The Shimmering Ones

"Hey, come on."

"Come on, what? You know, there's one thing here that I can still be vain about. It's that the girls in the village are a little jealous of my fine catch." She looked into his confused face. "You better hold onto me, Aerin. I think our adventure just made you more wanted. If you ever let me go, you know what will happen? You will literally drown in pussy. A horrible, squelching death. So don't let me go."

He smiled embarrassed, and rested his forehead against hers. She stroked his hair. This silly boy didn't say enough nice things to himself. It was okay. She was here now. She was here to support him, like he supported her. This was the important part.

*

"Ah, ah fuck!"

Lumi's back bucked and just as he thought he'd burst, his skilled tormenter dismounted him. His cock trembled, and shimmered in starlight.

"See, that's better," she said. "Your voice is too nice to hold back." The other two stopped moving, their hands on his quavering chest. He whined, to their amusement. His underbelly burned, and he ached for release. He licked his dry lips.

"Will you... will you make me cum now, then?"

"Oh, no. No." The three replied all at once. He looked at Efi and she smirked. "You're way too cute to be let off so easy."

*

"I'd love to go with you," he muttered. "See your castle. Do stuff. What do we do there? In your fantasies?"

"Anything we want. You can spend time pleasantly there. Lhamedos is a show-off of a castle. It was built to be comfortable, not defensible." She stroked his hair. "I wish I got to fuck you on my bed, even just once."

"Aw, your princess bed? Your girlhood bed?"

"Yeah. It's just so large and solid. Must have taken ten footmen to drag it up to the chamber. Anyway, first we would have to dine, with my family and their courtiers, and you'd be so out of your depth with the polite conversation and the tiny forks, and you'd grow so flustered, but you'd keep up a brave face." She kissed him and pushed into him, and eased him down on his back. "And you know that it brings out my evil side when I see you flustered."

He pinched her cheek. "Bullshit. All your sides are evil." She snickered.

"So afterwards I practically drag you from the table, upstairs into my chamber..."

"Since when are you allowed to be there alone with a guy?" She tapped his forehead with her knuckle. "Ow."

"It's a fantasy. Anything goes."

"Okay. Go on then."

"I drag you upstairs and I toss you on that bed, and you sink into the feather mattress... I pull off your clothes... nah, I rip them off you." Fantasy finery is cheap. "The chamber is full of beautiful things. That fine inlaid desk, that fine gobelin, that fine naked boy. I stretch out your limbs..." she grabbed his unresisting arms and lifted them above his head, "and tie each one to a bed post. Really firm and tight. And then, Aerin, I'm merciless." She stroked his chin. "I do not rest until every last inch of your body is fondled, tickled, pinched, kissed and bitten. Sometimes you try to flinch away from my touch, but that only lets me know where to tease you extra hard. I know how to make you squirm. I know how to make you moan. All the servants outside hear you, blushing girls scurry from all over the castle to listen in. On the wall, the portrait of old King Theodoric looks down on us with its painted scowl. I edge you for hours, and you beg and you plead, but I'm a Princess of Lhamedos, I don't care what you want.

"Dawn light is already pouring in through those great big windows when I finally feel a shred of pity and let you cum. I lay down on your chest, and you're softer than the mattress, a blissed-out, mewling, trembling heap. We sleep in, and when at last I awake I abandon you and go off to the bath room. An elderly servant cautiously walks in, and sees you there, naked, tied up. You shyly ask for her help. She looks up to the heavens, mutters thanksgiving to the gods, and collapses senseless on the floor. It takes all the smelling salts in the castle to revive her. Everyone is very cross with us for being so late for breakfast. The servants all whisper, glancing at you, and giggle. You avoid my gaze because you're kind of mad at me for making you suffer so long, and even more mad at yourself for loving it. But I never take my eyes off you. I just stare at you like a dumbstruck dreamy idiot, chin in my hands, barely touching my food, and I'm just so proud of this lovely, lovely, lovely Kontarian boy that wants to hang out with me." She smiled. "Now tell me that this wouldn't be really nice."

He scowled. "You're pure scum, Gabrielle."

