed; Tara clapped and the final course of honeyed pears were taken away. She rose and turned to leave, and Belle looked at her cream colored dress that accentuated the triangle of olive skin, bare below her hair, where the fabric met and hugged her lower body. An early night, then. The king and the prince pulled their chairs to the fireplace and pulled out a small checkerboard, looking absurdly thoughtful, where the real game would be for the prince to curry favor by letting the king win without him knowing, while the king tried to make this subterfuge obvious and embarrassing. Honestly, probably more interesting than checkers usually was. Belle had enough of this company, and asked the servants to take her to her room, feeling disappointed.

As she followed the chambermaid, thoughts wandering over lost opportunities and possible futures, she started to realize the halls they were walking through weren't the familiar ones. Where was she being taken? She fell back a pace. Worried, but thoroughly lost now, she couldn't think of anything else to do but keep following. They came to a wooden door, painted white, not terribly distinct from the others. The maid opened the door, then stepped back--"this way, your majesty." Belle cautiously stepped past her into the room.

Behind the nondescript door was a room that was anything but nondescript. Red curtains draped from the ceiling down the walls, which held vibrant tapestries, depicting a winged dragon biting its tail, a white bear, a maypole celebration, a peacock. Taking it all in, Belle heard the door shut behind her. In the center of the room was a bed ringed in white curtains, and the occupant pulled on a rope to draw them open.

"Come, Belle," said Tara. She was lying on top of the covers, wearing very little, only enough to accentuate her already gorgeous looks. She wore small combs in her hair that dangled strings of tiny green emeralds, catching the light along with her shining black hair. Wearing no blouse, her breasts fell over her chest. Around her soft belly, she wore a gold chain that fastened over her navel, dangling a diamond pendant. It was impossible for Belle's eyes not to follow the line of that pendant, continuing her gaze another 8 cm past the diamond to where Tara had her legs spread, her pussy blossoming like the silky petals of a pink peony.

"Come, Belle," she had said, and Belle walked to Tara slowly, entranced by the light shining from the diamond pendant, entranced by Tara's bare body, and the mysterious spirit that took refuge there, so close beneath the skin. As she came to the edge of the bed, she hiked up her dress and began to crawl over the mattress on hands and knees. As she made her way between Tara's legs, she meant to continue up to that beautiful face and dive into the caldera of an endless kiss. But Tara stopped her--"not yet"--smiling, putting a hand on her shoulder, stroking her light red-brown hair behind her ear with the other hand. Guiding her head slowly, Tara brought Belle's lips to kiss her just below the pendant. Touching her skin with her face, Belle was immersed in her intoxicating smell, like a wild rose in a field of oats baked by the sun, the scent billowing up, emanating from every inch of soft olive skin.

With gentle pressure, Tara pushed her a little further down, and Belle licked and kissed the inside of her thighs. Then Tara pulled her closer, drawing Belle the bee into her parted flower petals. She was so soft, Belle thought, so so soft. But she hesitated, not really knowing what to do. Belle would have lingered much too long on the outer doors of Tara's labia, but when it was time, Tara just moved Belle's head to where it needed to be. Unwaiting, probably aware and accommodating of Belle's inexperience, Tara pushed her pussy against Belle's lips and circled. Belle reached out her tongue, its surface dragging over Tara's clit, feeling the bump of it grind up and down her tongue, then in and out of her sucking lips. Tara pulled Belle more forcefully towards her, and Belle gasped and breathed when she could, feeling those soft petals roving back and forth over her lips as she alternated between sucking Tara's clit in and out of her mouth and circling it with her tongue. Tara exhaled in long moans, and drew her air back in with quick gasps, the pitch gradually rising higher and higher. When she came, she held Belle's head very tightly against her, involuntarily gushing a bit of liquid into her mouth which, with the tight embrace, Belle could only swallow. It was the fruit of her body, tasting like clean sweat, a clear creek running through those wild roses and oats of her scent.

