Psalm of Love

And so to please him was significant business. They would tease and please him, build up his manliness and his power over them, but, lately, nothing would come of it. They would try to stir his interest in every way they knew how, but to no avail. So she cooked up this scheme to play the forward slave, to see if his desire could again be stirred. And it was pointless. Instead of renewing his pleasure, she had only insulted him.

And yet, his sex is as firm as ever. His vigor has not waned, even a shade, in his anger. Perhaps, just perhaps, this fiasco could be turned to triumph for her and all the wives. Turned away from him, she wiped the wetness around her eyes, and lay on the floor.

He noted her humble position, and felt that justice had been done. Then he saw her place her knees under her, and stretch her arms out before her upon the intricate carpet of a multitude of threads, as if she were in supplication to the unseen god. But what god would demand its servant to be in such a shameful position, nude, with ones sex spread out to the air. Her legs were in a strange position—they were open, as if she were a frog squatting on his lily pad. As he stared at her, still furious, but with growing curiosity, he heard her mumble something incoherent. "Again!" he commanded, roughly.

With greater clarity of speech, she chanted,

"You ride in victory
You ride the backs in glory."

It was not some unseen god she was bowing before. Rather, she bowed before him, offering her sex to him. She lay before him, her opening like a bird's mouth, ready to take whatever is placed there by the mother. Her combed public hair was now wild with abandon, and her lower part was shaking... no, wiggling. She was teasing him, taunting him to show her his power. As if she were saying, "Try to take this! I dare you to conquer me, to ravish me as you have done so many lands."

That was a challenge he could bear. He quickly moved behind her, and squeezed her back at the waist. He placed his penis below her ass, the tip at her vaginal mouth. He wished to force his way in her, cause her pain and so he pushed in roughly —and she did whimper and tremble a bit. But once he had pushed through her wall, she was wet and smooth inside, as if she was enjoying all that had transpired. She was gaining pleasure from his frustration, his humility, his dishonor.

He pushed himself within her, and then took the palms of his hands and pushed her shoulders on the floor, her face crushed, humiliated before him. "Dare you mock your king? I shall show you mockery, and humility. You do not deserve to face your king as he enters you. Since you act like a dog, I will treat you as a dog. In fact—worse. I shall rip open your bowels and force myself upon you until you are bleeding..."

As he looked at her face, hair strewn all about, he saw her cheeks shimmering with tears. In her heart, she saw a monster, a demon invade him. And it was all her fault. She had pushed him to this terrible state. Oh what had she begun! Is this what the other wives will have to face—terror, and assumption of deceit? She wept openly, for she could no longer play act, even before her lord.

The sorrow that scarred her beautiful face struck him to his heart. She had no intention to mock—he saw that now. He grew soft and exited—nay, fell out of her. Then he walked over to the bed and lay down on it, the emotions of the last hour draining him. "I am done. My anger is ended. You may go."

As he heard her rise and pick up the slave-clothes she had donned, his eyes were closed. Then, after a moment, the door leading out of his bedchamber opened. And then shut. His eyes remained closed to the world in order to recriminate himself. "What a fool I am. How often have I said, 'All things must be seen from two places. A foundation can only be seen level from different positions.' I speak that which is wise, but have no wisdom because I do not act it out. I am not just. I am not a true king. I make assumptions and judge based on them. I do not deserve to be around those who care about me. I do not deserve to live."

A hand touched his knee, and he jerked his head up as his eyes opened. There she was, her face bowed before him at the foot of his bed, still nude. Her tears were still on her face, but her cheeks were glistening, as if with joy. Her breathing, he could see by her breasts rising and falling, was steady—not fearful or in pain. She bowed before him, and plaintively whispered, "Please do not dismiss your slave. She is not finished with her song."

"I am not able to listen to your song anymore."

"My king, my song is pleasant. It may cheer you."

