Nightfall

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A white king and queen seduced by a black queen's magic.
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Aetheriun
Aetheriun
2 Followers

The last rays of a swift-fading dusk were departing from the small upper windows of the high hall. Servants in livery of muted red and gold shuffled quietly about in the newborn shadows lighting lamps and torches, no more obtrusive than the mice which scuttled at their feet.

Rich tapestries depicting scenes of ancient battles and the long dead warriors who fought and died in them, hung from the grey walls fighting their own battle with the chill of the stone. Four thick round pillars stretched from the rough floor upward towards the vaulted ceiling where the feeble light of the torches did not reach. Beside each pillar stood an unmoving warrior with a face no more fluid or welcoming than the rock of the pillar beside which he stood. With weapons held at the ready and eyes fixed straight ahead they were indistinguishable from statues of flesh.

Two great doors, easily twice the height of a man, dominated one end of the narrow oval hall. Each was made of a dark, lustrous wood, which drew in the eyes hinting at shapes in the whorls and eddies of the subtle grain, and bound in broad bands of strong red iron. Wrought in silver upon the left hand door was the shape of an enormous crescent, detailed and delicate with the horns pointed toward the opposite door where a sunburst wrought in gold challenged it for greater splendor. These doors stood closed with moon and sun joined until a knock sounded from the far side and echoed about the hall as if seeking escape, before being chased away by the deep-voiced "Enter," which came from the end of the hall opposite the doors. In answer the doors swung open on silent hinges with the aid of the two silent guardsmen who stood without. Between them into the hall walked a man, the richness of whose clothes marked him as a person of some station Although his skin did not speak of advanced years he walked bent forward with a slight stoop and an uneven gait as if he suffered from a hidden wound. He shuffled slowly up the center of the hall, the sound of his footfalls muffled by the narrow carpet which ran the hall's length from the doors to the red marble dais which stood opposite them. When the man reached the dais he dropped ungracefully to one knee with his head bent towards the floor. The radiance of the dais' four torches, the largest and brightest in the hall, threw twin shadows in stark relief upon the carpet behind the prostrate man like the split tail of an aging bird.

"Your majesties," he said with a slight catch in his breath. Amidst the light and heat of the four corner torches sat two massive high-backed thrones each occupied by a regal form. Upon the right, beneath a moon sigil sat a woman lushly curved and cool as evening. Dark tresses like a rolling river of midnight spilled down over her pale shoulders and back standing in stark relief to both the white silk gown and the diamond studded silvery jewelry which adorned her. The woman's eyes, with pupils lost in irises of a brown so deep as to be indistinguishable from black, looked at the man kneeling on the floor before her without expression. She said nothing.

The man who sat the sun-sigiled throne beside her was nearly as different from her as the day was from night. A red-gold beard, neatly trimmed and oiled, covered his jaw and wavy hair of only slightly darker hue fell to his square shoulders from beneath his gold crown. The King's eyes (for king he was and beside him his queen) were green and alive with the thoughts playing behind them. Unlike the Queen's eyes the Kings held concern as he looked at the man before him.

"Lord Verrow," came the same deep voice which had commanded entry. "Rise."

Lord Verrow rose to his feet but did not straighten further than his previous stoop.

"Are you hale Verrow?" Asked the King.

"Yes, your majesty," replied Verrow, but the words did not well match the voice that uttered them and the King's eyes narrowed slightly.

"I shall send for my physician immediately." Said the king decisively. Verrow's eyes widened, his face paled and he twitched as if shaken by a spasm. A little too loudly, and a little too quickly he said in a pleading tone.

"Your majesty. My infirmities are naught but the rigors of the road and shall likely vanish with the new day." Here he paused to calm and steel himself before continuing. "Please your majesty, your majesties" He corrected himself casting a look aside at the queen. "if you would allow I would like to present you with a gift."

"A gift?" Asked the king with raised eyebrow and an edge of curiosity in his rough voice.

"What gift is this that you speak of?" Verrow nearly shuddered with the coolness of that question spoken by the queen finally breaking her silence. Verrow did not answer directly but gestured somewhat awkwardly from his slouch, towards the doors.

