Nina Part ThreebyPaulUK©
Remember, in my childhood, I had been led to believe that fucking was an act between a man and a woman that only took place after an exchange of money. I had this notion that men produced spunk rather like a goat produces milk; you had to milk them every day, or they blew up like a balloon. So, I thought of my mum as a kind of specialist milkmaid, who dealt with the goats who found producing milk difficult, unless encouraged by a woman dressed all in leather and wielding a cane.
After a first week in the Palace, I wasn't so foolish. I had come here with the idea that I would make more money than mum ever did milking money from a richer class of customer. So far, as far as I could reckon, I was owed for two tit-fucks by Grope, and something by the priest (OK, he had taken himself in hand, but surely Charity and I were his inspiration, and even if she didn't take money because of her vocation, that didn't mean I couldn't). I'd been splashed by quite a bit of cum in the last few days, and I thought it must be getting close to payday.
I still had no concept of the idea of fucking for pleasure. It didn't help, of course, that although I had been brought very close to my first full crisis, first by Titania, then by my own hand, most closely by Master Bator's tongue (be still my beating heart!) and most recently by Charity, I still hadn't experienced the actual thing.
My first orgasm was long overdue, and you have been very patient waiting for it. Fear not, you are almost there.
I tried to get the relationship between men and women (and women and women!) straight in my mind. While I wanked myself on the library floor, I thought about how different and unpredictable my life had become, and how this new pleasure was some kind of compensation. The gods gave women all this milking equipment, and the burden of using it, so they compensated them with a clit. Come to think of it, perhaps I wasn't so far from the truth, even then.
On the other hand, there was all this evidence around me that I was missing the point. Charity and Angelica's stories, for example. What were they all about? And what was this terrible yearning I felt whenever I thought about Bator? What was all this about cumming?
That afternoon, lying in the heat of the library, wearing nothing more than a scarf that I had draped over my head, so that I might mop my brow from time to time, I copied the story of Leida and the swan, and it did little to ease my confusion. You know the story? Penus, the father of the gods, gets the hots for a mortal girl, a truly brazen little slut named Leida. You may have heard the version where her father is worried for her virtue, and shuts her up to keep her away from lustful men? Well, the Orgasmus has the other version, where papa locks her up because the Income Tax people are sniffing round, and he doesn't want the Revenue to get whiff of what a great little earner his daughter has become.
Anyway, Penus hears about Leida, and about how she can perform these amazing contortions, and about how her pussy smells of lavender, and about how cute her ass is, so he pays a visit. When he sees her, he decides he has to have her. Some say he was moved to great love because of her beauty, but the Orgasmus has it that he caught her bent over double, licking her own pussy. Either way, Penus asks for a fuck, and Leida tells him the going rate Ð 10 Randies an hour. Being a god, and being used to excess of this kind, Penus asks for 491/2 hours, so Leida asks for cash in advance.
Being a god, Penus also has the ability to come up with this kind of cash pretty much on demand, and so he showers her with gold. Now, I know some of you have heard the other version of this shower of gold story, but I have to tell you that I don't think taking the piss out of the gods is a very smart idea.
So far, as I have just recounted it to you, the story of Leida and the shower of gold made perfect sense to me. God meets girl; god wants to fuck girl; girl charges extortionate amount for the privledge. In fact, I spent some time trying to calculate my own going rate (yes, I still hoped to make my fortune in that way), bearing in mind that I expected there to be shortage of visiting divine beings. However, thereafter the story moved away from my expectations, leaving me even more confused.
Penus fucks Leida every way to Sunday. He fucks her in the mouth, he fucks her in the cunt. He fucks her arse and has her fist him. He sucks her pussy, she gobbles his cock. Lying, down, standing up, sideways, backwards and hanging from the ceiling. They fuck every way they can, and that's before Leida shows him how she can bend over backwards so far that she can pop her head up between her legs and suck his balls while he fucks her pussy.
Her fucks her so well and so often that after 491/2 hours, when her brains have turned to slush and her knees have spent so long apart that they have evolved differently, she gives him the money back. Now, I have heard some philosophers say that with what she learned about fucking that day, she was able to put her rates up, and retired at 25 owning a small continent, but I don't believe that.