"You didn't like my daydream?" Her hand skid down his stomach and into his trousers. "No, look, you liked it a little bit." She pulled his trousers down and liberated his cock, which shot up, hard, into the night air.

"I liked the part about the portrait with the scowling king. Scowling kings are such a turn on."

"Oh, oh, we'll have your portrait painted too! Get someone pretty among those dour faces in the gallery."

"Oh, no." He pushed against her and sat up. "We should have a portrait painted of us both, together. We show up in a well-lit room, wearing whatever fine clothes you deem portrait-worthy..."

"Mmm. Aerin in velvet."

"What are you wearing?"

"My favourite ball gown. It was silk, silvery blue, with gold trimmings—"

"This won't do. As the painter arranges the easel, I tell you that your dress won't do. For a portrait, you should be wearing your very best outfit, the one which makes you look the best, one that really matches your personality. You'll be posing in the nude.

"You laugh and grab at my wrists as I reach to undo your laces, but (to your horror) you love the idea. You're a generous girl, you know it would be cruel to not share your beauty with the world. Over his canvas the painter looks on with alarm as the silk slides off your shoulders and the real Gabrielle emerges, in her own skin. I kneel you down in front of the easel, and I kneel behind you. I reach down, like this..." His hand glided up her inner thigh, under her dress, and she gave a small shiver as his fingers landed firmly on her underwear, and kneaded her through the fabric. "And then my fingers slip inside you. The painter clears his throat, comes over, readjusts your shoulders a bit, and then gets to work. My hand circles a little and presses, and I can feel you tremble, but you're a good model, you know you have to keep still, you have to endure this. It takes a long while, the painter has to take frequent breaks, my fingertips get all wrinkly, my hand drips. I ask him if he'd like to paint your orgasm face, and yes, he really really would. You protest, but I want a true portrait of you. I hold your clit between my fingers, and I press and stroke, just the way you like. You can't resist that. You close your eyes, you moan the dirtiest swear words with that fancy accent of yours. The painter studies you carefully as you cum. This was great, he says. I need a few more of those, though.

"Some weeks later the painting is unveiled. The unveiling causes a lot more interest than usual. That artist is really good, people say. He captured the light really well. Especially the slick wetness on those Kontarian fingers, as they push and play with our Princess Gabrielle's beautiful little pussy. Very elegant. Very artistic." He smiled sweetly. "Isn't my story better than yours?"

She gave him a frosty look. "Getting bossy, are you? In my own fantasy castle?" He shrugged. She was keenly aware that her underwear under his finger was now very noticeably damp.

"Yeah," he said. "What are you gonna do about it?"

She placed her hand on his thigh, caressed his taut shaft with her fingertips.

"I'm gonna make you wear a tiny silk loincloth, and a collar like a pet dog's, and nothing else. I'm gonna make you follow me around like that. Whenever there's a garden party, and I'm lounging in my lattice chair, talking to some distinguished lord or lady, I'm gonna make you kneel by my side. And I'll talk to them, one hand stroking your hair, the other holding a goblet of wine, and all the while I'll be closely watching their eyes, eyes trying desperately to hang onto me and not to dart down towards that gorgeous scandal that everyone is talking about. And sometimes my hand will stray and caress your neck, your collarbones, your chest. And if you enjoy my touch, Aerin, everyone will know it. The loincloth is so skimpy, just a little pouch to hide my toys in, on strings which encircle your hips. When you get hard, your strong reckless cock will lift the dainty thing away from your body, the strings stretching and in danger of snapping. And the fine ladies will stammer, and look on with the corners of their eyes, and cool themselves with peacock fans, and get nosebleeds. And the fine gentlemen will grip their chairs, afraid of the envy they'll find awakening in their hearts; and also they will look at me with newfound respect. Because they'll see that I have done what they couldn't, not with all their arms and armours and armies. They'll see that I alone among the children of Harmen have truly managed to conquer a Kontarian.