"The gift lies without your majesties may I have it brought in?" The king looked aside to his queen with a half grin on his red-bearded chin, but he found no answering mirth in her face. She merely rolled her eyes and tensed the muscles around her pouty lips ever so slightly to show her disdain for the entire affair. The king turned back to Verrow.

"Bring it in Verrow, " he said with familiarity. "Let us see this gift you have brought us from the southlands." The naked relief in Verrow's face was palpable and he nearly forgot to bow before hurrying to the back of the hall and clapping his hands together crisply twice.

The king's eyes widened with blossoming surprise and interest and his infectious grin once more broke over his face as he watched the procession that came through the door. The flicker in the queen's eyes also betrayed a keen interest despite her attempts to suppress it.

In the unsteady light of the torches the monarchs could see a small procession of figures advancing up the line of the carpet towards them. Four men and four women. Their skin was dark, rich and glistening with oil. They shared between them a rare feral grace and power. Hair was no where visible on the men and the light of the torches duly reflected the lines of their oiled muscles. The long black hair of the women was tied back and interwoven with gold ornaments which gleamed fitfully in the torchlight. They were each belted and collared in gold and gold was about their wrists. Their clothing was no more than token scraps of dark leather hiding little and nearly the color of their skins so at first the monarchs thought them naked. Two of the women carried tall drums over which the striped skin of an animal was stretched. The other two carried small iron smoke pots whose dim embers cast strange shadows over the faces of their carriers. As they passed by the rigid guards the women glanced up with their dark, smoldering eyes and smiled a secret tantalizing smile as if to invite the guards to indulge themselves in the ample curves of their breasts and the softness of their thighs. The guardsmen shifted slightly and a few stray beads of sweat escaped from under their helms spoke of the strain of their resolve at the unspoken invitation. The four men, two to a pole, bore between them a tiger skin-covered litter upon which was a round object with the sheen and the color of a giant chestnut.

With an easy synchronicity they advanced up the center of the hall. Their carpet-muffled footfalls sounded together as if they were merely limbs of a greater beast. When they reached the open space before the two thrones they stopped as one. The four bearers set the litter down with exacting care as if their burden was both precious and fragile. All eight stood silent with eyes downcast, heads inclined toward the royal pair. The king looked to Lord Verrow who was now standing off to the side between the pillars. He was staring fixedly at the litter's burden as if mesmerized by it. The king could see a glint of moisture at the corner of his mouth which hung open slack jawed.

"Lord Verrow," he said in a raised voice to recapture Verrow's attention. "What is...?" It was a question the king never finished for what had seemed to be a giant seed a moment before of a sudden sprouted arms and legs and sprang upright with the speed and purpose of a pouncing spider. The startled guards shifted their weapons uneasily. The queen frowned at her indrawn breath and the king covered his own surprise with an expostulated "Hoi!" On the litter now uncurled and upright there stood a woman. Her flawless skin was as dark and smooth as her companions. Lines of reflected torchlight played along the lengths of her oiled limbs and the fullness of her curves leaving intriguing hollows in shadow. She was tall and her posture was straight and proud with no trace of humility. Her striking eyes, a brown so light as to be nearly yellow, were locked upon the king's and filled with something indistinguishable from hunger. Seeing this, and the return of the king's interest, the queen's frowned deepened. In the space of a blink the yellow eyes darted to her and then dismissively back to the king's. The woman smiled a predatory smile and followed this with mocking bow, executed with perfect grace. The queen turned to the king and opened her full lips to speak when the sharp report of a drumbeat rent the air of the hall. Two of the bearers had moved unseen by the monarchs and knelt now each beside a drum. The other two bearers had moved as well. Lying nearly upon the floor they were even now beginning to fan the dim embers of the smudge pots with breath and fuel. This created for each a mask of smoke and firelight which made their faces seem as demons. Their efforts quickly began to bear fruit in the form of twin plumes of thick, blue smoke whose tendrils rose and joined languidly, filling the air with a sharp, but alluring scent. When it reached him the king snorted slightly as if to expel the acrid vapor forcefully from his nose. The queen coughed delicately for the same reason, but the bitter tang was lost in the space of a moment and they both breathed in the warm undercurrent deeply. The drum beat again and the nine women began to dance.