I lay there thinking, what must it be like to have a man fuck you so beautifully, that you would give him anything? Anything he hadn't already had, anyway. I fantasised about Bator, and his handsome, strong face, and that incredible body. What would it be like if he were here, right now, watching me wanking, knowing that I was thinking of him?
I lay down my pen, and slipped my writing hand into its more pleasurable station between my legs. Raising my rump in the air, I started to frig my clit, and think about Bator's tongue on my pussy. I was pretty sure that it had been him who had come to my cell the second time, and I remembered what it had felt like to have his mouth on me. That made it a two hand fantasy.
I started heating up even more. Sweat slid off my face and back. I felt a small pool of perspiration in the small of my back, but that was by no means the wettest part of my body. My cunt was flowing freely, my fingers becoming slick with my musky oils. In my mind, Bator was begging me to suck his throbbing cock, and I was moving towards him, hungry to oblige. I frigged myself a little harder, feeling that wave of excitement building up inside me once more. This time, I was determined not to stop until I had taken this ride to the finish. But, thenÉ
You know they say wanking makes you go blind? Well, for me, it did.
Well, to be more precise, I suddenly found that my scarf had fallen over my eyes. I started to move my hands to push it back, when I was pressed down by a great weight. It didn't land with any great force, but it pressed me down into my pile of heaped rugs so that I couldn't move. My arms were caught under my belly, and my open legs were left kicking helplessly. Two hands nimbly tied the scarf even more tightly across my eyes,
I knew what was happening, I guess, but it needed a voice to confirm to me that that great weight was a man. It was husky with need, and all it said was "PleaseÉ" and "I'm sorryÉ", but it froze me to the spot. I was pretty defenceless anyway, but I didn't scream, I didn't try to struggle. I think you can safely say that I was held fast as much by curiosity as through the strength and weight of my assailant. Someone had crept up on me, had pulled my scarf down over my eyes and knotted it in place, and had pressed his bulk down on my back all in one fluid movement. Who could it be? Tumescence? Impossible. This kind of proximity to my body would have reduced him to a wheezing shell. Grope? Maybe Ð it was his style to prey on a helpless girl.
My hands quickly discovered that this wasn't Grope. My fingers were still outstretched beneath my puss, and they had just come into contact with a long cylinder of flesh that in no way resembled Grope's small organ. It had a bulbous head that felt the size of an apple, and a long column of hot, rigid flesh that stretched towards my gaping, sodden vagina. I felt strong legs shuffle, seeking the right position, and then the head of that slick cock was nudging against the outer lips of my cunt. My labia, slick with sweat and cunt-juices, slipped open greedily around the intruder, distending wider and wider as he pressed forward.
I was holding my breath, unable to move, perhaps frightened that my fantasy had become a sleeping dream, and that I would wake up if I did anything to break the spell. I'm sure you'll sympathise with me Ð I didn't want to do anything that might frustrate my finally being shown what all the fuss was about. The man moved again, and a fraction more of his cock slid inside me, only for him to touch an obstruction. He froze for a moment. "You're a virgin!" he gasped. "I'm sorryÉ I Ð I didn't knowÉ" And then he started to withdraw.
I've never felt so afraid in all my life. I should have been frightened of my mysterious assailant, I know, and I'm the last person to excuse rape, but in that moment, I knew that this couldn't go on, I couldn't live another day in a state of ignorance. Besides, it seemed incredible to me that my assailant thought I was an old brass bed (I'm afraid I still hand't sorted out just what virginity was). My instincts were racing far ahead for my head. I cried out "No!", and then bucked my hips up and back with all the strength I could muster.
There was a stabbing pain, a moment of feeling that something alien was pushing through the flesh and bones of my body, but then the column of flesh was sheathed inside me. The man gasped, and all the breath was driven from my body likewise. He withdrew again, but only partially this time. As he pushed forward again, I tried to match the pace of his thrust, pushing back to meet it. He went even deeper this time, although I could still felt more of him outside than in. My body was unused to having to stretch like this.