Shaking and clenching Belle's head hard between her thighs, at last Tara let go and collapsed back onto the pillows. Pulling away, Belle gulped in air, breathing freely again, as her face shined, dripping where Tara had painted it with her wet pussy.

A few moments later, Tara was pulling Belle's dress up and over her head, revealing the pale cream skin of Belle's slender body. Throwing the dress on the floor, she held Belle around the shoulders, as Belle lay on her back, naked, her ivory skin flushed with excitement. Belle was so turned on by the way this woman had used her face, the way the whole world had grown into that wild rose scent of her, but here, on her back in Tara's bed, naked at last, Tara's arm circling under her and holding on to her shoulder, Belle felt she could melt. Her heart leapt and her lips shivered a little as she froze there, held by Tara's deep brown eyes. Holding her like this, without breaking her fixed stare, Tara slowly slid her other hand down Belle's body, lingering to feel the top of her triangle of soft red hair, putting her whole hand over her sex and just holding it there, possessing her, touching everything as if there was no goal, but then a moment later, pushing two fingers inside her, then three.

Belle felt like she would burst, intense and beautiful pressure everywhere. Tara fucked her hard with her fingers, curling them up to bump the spaces where all the nerves met. Each time she pushed in, Belle felt her diaphragm involuntarily clench, releasing a "hunh" noise she had no control over. She wasn't usually one to make noises, but the little feeling of embarrassment was quickly overwhelmed by other sensations. As Tara pushed her fingers in and out, Belle felt her whole torso tingle like a hard rain was falling on her pale, naked body. With Tara still holding her with that intense stare, pushing in and out, faster and faster, Belle felt her body slip far beyond her ability to control it. She came, felt intensely open, and as the fingers kept relentlessly pushing into her, she came again, shaking and shivering at the strong brown eyes boring into her soul.

When Belle was spent, lying on the bed with her naked pale body shining in the night, Tara pulled the cord, drawing the white curtains and a darkness to surround them. Climbing under the covers, avoiding the wet spots they had made, Belle fell asleep, laying her head on Tara's shoulder. Through the night, she periodically woke and became acutely aware of the beautiful naked body pressed to her own, the soft olive skin that expanded in the dark like an endless continent to explore, and she was consumed with desire. But if Tara woke too, they were out of sync. After a night filled with soft and lovely moments of sleep, though perhaps not enough of them, Belle woke a final time. It was a warm morning, but Tara had already gone. Belle got up, and the maid entered and helped her back into her dress and led her back to her room, where she slept straight through to lunchtime, every limb a paragon of relaxation.

* * *

She didn't see Tara the rest of that day, but the next they were together in the company of Belle's husband the king, along with a few members of Tara's court, strolling through the gardens after lunch. Usually at the head of the procession, twice Tara had somehow contrived to appear unnoticed, leaning to Belle's ear. The first time, she whispered, "I'm tingling, remembering your tongue pressed on me," the second time, simply, "soon I'll have you again, Belle." And Belle's heart fluttered, and her ear buzzed with the warm weight of Tara's words. Nevertheless, when they passed from the gardens, Tara whisked off to some other business, and Belle spent the night alone, frustrated. At first she had waited, but she woke in the night, warm in her body, thinking of Tara, absently pulling at her labia and stroking her pussy, until, sufficiently excited, she took up the call and masturbated, coming to what was maybe an unusually intense conclusion before dropping back into sleep.

The following day, they went hunting in the small wood behind the castle. Having never shot a bow, Belle was out of her element, but as she wasn't going to get a chance back home, she had been determined to come along. She had needed to borrow a plain dress suited for the activity, and she felt self-conscious and exposed under the thin Pulchrian linen. They went through the woods on horseback, slowly, with Tara leading, her hips swaying with the motion of her horse as she kept her upper body straight and strong. Tara had worn a dress that was somehow both elegant and practical, pleated and slit such that it could fold and drape around the body of the horse without riding up or bunching--while Belle rode sidesaddle, Tara did not. The back and arms of Tara's dress were completely bare except for a single leather strap across the middle of her back, presumably holding her tits in place. This kept her upper body free and mobile, while revealing her strong and shapely back.