There she was. Although in the plain, colorless state of a slave, she was his. His wife. His wife from his youth. She has had to endure many rages before, and worse than the one just shown. She has remained beside him before he was king, when his brothers ruled over him and he had nothing but reproach and a future full of rejection. She had given him pleasure and wise counsel in all the years of lowliness. She loved him no matter what— he realizes that now. Despite his weaknesses, despite his misunderstandings, despite his foolish assumptions and idiotic speech, she was always beside him, always supporting him. Never did she openly incriminate him. Yes, she would criticize him at times, but never before others. And never did she bring up again the faults he had exercised against her.

"Here you remain, my dove. After I have humiliated you. So beautiful, so delicate. Your breasts float on the air, on your very breath. Your hair hangs down your back as sand is moved by the wind. Your eyes are wide and full, and you look at me in pity. Dear one, after I have harmed you, would you comfort me?"

She smiled and climbed on the bed. As she knelt beside him, she bent over him, caressing him, touching his shoulders, and kissing his face. He almost wept at her forgiveness, her care. He kissed her wet face, lapping up her tears, as if he could erase her sorrow from his heart, by eradicating her tears.

She sees his weariness and cares, and her lips stroke his eyes, wiping away his own streaks of sorrow streaming from his eyes. She lay down upon his chest, with her ear above his heartbeat, her upper thigh resting upon his deflated member and pelvis. His heart is steady, and slow, almost as if he were to drift off to sleep. Perhaps, she thinks, this was not such a marvelous idea. Yes, this was different for him, and he was certainly aroused. But how much am I—as well as the other wives— willing to pay for his arousal? The child of a king is powerful—but will he only give one in anger, in heat? And for whom am I preparing this path? How many women could endure this humiliation? Even so, she sighed, I have failed. He has given me no seed for so long. How will he ever give it to anyone?

In the midst of this peace, he becomes aware of everything this woman is to him. She has given him his first children. She has given him forgiveness. She has given him joy in times of darkness and sorrow. Perhaps... perhaps she can give him renewal. New life. Perhaps she can grant the king a boon—if he would but allow it.

Then he becomes aware not of who she is, nor of what she means or of what her hidden intentions are—suddenly it is just her. Her body, resting on his, gentle and golden. Her hair, swirls of brown flowing from her shoulder to his. Her breast as a ripe melon, nipples taut and flesh soft, combining to give goosebumps of pleasure on his skin. Her stomach, pressed against his, shaped as a musical instrument, strumming the rhythm of love . Her thigh, solid against his member, slightly stroking him with her ever-subtle movement. Her skin, creamy and taut over soft flesh—delicious to touch, and to taste.

In her ears, his heartbeat quickens, and she feels a pressure jutting into her thigh. She smiles. Perhaps I have not failed after all. She kisses his smooth chest and lifts herself up. One glance at his face shows no change—eyes closed, lips pursed. But she knows better. "My lord, may I serve you?"

With eyes still closed, he touches her cheek, saying, "Do as you please, my mistress."

She thinks, I will take advantage of that command—for both of us. Not moving her body from him, she shifts her thigh to reveal his penis, and finds, as she touches, it stiffening beneath her fingers. She reaches down into herself and plunges her fingers into her smooth wetness—despite her despair, she remained filled with juice, even through the turmoil. Then she holds onto him again, stroking his shaft with her inner lubrication. Under her tender care, she could feel his shaft becoming hard and she raised it up to the heavens as if an offering, squeezing it, caressing more of her inner smoothness into him. Then she notes his own liquid, being pushed out by her grip, which she quickly combines with her own upon him, and his tip and shaft become slick with the lover's combined nectar.

Not releasing him from his pleasure, she moves her body off of him and then squats between his legs. She bends her neck with her face hovering over his now powerful scepter. Poised over his strength, she intones,

"You pull back arrows
You are taut, and your grip is firm."

Quickly, she plunges his penis into her mouth, caressing him with her tongue, stroking him with her lubricated hand. He moans, almost shouting with the pleasure, and places his hand gently on her head. Her hair is as a tent over his groin, but one that rises and falls over him, in time with his pleasure. She tastes their mixed lubrication, and licks it all up, all around his tip and shaft. She takes him out of her mouth, and then caresses herself with his long, thick fruit. She has him stroke her supple neck, then he descends her chest until it circles her left breast, and brushes against her nipple. His member then brushes her upper torso again, between the center of her mounds, up her neck, until he reaches her mouth and he pierces her again, and her tongue licks him up again.