My back and buttocks moulded to his torso as if we were both made of wet clay. I opened my legs as wide as they would go, and rocked as far as I could on my belly and knees, arching my back up as he pulled back, thrusting back with my ass as he pushed in. Each time, my inexperienced puss accepted a little more of him. At last, I could feel his balls with the tips of my fingers as he drilled into me. I wanted to take him all, but I was not supple enough. Even so, what I had felt like a fence post.
He started pumping harder and faster, and I felt a tingle start somewhere down in the joints of my toes, making them curl tightly. My pussy was liquid, the flesh somehow insubstantial and hypersensitive at the same time. I felt the man's hand grip my shoulder, forcing me to take another minute part of him inside me on the next thrust. I wanted it all. I wanted it all even if it came out through my skull. I wanted the moment to last forever.
The tingle became an earthquake. My feet drummed against the floor. I stretched my fingers to try and curl them around the hard, fat balls I had discovered. I felt my bones crack, and I didn't care because I was about to catch fire. My assailant was pumping furiously, his hard belly slapping against my buttocks, and I lost all control. I wailed, and as I did so, the man went rigid on top of me and came. The first spasm of that massive cock inside my pussy drove me even further into madness, and I screamed loudly.
Globs of something cooling and slippery were being spewed into my body, and the man pumped nine or ten times more, slowing the pace, stroking my body at an urgent, sensuous pace as he emptied those mighty balls into my cunt. I came through the top of my first orgasm at the same moment as my lover spunked deep inside me. Every nerve I possessed sang an instinctive, appreciative song to my brain as if to say "that's what the point of fucking is, you silly bitch." It felt absolutely divine.
Who needs gods and golden showers, I thought.
After a moment in which his rigid body relaxed, falling across mine, my lover rose quickly to his feet. I heard him scamper away, and I quickly sat up, and tried to pull away the scarf, so that I could see who it was. My hands, though, having been trapped under my body for so long, had developed pins and needles, and I couldn't unfasten the knot until the stinging of my returning circulation had passed. By the time I could see again, the man was long gone.
That night, I ate a simple meal with Tumescence, and we talked idly about the progress of the book. He seemed quite pleased with what I was achieving. I hadn't mentioned my ravishment to him thus far, though it was the foremost thing on my mind. My master realised that wasn't entirely myself, and tried to bring me out of it.
"Bator sent over the first of the illustrations, today. Would you like to see?"
My heart quickened momentarily at the name of the handsome artist. Something private inside of me harboured the hope that he had been my first lover. Now, it appeared, it was only some messenger Bator had sent with the drawings. It was a crushing disappointment.
"Why didn't he come himself?" I asked, clinging to that slight hope. "Bator never leaves the palace alone," my master explained. "He is involved with Princess Deepthroat, a very jealous woman. She worries when he strays to far from her side. If they come here, they'll come together." I nodded, aware that this undoubtedly ruled Bator out of contention. I had seen Bator with the woman I now knew to be the Princess on at least two occasions, and the image of her beauty was implanted deeply in my mind. She was everything I every imagined a princess to be; delicate in size, yet exquisitely female, curving in all the right places. And that hair! Almost a yard and a half of lustrous, blue-black hair, falling from her crown to her knees. She was stunning. I knew my own worth, and I knew men would always drool over my huge tits, but what man would be bothered with a servant when he could fuck a Princess?
But, Bator had shown some interest in me, hadn't he? Assuming he was the man who had sucked my pussy so sensuously while I lay dreaming in my cell above the Temple?
"Master, when I escaped from Grope's prison the second time, did you send Bator to look for me again?"
"No, there wasn't time," he answered. "I spoke only to Charity and Angelica." My heart sank. So much for fantasy Ð my illusions were shattered. Some minion of Grope's had tongued my clitty, now another lackey had fucked me. And I wouldn't be able to recognise either of them! Bastards!
Tumescence left the table, and went to fetch a small leather case, in which were rolled several sheets of fine vellum. He placed the case on the table, then stepped back. "I'm told they are very fine," he continued, "though I haven't been able to look at them myself, for obvious reasons." I understood entirely. Tumescence had read through my version of the story of The Rape of the Supine Women, and he had needed a day in bed to recover.