"And maybe if a party is particularly boring or I'm feeling particularly like tormenting you, I'll take away what little cover I've granted you. I'll grab a fruit peeling knife, run its cold flat side down your flank, rest the edge against that taut string. I'll give you one chance to calm yourself maybe. But you can't help it. You want it too much. So I cut your little loincloth away, and your submission bobs free for everyone to see. I grab it and stroke you. You hide your face in my lap and whine, pleading to keep your last bit of dignity. But I'm too proud of you. I want to show off what a good boy you are. I put my thumb just behind the ridge of your glans, and I rub, I rub. You gasp heat into my lap. Your body shudders. I take away my hand. Your cock twitches once more in the air, and you hope that maybe you can still fight down that orgasm - but then you feel my hand on the back of your neck, and you know I'm watching you, amused. It's like a firework show in my honour, delicious thick Kontarian cum squirts far through the air. Everyone witnesses how much you love being my bitch. The custom of kneeling before royalty will probably die out after that. Nobody who'd seen you will ever again be impressed by such a paltry, fakeable sign of submission."

Aerin's eyes were closed. She rubbed his slit with her thumb, smeared his glans with the clear liquid he was leaking. When she finished speaking, he opened his eyes and took a deep breath. His voice cracked dry in his mouth when he responded:

"Tell me about the windows in your bedroom, those great big windows."

"They were so nice. Huge, taller than you are, mullioned, clear Redonian glass on thin leaden lattice. And they have those nice deep windowsills, you can bring over a pillow and sit in it, watch that garden below."

"Watch, or be watched."

"The drapes—"

"The drapes won't help you, Gabbie. Nothing will help you when we're alone in there, in the evening. I lock the door behind us... nah, I don't bother. What are you going to do, call the guards? I grab you whole, toss you onto the bed, pin you down. Maybe you thought that you were going to be dominant. Maybe you're trying to fight me. Do you know how cute you are, when you're trying to hold onto your pride and fight me, even when it's hopelessly obvious that your submissive side has won out? You slap at my shoulders and your back bucks and you are weak with laughter. You can try to resist me, those silks and laces rip easily. Right in the middle of your own castle, you are naked and defenceless. I get rid of my own clothes..."

"You were only wearing a loincloth and a collar, though," she interrupted, and guffawed as he pinched her.

"Shut up. I grab you by the arm and force you towards the window. You realise what's about to happen, you back up, you back up weakly because you want it to happen, bad. I wrest you onto the windowsill. I make you stand face front to the window. I push you against the glass, I kick your knees apart, and I take you. You rest your cheek on the pane, and your moan leaves on it a puff of mist. You forget that you wanted to pretend to struggle.

And the garden below is filling up. Pageboys and maids and cooks and stableboys set aside their task and scurry over, sit on the grass and watch. An old gardener leans on his rake and smoothens his moustache. 'Maybe we were wrong to be so stuck-up all these years,' he says. 'What a gorgeous princess we have. We're truly blessed.' Everyone agrees but nobody answers, lost in the sight of your breasts pushed flat against the glass, the mist spreading from you like a halo, watching every shudder and twist of your body, watching your hands skid on the pane in search of something to grip, hearing your beautiful voice as you moan and whine. 'Such a fine pussy,' they comment. 'Look at it clutch that Kontarian cock. She's making us proud. Nobody will ever say that Lhamedos girls aren't fun.' Does the window have that upper bit that you can open?"

Gabrielle sighed deeply. Aerin's fingers were gliding slowly on her wet flesh. Her hands were clenched tight in fists.

"Mhm," she answered, weakly.

"I open it. I ask your people if I should let you cum yet, or do they want to watch you squirm some more. 'Squirm!' they answer. Why would they want something so beautiful to end? But at last, they take pity on you. You've been such a good girl. You're so desperate. And they want to see you happy. So I pet your clit and kiss your cheek, and you smile and you cry out and you tremble, and the whole window trembles and rattles with you, and the people cheer, and will drink to our health that night. And we just sit in the windowsill, under the trace of your body that is left on the glass, and cuddle into the night."

Silence fell for a moment, before Gabrielle floated back to reality and tugged at Aerin's sleeve.

"Let's just fucking go somewhere private right now, okay?"

He tossed his head back. His cock in her hand beat a rapid pulse. He sprung up to his feet.

"Here's good enough."

