tagSci-Fi & FantasyIn the Kingdom of Smut Ch. 05

In the Kingdom of Smut Ch. 05

byHookedonPhoenix©

Martin was sore and groaning the entire day after his spiritual and sexual experience with Krysella. Even for a person as manifestly virile as him, it was difficult to force his straining body and muddled mind to do little else but slink his way to his room and collapse into a deep, sticky sleep. When he awoke, he was as tired as he'd been when he'd left the church. The sunlight was fading into the later evening, and his eternal bodyguard was nowhere to be found. He blearily stumbled towards the adjoining bath, unable to parse out the details necessary to disrobe and sink into an exhausted stupor beneath the warm, engulfing waters. As he lowered his head down beneath the hot, clinging rivulets his thoughts returned to those final, baffling experiences he'd had in the presence of the Goddess of Love.

She'd... she'd awoken something in him. They were the only words he could use to explain it. Before that moment of penultimate erotic enlightenment, Martin had walked blissfully through life with the carefree ardour that comes natural to one of the blood royal. But now, thoughts were swirling in his mind that made him question everything he knew and accepted as fact. Separated from the drug-like addiction that came part and parcel with making love to a deity, the implications of the words she had spoken began to echo in his mind.

His Grandfather had stolen her heart from the Elves; he had brought her here, and allowed her to live amongst his people for decades... what would that do to a people, to a society of malleable mortals? Martin had always seen the clear uncomfortability that other Human nations had for the easygoing lifestyle that Norelon embraced. Ever were the envoys of other countries left speechless and red-faced when a casual sexual joke was made towards the Queen in her presence by one of her courtiers, or an overt groping was exchanged from one noble to another. It was something so commonplace as to be inconsequential to his people's politics, as mundane as shaking hands, or exchanging pleasantries.

Martin had always seen this duality of opinion, this split between outsider and a citizen of Norelon, and had merely shrugged them off as the simple differences in preference endemic in any society. It was as unique as the quirks of their art, or their architecture. What was insulting to one people would be a compliment to another- or so he thought.

But now, things began to go askew in the young Prince's mind. Krysella was the High Priestess of the Church of the Merciful, worshippers of the Goddess of Mercy, the nameless divinity who was at the heart of Norelon culture and customs. But in truth, she was herself a Goddess. Perhaps such worship was a prayer by proxy towards the true source of Norelon's belief?

And if so, still more concerns began to grow in the would-be ruler's mind. Things that had never made sense, but had been explained away in single sentence answers from those older and more experienced than he. Much importance had always been placed upon Martin's pedigree, his family lineage dating back to the earliest Kings of the realm. The line of Gregor stretched back centuries, perhaps even millennia, to a time when man was merely a collection of tribes rather than kingdoms. They were warriors, generals and statesmen who descended from an unbroken line to the present.

His mother's lineage was equally well-plotted out, if somewhat less distinguished. She had told him the story a dozen times over now: Moiraine's mother and father were joint rulers of a remote Kingdom that had come down from their distant realm to visit the famed rulers of Norelon. These solitary and lunar people claimed a distant descent from the Celesital Court of the two great god-Moons that circled their world: Mora and Nolayne. So impressed were they by the beauty and generosity of the young Gabriel, and so stricken with love was Gabriel for Moiraine that the two families agreed to a betrothal on the spot. In the presence of the Gods they had made a sacred marriage pact, one that left Moiraine to live with this adoptive family as a young girl, marrying her best friend and love once they came of age.

...Granted, his mother often peppered the story with lurid details of his father's active libido and ever-present attraction to her breasts, but such trivialities were usually lost in the greater narrative. Martin knew who his mother was, and where she came from, as did he know his Father's line, dating back centuries.

But nothing at all was said of his Grandfather's wife. Despite the immense focus on his divine right to rule and illustrious genealogy, there was a gaping hole where his family tree was concerned. As a boy, he had asked his Royal Tutor, Aveline about it, but the strictly pedantic woman had only bid him to bury his nose further in his book and continue his studies. The memory had always been an odd one, a half-recalled flash of remembrance that had stayed in Martin's brain since he was a child. He had naturally just assumed that Gregor had married and bedded someone far beneath him in the social spectrum, perhaps a minor noblewoman or even someone of peasant stock, someone whose background would preclude them from inclusion on the prestigious rolls of the family dynasty.