When they were closer to the hunting grounds, they dismounted, and spotting a chukar partridge, Tara insisted that Belle take the shot. When she noched the arrow on the wrong side and tried to draw it, Tara came up behind her and placed her warm hands on hers, wordlessly guiding her towards a proper draw. Nonetheless, Belle's arrow went wide. So wide that the chuckar wasn't even alarmed. Tara took a shot, and Belle stared at her strong back and it's elegant motion as she drew back the heavy string and held it for one, two--and her hand suddenly relaxed as the arrow flew to the breast of the chuckar. But Belle didn't take her eyes off of that bare, strong back when the arrow was loosed. Thoughts of the way Tara had looked filled Belle's mind for the remainder of the hunt, the two taught pillars of muscle running up from the low slit of her dress all the way to the elegant nape of her neck, where her wild black hair was tucked in a utilitarian bun, her strong shoulders rolling back to draw the bow like she was unfolding a pair of wings.

That night, Belle was silently sent for and again led to the nondescript white door. Again Tara pulled Belle's head against her pussy and came, squirting into her captive mouth. But this time, Tara had something else prepared for Belle. Attached to the bed were restraints, and she clamped Belle into them, one for each hand, and one for each knee, holding her legs wide open and her arms above her head. Pulling the curtains and setting them both in darkness, Belle sat bound and helpless. Then she felt Tara kiss her thighs and work inward, in the darkness each kiss appearing as a spontaneous sensation on her body.

When Tara's soft lips touched the soft, pale skin of her cunt, Belle physically trembled with desire and anticipation. Tara's tongue pressed through those folds, parting her curtains to open the window to her sensations, soft on soft. Belle abandoned herself, floating like a balloon tethered to this kiss. Tara's tongue played from bottom to top,

slowly moving, playing a game to see how much of her it could touch. Belle felt a tingling build over her pelvis, radiating out to her belly and thighs. The inspecific sensation of soft touch was accented by the brighter feeling of her clit, as Tara's lips and mouth brushed against it. These accents grew more essential in both her sensations and in Tara's attention, the two seamlessly evolving together, until she was tight with intensity of feeling, unconsciously rocking her pelvis. Tara's mouth held her clit in a saliva embrace, as if a momentary sensation could spread over eternity. Tara's tongue pushed and circled in all eighty dimensions, inventing new directions to blend constant speed and intensity with the true motion of novelty and change. Tara's lips pulled her clit into her mouth, pressing and touching it on all sides at once like only lips can do.

Belle was falling through the air, helplessly gaining momentum with the inevitable pull of gravity, having nothing to do but abandon herself to fate, as the fertile green ground, source of her life, rushed up to meet her in a cataclysm of contact. She exploded in a slowly rising "hunnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhh..." every part of her body tighter than the heavy string of Tara's bow, her legs pulling at the restraints that kept her open, shaking intensely. Only when she was out of air did her long vocalization cease, and she gulped in air, spent, arms bound above her, tremors moving from place to place over her body like ripples bouncing around a pond. Tara held her mouth and tongue perfectly still against her cunt through all this, making sure the sensation of being held, touched, and complete was unbroken, but careful not to interrupt the intensity of Belle's experience with an external overintensity. When she reached the end of her orgasm, Tara let her mouth fall away, and gave her little kisses on her belly, slow and spaced, moving around between belly and thighs. Each kiss sharply echoed through Belle's body, radiating and recalling the intensity that had not quite left her, that was still lingering and glowing beneath Belle's pale, naked skin.