He writhed out of his clothes, in no time at all, his lithe body twisting in the light of stars and the faraway fires. And then he stood by her side, a keen boy in his own skin.

"Here?" He nodded. She turned around to the splitter. Far in the prow she saw the silhouette of the solitary guard, barely visible over the dark water. "I'd feel kind of bad, fucking the hottest boy in Kontaria as she has to stand watch there."

"Hey," he whispered. "We're not gonna fuck. We're gonna make love."

She laughed. It was a strange thing: for a Kontarian, Aerin was a little shy. For a Harmeni, well, she was maybe the most infamous slut that the fine kingdom had ever produced. And yet, still, he was clearly less inhibited than she was. Fucking Harmen.

She sized him up with a sharp little smile. No, she was not going to let him outslut her. And besides, the shadowy bulk of his cock twitching between his thighs was so inviting. It was so easy to give in to a Kontarian night.

She stood up, slid the soaked underpants down her legs, and with a single confident swoop got rid of her dress. Then she undid the breast band, and dropped her arms. The band unfurled and remained in place for a moment, hanging onto the curve of her breasts, and her erect nipples. But modesty had to give way to gravity; the band fell away, and landed softly on the boards.

He just stood there, admiring, and she just stood there, smiling. He lay a hand on her arm, and she on his shoulder, and for a while still they did nothing, lost in the moment. Finally he lunged down and kissed her, fiercely, on her mound, her clit, her slit, burrowed his lips in the pits of her thighs like an over-eager dog, sending her into a fit of giggles; she had to force her way down to kneel with him, his mouth harassing her stomach, and her breasts, and neck, and finally getting harassed back by a kiss of her own. His cock pushed against her underbelly. They broke away and looked at each other, across a veil of their messed-up hair.

"So," she panted, "how is making love different from fucking?"

He chortled. "Not sure."

"We're going to be sweet and disgusting, aren't we?"

"That might happen, yeah."

"Alright, alright." She flung her arm around his neck and with her other hand grabbed his cock, and positioned herself right on top. She tossed her hair aside and looked him deep in the eyes. "Ready?"

He lowered his eyes.

"Now I'm nervous." She laughed. He hid his head in the nook of her neck. "I'm serious," he complained. She held his head with both hands.

"You are the sweetest boy on Earth. I love you so much."

"I love you", he muttered. She buried her face in his hair. She began to lower herself.

She went slow. She let his girth push her open. They clutched at each other, breathed fast, and still she went slow, slow, slow, lavishing their full attention on every bit of his cock as it joined in with her body. When she'd finally taken it all and rested on his thighs they stayed like that, silent, swaying lightly, melting in their shared warmth.

He purred. She purred back. With closed eyes they found each other's mouth and kissed. In this moment, they even forgot all about the whole sex thing. His cock and her cunt just lay together, unmoving, calmly enjoying each other's company. Their attention was on the kiss, a painstaking back and forth exploration of their lips, tips of tongues lurking and meeting and tickling, little gasps escaping through the gaps.

She couldn't take it anymore. She caught his eyes, and they both snickered at how serious they looked. She rutted against him, and his hips thrust without checking with his brain. His hand wriggled between them, his fingers circled her clit.

"Aerin. My boy, my boy," she gasped.

"Gabrielle." His voice broke into a whine. They let go of words. They moaned with every breath, hands roaming, lips meeting, bodies writhing. Their voices echoed off the water, and rose up to the blazing stars.

Her moans grew ragged. She tensed up and eagerly pressed against him, tilted her head as if trying to catch a faint noise. He kept circling her clit. He knew her signs. She was coming undone.

"Want to join the festivities?" He teased her with a whisper. "Offer up an orgasm to the Shimmering Ones?"

Her moans broke into laughter.

"Fuck the shimmering ones, my orgasms belong to you." She grabbed his hair and pressed her forehead to his, looked into his awestruck eyes. "You, you, you, you, you, I love you, I love you, I, ah, fuck, fuck..."

And what she started saying with words, she finished saying with her whole body. She swung her back and clenched, again and again and again, on his cock, and whined. His chest swelled, and he tossed his arms around her neck and hugged her closer, closer.