They danced with the sinuosity of serpents seemingly unconstrained by the presence of bones, swaying like trees in a windstorm and taking flight like a flock of dark hunting birds. Beneath skin aglow with oil and sweat, strong supple muscles tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed always in accord with the rhythm of the drums. In and out of the building smoke they wove always keeping their golden-eyed mistress at the center of their motion as if she were queen of their small human hive. She, for her part, danced only for the eyes of the king, unlocking his gaze from her own only to invite his eyes to travel over her lush body, to linger on her prominences and to yearn for greater light to explore her clefts, or to be captivated by the hypnotic movements of the thin gold chain which circled her wide welcoming hips. Little by little she revealed herself to him and each revelation served merely to deepen his hunger for more.

The golden-eyed queen gyrated for him like a maple seed upon the wind. Like a phantom she spun and wove in and out of the thickening walls of smoke which seemed to be drawing ever closer about the king, confining him in a prison of fiery fog. In and out of his vision she darted to the insistent pulse of the drum, weaving a pattern whose design only she knew.

Toom. Toom. Toom. The pulse of the drum beat in the confines of the hall and reverberated in the ears and bones of the king. He shifted fitfully on his throne bending forward slightly to disguise the more obvious and embarrassing signs of his growing ardor. The enveloping smoke had shrunk his world until it now contained only himself and the dark temptress who flitted teasingly in and out of view. Even the queen, no more than an arm reach away, was lost to his eyes. The drumbeat reverberated inside him seemingly in time with the beating of his heart, or perhaps it was his heart that now beat in time with the drum. With each insistent pulse the pressure between his legs grew until it threatened to become unbearable. The silk of his trousers was taut and straining. There was now no hope of hiding it. In danced the temptress and close. The intoxicating animal musk of her surrounded him, fogging his thoughts and increasing the pressure between his legs. She placed her hands on the arms of the throne and brought her face so close to his that he could feel the heat of her breath and body. Instinctively he reached for her, but she danced away from this clumsy grope with a smile and a mocking laugh, shedding her top just before the dark moons of her buttocks disappeared into the surrounding smoke.

The drum beat low and deep in the hall, hammering thought away. The king stood up in a daze with the front of his trousers straining to their limits for any who might see, but there were none to do so. For the moment at least he was alone, alone save only for the omnipresent drum which beat everywhere and nowhere.

The king licked his parched lips with his smoke-dried tongue. He noticed that his clothing was soaked with sweat, but he knew not how long they had been that way. The heat of the room was oppressive. He began to take his shirt off. Suddenly there were hands there to help him, to help him be free of the confining clothing. But the hands did more than help. They touched, they teased, and the pointed nails drew lines of sharp awareness across his skin of his back, buttocks and legs. Naked now he stood beside the pile of his rich clothing, relieved in part of the heat, but growing more desperate for relief of other kinds. His rigid erection, freed now from its confines pointed ahead and up towards the unseen ceiling of the high hall. It and the raging thirst in his parched throat vied for primacy in the cottony fog of his thoughts.

From the hot mist before him they appeared. Firm, heavy and round within round, an aureole, dark and inviting, surrounded by a tiny fairy ring of bumps guarding an invaluable treasure. The nipple, prominent and wrinkled invited his mouth instinctively. The drum hammered all thought of propriety from his head. With both hands he cupped the soft, heavy breast and lowered his grateful mouth onto it. A firm hand pressed the back of his head against it although he had no thought of resistance. He sucked on the nipple with vigor. A gush of liquid fire splashed into his mouth and down his throat as if he had fastened his lips around an active volcano He gave a muffled cry of shock and tried to pull away, but the strong, slender hand behind his head tensed and held him fast forcing more of the burning fluid down his throat. The king struggled frantically and suddenly it stopped. The breast and its owner were gone. The king swayed unsteadily on his feet trying vainly to cool the fire in his mouth by drawing in lungfuls of smoky air. Through a haze of pain he looked around the hall. The smoke and shadows had drawn back enabling him to see at least for the moment.