Mercifully, Tara released her restraints, and free at last, Belle grabbed on to Tara's body, her arms pulling Tara close, her hands feeling the soft curve where Tara's waist met her breast, her legs brushing over Tara's, skin on skin, moving again and again, her lips pressed against Tara's neck, Tara's cheek, Tara's lips. Belle was surprised at her own fervor, but she needed to feel Tara, to feel all of her, as they intertwined together. Kissing each other, their bodies hummed. Eventually each of their hands found its way to the other's pussy, but by then they were touching so much of each other that this appeared as just an intensification of the generality of their mutual touch. When they came it was as if every inch of their bodies was a canvas, and a painter had discovered some contrivance to paint them with light itself, clear, rushing out of the canvas to fill the little dark corners of stones, the variegated shadows and half lights of which reality consists. The canvas of their bodies lit up these half lights, such that they forgot entirely the shadows and halfnesses of reality, and momentarily found a shadowless wholeness, a light whose secret was skin, white and olive, pressed together.

In the inevitable recession of their orgasm, in the return of the regular world of identities and attractions, Tara rolled on to her back and pulled Belle towards her, while Belle drew up to her sweaty shoulder and laid her head there, intoxicated with the sweet smell. Tara held her like this, circling meaningless patterns spread between Belle's auburn hair and the sensitive skin on her back, until Tara's hand stopped moving, and her breathing slowed in sleep. Then Belle whispered in the quietest voice, terrified of being heard, acutely conscious of the early inappropriateness of this expression: "I love you." Then she fell asleep, there in the sequestered darkness of the white curtains, the bed a mess of silk sheets and their intertwined naked bodies.

That night, Belle dreamed of a tiny world, where she was lying naked on the petal of a pink snapdragon, and she gazed at the blue sky and rolled over and over, feeling the soft powdery feel of the petal all over her pale naked skin, feeling joy and freedom as she slowly slid further into the flower and the sliver of blue sky narrowed. By the time she awoke, the sky had become hardly a dot at the end of a chamber filled with darkness and the intoxicating smell of pollen.

* * *

Belle once again met the morning alone. After being led back to her quarters, she settled into a chair by the window, staring and dreaming inspecifically, noticing the little bird that was darting down from the cypress to gather a branch or a feather, returning to weave the nest; the few white clouds that moved so slowly and inexorably across the deep blue of the sky, expanding and changing as they moved; the way the sun made patterns on the joints of the branches of the apple tree when a breeze came and jostled them; the stray petals from the apple blossoms drifting down that caught the light just so, exactly once per turn. Noticing all of this, but taking none of it in, she was truly aware only of the daydream, which wasn't even a daydream but a feeling that settled itself over everything, a quilt made from silk holding the world in its bed, warm and pleasant and real and unreal.

Tara did not call for her at all that day. Indeed, Belle saw no one but the servants, food brought directly to her chamber. They must be working out the details of the alignment, Belle thought, and as best she could, she pushed away the implications of that thought. This was all the easier as she held in her the sense that it was impossible for her to return to her life in the castle, by the king, bored in an empty chamber. That was some other Belle's life, not a life that could be attached to this new Belle, who was full, who knew the substance of the world. Of course if she had thought of it, she would recognize that this absolute separation between old and new was not yet a truth, only a desire. But she used this same feeling in order to not think about it, in order to drift further into the daydream, lying on her bed.

When night fell, Belle lay under the covers in her nightshirt. This individualized ritual of sleep felt small and out of place against the towering experiences of the past night. She thought of Tara, with those warm brown eyes. She thought of how their bodies had tangled just so, how they had rubbed each other so absently amidst the total feel of each other, as if this apex of physical nerves was entirely incidental, as if they had reached orgasm just from touching toes. She didn't touch herself that night, but wandered, lost in visions of lust and love, her body warm with desire and exhaustion, until somehow she dropped off into sleep.