How many times did she raise his penis to softly war against her mouth and chest? Twenty, thirty times? His pleasure-sounds did not cease in all that time, and each time she drove him into her mouth like a spike into her flesh, he shouted. After a time, she realizes that she does not want his precious seed to go to waste, so she replaces her mouth with her other hand, and caresses him softly and slowly.

Then she smiles again. "My lord?"

Still enthralled by lust for her caress, he gasps, "Yes, my mistress?"

"May I still do my pleasure?"

"Oh, yes. Please do."

Still gripping to him with one hand, she lays down and says, "Then come and grant me pleasure." She strokes his hand with her free hand, and picks it up, leading them to her breasts. She purrs...

"You are so wise,
Your hand will teach much.
Your right hand will guide you to awesome deeds."

His callused fingers stroke her rising and falling flesh, round and delicate under his touch. She whispers, "You are my lord. You are my teacher. You will show me how to be pleased." She pleads with him with a sincere ache of desire, "Please. I have so much to learn." His other hand caresses her stomach, plumb and scarred from bearing children—his sons. He looks upon her, and sees her eyes closed, her chest straining against his hand, her pelvis raised, ever so slightly. Her softness seduces him to accomplish her desire. He bends over and touches her nipple with his soft lips, gently pinching it. His fingers imitate this motion on her other side, and she stirs under his care. His lips and fingers caress her areolas and then her fleshy mounds, all around them. Then his mouth makes its way back to her nipple. His hand encompasses the flesh of her one breast, lightly pressing it, while his lips dance around her other nipple. They nuzzle it and kiss it and softly pinch it in different ways, from different directions, until finally his mouth opens and his tongue covers her nipple and areola with lubrication. She gasps at this surprise, and hisses, "Yesss."

He straddles her stomach, carefully resting his firm member upon her, and he keeps her eyes closed with one hand as his tongue goes between her breasts and nipples. As his hands cup the outside of her breasts, he is licking one nipple, then kissing the other breast, then caressing his teeth against that same nipple, then sucking on the other breast. Finally, he focused on one of her breasts and licks the nipple without ceasing.

He felt her pelvis stirring beneath his sack, and, without taking his tongue off of her flesh, he puts his body to one side of her. His mouth is sucking her nipple, blowing air on her, and his hand is stretched out upon her stomach, lowering itself to her hair. The hand then moves to the side, stroking the top of her thigh and as it moves between her open legs, a single finger strokes her inner thigh, and then the other. Her hand reaches down and strokes his hand, so intimately placed, and she leads it up to her willing sex.

She all but pants,

"Your arrows make their mark in your enemies,
Your shootings are sharp in their hearts."

At this, his finger slowly penetrates her, stroking into her depth. After three strokes, he adds another finger, and they both delve into her, coming out warmed and wet. After a few times more, he crooks his fingers, allowing much nectar to remain on them and he caresses her vaginal lips, soaking them with her own lubrication. His fingers stroke her up and down, but always remaining shy of her clit, even side-stepping it, and circling it, but never touching—all the while continuing to lick her nipple, stirring her desire.

After teasing her like that for a while, then he takes his finger and puts it within her again, pulling out juices that drip from his extended appendage, and he applies his wet firmness directly onto her clit, and she moans and bucks her pelvis slightly. He teases her no more, but strokes her pleasure, deepening her desire. Her breath becomes sharper and more rapid and her hand strokes the top of his hand which is resting on her sex—she does not push him, but she scratches the back of his hand, as if it were she, and not he, enflaming his passion. Finally, she feels the warm burning from within her, which travels up her chest and she can control her feeling no more, but releases her pleasure-moans to his ears.

He continues to stroke her, not so roughly, until she lifts his hand from her. For a moment, she basks in the pleasure, in his closeness, in his touch. Then she opens her eyes, and remembers that this night was for him, not her. She smiles at him and reaches down to his stiff penis, confirming his enduring desire. Then she shifts toward him and, taking both hands, leads him to come and cover her, chanting,

"Your foes are distraught,
They fall under you."