Verrow had been stripped naked. His wrists, bound together with a leather cord, were fastened to a torch sconce above him. His hips were making suggestive rhythmic thrusts towards the dark-eyed dancer who stood tauntingly before him, but his manhood engorged, enormous, and dripping with expectation found no relief waving against naught but the open air between them nor at the hands of the ebony dancer who flicked his exposed skin with a small lash, laughing beautifully and cruelly at his obvious pain and desire.

Of his guardsmen the king could see only two. They were on their knees with their hands bound behind. Between them was another of the dark-eyed dancers. They were as engorged as Verrow was but the position of their hands forbade any release not at the pleasure of the woman above them. Each of the men, front and back, was applying his tongue enthusiastically to the place where the woman's legs came together. With both hands she held the head of the guard before her tightly and guided his tongue to the places that would most pleasure her. As the king watched her graceful back arched, her strong muscles tensed beneath her smooth dark skin and then her whole body began to spasm. The hall echoed as she opened her mouth and howled with a primal cry of pure animal pleasure.

The pale queen, naked as well, was on her hands and knees not far from one of the smudge pots. The outline of two black hands stood in stark relief against creamy skin of her hips. Kneeling behind her one of the bearers thrust his thick-veined member, visible only because of the juices coating it, into the divide beneath the cleft of her ass. Before her was another of the muscular bearers with his dark hands lost deep in her midnight hair. He was guiding her wet mouth onto his own rigid phallus. In and out the glistening shaft slid between the queen's full pouty lips. She accepted it eagerly and thrust backwards with her hips as if to impale herself more deeply on the fleshy spike piercing her from behind.

A cough wracked the kings scorched throat and his vision swam for a moment. He looked down and it seemed to his eyes that there was a pool of water there incongruously among the flagstones. Thirst overbore reason and he half stumbled, half leaped to it and put forth his hands to scoop it up, but the water retreated before him maddeningly. Agonized and desperate he pursued the retreating water back to its source where it drained into a red crack in the floor too narrow for his hands. Frantic with thirst and burning he fell prostrate and stuck his woolen tongue into the crack as far as it would go. Deep inside the crack he felt a tiny cork which held back the flow of water. The king licked and worried at this frustrating barrier until at last he was rewarded by a gush of life giving moisture. He sucked and licked up every precious drop. This quenched the fire in his throat but the fire in his belly continued to move downward like a sullen river of molten iron. With the worst of his thirst sated the king's vision cleared. He was lying on the floor between the dark legs of the golden-eyed dancer. She was propped up on her elbows watching him with a smug smile. The crack that he has been licking at belonged not to the floor, but to her.

The king sprang to his feet, the smell and wetness of her pleasure still dripping from his bronze beard. Hands like steel manacles seized him on either side their fingers dug painfully into the muscles his arms. The dark temptress, naked, shameless and satisfied, flowed to her feet with feline grace and approached him, her eyes never leaving his.

"My little king," she purred to him in a voice as dark and silky as her skin. "I will show you just how powerless you are to resist me. Running both hands up from her hips and across her abdomen as if she delighted in the feel of herself the dark queen hefted one of her heavy breasts until mouth and nipple met. She sucked for a moment and then let it fall back against its mate with a jiggle. With her full lips pressed closed and smiling she approached the captive king as if preparing to devour him. The king struggled to escape, but in vain. The twin grips which held him were unbreakable. Like a striking snake the golden-eyed temptress' hand lashed out and grabbed a handful of his red-gold hair in a tight, painful grip as she brought her mouth up to his. The lips she pressed against him were soft and behind them came an insistent probing tongue. The king clenched his teeth together as tightly as he could. He held them thus until she lightly stroked his erection with her other hand sending a thrill of pleasure through him. He gasped and the tongue breached his defenses stroking his own possessively. Behind the tongue came fluid and fire. The king whimpered despite himself. His throat, still raw from his nursing, was once more aflame. The tongue withdrew and the ebony witch stepped back. She indulged herself in his pain while stroking her hips and thighs with her long fingered hands. Tenderly she reached up and caressed his cheek.

Aetheriun
Aetheriun
2 Followers
12