Now he felt different. Now he felt a low, underlying fear in his gut. It wasn't malevolent; Martin did not think that whatever lie he was being fed by those close to him was some sinister conspiracy, but there was a deep sense of wrongness and deception in his mind that confused and befuddled him as he tried to wash away the sweat and fluids that had caked to his body over the course of his frantic mating with the woman that he now worshipped.

Martin left the bath feeling fresh, but still exhausted. He fell asleep again, this time beneath the covers without so much as having a small meal first. When he awoke, the morning sunlight was threading through the curtains. He yawned and stretched, noting with some nonchalance the lack of a certain sultry bodyguard with smoky hair and grey eyes tapping her toe impatiently at the foot of his bed. It was to be expected, Martin supposed: Yasu had, after all, basically endured the same experience that he had done, only in the space of a few seconds. It stood to reason that she was likely sleeping off the sexual encounter like a bad hangover like he had done.

Martin turned about in his covers, embracing the fluff of the bed with a smile and a nestling face. The memory of Yasu's face, caught up in a single, absolute orgasm, her toes curling and her usually severe face slackening in unmitigated ecstacy was both arousing in the extreme, and strangely touching. He had done that, granted with Krysella's help, but it had been through his own sexual drive that his favorite adoptive Aunt had squirted like a faucet onto the floor of the holy church. It was... beautiful! The mental image of Yasu cumming brought a familiar rise in his nethers, the pressure of the bed against it helping to enunciate his arousal. It was only after several seconds that he really paused to take stock of his situation. The room was brighter than it usually was, when he normally woke up. It was likely later in the day-

He rose with a sudden, frightening cognizance. He had completely blown off Aveline's lessons yesterday. And he was about to be late to them again, today.

Martin tossed the covers off of him in a rush, practically leaping like a gazelle as he threw on his pale quilted doublet and breeches and sprinted to his tutor's private study, pulling on his leather boots as he hopped to and fro across the stone flooring. His ever present hard on made dressing cumbersome, but the young man was now used to the consistent wardrobe issues that came with being so quick to 'grow.' He ran headlong across the castle, climbing the steps to the royal observatory three at a time. The Prince skidded to the side and entered Aveline's private solar in a huff, breathing heavily, as he resigned himself to the fact that he was now several minutes late.

Aveline, for her part, appeared unperturbed by Martin's blatant tardiness. The bookish redhead was perched in her leather high backed chair. Her slender leg was set upon her opposing knee, with a rib-spined purple tome set between the crook of her limbs as she read from it; the bulky thing was thicker than her waist. Upon the bridge of her nose were a set of bifocal reading glasses, unique in their creation, invented by Aveline herself.

Her deep blue eyes trailed across the words on the page like a snake slithering along the ground, her brow pulled down in calm concentration. Her hair was done up in its traditional, conservative bun. She wore long, black kneesocks, alongside the relatively modest attire of a schoolteacher, with a blue and gold-trim skirt, and a silken white shirt cinched around her exposed cannonball cleavage. As she read, her lifted foot turned and bounced as the speed of her thought impelled it to psychosomatically respond to her mental gymnastics. Upon her slender feet were a set of heel toe shoes. She often used the weighty things as learning aids in Martin's teaching, tapping them hard upon the floor in disapproval whenever he made a mistake or got too distracted from his studies. Just the sound of them could make Martin jump to attention.

Martin strode up to her with fear in his heart and a shiver in his boots. "Aveline!" He said, "I'm sorry for-"

She did not say a word, nor take her eyes off of the page. With a curt gesture of her right hand she held a lone finger up in a perfect, straight angle, bidding him to be silent for a moment. The frankness of the move made Martin stop in his tracks; such overt rudeness to royalty was normally not to be tolerated, even in a Kingdom as liberal as Norelon. The fact that Aveline was ready and willing to commit such a bold act told Martin just how badly he had messed up.