While Tumescence busied himself with the dishes, I withdrew the rolled vellum from the case, and examined the pictures within. They were truly extraordinary Ð I gasped at the beauty of the work, which had brought my words to life. It was just as if Bator had read my mind. The Nordic maidens were there, the one sprawled unconscious on the floor, legs spread wide, her cunt gaping red, while her friend was bent double over a rock, with the troll going at her from behind with great zeal. His cock was a tribute to the artist's ability to portray large amounts of rock. Another drawing showed Clitopatra, with her full-lipped mouth pouting with pleasure as the yogurt in which she had bathed was licked clean by her maidservants. Several other tales were illustrated with mouth-watering clarity.
"Is there a separate one there of Aphrodititty?" asked Tumescence. "It's for the cover."
"What will it look like?" I asked in turn, sifting through the pile of illustrations. "It's apparently modelled on the Princess," my master responded. I sifted through the pile a little more aggressively.
I found the illustration. It was a semi-classical adaption of the standard portrait, the one that shows Aphrodititty rising from the waves. Like any goddess, she preferred to swim in the nude, of course. I'm told that any court painter in one of the bigger kingdoms is judged on how he portrays this simple story. If enough of the court wank over the picture, then he is admitted to the Royal Academy.
"Here." I held it back towards Tumescence. "I daren't look!" he wailed. "You look. Tell me what it's like." Irritably, I placed the sheet back on the table and took a long look. I almost fainted.
Bator had put a lot of work into the illustration, which was delicately coloured. The Goddess of Love was in the approved classical pose, with her hands demurely failing to cover her breasts properly. Her skin was flawless, shining wet, glistening with jewelled light. Her eyes glistened, and her mouth parted. Her long limbs were shapely and firm. And, of course, there was a great swathe of hair falling around her shoulders, coiled about her flaring hips, glistening and radiant, just managing to fall far enough that her pussy was hidden. It was a beautiful picture, a tribute to love.
Only it wasn't a picture of the Princess. Oh, superficially it was her, of course. A stunning beauty, with that sweep of midnight black hair (Aphrodititty is normally shown blonde, or light brunette). But I could see the discrepancies right away. As depicted, the goddess was a head taller than Deepthroat. The limbs looked just a fraction too sturdy. But the real giveaway were the tits. Deepthroat suffered no deficiency in that department, but the size of her boobs was exaggerated by the fact that they were worn on such a small frame. This picture showed a young woman whose jugs would have blessed a giantess. Was the artist using a little licence to flatter his beloved? I didn't think so.
Even the hair was wrong. Deepthroat's hair had that slight hint of steely blue, it shone from within. Aphrodititty's hair was matte, a slash of jet black across the page.
Any normal person wouldn't notice the difference, wouldn't remark on these small "errors." But I knew one person who would (one person other than meÉ), one person who would see it all, particularly if she, the portrait and the true model were all in the same place at the same time.
"When will Bator be here?" I asked, a note of panic in my voice. Tumescence looked at me quizzically. "In the morning," he replied. "Is there a problem?" I shook my head vigorously. My mind raced. I knew I didn't dare be here in the morning when Bator and Deepthroat came to call. How was I supposed to get out of here, short of again allowing myself to be captured by Grope? Which reminded meÉ
"How did your meeting with the Chamberlain go, master?" I inquired.
Tumescence had spent a long time in the Palace that day, and had returned looking grumpy. He had locked himself into his room for a while, and his mood had scarcely improved much before dinner. In fact, if the drawings hadn't been delivered, I feared he would have remained ill-tempered all night.
Hearing my question, he banged a few pots and plates, and then returned to the table. He sat as close to me as he had dared since I arrived.
"I don't know what you've done to upset the Chamberlain, but he has taken a very close interest in you, Nina." Well, at least I knew what that was about. "He insists that it was inappropriate of me to hire you as my assistant personally; apparently, all staff have to be closely vetted by him." From what I knew of Grope, I expected that this "vetting" only extended to the female staff, but I kept the comment to myself. "He isn't happy at having a servant living outside the Palace tower."
This conversation didn't appear to be heading in a direction I could feel happy with, and Tumescence must have noticed my alarm, for he reached out and patted me on the shoulder in a most fatherly fashion. And without aging several years too.