She woke as the sun fell through the windows and crossed her face. She had dreamed that Tara came to her in the night, covered in a white silken slip that reflected the light of the moon, streaming through the window. Had it been a dream? There was no sign of her now, so, surely, it must have been. As Tara had moved on those elegant feet toward Belle's bed, her face drew into the moonlight, and Belle could see her eyes, with the black pupils filling them, little black pools for her to drown in, shining with the reflected light. Belle had laid there, unmoving, spellbound. Waiting just a moment by her bed, Tara let the straps of her slip fall off her shoulders, and the white fabric fell to the floor leaving a puddle of white ripples. Naked, the moon caught her hard nipples, casting tiny shadows across her breasts. In the dream, Belle was gifted with perfect vision, and she could see the white moonlight brushing against the goosebumps of Tara's skin. Tara stepped out of the puddle of slip, and Belle was lost watching the canter of her hips, the slight motion of her breasts, the way her slit moved ever so slightly with the lift of her legs. Belle just sat there drinking her in, those strong legs, those beautiful soft breasts (how she had loved to have them pressed against her body) those deep eyes, deeper now in the night (how tightly they had held her that first time Tara fingered her), those feet, each step meeting the ground with absolute purpose (but also just a size small for her height), the black hair, wild, holding the room, reaching out to blend with the night that covered her dominion, this foreign place in which Tara was so natural, so at home.

Tara stepped toward her, and reaching her bed, crawled to her. Belle, still, could not move, held by the moonlight in those black pupils. Tara pulled up her night shirt and straddled her. Looking up at her beautiful Torso, her beautiful breasts, her deep eyes, Belle watched as Tara drew three fingers to her mouth and licked them before reaching behind her and drawing them along the inner edges of Belle's opening. Helpless in this night spell, this dream, if that's what it was, Belle abandoned herself to the sensation of being stroked, and then filled and pushed, gazing up at the beautiful soft breasts and belly sitting tall above her. Letting things build easily and uncomplicatedly, Belle's breath caught as she came, gazing up at this gorgeous creature. Tara leaned forward and embraced her, body to body, then lay by her side. The currents of her black hair fell across Belle's breast, flowing through the shadows of the room to meet the night beyond the walls in the greater kingdom, and Belle was swept up in that swift, black current, closing her eyes in darkness. But just before sleep had fully subdued her--bringing a dream within a dream, no doubt--she heard Tara say, in the quietest voice, "I love you too, you know, if that matters, but I'll never tell you in your waking life."

And then Belle was asleep, and now she is awake, and there is no Tara.

Belle sat on the bench by the window, taking in the foggy morning, fall intruding with the turning of the seasons, when the King entered her quarters. "It is done!" he said, smiling.

Yesterday they must have finally performed the ceremony of homage, the kneeling and clasping of hands, drawing the King into Tara's vassalage. Belle really didn't care how it had gone, what squabblings of recompense he received from his pledge. "The queen?" She asked.

"Rode out this morning with her knights, to conquer our eastern neighbors. Ah, soon all of the world will be under her sway, and we will be among the top of her favor!" He smiled greedily.

Belle turned away to hide her reaction, but then it might have been too early, too fast for her feelings to cohere, anyway. She was just lost, momentarily adrift. "Are we leaving?"

"This afternoon, after we've been provisioned."

* * *

In the carriage back, Belle slumped to the window, looking out from the little red curtain as the fog covered hills rolled by, listening to the creak of the wheels and the clip clop of the horses.

Back at the castle, she felt both richer and poorer for her time in Pulchria. She brought a string of eager members of the court into her bed, men and women, both of whom she gently but firmly pushed to her pussy. She kept it cleanly shaven now, and she rode their lips and tongue until she came. Once, she even gave Prince Whatever what he had wanted in Pulchria long ago and brought him into her bed--though doubtless he hadn't exactly imagined the purely oral encounter he would have there. But through all these partners, there was no electricity. They lacked the fervor, the beauty, and the power of Tara.

Still, it had happened, Tara and her, and she held that like a diamond in her heart, an unassailable something that transformed boredom into patience, and dullness into restraint. Maybe someday she would have better, or maybe her marriage, her life, would continue unchanged. But she knew, now, that the world itself had a silver light shining through everything in it, and not even the most plain, powerless, empty life could ever truly be separated from it.