At her guiding, he places himself upon her, her legs outstretched and surrounding his back. He kisses her breasts again, and fondles them with his hands, gazing at their shape and slow movement under his strokes. He rests his head upon one as he stares at the other, at rest, at peace.

The last thing she wanted, however, is for him to be content with her globes, as pleasant as it was to be caressed in this way. She raised up his lips for her to kiss and as he caressed her lips, she reached down and took hold of his shaft. She brought the tip to her own glistening lower lips and she brushed him against the smooth folds of skin, for all purposes, licking him with her sex. Feeling this pleasure, he pushed his hip a little further up, and his penis-tip just barely was covered by the gentle caresses of her vagina. Still holding onto him, she moves him up and down within herself, and feels some stirring again within her.

"Come, my love," she calls as she pulls his buttock up.

He raises himself up, and slowly pushes himself within her, and then out. The pleasure of her surrounded him, and he could feel his heart racing... but why rush? Why not enjoy this night together? He pushes himself all the way inside of her and remains there a moment, securing his position. Then he raises himself up, to get a bit deeper, and to have the base of his shaft rest solid against her clit. With minute but quick movements, he strokes her internally, rubbing her clit with his penis and as he heard her gasp, he smiled at her. She grimaced and then closed her eyes under the overwhelming pressure of her pleasure.

This is not what she wanted. He wouldn't spill his seed in her this way... but ohhhh, he felt so good. He was deep within her, driving into her with very short movements, and he covered her, as if he were surrounding her sex, her body in a way that could not be resisted. Her arms reached around his back and her fingernails scratched his skin as he persisted in his infernal pleasure-giving...OH, that was it, oh, ohhhhhh. And she released herself around him, beneath him, surrounded by him.

She comes to herself with him still within her, still hard, his hand stroking her hair, staring into her eyes, pupils large with his love for her. May he be accursed, she thought within her heart. He still hasn't released himself. But wait, what was he saying?

"My love, I have done you a disservice. You do deserve to rise yourself above me. You do deserve to reign your glory upon me. Let me lay down and you take your place upon me..."

She would not take a chance of his anger flaring up again. But if he desires some humility, it could be arranged. "Nay, my lord," she coaxed, "I am beneath you now, and so I obtain my pleasure at your will, at your strength above me, upon me, within me. But should you wish for me to reign, even as queen, thus we shall do so together." She motions him to pull out of her and to rest on the bed. "Allow me to show you, my lord."

She climbs off of the bed (just a bit sore, but clearly a joyful soreness) and goes to the corner of the chamber, where the slaves places the massive cushions, usually set upon the bed during the day. She stacked up two cushions on the floor, displaying them to him and sang aloud,

"You sit on your throne
Your glory is over them."

He sits up, puzzled at her song. Then she takes his hand and guides him away from the bed toward the cushions, bidding him to be seated. He smiles, and sits upon his "throne", which was certainly softer than the throne he had to ascend daily. She walks around him now, looking the whole scene over. He murmurs, "But if I am on a throne, how should we reign together? There is only room for one on a throne." On an impulse, she kisses him on the back of his neck. Deciding that was not enough, she presses her body against his back, stroking his arms and shoulders, then descending to his butt and thighs. She reaches one hand around him, and grasps his penis, chanting,

"Your majesty reigns over your kingdom
Your scepter stands tall in the midst of you."

His member is still soaking from the bath she gave him. She begins stroking him, her thumb massaging the tip, and kissing his back, and caressing his shoulders with her free hand. Then she moves around him, not releasing his penis for a moment, and places her legs over his bent leg. Her whole hand massages his staff, and her thumb rubs over the whole of his tip. He moans at this feeling, and she begins to stroke her hand up and down his member. She can see that he is really enjoying it, no longer being introspective, just focusing on his own pleasure and what she can give him. Finally. Now he is where she wants him.

She sits on his leg, and he feels her wetness upon his skin. She moves her head closer to his face and then chants quietly before him,

"You will do the right and hate the evil—
You will act in goodness and right."

She puts his legs together, and hovers above them, her body close to his torso. She lifts his penis and slides it against her slit, up and down, up and down, and continues to sing...