Her eyes continued to move across the page, acquiring with relish whatever information it seemed to be granting her. Martin stood, sweating and squirming like a fox caught in a hunting trap, its mouth still full of the food it had tried to steal. The silence grew uncomfortable, then oppressive, then intolerable. Still the straight-backed academic refused to acknowledge his presence. At last, just as he felt the building pangs of near-animalistic fear, his tutor deigned to glance up from her book, affixing him with a warm, welcoming smile.

"Young master." She said, "How kind of you to grace me with your presence! I'd have thought you'd be ankle-deep in prayer at this point, or perhaps buried crotch-deep within a woman's vulva."

Martin winced, wilting in the heat of his mentor's steady gaze. "Aveline, I-"

"It's to be expected, I suppose." She continued, as if he hadn't spoken. Her eyes flitted down to "The audacity of youth tends to make us all slaves to our impulses, no?" Aveline smiled, stretching her luscious lips wide across her distinguished expression. "Perhaps some, more so than others."

She clapped the book shut, pulling her glasses down off her nose to peer at up him with her unvarnished eyes. She quirked an eyebrow, extending a hand out to the empty chair across from her. "Please," she said, a genial tone in her sophisticated voice, "have a seat Martin."

Far too chastened by his recent transgressions to complain or raise a fuss, Martin plodded over to the chair he usually sat in: a plush armchair with deep cushions and a hefty girth. Martin had always been stymied by the thing's comfortability, and had wondered whether it was by design that Aveline constantly made him sit in the thing like a Lord unto his throne. Whatever the reason, when the weight of his eyelids began to weigh heavily upon him, Aveline would be there with a smile and a whack, wrapping on his knuckles with a wooden switch.

Such draconian friendliness was part of what made Martin's blood run cold when Aveline received him so warmly into the room. She was a loving teacher, but a strict disciplinarian, and this latest violation had been his worst act yet. Martin trembled at the perceived consequences.

However, just as he was bracing for the world-ending catastrophe of Aveline's subtle rage, the prim lady of knowledge merely smiled at him and re-opened the book in front of her, leafing through the thick pages till she got back to where she'd been when she'd started reading. As she spoke to him, her eyes darted across each paragraph, seeming to only half-hear as he responded to her questions:

"So, Martin. Would you please explain to me the last two days of instruction?" Her smile curled across the corner of her lips like a cheshire cat's grin. "-Or lack thereof?"

"I'm sorry, Aveline. I got held up by-" She tutted him, her piercing gaze drifting up from the pages of her book again as she affixed him with a heady glance. Martin's mouth closed with a bear trap's snap.

"Hmm... I don't think I asked you for an apology, just an explanation." She looked down, sparing him the torture of her unremitting stare. Her plush lips mouthed the words she read on the heavy pages between candy-sweet words. "Perhaps you'd like to try again?"

Martin felt a chill enter his bones. The icy courtesy she was extending him was somehow more concerning than her sharp glare or haughty sneers when he became too cavalier with her in class. He had never encountered this before. "W-well..." He coughed, his voice shaking as he tried to collect his words into a coherent narrative. "I was a bit held up, you see. By - ah... prayer."

She chuckled, a half-laugh that she covered demurely with a hand so that he did not have to see her expulsion of breath. He saw the corners of her red lips though, curving upwards with a scimitar's edge. "I did not take you to be a 'godly' lad, Martin." She tapped her tongue delicately upon the flat of her finger, thumbing the page across in a wide swath as the sound of folding paper filled the air. You could hear a pin drop in the room. "Are you sure you weren't just having another 'dalliance' with Yasu, again? I'd be quite dismayed to catch you two fornicating amongst my books... again." Her pupils locked to him like arrowtips. "You're lucky you didn't leave stains, last time"

"Nothing like that!" He exclaimed, practically jumping straight in his chair as the implied accusation hung like smoke in the musty room. "We didn't- that is, Yasu and I weren't-"

"Humping like a Granerian Orc couple?" She quirked her one eyebrow, a calculated, perfectly sculpted maneuver. Martin had seen it many times before, performed like an intricate dance in its subtle complexity. "You don't even know about them, do you? A shame. You'd have learned about it yesterday. I was actually quite excited to share with you knowledge you'd actually find engaging."

"We weren't humping like those things." Martin said flatly, matching Aveline's eyes with a firm stare. The corners of her eyes seemed to squint with pleasure.

"I'd hope not. The Granerian Orc male has two penises and enough seminal fluid in a single ejaculation to drown a man. That would be... problematic, for a human." Aveline finally lowered the book enough for him to see her whole face. She regarded him like an alchemist examining an unfamiliar brew. "But I believe you. All jests aside, a good Prince like you wouldn't dare miss our daily lessons without good reason, no?"

Martin eagerly nodded his assent. "Of course not, Aveline! The High Priestess kept me for far longer than I was expecting, and-"

"Gods," Aveline said, allowing a hint of emotion to enter her voice for the first time. "-Don't tell me you actually slept with her!"

Yes. Said his brain. "No!" Martin asserted. "The prayer was just... intense."

Aveline allowed a second giggle to leave her lips. "Of course, young master! Prayer often leaves the pious comatose for the better part of a day." She carefully set the open book aside, placing it upon the cushion of her chair as she stood, giving Martin the barest glimpse of her slim panties beneath her low-cut skirt as she bent over. "Would you mind waiting in your seat, for a moment?"

Turning around with a stiff purposefulness, Aveline stepped deeper into the inner clutter of her solar. Amongst the piles of books and rows of stacked shelves she disappeared into the tiny nook that Martin knew she kept as her personal living space. He had learned as much after a particularly spirited tutoring session had devolved into something altogether more carnal several months before. There was a soft clatter, and Martin leaned forward in his chair to try to get a better look.

She came around the bend bearing a tray, upon which two frilled cups of tea were sitting, steaming on linen coasters. She set the tray down between them, taking her book in hand and giving Martin a second long look at her exposed bum before resuming her seat, crooking her leg atop her knee. Her toe clacked with a slow, deliberate pattern against the stone floor. Martin sat, still somewhat perturbed by her calm expression. "Tea?" She asked, taking her own cup and blowing upon the surface, spreading the steam outwards as her perfect lips formed a channel of air. She sipped at the edge, taking a slow drag from it. "Mmmh! You can't go wrong with simple, black tea. Wouldn't you agree?"

"No." Martin said, sitting like a scolded schoolboy in his seat. He was not about to take the cup until she told him to. Aveline smiled.

"You're not in trouble, Martin. I told you: I understand why you missed class. Though to be frank, I'd advise against making a habit of it," She looked at him from beneath her eyelids as she took another gulp. "...Do we understand each other?" Her voice was rigid, firm like folded steel.

"Of course, Aveline." Martin agreed, his shoulders slumping in genuine shame at having disappointed his teacher. "It was just an aberration. It won't happen again." She looked at him for a long moment.

"You know, young master, you yourself are something of an aberration." Aveline hid her smile behind the wide brim of her cup. "Only someone as audacious as you would be so bold as to be late after missing class... after all the times I've had to discipline with you! You're a tough nut to crack."

"I've heard that, before." Martin said, flashing her a winning grin. Aveline laughed.

"Haha! I am sure you have, Martin. I am sure you have." She took another sip, her nose wrinkling as she saw his still untouched tea. "Care to share a glass before we begin? I think it's the least you could do to enjoy my courtesy." Her eyes told him what she wanted him to do.

He slowly took the cup sitting in front of him, holding the warm but not hot tea to his lips. He took a whiff and smelled the lovely scent of herb. Martin attempted to give her an encouraging smile, relaxing somewhat into the folds of the cushions. "Thank you for your leniency, Aveline." He said, taking a deep draw from the well of the cup. It trickled down his throat like a burst of warmth to the soul. "And might I say:" He said, taking a second, more eager swig. "You're looking beautiful, today."

"Flatterer!" She said, allowing another embarrassed chuckle to reach the fingers covering her mouth. Her smile widened as Martin finished the rest of the cup in one gulp. "You give me too much credit, Martin. Enough silly banter, shall we begin your instruction for the day?"

Setting aside her cup, Aveline took the book in her lap, turning it around to face Martin as he licked his lips clean from the delicious tea. Martin sat up straighter in the chair, leaning forward with his arms on the armrests as he peered with squinting eyes at the ever-nearing text. "What have you been reading?" He asked as the text came into view.

"Look down here." She said, ignoring him. She set the book onto his lap and tapped her finger at a line at the very bottom of the page. "Read this first sentence for me."

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